Fane v1 0, p.23
Fane (v1.0), page 23
Obron silently nodded her assent.
“From whose lodgings did they emerge?”
“My lord, it is dark and difficult to tell from which—”
“Answer me or all will suffer the penalty of treason!” Obron hesitated a moment then whispered: “Castor’s.” Hazar whipped around and pointed a long, bony finger at the Gray who stood to Mara’s right. “Aren’t you Castor the troublemaker? Isn’t that your name?”
“I am Castor and proud of it. Proud not to be a sheep like my fellows, or a traitor like Obron. Proud to oppose your evil madness. I am Castor your enemy. Kill me now if you will and have done with it.”
The guards were shocked into silence by the Gray’s incredible outburst. After a moment the stunned quiet was broken by Hazar’s laughter.
“Now I have seen everything,” the Gogol exclaimed, “the strangest of all possible sights, a Gray with courage. Don’t be so hasty for the end; it would be a bad omen for me to precipitately eliminate such a rarity as yourself. No, I think I will take my own good time in finishing you. Perhaps we will put your courage to the test, but not tonight. Captain, bring them all to my quarters.”
“My lord, if you need me no longer…
“All of them, guard, the girl included.”
The soldiers formed the prisoners into a line and, flanking them, marched the group up the winding trail back to the Gate of Dread.
In a few minutes Grantin, Chom, Castor, and Mara were ushered into Hazar’s parlor. Already ‘present in the small chamber were Hazar and his three overdeacons. At the far left-hand comer of the room wine-colored drapes billowed.
Mara noticed that the furniture had been hastily rearranged, the couch and chairs pushed back to provide an open area in the center where she and the prisoners now stood. In front of them, seated on the settee with his back to the outer wall, Hazar eyed the four critically. Huddled together to the right of the rippling drapes crouched Croman, Jasper, and Wax. Occasionally one of the overdeacons flicked a glance over his shoulder toward the window, as if nervously expecting the imminent appearance of another guest. Hazar concentrated his attention upon the prisoners. He commenced his interrogation with Grantin.
“Well, Master Grantin, so you are here at last You have led us a merry chase. You know, of course, your uncle Greyhorn is quite displeased with you. No, no, you need not reply; his wishes are now of minor importance at best. More to the point, however, you have inconvenienced me. Do you have any idea of the trouble you have caused?”
Grantin shook his head.
“No? I will tell you so you will understand better what Is to happen to you. It was I who sent the ring you now wear. The ring was your uncle’s price for joining forces with me in my conquest of the Hartfords. He and his supporters were to nullify the defenders who normally man the main pass through the Guardian Mountains. Oh, not that I minded giving him the ring, you understand; I had dozens more coming, promised by my associate, Lord Zaco—another ’friend’ of Mara’s, by the way.
“But Zaco’s promises have proved unreliable of late. I fear that the old fool has lost the control of his subordinates and that they tell him what he wishes to hear without any intention of following his orders.
“The ring was Greyhorn’s price, but when you took it your uncle became petulant, obstinate, and uncooperative. Very well; by concentrating all my energy I could have taken the passes anyway, but Zaco hasn’t sent me the promised stones. Still, matters could proceed with only one or two more rings such as the one you wear now. But you were gone with the ring, and Greyhorn had withdrawn his support, and Zaco’s a senile old fool—and so here I sat committed to a battle without sufficient supplies, or at least the crucial support to be assured of enough men winning through the passes.
“And, as if that were not enough, my dear Grantin, your uncle took it into his head to oppose me, to actually commence a series of attacks against my person. Attacks which I could parry, but at what price? All because of FANE ‘ you. Greyhorn’s support gone because of you. A ring which J desperately need lost because of you. Greyhorn’s opposition because of you. You blundering, stupid, in* competent, weak-spined, ridiculous, fatheaded fool, my great plans brought to a standstill all because of you!”
Grantin shivered and cringed from Hazar’s screams.
“I see you are beginning to understand a bit about how I feel. Perhaps you may be able to imagine some of the things I have planned for you…But you are trembling. How ungracious of me to so disturb my guests. Don’t let me frighten you too badly. Perhaps you will think of some way to assuage my anger before the time for retribution arrives. I will let you think over the possibilities while I greet your associates.”
Hazar now turned his attention to the Fanist. “And your name is Chom, you say. Why do you travel with this young fool?”
“He is what you humans call my friend,” Chom replied in a neutral low voice.
“A friend? This pea-brained imbecile your friend? Only a fool has a fool for a friend. Is that what you are?”
“If I were truly a fool I would not know it and so would say no. If I were not a fool again I would deny it. There hardly seems to be another possible answer to your question.”
“Don’t play games with me, you four-armed freak. I’m not afraid of you Fanists like some of those weak-kneed Hartfords. You will die just as easily as anyone else; don’t think otherwise.”
Hazar turned his gaze on Castor and briefly addressed the Gray. “As for you, I need no answers, no explanations. You’re a mutant, a freak, or at best insane. There is nothing I need from you except your death. Since you have chosen to befriend these two, to take part against your masters, then so be it; you will share their fate.”
Now Hazar’s attention slid slyly to his left, back to Mara. v
“And last, my dear, delicious Mara.”
“My lord, I haven’t—”
“Calm yourself. I have accused you of nothing. To the best of your ability you have carried out my commands. You were sent to deliver the ring, and you did so. You were told to bewitch the person who received it from you, and you did so. You were told to make him your slave, and though you’ve not accomplished it exactly as I ordered, in the last analysis apparently you have done that too. And you have controlled Zaco as best you could. You have followed my orders, and it is not your fault that everything you have touched has turned to ashes.
“But when did we Gogols ever care about fault anyway? It is results that matter—success, usefulness—and here, Mara, you have failed miserably.
“In order to get Zaco’s stones I must go to his mine myself and wrest them from his servants with my own hands. You are bad luck, Mara; perhaps you are fey. Under more normal circumstances I would simply banish you from my household, perhaps send you to the pleasure rooms, find you a task at which your ill luck would be of no harm; but these are not ordinary circumstances.
“This fellow appears to be in love with you. I don’t mark him for a man of courage; but, still, who can tell about these things? Perhaps at the last moment he may choose to die rather than cooperate. Occasionally young idiots are gallant that way, so I think I will increase the stakes. If he cooperates and earns my favor, then you shall share his fate. If, on the other hand, he becomes obstinate and requires persuasion or elimination, then you shall also share his fate. In this way we will bend his noble urges to my bidding. Now for—”
Hazar’s speech was interrupted by a moaning screech. The curtain flapped more vigorously, heralding an approaching gale. A high-pitched hissing shriek pierced the darkness.
“It comes. It comes,” Croman moaned.
“Pull back the drapes; make ready for its arrival.”
A great gust of air poured in. Borne on the gale was another raucous shriek embroidered with the undertone of huge flapping leathery wings. As the monster neared its destination its calls became more frequent The sound of its flight rose to a fever pitch. A muffled thud echoed from the terrace, then one last cry, an announcement that its mission was complete. The beat of wings became softer, disappearing until, only two or three seconds later, the night was again still.
As if a trance had been broken, Hazar ordered his overdeacons to retrieve the demon’s burden. Croman,
Jasper, and Wax scuttled onto the balcony and quickly returned, bearing between them Greyhorn’s dazed form.
“Ah, now our little group is complete—uncle and nephew together at last. To show you that I stint no one, Grantin, I will throw your uncle into the bargain if you cooperate with me. You may have his life or his death as you choose. Well, what do you say?”
“Say to what? What do you want me to do? I don’t understand. Why don’t you just take the ring and have done with it?”
“If I only could—but that’s right, you don’t understand the powers of the stone. You’ve had it too long; it’s been at least ten days. By now it has attuned itself to your mind. Though you might agree to cooperate the subconscious portions of your brain would take control. Anyone who now tried to cut off your finger would find the blade, his hand, his arm, probably his whole body, ablaze. There is not a thing you could do to stop it even if you thought you wanted to. In a sense the ring has a mind of its own. No, unfortunately, I cannot take it by force, but I can tell you the spells to pronounce, the words to say.
“If you follow instructions you can lend the power of your ring to my enterprise, in exchange for which I will give you. the lives of your friends, the death of your uncle, your freedom, his property, and your life. Well, what do you say?”
“While I appreciate your offer, I don’t really think I am well suited to the black arts. As an alternative, why don’t we just—Ouch!” Grantin grabbed his left foot and hopped in a slow circle while he massaged the toes which had been suddenly caught beneath Chom’s foot.
“I am clumsy tonight,” Chom apologized. “I think it is because we are all so tired. Instead, could we not rest and discuss the matter among ourselves, since it affects us all? Grantin could give you his answer in the morning.”
Hazar fixed a calculating gaze upon the Fanist. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he nodded his head and gestured for the guards to conduct the prisoners to their cell.
“I will give you to the third hour, no later. After that I will have no more time for you. I will have thirty bowmen take aim and fire at once. Master Grantin’s not a good enough magician to stop all the bolts. I will see you all ground into fodder by noon.”
The prisoners were led down into the cellars and subcellars of the outer wall until at last the four, Grantin, Chom, Castor, and Mara, were tossed into a stone cell with a hay-covered floor. Taking no chances on a resurgence of Greyhorn’s powers, Hazar had the wizard conveyed to a separate chamber away from Grantin’s sight and hearing.
Once the guards had disappeared Grantin slipped to Chom’s side and whispered in his earhole: “Why did you—”
“A moment.” Castor waved his hands in an expansive gesture and silently mouthed an oath. The air in the cell seemed to thicken and congeal until a shiver ran through Grantin’s body like the popping of a soap bubble.
“Now we can talk,” Castor said, “They did not bother to neutralize my powers. I have pronounced a spell of secrecy.”
“As I started to say, Chom, why did you step on my foot?”
“You were about to tell them about the spell which Mara could have used to remove the ring, were you noi?”
“Yes, but—”
“If Hazar had learned of that spell, he would have removed the ring at once and had us killed out of hand. The bloodstone provides our only bargaining power.”
“Then you think I should cooperate with him?”
“You can’t trust Hazar,” Mara whispered excitedly. “Once he has used you all he can, he will kill us anyway.”
“Let me see if I understand this. If Mara removes the ring, he will kill us. If I do not cooperate, he will kill us; and if I do cooperate, he will kill us. Can you think of anything we can do so that he will not kill us?”
“We could escape,” Chom suggested.
Grantin approached the bolts on the great door which sealed their cell. He pointed his bloodstone at the juncture of the metal. His forehead wrinkled in concentration, but no emanations appeared from the ring.
“It’s no use. For the time being their spells have blunted my powers.”
“I still have not recovered all my abilities,” Chom said; “unfortunately my spells are not strong enough to destroy the door.”
“Except for a spell of enchantment I can be of no help,” Mara volunteered.
Now all eyes turned to Castor. The Ajaj carefully fingered the green cube in bis pouch, then sighed in defeat.
“I, too, have some skills, but of a defensive nature only. Alone I could never batter down the walls.”
“Well, if I am going to be killed in the morning,” Grantin said testily, “at least I am not going to be half asleep when it happens. Right now I am going to get some rest. Maybe an idea will come to me in a dream.”
The prisoners lay down on the straw, Mara placing her body distractingly close to Grantin’s. Nevertheless, in a few minutes all were asleep.
It was after the ninth hour A.D. when a tapping sounded outside the cell door. Groggily Grantin arose from his pile of straw and, as if in a dream, watched the portal slide open. The hallways were still dark, illuminated only by the faint lime-green radiance from the glowpods. With a scraping sound a small form came forward to be silhouetted in the opening. Grantin reached out and shook Mara’s shoulders. The sound of her awakening disturbed Chom and Castor, and all sat up and stared at the shadowed figure.
“Hurry, hurry—what are you waiting for?” a small voice hissed. “Many lives will be lost tonight in helping you win free. Come on. Hurry—the least you can do is be successful in-your escape.”
Castor recognized the voice of their rescuer. He struggled to his feet and urged his comrades to follow his lead. Hesitantly, as if in a daze, Grantin, Mara, and Chom also rose. Together with the Gray all followed Buster’s limping passage down the hallway to the dungeon exit.
Chapter Forty-one
It being Lord Hazar’s custom to eat a late dinner, Castor had left the kitchen with the doctored meal a bit before the first hour. From that time on Buster had nervously paced the scullery with as frenetic a gait as his withered limb would allow. At the end of each pass across the floor he slowed his movements just long enough to cock an ear for the approach of heavy-booted feet At any moment he expected to be swept up by Hazar’s guards. By the second hour Buster had convinced himself that he was ready to accept his fate provided only that his plot succeeded.
It was a quarter past the second hour by the primitive water clock and no one came to shout the news of Hazar’s passing. The droplets continued to trickle from the finely valved orifice, each one striking tiny spoon-shaped paddles and rotating the wheel a sixth of a revolution. The indicator crept forward at a snaillike pace until at last the clock registered half past the second hour. Still no alarm. Buster hoisted himself up on a stool and massaged his swollen knee.
The third hour came and Hazar’s quarters settled into their early-evening drone. Finally Buster could stand the suspense no longer.
Cautiously the Gray ascended the scullery stairs. He reached the main-floor corridor without incident and was surprised to see that the normal complement of household guards was absent. Though it was worth his very life to do so, Buster could not now restrain his curiosity. Painfully he picked his way up the next flight to the apartment level. There, as well, the guards were absent. Without a doubt something was in the wind.
Buster retreated to the first floor and made his way to the front entrance. There one of the Gogols remained on guard, but not . a member of the usual complement. Instead a young subacolyte had been pressed into service during the emergency. Armed with an unfamiliar sword and oversized helmet and breastplate, the young man leaned uneasily against the entryway wall while his hands busied themselves tapping the hilt of his short sword . against the granite blocks. Affecting his most harmless pose, Buster limped up to the guard and hazarded a meek question.
“Excuse me, my lord. I have just finished my duties in the kitchen and I see that the usual guards are gone. Is something amiss?”
’The doings of your masters are no concern to you, Gray. Go be about your business and leave me to my post”
“Of course, my lord. It is just that…well, I should be going back to my home. Normally one of the guards on duty escorts me to the gate and authorizes my passage back to the tumbles,” Buster improvised. “I wanted to know if there were some problem that would cause me to remain here for the night.”
“No, there’s no problem, and I cannot authorize you to stay. Go on to the gate and tell them Gary I said to let you through; but, mind you, stay out of Lord Hazar’s way. Spies have taken shelter in your beloved tunnels and Lord Hazar and some of the guards have gone to capture them. If they find you out wandering loose at this time of night they might slice you first and ask questions later…Well, go on. What are you standing there for? I have my own concerns to contend with.”
Buster paused for a moment, considering the possibilities, then came to a swift decision. Exaggerating his disability for the benefit of the guard, he limped down the five stone steps to the First Circle, then made his way to the Gate of Dread.
The guards on duty visited upon Buster an extra ration of curses and obscenities for disturbing them so late but finally allowed him to leave the city. In a short while he reached the lip of the ridge which overlooked the tumbles. After only a few moments’ rest he began his tortured descent. By the time he reached the bottom his right leg throbbed constantly. The Gray clenched bis teeth and ignored the pain. Three yards in front of him in the fiat sandy area between the base of the tumbles and the stream stood soldiers, underdeacons, and Lord Hazar himself.
Drawing on the racial knowledge of thousands of years as prey, the Ajaj moved soundlessly until at last he could hear Hazar’s interrogation of the prisoners. All his plans had gone awry. Hazar still lived, while Castor, the human, and the Fanist had been taken prisoner. Even Mara appeared to be in custody. Of all the conspirators he alone, a withered, crippled old Ajaj, remained. Then Buster heard the cruelest revelation of them all, that their plans had been destroyed by one of his own kind. Obron had betrayed them all. A cold hatred washed through Buster’s crippled frame. With it arose an idea bom of the insanity which had long festered in what, for an Ajaj, was a distorted mind: the conviction that as soon as the Gogols left he would follow Obron to her apartments and there kill her with his bare hands.
