Hazar made sure that the door to his office was secured. Satisfied that he would not be interrupted, he slouched back in his chair and allowed himself to relax. The bronze-hued face which, when animated, gave Hazar the appearance of mature vitality now, in slack-jawed repose, revealed something of the wizard's true age. Deep furrows plowed the flesh between the mouth and the edges of the nose. A maze of wrinkles flanked each eye. When the head was turned just right small wattles of flesh bulged beneath the chin. Even the glossy black mustache which at first glance seemed a badge of vigor now appeared out of place, incongruous, as if it were an artifice employed by a slapdash thespian to give the appearance of youth to an aging performer.
Hazar tried to force his spinning brain to rest, to marshal his energies for the spells which in the coming days he knew he must perform if his plans were to succeed. For the hundredth time he considered adding a second bloodstone to his gem-encrusted left hand. Each time, reluctantly, he rejected the idea as being equivalent to slow suicide.
Unbidden, new questions, schemes, and worries jostled for room on the stage of his mind's eye. Rupert's silhouette, grossly distorted, capered in a jungle of odd plants, sometimes trailing Greyhorn's bumptious nephew, at others prancing with glee, his bloodstained hand adorned with the missing ring. An instant later Rupert stepped through the wall of plants to emerge on the other side as a Fanist who walked arm in arm with the wayward young Hartford. The two approached a gigantic pile of rocks and, at the last second, twisted sideways to melt between a crevice and disappear from sight.
The face of the Ajaj leader Obron swam into view. The Ajaj's words echoed unintelligibly. She held up a piece of paper covered with writing which, no matter how Hazar strained and twisted, he was nevertheless unable to read. A clatter arose in the background and terrified the Gray. She turned and ran for the shimmering tumbles, but before she reached them the scene faded away.
Dimly background sounds at last penetrated Hazar's conscious mind. Tap, tap. "My lord Hazar?" Tap, tap, tap. "My lord, are you there?"
Hazar's eyes snapped open. He lifted his body to sitting position. His muscles ached. His skin was clammy and beaded with sweat.
"A minute-cease that racket!" Hazar croaked. Removing a soft towel from his desk, Hazar dried his face and massaged the back of his neck. At last he rose, released the latch, and slid back the door. A nervous Derma, shuffling from one foot to the other, eyes fixed upon the floor, confronted him.
"My lord, I…"
"What is it, clerk? I told you I did not want to be disturbed."
"My lord, I am sorry, but some information has been received which could be important. I thought you might want to know at once."
"Very well, come in. For your sake you had better hope that you did not disturb me unnecessarily." Hazar settled again into his chair but now took pains to keep the weariness from his face. Ill at ease, Derma stood before the desk and made his report.
"My lord, as you know, Saschim, the tailor of the second wall, is known to have some contact with the bandit, Yon Diggery. For this reason, my lord, we have prevailed upon his apprentice Trecko to keep us informed of-"
"I know all that, clerk! You don't have to give me a lesson in who works for me. Get to the point!"
"Yes, my lord Hazar. To go to the heart of the matter, Trecko reported that yesterday afternoon his master received a communication from Yon Diggery to the effect that a certain young Hartford in the company of a certain native had crossed the Weirdlands and were making for Cicero. He prevailed upon Saschim to watch the Gate of Dread so that he might be informed if the two enter this vicinity. Not suspecting that Trecko is in my lord's service, Saschim, this morning, conveyed this information and charged Trecko to implement the plan."
"What's the rest of the message? What is Saschim supposed to do if he finds this Hartford?"
"Diggery charged the tailor to lure the Hartford into his apartments, there to drug him and cut off his hand. This accomplished, the body is to be hidden and the hand conveyed outside the walls and delivered to Yon Diggery."
"Yes, and what does the tailor get out of all this?"
"Upon delivery of the hand, my lord, he was promised ten golds plus a call on the bandit for future favors in time of need."
"Ten golds-a handsome price for a mere hand, provided you don't know the value of what you are selling. What of the Fanist who reportedly accompanies the Hartford? What were Diggery's instructions concerning him?"
"None specific, my lord. The tailor was given a free hand to do as he pleased provided he accomplished his primary goal."
"An interesting story, I'll admit-but why, why? Oh, stop fidgeting, clerk, you were right in bringing this to my attention."
Hazar transferred his attention to an oddment of metal and bone which rested on his desk. Idly playing with the instrument, Hazar mused over the possible motives for Grantin's trip.
"Why of all places would he come here? At first I thought that sanctimonious old fool Obron was making up the story about a human and a Fanist entering the tumbles. Now I'm not so sure. If that is Greyhorn's addle-brained nephew, Cicero should be the last place he'd visit. Why not return to Hartford lands or even remain in Grenitch Wood? Why come here, and with a Fanist yet? What could he want here? Money, riches? Not likely. I can't believe he wishes to join our society. Do you suppose his uncle sent him here? But no, not with the ring. Greyhorn would never part with the ring."
"Perhaps he knows someone here, someone who he thinks will help him," Derma suggested, meekly. "Or perhaps it is the Fanist who has business in Cicero, and for lack of a better purpose the human is merely accompanying him."
"Even Greyhorn's nephew would not be foolish enough to come here as a mere tourist. And as for meeting someone, that's impossible. He knows no one in Cicero. He's never been out of the Hartford lands in his life. Except for myself and perhaps a few of the other lords, none of us have penetrated the Hartford boundaries. Only…" Hazar dropped the demarcator as if it were red-hot and riveted his gaze upon Derma. "… only Mara has visited his homeland. He's met Mara, for a fact!"
"You think, then, my lord, that they are planning-"
"Don't be a fool. Derma! He doesn't have the brains to plan anything like that, or the courage. Now his uncle- No, that's not possible. Grantin has the ring, not Greyhorn. The old reprobate would never let the stone go voluntarily. I wonder if it could be love?"
"Love, my lord?"
"She's an enchantress, isn't she? She prepared herself to enchant him when she delivered the ring, only she ran off before she could find out how successful she was. That little witch has laid a spell on him and doesn't even know it. By Satan, he's come here to find her!" Hazar pounded his fist on his desk.
"Derma, take down these commands: First, have twenty of my guards surround the tumbles, quietly. The Grays are not to be bothered, but Grantin and the Fanist are to be kept there at all costs. The men are to stay out of sight until further orders. Next, call my over-deacons, Croman, Jasper, and Wax. They are to commence at once to call up a Firebird, one big enough to carry a full-grown man and strong enough to last through an entire night. They must use all their energies. I want the demon readied for my commands by the second hour.
"Lastly, call my body servants. Have them prepare my bath. Get my masseuse and have fresh garments laid out. Tonight I will thwart my enemies and make ready the attack."
The period of indecision was over, the questions banished from Hazar's mind. His lassitude had fled with his doubts. His energies renewed, Hazar strode to his private chambers while Derma raced off to implement his lord's commands.
Later, bathed, his skin massaged to an invigorated tingle and coated with a thin, coat of scented oil, Hazar joined Mara in the parlor. The ministrations of his servants had soothed Hazar to the point that while reclining on the masseuse's table he had enjoyed his first peaceful sleep in days. Now, somewhat past the first hour A.D., Mara the enchantress rose nervously to greet her lord.
Hazar detected the tense set of her muscles, the slight quiver of the tendons in her neck, the contracted tight black pupils of her eyes. Her attitude could be due to a number of factors: concern over Hazar's tardiness in appearing for their dinner or fear that he might have planned some rebuke or punishment because of her failure on her mission to the Hartfords. Possibly, just possibly, Mara's uneasiness might be due to more personal factors. Was she interested in forming a liaison with him? Could she be planning on using her charms on him in the hope of obtaining an advantage? If that were the case she would be disappointed.
They had barely exchanged greetings when a servant's knock announced that dinner was ready. With Hazar in the lead the two entered the dining room.