The Accidental Magician

275 Pages·2016·1.23 MB·English

by  Grace David

Book Summary -- Cover Blurb
The Accidental Magician
By David Grace

The world, Fane, lies on the outer reaches of explored space, long forgotten
or avoided by mankind. On the downside, the planet's peculiar electromagnetic
fields inevitably destroy electronic devices, but in compensation they enhanced
psychic abilities. Over the centuries humans and the aliens with whom they
shared the planet evolved into clans of wizards and masters, dullards and
incompetents.

One person who seems destined to be relegated one of the latter groups is
Grantin, the nephew of a powerful, but harsh, magician. In a last ditch effort to
salvage something of his family's honor, the uncle gives Grantin an important
but simple task, which Grantin promptly manages to screw up in a most
dangerous way. Only vast good luck or the appearance of some heretofore
hidden magical talents are likely to save him. Luckily for him, Grantin is,
unknowingly, on his way to becoming The Accidental Magician.

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Legal Notices

Copyright David Alexander writing as David Grace 1981, 2009

This novel is a work of fiction. All of the people, places, businesses, and
events portrayed in this novel are either based on the author's imagination or are
used fictitiously. Even though the names of real locations may be used in certain
parts of this book, none of the people, places, businesses, or events referred to in
any of those locales are intended to represent any relationship with any real
events. Any and all occurrences in this book are completely unrelated to the
actions of any real persons, places, businesses, or events and any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, or real businesses or institutions, or to any actual
events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: An earlier version of this novel was originally
published in 1981 by Simon & Schuster - Pocket Books/Timescape Books under
the original title, Fane, under the author name of David Alexander.

Because there are several writers using the name "David Alexander," to
avoid confusion the author now writes under the pen name, David Grace.
The Accidental Magician
By David Grace

Chapter One

Man had crossed the void, spread out, split up, and dispersed like water
through a grate. Perhaps somewhere commerce still flourished and spaceships
went forth serving an organized community of man, but not here.
On the far spiral arm at the eastern edge of the galaxy only suns moved
through the void. No ships sailed the star lanes, and what men there were had
almost forgotten life beyond their narrow realms.
Out in the mist of the Great Dog Nebula the nearest stars were occluded by
dust and debris. Almost alone in the center of the interstellar storm rode the great
orange sun, Pyra. Around it floated a single planet, Fane.
Fane's night sky was a gray, faintly glowing blanket pierced here and there
by the pinpricks which were all that could be seen of the far glories in the
heavens.
For unknown reasons, perhaps the interaction of the storm with Fane's
peculiar modulating magnetic field, the relationship here of man and matter was
changed. Mechanized society rapidly broke down -- machines disintegrated and
power packs ran dry. Magic, sorcery, and spells built a new technology to fill the
void. A skilled wizard could become a wealthy and powerful man. Greyhorn was
such a wizard.

*

Greyhorn paused a moment and cocked his head. What was that? A noise in
the hall? He sensitized his mind but felt no unauthorized presence. Then, at the
edge of his awareness, he sensed his nephew Grantin, down the hall near the
library. At least that wastrel was performing his lessons for a change. Greyhorn
shrugged and turned back to the bulging plate of glass balanced on the desk in
front of him.
The object was neither clear nor frosty, but at the same time both water-
colored and confused. It seemed filled with a thick, clear, swirling oil which,
while having no color of its own, distorted and puddled the image of anything
that might lie behind its surface. The plate was a foot in diameter and five inches
thick at the center, tapering to a half inch at the edge. The front was flattened,
while the surface away from Greyhorn bulged asymmetrically.
Under the sorcerer's gaze flecks of color sparked and congealed in the center
of the plate. To Greyhorn's eyes, a three-dimensional simulacrum of a man's
head and shoulders slowly filled the center of the disk. In an instant the picture
became sharp, though if Grantin had stood at his uncle's elbow he would have
seen only a formless swirl. In reality the scene was not in the plate but in
Greyhorn's mind, the device functioning only as a focusing mechanism for the
thoughts of the men who used it. Hundreds of leagues away in a similar room the
man whose image filled Greyhorn's lens stared into a companion device in which
he thought he saw Greyhorn's image.
The forces of the lens--or, better, the forces of the planet Fane which were
controlled and focused through the lens--concentrated and intensified the
principal qualities of each man's visage. A face long and narrow with sunken
cheeks and a bulging, puffy structure under the eyes stared out at Greyhorn. The
skin was a sallow, glistening copper hue, adorned above the mouth with a coal-
black, down-turned mustache. Oily, bushy black brows lay above the eyes. The
hair was also black and gleaming and full. It rose in fluffy crests from the center
of the forehead and at each temple. The pupils, as well, were black and the
whites seemed to glow with a sickly, yellow tone. From the man's neck hung a
crude copper necklace centered with a smooth red stone. On his left hand glowed
a golden ring likewise bearing at its center another scarlet, polished jewel.
In his associate's face Greyhorn detected lust, greed, power, envy, cunning,
malice, and, above all else, unbridled ambition: a lovely man, a perfect man, the
ideal man for Greyhorn's needs.
"Your deacons and underdeacons are dedicated to our purpose and ready to
act?" mouthed the face in Greyhorn's lens.
"No worry as to that, Hazar. I have picked carefully and well. They will
follow my every order."
"When will they be fully trained in the spells I have revealed to you?"
"Soon, very soon. Another few days at most. They are strong and
determined. The weak have already died. Now remains only the job of directing
the power with subtlety and fine control. Have no fear. All will be ready. We can
move as soon as I receive my ring."
"Ah, yes, the ring. That may prove a bit of a problem. Full control of the
stones has not yet been placed at my disposal. My associates are jealous of their
powers and they know me to be a man of action. In order to avoid delaying the
plan, we may have to move before your ring is available."
"Not at all," Greyhorn answered with cold finality. "My cooperation and that
of my deacons, underdeacons, associates, informers, co-conspirators, powers,
energies, and spells are all contingent upon the tendering to me of the
bloodstone, without which our association is at an end."
"My dear Greyhorn," Hazar responded with an oily smile, "if I did not know
you better I would think that you failed to trust me. Surely you realize I cannot
rule Fane alone. From the instant that we take power you shall have dominion
until your dying day over every person within a hundred leagues of your manor
house."
"That I will, Hazar, with or without our association, and I shall also have the
ring. And, by the way, before you think upon our arrangement with the mind of a
shyster, I will remind you that my dying day is a long time hence. Now, with
these minor details out of the way, when and how will I receive the ring?"
An insincere smile split Hazar's lips. He nodded his head in an expression of
acquiescence.
"I will send a courier to Alicon, someone special who will not look as
though she comes from me."
"She? What will she look like? How will I recognize her?"
"You should not meet her yourself. These things go better with a bit more
mystery. There is no need for her to know for whom the bloodstone is intended.
And,"-- Hazar paused meaningfully--"there is no need for you to learn the
identity of my operatives. Send a trusted associate to Alicon. Have him wear
your amulet. She will recognize him by it and will make the exchange. She will
comment on the stone, and your courier will say that his father once had a ring
with a gem of that type. She will offer to sell him the bloodstone for five
coppers, which he will pay her upon delivery of the ring."
"When should I expect the messenger?"
"Perhaps tomorrow afternoon. If not then, the next day certainly."
"Agreed."
Hazar's visage nodded solemnly, then faded. The lens cleared.
Greyhorn's left hand involuntarily twitched in the direction of the plate. It
was only through the exercise of conscious effort that the sorcerer restrained
himself from hurling a spell at Hazar's vanished form. You will have power until
the day you die. If Hazar had anything to do with it that day would be soon
indeed. Greyhorn was not fooled. If he did not conceive a plan to eliminate the
Gogol sorcerer his life would be in constant danger. No, it would soon come
down to one or the other of them--but first to get the bloodstone.
Whom to send to Alicon to pick it up? Werner? No, Werner's eyes were too
close together, his face too feral, his soul too thin. Maurita? No. Maurita had her
advantages, but the bloodstone might tempt her to break her solemn oaths.
Greyhorn considered each of his deacons. He concluded that none of them was
sufficiently trustworthy. Well, one does not expect to find selfless loyalty in the
hearts of those who are willing to sell their fellows into slavery.
Was Grantin up to the chore? Perhaps his worthless nephew would at last be
good for something. Up to now the wastrel had only shown an aptitude for
womanizing, sleeping, and creating debts. Grantin, son of a sorcerer, nephew of
a master sorcerer, grandson of an expert sorcerer--and still he possessed the
talents of a field hand. Everyone said the power was in the blood, yet Grantin
seemed determined to prove the theory wrong. Well, no matter. Perhaps he
would at last make himself useful. Certainly he could successfully reach a
village only two leagues distant, pick up a bauble, and return it to the manor in
reasonably good condition. He knew little enough about magic to understand the
power of the ring.
Greyhorn again cocked his head and let his senses roam the hallways of his
manor house. Yes, remarkable though it seemed, Grantin was still in the library
apparently hard at work. Greyhorn decided to look in on him. Perhaps later in
the day he would charge Grantin with the errand. He slipped from his workroom,
sealed the door behind him, and padded to the library where Grantin studied a
forbidden history.