In some indefinable way Greyhorn's stodgy old manor house had changed over the preceding six months. It now seemed lighter, airier, washed with more brilliant colors, adorned here and there with subtle feminine touches.
From his position just inside the second-floor broom closet Grantin could hear the clatter of Mara's retreating steps. She had searched for him in the kitchen, the parlor, and Greyhorn's downstairs study, and now she was making a tour of the second floor library where the adventure had all begun. By now Grantin could detect the subtle echoes of frustration in the snap of her steps and the thumpings which accompanied her movement of the chairs as she searched beneath the library table on the off chance that he might be hiding there.
Three weeks before, Grantin had discovered the false panel in the broom closet. During the intervening days he had made good use of the hidey-hole for those increasingly frequent occasions when Mara had dreamed up another task for him to perform.
Initially he had not minded cleaning the manor house, the occasional repair here and there, but of late Mara's ambitious homemaking had pushed him to the brink of his patience. Dear, sweet woman that she was, she had an annoying ability to formulate tasks whose number always exceeded by one those which Grantin could perform during normal waking hours. As a result, except for last Trueday evening when he had managed to slip out before dinner, and, of course, Amisday when he had sent Mara on an errand, and then Playday afternoon while she was out picking berries (but that didn't count since it was a day of relaxation anyway), Grantin had been unable to spend sufficient time in the local taverns and gaming rooms to make even a small dent in the prodigious income from Greyhorn's many properties. Why, it was getting so he had to spend five or six days out of ten working like a slave, and he a moneyed and respected wizard and landowner and the savior of the Hartford kingdom.
Grantin slid back his panel and peeked down the hallway. The coast seemed clear. Holding his sandals in his left hand, he tiptoed on stockinged feet to the library and slipped noiselessly inside.
Grantin wandered back to the window through which he had begun his adventure into the Gogol empire. Before him spread the green and golden afternoon landscape, serene and lovely. Off to his right just a few miles over the rolling hills was the easygoing community of Gist where Castor and Chom probably still reclined at their ease.
After their perilous journey Grantin had naturally invited his friends to remain in Greyhorn's manor house, and for a while they had accepted his invitation. After the wedding, however, the situation had changed. Soon both took their leave to visit surrounding Hartford communities.
"Stay, stay. There is room and food enough for all of as. Let me show you the countryside. We could have a jolly time of it."
"Thank you, friend Grantin, but things are different now. You have a new mate and you should spend your time with her. We will learn more on our own, in any event."
"You're staying together, then?"
"Yes," Castor answered, "I would like to visit my fellow Ajaj who live among the Hartfords, but I would feel more comfortable traveling with a stalwart companion."
"And I have not finished my trip of life. There is much more that I must learn about humans before I can return to my community. Castor and I are well suited to each other. I feel that our relationship will be an harmonious one."
"But you will come back and visit with me. We have been good comrades, all. This is no time to break up a fine friendship after what we have been through together."
"Of course we will come back. We have planned a great circular route, first south, then east, then north, and then back this way. In a few months we will return to Gist for the biannual fair."
And so they had left. Now the fair was only two days away, but Mara was proving obstinate.
"Let you go to the fair alone, so that you can drink and carouse with those tavern friends of yours? Why don't you take me to the fair? Is there some reason why you can't be seen in public with your own wife?"
"No, my darling, of course not It's just that… well, a man enjoys a chance now and again to get together in the company of other men. You would feel out of place, I'm sure."
"The company of other men, is it? You wouldn't be thinking of some of those bar wenches, now, would you? I've seen the way you look at that serving girl at the tavern. I'm not going to let you run loose on a binge to Gist even if there weren't a fair going on. You, taverns, celebrations, and money in your pocket are not a good combination. We can go to the fair together next Trueday and see who wins the ribbon in the jelly competition."
"Yes, my dear," Grantin had mumbled meekly.
What was that? Did he hear a sound in the hallway? Quick as a snake Grantin sprinted around the table and peeked through the crack in the door. No, all was quiet. Grantin turned away from the portal and then stubbed his toe on an obstruction. Looking down, he saw that in her fanaticism for cleanliness Mara had again moved poor Uncle Greyhorn out of position.
Grantin bent over and shifted his uncle's body six inches away from the door. Over the past six months by dint of great effort Grantin had been able to unlimber Greyhorn's two arms, which now protruded straight up, the fingers spread open. On the little finger of the left hand hung Grantin's stylish new beret. No doubt about it, Greyhorn made an extremely functional hat rack. Who knows, perhaps in another year or two his legs might be unbent to the point where the wizard would be able to serve as a life-size sewing dummy for Mara's domestic pursuits.
Grantin gave his uncle a jolly salute and made his way to the bookcase against the left-hand wall. As quietly as possible he removed a heavy leather bound volume and carried it over to the table by the window. He quickly found the spell he needed.
In a hushed whisper Grantin recited the appropriate incantation, then stared into his ring's scarlet stone. In only a few seconds shapes began to take form. Shortly he was able to make out Chom's and Castor's visages. His two friends reclined in soft comfortable chairs on a sunny patio. A great circular umbrella shaded them from the harshest of Pyra's rays. At their elbows stood tall, foaming mugs of beer. In the background Grantin thought he spied an enchanting hostess.
Without conscious thought Grantin's fingers leafed through the volume of spells. Unbidden, his eyes leaped down a weathered wrinkled page to one special incantation: Spell of Magnificent Transport.
"Through the use of this spell an accomplished sorcerer may be transported quietly, safely, and in absolute comfort to any nearby location which he can clearly visualize. The greater the power of the wizard, the more distant the destination, or the more rapid the speed of transition. To call up the vehicle one must embark upon the following steps in order…"
Grantin greedily scanned the page and convinced himself for at least the tenth time that he had properly committed the spell to memory. Guiltily he closed the book and replaced it on the shelf before returning to the window.
Outside, the golden sunlight painted a lovely picture of peace and harmony. How easy it would be to slip away to Gist for a visit with his old friends. Perhaps in their travels they had discovered other wrongs which needed righting. For a fact, Grantin's recent life, which a year ago he would have deemed idyllic, now seemed somehow stale.
But what about Mara? Could he just run off and leave her like that? Grantin felt a pang of guilt. He really did love the girl. He couldn't just abandon her. What if she took solace with another man in his absence?
Still, still… absence makes the heart grow fonder. A few days away from her, a week or two, would not be so bad. He could leave her a note so that she would not worry.
In the distance Grantin heard Mara's heels clicking up the stairs. He turned back to the window. Straining his eyes around the edge of the castle, he hoped to catch a glimpse of a plume of smoke or the glitter of sunlight on glass which would mark the location of Gist. He still had time to recite the spell.
What should he do?
About The Author
David Grace has written ten novels. To see a list of his other books and to read free excerpts from them, visit his website: WWW.DavidGraceAuthor.Com.
All of David Grace's books are available at Smashwords.Com as well as most other on-line ebook sellers.
Here is an excerpt from David Grace's novel:
Fever Dreams