The stone, by rumor, may be employed in a number of settings, but each time one has been observed it has been noted that it was encased in a socket of gold, copper, or bronze. The exact composition of these alloys is a closely guarded secret In order to function, the stone, or at least the setting, must be in physical contact with the flesh of its possessor. The longer the contact, the more intimate the relationship between gem and wizard and the more powerful the spells. On the other hand, once the stone has become attuned to its owner it will become worthless unless removed from the owner before the wizard’s death. For this reason those sorcerers who wish to pass the bloodstone down their family line must take care either to use it occasionally and then in the form of an amulet or to be ready to separate themselves from its power during their lifetime. In light of the energy and protection which a bloodstone gives its owner it is unthinkable that one would voluntarily part with it after the period of acclimation.

  The power of the stone is in direct proportion to its mass, and therefore one which appears only slightly bigger nevertheless generates an exponential increase in power. Again, as with other aspects of the bloodstone, there is, however, a countervailing influence against obtaining an overly large gem. The larger the stone, the greater the power and the greater the danger for the wizard who seeks to use it Brain burn, insanity, and suicide have all been associated with the bloodstone. A small stone allows very powerful spells with reasonably small risk to the skilled sorcerer. A very large stone provides spells of unheard-of power, with a huge risk of early insanity and death. It is, therefore, only the bravest and most competent of wizards who will dare to wear a ring containing a moderately sized bloodstone. The crystal itself creates a field of energy within any circular metal mounting in which it may be placed, be it ring, bracelet, or necklace.

  As an aside it might be noted that Grundal, the great scholar, claimed to have evolved a spell which would allow the release of such a ring. Known as Grundal’s Final Incantation, it is said that the effort of perfecting it so drained his energies that he died before it could be tested. It is set forth in Appendix A, pages I through 7. The hasty practitioner should note that on his deathbed Grundal claimed that his error in the spell was that it must be uttered by the one from whose hand the bloodstone was received.

  The diseases which the bloodstone can cause, listed alphabetically, are…

  Grantin slammed shut the book and went immediately to the appendices at the end. Regretfully he tore out the pages. As carefully as possible he folded the stiff paper and placed it in a pocket between the two layers of his belt.

  “You intend to go through with this, then?” the Fanist asked.

  “I have no choice. The nightmares torture me, and, who knows, I may go insane as the book predicts. Be* sides, I’m tired of having everyone who meets me try and cut off my finger. No, if I can just remove this ring I’ll be able to return to my uncle Greyhorn. Perhaps he’ll let bygones be bygones. But what am I thinking about that for? It’s all hopeless unless I can find the girl.”

  “The girl who gave you the ring?”

  “Yes. A lovely lady, obviously of the highest character. Long brown hair, sparkling eyes, magnificent figure. Mara, lovely Mara. She could be anywhere by now.”

  “If you are determined, there is a way to find her,” Chom suggested.

  “How? Do you know such a way? Tell me!”

  “As I said, the stone both projects and collects magic. Since she gave you the ring, it would have formed a bond with her, weak but still there. If you concentrate hard enough perhaps you will be able to view her in the stone. Conceivably you might recognize her location.”

  Grantin made himself comfortable at the library table, gulped down the last of his wine, then, grasping his hands together in front of him, bent over and looked deeply into the ring. His forehead beaded with sweat. His hands clenched together so tightly that all trace of blood fled, leaving the flesh a sickly white.

  At last Grantin sensed tenuous images taking shape within the stone. The more he concentrated on their line and form, the clearer the visions became. Eventually he could make out a red-face^ Mara with red-brown hair in a red-walled room broken by only a slightly lighter red window. The vision paced ghostlike around her chamber. As she moved through the gem her features bulged and flattened, stretched and compressed, depending upon her direction of travel through the stone. Once she walked to the window, and for an instant Grantin had a view of a narrow curving street bounded by sheer rock walls on either side, with further curving walls io the distance, each surmounted and patrolled by armed warriors. At last Grantin’s concentration slipped. The image faded to nothingness.

  Grantin unclasped his hands, threw back his head, and, eyes closed, gasped great drafts of air. In a few moments he opened his eyes and leaned forward. Chom had risen from his position on the far side of the table and now stood at Grantin’s right, looking down at him, a concerned expression clouding the native’s face.

  “You were right, but it did me no good. A few images, a flicker of a distorted face, a nameless room—it means nothing to me. I’ll never find her.”

  ’To the contrary, you did very well. Perhaps you have in your blood the power to be a great wizard.”

  “I did very well, except that I failed. I don’t know where she is and I don’t have the energy to try again.”

  “There is no need to look again within the ring. Her home is unmistakable. She could be in only one place.” “You recognized it? Where? Where is she?”

  “Your Mara lives in the seat of the Gogol empire, the five-sided city of Cicero.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Mara disliked enforced idleness and felt trapped and frustrated. Almost two days had passed since her interview with Hazar, and still she had not been assigned further duties. That in itself was an odd circumstance. Were Hazar of a mind to punish her, his vengeance would have likely touched her by now. On the other hand, it was not like Hazar to allow his coveted apartments to be occupied by nonproductive persons. If Hazar were not the most decisive of men Mara might have concluded that he had not yet reached a decision on her conduct, but the wizard was not a man to delay.

  Each wall toward the center of town was slightly lower than the one which preceded it. From her room Mara was even able to glimpse a portion of the Central Plaza. Human and Ajaj commerce choked the narrow streets and imparted to Cicero a buzzing energy.

  At last the dingy stone confines of her room became unbearable. Slipping out into the zigzag corridor, she made her way to the steps. Now, in this time of peace between the overlords, the first of the two sets of doors which led to the First Circle stood open. Only the outer portal was dosed.

  The sentry allowed Mara to pass with little more challenge than a leering glance at the bulges which swelled her gown. So long as Mara occupied the upper floor she could become the involuntary consort of no one below the level of overdeacon. Of course, should she fall from Lord Hazar’s pleasure, he might assign her a stint in the guards’ pleasure room. This happy possibility consoled the sentry and caused him to smile even more broadly as he watched Mara’s retreating form.

  Eventually Mara found that she had walked all the way to the Gate of Pain at the south wall of the city. Here Nefra’s aquifers delivered their supply of fresh water. Pipes cut through underground passages guarded by Nefra the Cruel’s personal staff branched out to all portions of the city.

  Best not to tarry here. It was well known that Nefra was Hazar’s most implacable foe. Perhaps even now Hazar’s spies watched her for some sign of treason. For a brief instant Mara studied the Gate of Pain, then turned to her right through the Fourth Spoke Road and headed for the Second Circle. Reaching the end of the passage, she cut sharply to the right to place the bulk of the second wall between her and Nefra’s gate.

  Mara had barely turned the corner when a yielding object struck her in the waist, mid-thighs, and ankles. Abruptly she pitched forward wildly, grasping at thin air. The impediment fell with and beneath her and cushioned her fall. When she managed to right herself she saw that she had run into an Ajaj, who was now futilely clutching the open end of a sack of poundfruit. Several of the large yellow spheres had bounced from the bag during the collision and now rolled free on the pavement.

  From the grizzled fur around his muzzle and the snap-pings of his uncoordinated arms, Mara discerned that this was an aged Gray. With painful, spastic motions he slowly raised himself into a sitting position, then, spying Mara, exerted himself with astonished horror. Many an Ajaj now adorned a Gogol matron’s collar for a lesser insult than this. Heedless of his own scrapes and obvious pain, the Gray rushed to Mara’s side and sought to help her to her feet “I am sorry, my lady; excuse me, please. It was all my fault; I didn’t mean it. Are you hurt? Please excuse me. I’m sorry; really I am. Forgive me. Please forgive me.” The Gray fairly cringed in abject horror at Mara’s expected wrath.

  “No, I’m all right. It was my fault. Accept my apologies,” Mara said, rising to her feet.

  “Your fault—oh, how gracious of you, my lady! How magnanimous, how wonderful! No, it could not possibly be your fault. The error was all mine. How fortunate of me in my clumsiness to chance upon a great lady such as yourself. Here, at least let me give you some small token of my sincere sorrow for this incident.”

  The Gray hobbled forward to his sack and removed a fine, mature specimen from the bottom of the bag. He picked up the unblemished fruit and hobbled over to the edge of the wall, where Mara now brushed out her clothes and rearranged her hair.

  “You’re limping. Are you badly injured?”

  “Oh, thank you, ma’am. No. I’ve had this limp for many a year now. Please don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Here, allow me to make a present to you of this fine poundfruit. I hope in some way it will make up for the inconvenience I’ve caused. Perhaps after enjoying it you’ll think kindly of poor old Buster.”

  “Buster—is that your name?”

  “Yes, ma’am, and many a year I’ve served in Lord Hazar’s scullery preparing meals- for fine ladies such as yourself.”

  Mara hefted the fruit and smiled approvingly.

  “Thank you, Buster. I will remember your kindness.”

  “Thank you, my lady. I hope to see you again under more pleasant circumstances. Good day.”

  Buster, with some effort, hoisted the sack over bis shoulder and disappeared down the Second Circle. After a moment or two, Mara followed.

  In a few minutes she reached the entrance to her apartments, again passed the grinning sentry, and made her way upstairs. The walk had cleared her head and drained the tension from her muscles. Also, she noticed, it had given her something of an appetite.

  Setting the poundfruit down on her table, she brought forth a dirk and slit a wedge-shaped portion from the rough, waxy skin. After pulling back the rind she sliced more deeply into the meat and pulled out a dripping chunk, the inner edge of which was encrusted with small black seeds. After shaving off an inch or so of the section she was able to carve the remaining trapezoidal piece into bite-size fragments which she ate with great satisfaction.

  Mara picked up the discarded rind and prepared to reinsert it into the fruit to keep the rest of the delicacy fresh. In a few minutes the skin would heal over, the cuts becoming invisible and airtight.

  She had just succeeded in afixing the lower edge when she noticed an unusual addition to the core. There amid the seeds and the blushing pink meat was a white shape. Reaching inside, her fingers touched an object that was smooth and brittle. In a second she had extracted a folded piece of heavy white paper. She read its message:

  Mara, you do not sit high in Lord Hazar’s favor, but a woman such as you has many friends. Allow me to extend my power and generosity to you. I offer myself as a friend in need. Should you wish, at any time, to avail yourself of my comradeship give your message to the one from whom you received this item.

  With great sincerity,

  Nefra

  Chapter Twenty-five

  At dawn Grantin made good use of Shenar’s pantry. His eyes red-rimmed from the combination of bloodstone* generated dreams and a stomach-wrenching fear of what lay before him, he began his preparations. To one side he laid two loaves of coarse bread and a block of cheese. Rejected were the remnants of the crossberry pie and the roast chicken liberated from Shenar’s coldbox. A packet of dried meat joined the bread and cheese as well as four barely ripe jelly apples and a sack of dried corn.

  Grantin had almost finished his selection when Chom joined him in the kitchen.

  “I know what you are doing,” Chom announced proudly. “It’s called ‘packing,’ is it not?—the ritual by which you gather together sacks of items which you must bring with you when you travel.”

  Not without cause did Grantin detect in the Fanist’s announcement an undercurrent of derision.

  “It’s easier to carry food than to hunt for it along the way, and more conducive to regular eating as well,” Grantin lectured as he busied himself wrapping the foodstuffs and placing them in a knapsack he had earlier discovered. “Surely you didn’t travel all the way here without supplies of your own?”

  “I have no need of them. There is always sufficient food available for me.”

  “You have special spells for hunting, then?” Grantin asked, halting his packing. Perhaps if the Fanist could teach him an easy incantation for catching game it would not be necessary to lug around the heavy pack.

  “No, not at all. I mean we are not so picky about what we eat as you humans. Were you willing to follow my example you would not need provisions either.”

  “What things aren’t you picky about?”

  “Almost everything that is nutritious: lilypads, salad-tree leaves, wortgrass; and much nutrition is contained in bone, skin, and gut”

  “You mean you eat the whole thing, everything? You don’t even…Grantin blanched as Chom gave affirmative nods to his questions. With increased fervor he continued to fill the pack.

  “Is another one of those bags available?” Chom asked. Grantin pointed to a partially opened drawer at the base of a set of cabinets on the north wall of the kitchen. Chom found another crudely woven knapsack folded in the back of the drawer and deftly removed it with his two lower arms. The Fanist then returned to the table and began loading the bag.

  “I thought you didn’t carry food. Don’t tell me I’ve converted you to the human style of eating.”

  “It is pleasant, I admit, but, I am afraid, far too impractical for continued use. No, this is for you.”

  “I can’t carry two packs. This first one alone is enough to bend my bones to the breaking point.”

  “No, I am going to carry the pack and you are going to eat the food.” Chom stared fixedly at Grantin as one would study a slow-witted pet to see if it had understood a command.

  “You’re coming with me? You were going to Cicero, then, before Shenar captured you?”

  “No, that was not my intention.”

  “But this is a very dangerous trip. Every time I let myself think about it I see visions of brigands gnawing on my bones. Why in heaven’s name would you want to come along?”

  “It is dangerous for you alone—have you not just said so? It will be safer with a companion. Could I allow you to undertake this journey alone? Did you not save my life? Are we not comrades?…By the way, do you want these broiled inknuts?”

  For an instant Grantin fixed an astonished gaze upon the Fanist, who, at that point, held the box of inknuts in his upper left arm while the lower right grasped an extra loaf of bread and the bottom left and upper right were busily engaged in rearranging the parcels inside an already overstuffed sack. Not one to poke good fortune in the eye, Grantin quickly recovered his composure.

  “Of course, my dear friend; roasted inknuts will make quite a nice after-lunch snack.”

  A few seconds later Chom’s busy hands had filled the pack and, mindful of the danger of Yon Diggery’s return, the Fanist and human slipped through the castle’s back door.

  “A moment before we leave, Chom; there is one further human ritual having to do with packing which you may take note of now. Before one departs one takes stock of the needful items. Food—well, that’s taken care of. Money—” Grantin patted a pleasantly full pouch containing four silvers, fifteen coppers, and two irons which he had liberated from Shenar’s personal effects. “Knife, lucifers—” Here Grantin touched the pocket of his tunic which contained several crude, handmade matches. “Let’s see; what else, what else? Drink, of course, an appropriate fluid to complement our rustic meals. Chom, my friend, have you anything in your knapsack for us to drink?”

  “Yes. I brought a container of liquid and two leather cups.”

  “Excellent. Lastly, then, there is this fine map so generously provided by our departed host, and we’re ready to take our leave.”

  Sliding the rear door open a crack, Grantin peeked out. detecting no hostile activity, he and Chom scurried across the meadow to a point where the westbound trail entered the forest.

  Now, in the full light of early day, Grantin’s fears seemed as insubstantial as the morning mist. He was now well fed, well supplied, and well protected both by the bloodstone upon his finger and by the strength of his newfound friend. The fears which had tormented him the night before had been magnified many times over by his belief that he would be facing them alone. Now, more than anything else, Chom’s aid and companionship had reduced his terrors to a bearable level. In fact, in the midst of the pleasant smells of the sun-dappled, forest Grantin experienced a feeling akin to that of thrilled excitement.

  Grantin and Chom entered the forest Above them the faint screeching caw of a brood hawk echoed through the woods. The call merged with the tapestry of yelps, cries, screeches, and chirps of the other forest dwellers. The bird’s sedate circling glide went unnoticed by the two travelers.