by David Grace
"To answer your question, Chom, no, we will not mate now. Humans do not mate under these circumstances. I was merely comforting the young lady. My actions had no sexual connotations whatsoever."
Castor and Chom looked at each other and exchanged exaggerated expressions of skepticism and wry amusement. Grantin's cheeks colored an even deeper shade and he stamped off angrily toward the chamber's exit. Mara looked at Castor and Chom, then swept her gaze around the room, first noting Nimo's frozen body, then Hazar's punctured, bloodless form. A horrified whimper escaped her throat. She raced forward to again allow Grantin to comfort her, an activity which he engaged in with tender care, all the while presenting to Chom and Castor a look of exaggerated innocence.
In a few minutes Mara's tears slowed and with an exercise of willpower she managed to bring herself back to a state of more or less normal composure.
"How long will they be like that?" she asked, pointing at Nimo.
"We are not exactly sure. Several hours at least."
"Then you don't intend spending the night here?"
"By no means! Leaving here will mark the happiest instant of my life. In fact, I propose we depart the moment that we locate my uncle."
"The wizard Greyhorn? There he is, against that wall."
Grantin, Chom, and Castor turned as one. At the far side of the room a heavily cloaked object sat huddled in a crumpled ball. Grantin walked to the figure and pulled back the edge of the cloak. Beneath the cloak appeared Greyhorn's familiar thin visage, distorted now with a look of weary fear.
"Uncle, are you all right?" Greyhorn's eyes stared unseeingly into empty space. Tentatively Grantin poked the wizard's shoulder. Under his robes Greyhorn's body was hard and unyielding. Less restrained, Grantin pinched the old man's cheeks and slapped his face, but without response. The flesh had the gummy rubberyness that Grantin had felt in Theleb's mummified form.
By now Chom, Castor, and Mara had approached the wizard's rigid body. Chom bent over. Fixing his eyes three inches directly in front of Greyhorn's and clasping the wizard's ears and shoulders in his four arms, he attempted to commune with the sorcerer's consciousness, if any.
"Is he alive?"
"He sleeps."
"How long do you think he will stay like this?"
"Hazar has done something to him. Deep within him I feel a spark of life, but unknowing, unaware. I think he will stay this way a long time."
"A long time. ... How long?"
"Years."
"Years? He's going to stay huddled up in this grotesque position for years? What am I supposed to do with him all that time?"
"You could leave him here, I suppose. He is your kin." While Chom's voice held no note of disapproval, Grantin sensed that somehow the Fanist was testing him. The young Hartford shuffled his feet nervously, his mouth down turned in a sour expression. Twice he seemed ready to take Mara by the hand and lead her from the mine, but each time, as he looked at his uncle's twisted shape, he relented.
"Why is it always me?" he asked petulantly. "Always it is Grantin, the easygoing, the softhearted, who Is called upon to solve the problems of others. Why must I be the one to save the Hartfords, protect the Ajaj, rescue the maidens, defeat the villains, take on the labors of the world? I am too good-hearted, that is my flaw. Now I am expected to carry this heavy . . . object . . . halfway across the Gogol empire, through dangerous bandit-ridden forests, across treacherous mountain passes!"
Accustomed to Grantin's exaggerated complaints. Castor and Chom made no response other than the exchange of brief, knowing sidelong glances which, although retained for only an instant, contained overtones of skepticism, amusement and weary resignation. Occupied as he was with his tale of woe, Grantin failed to detect the interchange and continued his monologue to its inevitable conclusion.
"Very well. I see that you will give me no peace until I comply with your wishes. No, you won't say anything about it. You will just treat me like an ingrate, like some kind of monster, if I refuse to strain myself to the limit for the benefit of one who would have cut off my finger and betrayed his own kinsmen into slavery. Very well, very well. I will yield to your accusation. Again, as usual, I act against my best interests. All right, Chom you win. We will take him with us for all the good it will do."
"As you wish. . . ."
"As l wish--hahl"
"However, we have some unfinished business before we leave." ,-
"Such as?"
"The bloodstones. We cannot leave them here. They are too much of a temptation. Some other Gogol might come along and take Hazar's place. Then all of our efforts will have been for nothing."
"Very well; as long as we're transporting my wretched uncle anyway, I don't suppose it will be much more of a burden to stick the things in one of his pockets."
"I think what Chom wants," Castor suggested, "is more than just the removal of the loose stones. If we leave this place untouched, others might come here and reopen the mine. More than that, Hazar already has distributed several of the stones to his subordinates. When his death is discovered they will battle among themselves for supremacy. The winner of that struggle is certain to be someone who possesses one of the gems. He will still be a formidable enemy for my people as well as for you humans. Somehow we must destroy the mine."
"Destroy the mine! How do you propose to do that?"
"It is not absolutely necessary that we destroy the mine itself," Chom replied, "so long as we destroy the stones. We need only construct a spell which affects them alone."
"I know a spell," Mara said. "One of enchantment which one fixes upon an object in the possession of the victim of the spell. Perhaps we could adapt it to set a spell upon every bloodstone in the empire."
"That's a fine idea, except how do we protect ourselves from being killed in the process? If I were to project my energies into all the crystals in existence I would feel a feedback through my own ring as well."
"There is a way, I think," Castor suggested. "We know the gems amplify the power of our spells. Instead of projecting incantation into all of the gems at once, what if you formulated it so that it would take effect, for example, on one of the stones in this room, and that stone would, in turn, broadcast it to another stone, and another, and another, until the energies became so great that the crystals themselves shattered?"
"And my arm with it? No, thank you!"
"We could protect you, I think," Chom said. "The three of us could construct a force field around you that would prevent the energies from reaching your ring. We could pronounce most of the spell before we left and then, when a good distance away, create the protective field an instant after directing the final portion of the incantation back here through your ring. The distance and the shield should protect you."
"Should protect me? And if it does not?"
"We will be inside the shield with you. We'll all go together."
"That makes me feel a lot better!"
Three faces, three pairs of eyes, stared at Grantin. For a full thirty seconds there was complete silence. At last Grantin threw up his arms in frustration.
"All right, all right, I will do it. I am putty in your hands. It will serve you right if I blow up the lot of you "
For the next half hour Grantin, Mara, Chom, and Castor discussed the possible contents of the incantation. Finally, after hurried preparations, all of the spell save the last line was recited. A new tension filled the air. Grantin felt as if his body had been infused with gallons of stimulants. A high-pitched, inaudible whine prickled his ears.
"Something is happening. I don't know what it is, but I want to get out of here. If you are all quite ready, can we leave?"
"Yes, I think we should go. Grantin, you and I can carry your uncle."
Grantin and Chom groaned and hoisted Greyhorn's dead weight between them.
"At this rate it is going to be a long and tiring trip home," Grantin commented before they had even reached the doorway.
"Aren't we going to travel by
the spell of magnificent transport?" Mara asked.
"I would love to, except I don't know the incantation."
"I do. I heard the over-deacons recite it just before we left Cicero."
"Excellent! Perhaps we will travel in style at last. Come, Chom, let us get Uncle Greyhorn outside, pronounce the spell, and be gone from this place before it comes down around our ears."
Grantin and Chom picked up Greyhorn once more and began to maneuver his unwieldy body toward the doorway. They had almost reached the portal when, in the passage beyond, they heard the clear, ringing sounds of heavy boots tramping down the tunnel.
Chapter Fifty
From their vantage point just beyond the ridge overlooking Grog Cup Mountain, Rupert and Yon Diggery had an excellent view of the battle. They rested prone on the ground, only their eyes peeking over the lip of the hill. Icy tingles rippled up and down their spines, but neither one would now turn back.
An hour after the fugitives entered the tunnel Rupert quested with his mind in an attempt to determine the situation within the mountain. The Gogol deacon was more than a little surprised when he could find no hint of activity.
"You sense nothing?"
"Nothing. No struggle, no spells. No energy being released, not even any conscious thoughts. You know what that means."
"If you're right. After all the trouble that Hartford has caused us, can our luck actually have turned this good? I don't know, Rupert. I don't like it. It might be a trap."
"A trap, bah! Stop being such an old woman, Diggery. They've killed each other off, and so much the better for us. Now, before someone else comes along or those guards down there wake up, let's get into the mine and fill our pockets."
Diggery's sixth sense told him that Rupert's answer was too pat, that there was something wrong, but he had no firm evidence for his conviction beyond the observation that in every free apple there is usually lurking at least one worm. With a rueful shake of his head Diggery relented. He and Rupert trotted down the slope and along the trail to Grog Cup Mountain.
Upon seeing the frozen bodies of Zaco's soldiers Rupert became elated, convinced beyond all doubt that his assessment of the situation was correct. Even Yon Diggery's innate suspicion evaporated as rank upon rank, level upon level, of guards was found immobilized. Swaggering, cheerful, and immensely pleased with himself, Rupert tramped into the main chamber, only to receive a rude surprise. There, not ten feet in front of him, stood Grantin and the Fanist, holding between them a frozen body and flanked on one side by an Ajaj and on the other by the girl whom Rupert recognized as the enchantress Mara.
Rupert's eyes bulged. "It can't be. Where is Hazar?"
Grantin inclined his head toward the place where Hazar's body lay. Rupert followed the direction of his gaze. The imbecilic Hartford had bested Lord Hazar? Impossible, but there lay the body.
Yon Diggery was anything but indecisive. The instant after passing through the doorway he drew his sword. Without conscious planning Grantin pointed his ring at the blade and visualized a white-hot plume of flame striking the metal. With a scream Diggery threw the weapon from him.
For perhaps a minute each group stared, unspeaking, at the other. Finally Grantin's numbed mind began to function. He lowered his arm and addressed the two bandits.
"Gentlemen, we seem to be at somewhat of a standoff here. I take it you have come for the stones?"
"That, and to see the color of your blood," Rupert answered.
"As you have already learned on more than one occasion, that's not an easy task. It's also an unprofitable one. Instead, let me propose an arrangement to our mutual satisfaction."
"What kind of arrangement?" Diggery asked through teeth clenched with the pain of his blistered hand.
"The best of all possible arrangements, one in which each side benefits. You get what you want, and I get what I want."
"Which is?"
"To be specific, you get the bloodstones and I get to leave."
"Why should you be willing to give us everything? What's in it for you?"
"Gentlemen, I already have a bloodstone. I certainly don't need two of them. Additionally, I have these two trusty associates to act as my personal bondsmen and this nubile beauty to keep me company. Together with the proof of my uncle's demise--this is he you see here, turned to stone--I will inherit all his lands, his properties, his wealth. What else could I want?"
"It does seem a not unreasonable proposition," Diggery said, greedily eyeing the bloodstones scattered about the floor.
"There's something wrong here," Rupert responded. "I don't like it. I don't know what game he's playing, but no one gives away this much wealth."
"Gentlemen, as you can see, I could easily destroy you. As you well know, I have powers beyond those of all other wizards. But I am weary. It has been a long day. Disposing of you two would be quite tiring. Besides, a stray bolt might injure one of my slaves, or perhaps scar my new mistress. In order to avoid these minor inconveniences I am willing to give you your life and the stones that remain. I assure you, I have more than enough wealth for my own purposes."
Instead of soothing Rupert's misgivings Grantin's speech only seemed to increase them. Against all logic he was certain that the young Hartford was practicing some great deception. Sensing Rupert's suspicions, Mara decided to add some color to Grantin's story.
"Oh, please, don't let him take me with him, I beg you. He's a beast! You don't know what he plans to do to me! His perversions are worse than Hazar's. I beg you, strike him down and free me. Look at those two," Mara said, indicating Castor and Chom. "He has turned them into mindless slaves. Even if he kills you, you must try. You can't allow an evil power like his loose on the world."
Grantin grabbed Mara's arm and roughly pulled her back from the doorway. He allowed a sneering smile to crease his lips.
"Well, what is it to be?" he asked with a nasty edge to his voice. "Are you going to sacrifice your lives to do the bidding of this enchantress? Make up your minds. Move aside or prepare to die." Grantin raised his left hand and pointed the bloodstone menacingly at Diggery and Rupert. The two bandits stood frozen in position for a moment then, by unspoken agreement, they slowly and carefully moved aside.
Grantin motioned to Chom and Castor. Trance-like, they picked up Greyhorn's body and carried it out the door. Mara followed stiffly behind, with Grantin bringing up the rear. Rupert and Diggery stood at the edge of the doorway, their muscles tensely coiled, waiting to spring. Grantin slipped by them and out into the hall. Once out of sight of the mine's main chamber, the fugitives raced through the passages. It was after the eighth hour but still light enough to put substantial distance between themselves and Grog Cup Mountain before sundown.
Castor and Chom deposited Greyhorn on the ground. While Mara waited to one side, the three followed the spell Mara had repeated and brought into being the bubble of magnificent transportation.
Ten minutes later they floated effortlessly a hundred feet above the countryside, making their way toward the northern pass through the Guardian Mountains. By sundown they had maneuvered through the first range of peaks. In a few more minutes sight of the Gogol empire would be lost.
"I have been thinking. Perhaps if we just waited a bit, Rupert and Yon Diggery might trigger the spell on their own and save us the risk."
"Need I remind you, Grantin, that if they do so you are not protected and yours will go up with the rest of the stones."
Grantin instantly leaped to his feet and began making preparations for the hex. "Well, don't just sit there. Let us get this over with before they kill us all."
Grantin, Chom, and Castor visualized a protective shield similar to that which had served them in their attack on Zaco's mine. In one edge of the shield they left a tiny hole which pointed at Grog Cup Mountain. The four clenched hands and recited the last line of the hex.
At the instant the last syllable was uttered they patched the hole which they had left in the screen. For one second, two, three, nothi
ng happened. Then far to the west there was a flicker of light, then another, then a third, followed by a brilliant red-orange fireball which, for a brief instant, illuminated the entire sky.
"Gone, all gone. The mountain blew itself to bits, and Diggery and Rupert along with it."
"Probably."
"What do you mean 'probably,' Chom? No one could have survived that explosion."
"They could have filled their pockets with the bloodstones and left with the slaves before the explosion."
"But wouldn't the bloodstones they carried with them have exploded as well?" Mara asked.
"I am sure that all the bloodstones in the Gogol lands, whether at Grog Cup Lake or in Cicero or anywhere else, were destroyed, but whether they exploded with the violence of the mountain I cannot say. They might have just melted. Do not forget, the crystals in the mountain were locked beneath tons of rock which acted to compress their energies. Carried loose in a pocket, they might have done no more than bum the skin or break a few bones as their energy diffused into the open air."
"Chom, I refuse to think any further on such a depressing topic," Grantin said. "Now, have I performed all of the miracles which you two have asked of me? Have I not vanquished the Gogols, saved the human race, protected the Ajaj, bested the villains, rescued the fair maiden, liberated my misguided uncle, and set the world to rights in less than a month? Am I not now permitted to return home in peace and enjoy the fruits of my labors? Can we not now, at last, think of happier topics?"
Castor and Chom made no reply other than to exchange their now familiar looks of resignation. They turned their backs on Grantin and advanced to the most forward part of the bubble. There they sat, side by side, to watch Pyra's rays dapple the peaks with ocher, scarlet, and russet beams.
Grantin was satisfied with their response, which he took to be an acknowledgment of the validity of his claims. With a slight mental kick he urge the bubble forward and was rewarded with a gentle lurch, followed by a soft pressure about his thigh, waist, and upper torso.