The Thirteenth Magician

by Patrick Welch

  Daasek felt a pressure begin to build within him. It was like his underwater ride lashed to the warback, and he involuntarily held his breath. He tried to break free from the man's grasp, to move any part of his body at all. But he was as still as a bird before a snake. He could feel the coarseness of the man's beard against him, the chill of his fingernails pressing into his arms. Even the man's throbbing erection. He was helpless to do anything.

  Then he felt something different, something he had never experienced. Something deep within him began to burn, began to grow. His ears rang with sounds that could only come from Hys. He thought he saw nameless creatures flying in the spaces behind his eyes. The pressure continued to build, turning and rising inside him, demanding release. Somehow, he knew that he had to fight it, had to keep within whatever was struggling for freedom. But the pain was greater, the pressure greater, than anything he had experienced in his battle with the warback. Through his swimming vision, he thought he saw the magician. Smiling, supremely confident, showing no outward reaction to the battle they waged.

  That was when Daasek knew the magician would win. He could not hold his breath any longer. He thought he heard himself scream, thought he saw something white and formless escape from him and fly straight into the hands of the man in blue. Then he saw, felt, heard nothing.

  You hear me, whoever you are?

  “Yes.” But he heard the words within himself, not without. It mattered little. He was only a spectator within his own body.

  Good. You will now open your eyes.

  Daasek opened his eyes. He was still in the magician's home, but that recognition did not come quickly. Indeed, everything he saw, heard, or felt seemed to be shrouded by fog.

  I want to show you something.

  “Yes.” That seemed like the proper reply. It seemed to be the only reply he could think of. It seemed, in fact, that he could not think at all.

  The magician held up a small vial. It appeared filled with white smoke. The man spoke aloud, but again the words rang within him. This is your soul, whoever you are. I control your soul. I control you. Do you understand?

  “Yes.” For Daasek, the words held as much impact as the rain on a beach.

  There is a man in Jhahar. We are going there, you and I, to kill him. Do you understand?

  Daasek felt his head nod.

  After that, if we do well, there will be others. There are twelve that we have to kill. You will not like these men and women, I will make sure of that. You will want to kill them. Have you killed before?

  “No.”

  I have. I will help you. You will find me an excellent teacher. We have many enemies, you and I. I will tell you who they are. At the proper time, you will know what you need to know to destroy them. Do you feel this?

  Daasek felt a new sensation arise both within and without him. Tingling fire coursed through his veins, and his skin seemed covered by biting mites. It was a feeling he did not want to experience again. It was a feeling he would kill to avoid.

  This will be your siren call, your compass to lead you to our enemies. It will continue to grow as you approach them, as the time of their destruction approaches. When, and only when, you destroy them will the urge disappear. Is this not a wonderful gift?

  “Yes.”

  There is more I shall give you, dearest one. You will never fear poison. That is a weapon many of my kind prefer. You will be immune to that. And though I cannot be with you as often as I would like, I will visit you frequently in your dreams. When you dream, my puppet, you will dream of me!

  “Yes.”

  I don't expect to see you again. You will only remember what I choose to allow. You love me, do you not?

  “Yes.”

  You will do anything for me and the great Being we both serve?

  “Yes.”

  Of course you will. Perhaps, if you survive, if you please me, I will return your soul. It is a very nice soul you have. It is a prize worth dying for, don't you agree?

  Daasek agreed without knowing why.

  Your horse is waiting. You have your knife. You have your clothes. You have your purse. Together, you the fisherman and I, the great mage Nyxx, shall destroy the first of our enemies. You should thank me, dear one. With my guidance and assistance, you shall be the perfect assassin. No soul, no conscience; unnecessary burdens each. These are great gifts, gifts others would die for. And I give them all to you. You see how much I love you?

  “Yes.”

  We shall leave now.

  Daasek found himself putting his knife in his sheath and walking toward the door. He found himself turning. Nyxx stood, smiling, then waved his hand. Daasek found himself doing the same. Then he was walking outside and mounting a waiting steed and heading north into the mountains. North toward the plains city of Jhahar. Toward the first of the twelve magicians he was driven to destroy.

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  Chapter Five: The First Magician

  It was festival time in Jhahar. The plains city itself was small, little more than a meeting area. There miners could trade what little gold and precious stones they uncovered in the surrounding mountains for the food and goods they needed so they could dig for more gold and precious stones. The town was controlled by the Merchants Guild, with a small contingent of Mercenaries in place to protect the traders and their agents. The miners received no such consideration.

  The Guild threw the festival once yearly as much to appease their agents and guards as to entertain the gold seekers—and remove what little remaining wealth they may have managed to hoard over the year. Instead of just a handful of flat mud-and-brick buildings, the plain now was festooned with dozens of brightly colored tents. Instead of the small group of sullen men and women who worked for the Guilds and the raggedy miners who worked for them, the village was bursting with musicians, jugglers, purveyors of drink and food and other, more exotic forms of divertissement.

  The squat barbarian who ambled aimlessly among the crowd drew little attention. At another time the soldiers would have questioned him immediately. A man dressed as he was certainly was no miner. And there were times when the Merchants had considerable wealth stored here. The latter had long been removed by caravan, however. And the festival attracted all sorts, so the watchmen favored him with little more than a raised eyebrow. “Besides,” one had whispered to a comrade, “see how unsteady he walks. He is as threatening as a sand flea!”

  I never thought there would be this many idiots about. The voice rang inside Daasek's mind, the same harsh voice that had held him sway for weeks. It was the same voice that had directed him through the mountains and plains on horseback, urging him on relentlessly. It was a voice he could not talk to, could not reason with. He could only do what he was ordered to.

  Stand still. Turn your head. I have to see where we are. Daasek obeyed, looking at all before him slowly, uncomprehendingly.

  We will search out Ynain tonight. Until then we will have to bide our time. What was that?

  Daasek found himself looking down. A young woman wearing multi-colored silks which revealed more than they hid stood before him, smiling. She reached down and squeezed his crotch once again. “Well?” she asked.

  The voice inside him chuckled. This could prove interesting. The ultimate in voyeurism! But I think not. After all, you may be a virgin, and I wouldn't want to upset your parents by introducing you to the sordid delights of the flesh! Ah, it is so sad I removed your sense of humor when I removed your soul. Do you think they are related? No, you don't think at all, now, do you? That's quite satisfactory. I can think for both of us. Tell her no.

  Daasek formed the word with his lips experimentally. “No,” he uttered in a dry, cracking voice. It was the first time he had spoken aloud since he had left with Nyxx. He did not recognize the sound. He was not quite certain he knew what the word meant.

  The girl shrugged prettily, gave him one more squeeze, then made her way along the crowd. Within seconds she was seizing the attenti
on of another man.

  I suppose we should feed you. Walk to that orange tent. Daasek made his way clumsily through the crowd. A few people turned when he brushed past them, but one look at his rugged build convinced them to stifle their protests. Barbarians such as he were an unpredictable lot after all.

  Daasek stood before the orange tent and looked at the array in front of him. There hung strips of dried meats and fish mingling with piquant bulbs of queenshead and carminea. An entire horse turned slowly on a spit in the back, while nearby a kettle of hares-and-hound soup simmered. Small boys fanned the rich aromas out into the crowd, trusting their efforts would draw the hungry. The sights and smells made no impression on Daasek. He stood staring blankly at the tableau before him and awaited orders.

  A fisherman should eat fish, I suppose. Order the grickle. And a cluster of carminea.

  The owner, an obese man with sweat pouring from forehead and chin and beard, approached him. “You can't live on the smells, my friend.” His friendly voice contrasted the look in his eyes. Buy or leave!

  “Grickle and carminea.” Daasek repeated the meaningless phrase mechanically.

  “An interesting combination for a most interesting and handsome man!” He plucked a clove of carminea, diced it expertly, and sprinkled it over the fish. This he wrapped in paper. “For you sir, only half a crous.”

  Daasek reached for the food, then stared at him when the merchant drew it back. “Are you deaf, lad? Half a crous.”

  Open your purse, the voice inside him ordered.

  Daasek looked down at the satchel hanging loosely at his waist. He opened it clumsily. Inside a solitary gold coin rested.

  Give it to the man. Daasek handed over the coin.

  The man bowed. “May the gods watch over you wherever you roam.”

  Not very likely. Besides, I will do that for you. Take the change, brain of stone. Daasek did so, then dropped the coins in the purse. Now eat.

  Daasek bit mightily into the confection. The fish was fresh from the fire and heavily spiced with the herb. It instantly burned the roof of his mouth. Daasek, however, felt, smelled and tasted nothing. He consumed the food, including the paper wrapper, within seconds, attracting the bemused stares and comments of onlookers. “Perhaps he eats fire as well,” one miner called out and his comrades laughed.

  Laughter echoed in Daasek's head as well. If I had known you were such a gourmet, I would have just bought boiled viscera. Or maybe a horse dropping or two. Come, let us circulate. We have to find a certain friend of mine. Someone you have to kill for me.

  Someone bumped into him. The voice roared in his mind, Look down! He obeyed, and found a young girl smiling at him. “My pardons, sir, I am so clumsy.” Daasek stood immobile as she started to walk away.

  Stop. Hold her.

  Daasek noticed the girl's fingers firmly attached to his purse, which in turn remained firmly attached to his belt. It meant nothing to him. The little thief stopped at the resistance, then stared in surprise at her tell-tale hand. When she looked again at Daasek, fear and recrimination were in her eyes.

  Remove her hand. He grabbed it and pried her fingers away. I have no tolerance for thieves. Break her wrist. Daasek continued to bend her fingers back. The girl dropped to her knees, but, despite her tears, she said nothing. One at a time, the joints shattered under his pressure, but he was completely unaware of that. He merely knew he had to break her hand.

  Her first scream brought the attention of the soldiers. One made his way quickly, purposefully through the crowd. “What is happening here?”

  “This little trollop tried to steal my purse. I had to stop her,” Daasek suddenly found himself speaking and pointing at the girl huddled in the dirt, cradling her ruined hand and mewing softly.

  The soldier looked at her, at Daasek, then nodded. Thievery was a common threat at the festival. “Would you want her killed? That is the law here in Jhahar during festival time.”

  “And a good law it is. I congratulate you on your enlightened attitudes towards private property.” Again the words flowed from Daasek with no effort or control on his part. He was just an onlooker within his own body; even less, since he had no comprehension of what was occurring. “No. I think she has been punished enough.” Daasek felt himself bend forward and smile at the sobbing thief. “You should grow to learn a safer trade.” He felt himself rise. “Thank you for your help, guardsman.” He felt himself turn and start walking through the crowd.

  That was most enjoyable. She will rob from no more honest traveler this day. How fortunate are we, and the honest citizens of Jhahar, that my magic works so well. Is that not right, whatever your name is? Nod your head.

  Daasek nodded.

  You are such an agreeable fellow. We have work to do. Walk.

  Daasek walked.

  * * * *

  He walked much that day. Past flowered tents bursting with laces and leathers, tools and trinkets, wines and woolens brought from all over Horea to delight the miners and detach their gold. There were countless amusements: jugglers and mimes, musicians and dancers, gambling and drinking and whoring. The sights, smells and sounds could have enthralled most for hours at a time. For Daasek they reflected off a stony shell. All he heard was the voice of Nyxx, all he saw held as much impact as a feather on granite. Smell, taste and touch intruded not on deadened nerves. All that mattered was the search. The quest for someone called Ynain.

  They found their quarry late in the afternoon. An inconspicuous brown tent on the edges of the fair. A seer and his assistant advertising their services as fortune tellers. Daasek was forced to linger long enough to listen to the short man's spiel while his tall, lean partner sat stoically, trying to appear sage and mysterious. At this time of day, the crowds were too vast for a successful attack and escape. In the evening, the attractions would pull the crowds to the heart of the fair. That's when we shall come. In the meantime, let's use your body for more intimate pleasures. You're almost a man now. I shall teach you about more than killing. Daasek made their way towards the boys’ tents.

  * * * *

  Iofhee was just beginning her nightly journey when Daasek pulled his horse up to the foretellers’ tent. Only a few people remained, most proprietors guarding their property. Daasek dismounted and tied his mount loosely to one of the poles.

  A bell hung from a tent flap. He rang it several times. He heard a muffled voice, and then the smaller man appeared at the door. He looked at Daasek crossly. “Go away. The Great Ynain is resting from his duties this day. If you wish a reading, visit us tomorrow.”

  “I cannot stay the evening,” Daasek, again under the complete control of Nyxx, said smoothly. “I have been sorely troubled by dreams which cry out for his interpretation. I have ridden many miles to seek his aid.”

  “Then I suggest you get so drunk on wine that you pass out and sleep the sleep of the rock. I said not tonight.”

  Daasek held out his hand. Ten gold crous glittered in the lantern light. “If I do as you say, I will have none of these in the morning.”

  The man looked at the coins, then at Daasek. “Wait here.” He vanished inside. There arose a muffled conversation, one voice high with anger and frustration, one low and consoling. After a few minutes, the short man reappeared. “The Great Ynain has condescended to see you. At an increased fee, of course.”

  “Of course.” Daasek began to count out coins. He didn't stop until all the coins were gone.

  “This way.” Daasek followed the short man into the dimly lit tent.

  The fortune-teller sat stiffly behind a small table. In the center rested a crystal ball. A deck of cards sat nearby. The seer said nothing until Daasek was seated. The little man whispered something in the Great Ynain's ear then took a seat nearby, almost disappearing into the shadows.

  “My assistant informs me you are troubled by dreams,” Ynain's deep voice rang out. “What do your dreams suggest?”

  “I do not have the gift of farsight. That is why I am here.”
>
  “Your decision was wise. Only the Great Ynain understands how dreams are pathways to the recesses of the soul, signposts on the crossroads of the future. To interpret the omens properly, we must know as much as possible about you. We will begin with a reading of the palm. Give me your hand.” Nyxx offered Daasek's left hand. The seer grasped it with cold, hard fingers. “A hard life, a hard journey,” he intoned, massaging Daasek's calluses. “I see much tragedy behind you, even more before. I see torment. I see much pain. I see death.” The man abruptly jerked upright, dropping Daasek's hand. “I see my death!”

  Even as the Great Ynain reached for him, Daasek's powerful right hand reached out and seized the magician by the throat.

  The short man gasped in surprise and pain. Daasek rose, lifting the assistant who was the true magician easily while increasing the pressure. The little man grasped at closing fingers with all of his, but he could not move them. Instead he was shaken like a toy, violently, side to side until there was a loud crack, and he ceased all movement. Only then did Daasek release his grip. The mage fell to the floor unmoving.

  There was another crash. He turned. What others thought was the Great Ynain had likewise collapsed—across the table. Now that the magician was dead, there was no one to control the giant wooden puppet that who had been billed as the mighty fortune-teller. Instead it returned to the lifeless pile of cloth and wood and paint that had been its true existence.

  Now watch closely. This is what you must do, Nyxx ordered from somewhere deep within. Daasek found himself bent over the slain magician, withdrawing his knife. There is a black stone. We must find it. Daasek/Nyxx searched, and discovered it on the toe of the man's left shoe. Set it on the table and break it. He threw the wooden puppet aside, set the stone on the table, and brought the crystal ball crashing down upon it. The ball cracked and the stone shattered. A waft of red smoke rose slowly from the wreckage and brushed against his nostrils. It bit into him like freezing acid, and he jumped back reflexively.