The Thirteenth Magician

by Patrick Welch

  * * * *

  “You claim you are a fisherman.” The captain looked at him with cold suspicion. “Yes.” Daasek stood still and steady before him. The guards had led him directly to the captive house, where his knife and clothes had been roughly taken from him. They had answered no questions, offered no comfort, merely provided him with a loose-fitting robe, nothing more. Now he was in the commander's office, his hands tied before him, and he still had no understanding of what had occurred since the Great Sail.

  The captain was someone Daasek didn't recognize. There was an undercurrent of evil in his gaze, his words. Now in the well-lit room Daasek realized what had seemed different about the uniforms. There was no Mercenaries Guild insignia on the sleeves, no sign of the Guild on the walls. The Guild had always provided the Guard, yet this man, and the others, were no members. What happened while I was gone? In looking at his captor, he knew that the captain was not the man to ask.

  Meanwhile the officer studied Daasek's knife. “This is a weapon of the Guild,” he admitted finally.

  “He has to be a pirate, or an assassin,” the stouter of the guards offered eagerly. “Look at the man. No fisherman is that strong.”

  The captain gazed at Daasek. “My officer has a point. You have the body of a barbarian, not of a simple fisherman. Perhaps you should tell me about the Great Sail.” Daasek did so, trying to include every detail possible. He realized that if the captain didn't believe him, his situation would become even more perilous.

  “Pure fantasy,” the swordsman snorted when he finished. “Only a complete fool would believe such a fable.”

  “You know nothing about the Great Sails,” the captain replied evenly. “You are not from here. I have heard some of the tales told in the wine shops. His may be more fanciful than most, true, but that does not make it less possible. Did you search his boat?”

  The two guards looked at each other, then admitted, embarrassed, they had not. “I suggest you do so. There are many elements to his story we can verify. Report here immediately when you're through.”

  “But captain,” the shorter began to protest, then was quickly hushed by his companion. Clearly they had anticipated other, more delightful activities. They favored Daasek with glares of pure hatred as they left.

  “My men have an overdeveloped sense of caution,” the captain offered by way of small apology. “Are your bonds hurting you?”

  “They are tight,” he offered.

  He nodded, satisfied and perhaps disappointed. “As well they should be. Barbarians cannot be trusted.” The man sat back and poured wine from a silver container. He drank deeply, and smiled as Daasek swallowed involuntarily. “Where did you get this knife?”

  “I told you, my father. May I sit?”

  “No. I will not offer hospitality to a barbarian. Sneaking ashore in the darkest hour. Evil intent clearly in mind. I believe I would be doing the populace a favor by killing you now.” Then he laughed. “But then, I might be doing you one as well.”

  Daasek could think of nothing to say. He was tiring of standing but there was no sign that the man would show civility. Instead, he drank and toyed with the knife and occasionally sneered at Daasek. This went on for three glasses. Then the doors opened and Daasek's capturers reentered. They carried little; his small net, his stove, a few bits of clothing. Virtually the only possessions left on his boat. They tossed them on the captain's desk. “His boat was very damaged. He could never have crossed the Horean Sea in it,” one offered.

  “He must have been dropped from a pirate's ship,” his comrade chimed in. “Either exiled or sent on some unseeming mission.”

  “Yes, I tend to agree with you,” the officer said as he briefly examined each item.

  Daasek began to protest. There were people in Myniah who knew him. They would attest his character. But he stopped himself. Too much had happened, too much had changed since he left on the Great Sail. Until he understood more, he did not want to put any of his friends in danger.

  “His hanging would provide grand entertainment this morning, I think,” the taller patrolman offered. “We could wager on his death. With his strong neck, I would give him two, maybe three minutes.”

  His friend was eager to argue, but their captain silenced them both with a wave. “I think not. I think there is a better solution. One that could prove far more painful.” He smiled at Daasek. “Although I do believe you will have preferred dancing on air. Actually, I should thank you for dropping in on us like this. You may be the solution to a very vexing problem. Sergeant,” he called. A panel on the right wall slid open and a man walked out, sword drawn. “Feed him, clean him. Tomorrow he goes to the manor.” The man nodded and touched his sword to the small of Daasek's back. The captain picked up the tangled netting, then looked at Daasek's departing back. “You shouldn't have come back,” he said almost to himself.

  * * * *

  Morning came too early. Although his bed was little more than straw and a blanket, it felt like a feathered mattress compared to the bottom of his battered boat. Daasek even reveled with the cold bath and tepid gruel, which drew questioning stares from his captors.

  The seriousness of his plight struck him, however, when he was led to the stables. Iron manacles replaced the leather bonds and he was thrown roughly into the back of a cart, where two armed guards watched him wordlessly. The captain appeared only briefly to spend a moment talking to his men. They were clearly reluctant to obey his order, an observation which troubled Daasek even more. Then the captain looked at him. “You are going to enjoy a rare opportunity,” he said, then laughed. The others laughed as well, but there was a note of sympathy, if not fear, injected. The sun was still rising as the cart worked its slow way through the town into the hills and forest beyond. Daasek made himself as comfortable as possible and looked up at the trees and sky. How often he had dreamt of riding through the woods, enjoying the shade of the trees and their fruit. Instead, he was lying on his back in chains, in transit somewhere. He concluded that somehow he had angered the guardians of Hys. There was no other explanation.

  As their journey continued, Daasek noted that something had altered even his familiar forest. The woods grew dark, unnaturally so. It was as if the sun was afraid to shine here. Gray shapes, nearly indistinguishable from the shadows, flickered at the edge of his vision, disappearing immediately when he focused on them. Trees adopted unusual shapes, discordant cries from creatures he did not recognize echoed in the silence. His guards were no more at ease than he. Their tenseness and alertness increased, their animals grew more restive and tremulous. They whispered among themselves and occasionally threw accusing glances his way, but Daasek was unable to decipher their comments, his few attempts at conversation rebuffed.

  It could only be noon but it appeared twilight when the party pulled up before a great stone building. The guards did not dawdle as Daasek was pulled roughly from the cart and thrown before the rough-hewn wooden door. One man knocked timorously. A spyhole opened and the soldier talked hurriedly with someone within. The soldier rejoined his comrades. “Leave him. They'll take care of him.” The look they gave Daasek as they hastened away was almost pitying.

  Daasek sat on the great stone step. The chains remained. Flight was impossible. Then bushes nearby shook and something that looked like a large rat—but not quite—brazenly came forward to sniff at his bare feet. He kicked out and the creature jumped back, chittering angrily. It stood on its hind legs while it washed itself, and even in the unnatural darkness Daasek could see its teeth were unusually sharp, its eyes clear with a wicked intelligence. It approached more carefully the second time.

  The door opened with a thunderous groan. “What have we here?” called a booming voice, seemingly friendly but with cold hostility beneath it. “Someone has abandoned an infant at the doorstep of Nyxx. And he brought a pet, yet!”

  Daasek turned. Behind him stood an old man dressed all in blue, from his peaked cap to his soft slippers. A full white beard flowed ha
lfway down his chest. He smiled, and Daasek noted that one tooth seemed to have been replaced by a small black stone. A stab of pain in his foot prevented further observations. He glanced at his foot and saw the rat-thing scurry away, licking blood from its paws and face.

  “Tut, tut, Abracina. That is no way to treat our guest. If you were hungry, you should have told me.” He smiled at Daasek. “She can be so demanding when she wants something. Not much different than when she was herself, actually,” he added thoughtfully. “Enough small talk. We should get you inside and comfortable, and then you can tell me all about yourself.” The last was more than a request.

  Daasek stood awkwardly and limped behind. The interior of the building was as barren as the outside. It seemed to consist of one great room, dominated by a huge fireplace at one corner and a great desk at the other. He thought back, then remembered that at one time this had been the hall of the Timbermen. Why they would have given it up he could not guess. And he knew he shouldn't ask.

  His host made his way directly to the single chair by the desk. It was obvious Daasek was expected to stand or sit on the floor. Daasek made no comment. Poor manners now appeared the norm in his homeland and he was becoming accustomed to this fact. The old man sat and poured himself a glass of wine. He offered none to Daasek. Instead he filled and lit a silver pipe and blew clouds of noxious black smoke. He studied his captive carefully but maintained his silence.

  “Perhaps you could remove these chains. I promise I won't attack you.” Daasek lifted his hands.

  “Of course you won't.” The man continued his musing, acting as though Daasek was not there. He took a small cake from a tray beside him. He finished it, washed it down with a draught of wine and leaned forward. “Perhaps. What is your name?” “Daasek.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Myniah.”

  “Myniah.” The man made a circling motion over the desk. “That's the name of this infernal place, isn't it?”

  Daasek bit back his anger. The man had to be the cause of all the difficulties, and he didn't even know where he was? “Yes.”

  “What are you?”

  “A fisherman.”

  “May Hys sire your grandchildren!” he responded with surprising vehemence. “Your people have caused me many problems. Many problems! Why haven't you joined them?”

  Daasek shook his head. “Joined them? I do not understand.”

  His captor studied him quizzically. “Perhaps you don't. Where have you been?” “On the Great Sail. Surely your captain told you this.”

  “He did indeed. He also said he didn't believe you. Neither do I. The Great Sail was over months ago.”

  “I had ... difficulties.”

  “You still do. Continue.”

  Once again Daasek recounted his hunt for the warback. When he finished the old man was smiling.

  “Most remarkable,” he beamed, “most remarkable indeed! I would guess that in any other time you would be a hero to this fetid backwater of a town. Unfortunately there is no one left to appreciate your adventure.” He looked at Daasek coldly. “All of your fishing friends are gone.”

  “Gone?” He wasn't surprised, judging from the emptiness of the harbor. Still the word stumbled out like an unpleasant morsel. Daasek shook his head, trying to comprehend. “What did you do?” he asked, fearing the worst.

  “I did nothing. I merely came to Myniah because I needed your fleet. I requested their assistance. More than a request, to be honest, but they refused.” He rose, and all the friendliness that his countenance belied was gone. “Your people went out in the morning with your nets and your ships and then you never returned.” He slammed his fist on the great polished desk. “Without your ships Myniah is nothing to me. Nothing!”

  He turned towards the window. “But I will find them. I will destroy Myniah as they have tried to destroy me. And I will hunt down the fishermen and destroy them as well.”

  There was too much information for him to comprehend immediately. But one question had to be asked. “Why?”

  “Why?” The man toyed with the question like a cat with yarn. “Why indeed. Why should the most powerful magician on Horea be biding his time in the woodlands of Myniah when there is an entire world to conquer?”

  A magician! Daasek's heart grew cold. There had never been a magician in Myniah. He had heard rumors that some still existed, but he had never believed them. Not after what had happened during the Conflict. Any that practiced their craft would have to be extremely circumspect in most areas of his world.

  But it was his last statement that shocked him even more. The Conflict had disappeared into legend, but it was one every schoolchild knew. Many years past the magicians of Horea had battled for supremacy among themselves. They called down floods, droughts, blights and terrors unnamable upon both themselves and the innocents among them. It was rumored there were still areas on Horea where the dead walked, where shadows cried throughout the night, where no living creature dared dwell.

  And the war waged, with no side nearing victory, when the innocents of Horea banded together. It was because of the Conflict that the Guilds were formed. The first was the Mercenaries, the army which waged battle against one magician, then the next. Then followed the Merchants, the Captains, the Usurers and the Timbermen; each designed to control one of the resources the mages required for their battles.

  The combined might of the Guilds proved stronger than the scattered power of the wizards. One by one, they fell or fled, and the Guilds established their own, more benign control of the world. Since that day, the magicians had never again presumed to risk the combined wrath of the Guilds.

  Until now ... until this man, whatever his name, dared to challenge Horea once again. He made a grave mistake if he thought the Fishermen would help him, Daasek thought, and felt pride in that. For the Guilds bowed to no man, no matter how powerful, because no single ruler was as powerful as the Guilds. The government of Myniah—ineffectual as it was—had been content merely to collect taxes and provide a safe harbor. This man may have been able to usurp somehow the city proper, to keep the merchants and farmers under his control by the threat of the now-corrupt shore guard. But he couldn't cow the fishermen. Rather than battle him, the men had merely loaded their family and belongings on their craft and disappeared with the outgoing tide.

  And the Mercenaries Guild would have lifted no hand to stop them. Instead, judging by what he had seen from the shore guard, they must have also left, no doubt eager to seek a financial benefit in the situation. The Mercenaries were beyond the magician's reprisals. So were the Fishermen. There were dozens of coastal towns who would welcome Guild members without question. The magician would never be able to find them all. Daasek smiled to himself. The man was right. Without the fleet, Myniah was nothing.

  The old man unrolled a map and studied it, then looked again at Daasek. “But I have more pressing matters. What do you know of the Council of Thirteen?”

  Daasek shook his head, startled at the abrupt turn of the conversation. He had never heard of it.

  The man sighed. “They teach you nothing here in this foul backwater, do they? I'm telling you of The Council of Thirteen, the thirteen gods who control all the worlds. Do you understand?”

  Daasek nodded. Of course he didn't.

  “Those gods are now in conflict.” He smiled grimly. “My god is in conflict. It is my responsibility to ... take control of this world. Which is why I needed your fleet.” He gazed at Daasek. “Still, there may be another way. But I see that Abracina bit you deeply. We should take care of that.” He picked up a small purse on his desk and from it pulled a poultice. “Put this on your wound. A most useful device, this purse,” he continued as Daasek clumsily applied the bandage with his manacled hands. “It carries everything you will need. Gold, medicine, potions and poisons. Whatever you need when you need. Most useful. Yes, you will require this.”

  Daasek stood, wondering. For what?

  “And a weapon. We must find
you a weapon.” He stopped his monologue and studied Daasek, especially his muscular build. “Are you good with the sword?”

  “No.” This was the truth.

  “Of course not. You're a fisherman. How stupid of me.” He walked behind the desk. From a drawer he removed Daasek's knife. Daasek did not know a rider had been dispatched here not long after he had been placed in his cell. “This is yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “I take it you can do more with it than clean fish.”

  “Yes.”

  “We'll see.” He approached and removed the manacles. “Pick a target and hit it.” “Yes.” In one motion, Daasek turned and threw the weapon straight at the man's heart.

  “Clever. Good throw,” Nyxx said, catching the dagger easily, harmlessly. He handed it back to Daasek. “Don't do that again. I suggest you throw at the door this time.”

  Daasek swallowed and shuddered at his display of power. Resigned, Daasek took rapid aim and threw his blade straight into the center of the spyhole. The man applauded briefly while Daasek retrieved his weapon.

  “So that shall be your armament. I will have to be satisfied, I imagine. Time is against me. But at least you are strong, as the captain promised.”

  The magician tossed him the enchanted purse. “You best be off, then. It's a long journey to Jhahar, and I want you finished there within the month. Your steed is outside, waiting.”

  Daasek stared at him. Surely the man didn't expect him just to follow orders like the petty slaves who now controlled Myniah? But perhaps the magician was simply too confident of his power, he decided. He began to walk towards the door.

  “One minute if you will.” The magician approached arms out, smiling widely as if greeting him after a long absence. He was within an arm's length when suddenly his eyes flashed green fire and Daasek felt his limbs turn to stone. “I wouldn't want you to think I don't trust you. But of course I don't.” He hugged Daasek tightly, smiling warmly. “This is going to hurt you, I think.”