The Thirteenth Magician

by Patrick Welch

  Suddenly a heavy curtain seemed to lift, and the voice that had driven out all other sensations disappeared. Daasek looked in wonderment around him. “Where am I?” he asked aloud. He saw the dead body on the floor and approached it slowly.

  Then the heavy curtain crashed down again, and his entire world was the voice within. One more task remains. Daasek was forced to empty one of the oil lamps on the mannequin, then set a candle on top. By the time the flame reaches the fuel, we will be gone.

  No one bothered him as he untied his mount and rode away. He maintained a leisurely pace, heading east into the mountains. He looked back once, and saw an unnatural brightness on the outskirts of the festival site. Even from this great distance, it looked like a gigantic inferno reflecting off the sky.

  * * * *

  The small campfire burned cheerily. In the copse nearby, a horse whinnied with pleasure as it rested and foraged among rich, dew-covered grass. Daasek stared at the fire, but his focus was inward.

  Congratulations, my servant. You have passed your apprenticeship. You have now killed my first enemy! You should be quite pleased with yourself.

  Daasek felt no pleasure. Indeed he felt nothing as he stared sightlessly at the fire.

  Now I will tell you what you must do. I can no longer be with you. The effort is too exhausting. Do you understand?

  Daasek nodded.

  Talk, you fool. I will hear with your ears.

  “Yes.”

  You will continue our great task. There are other men and women whom you must eliminate if our quest is to succeed. I will give you back your tongue and your talents. Your memories I will keep with me. I will help you in your travels whenever possible. When you are near one of them, you will know. I will come in your sleep and tell you what is necessary. When you talk, you will talk for me. When you act, you will act for me. When you think, you will think only of our great responsibility, our great goal. Do you understand?

  “Yes.”

  Of course you do. You will sleep tonight. Tomorrow you will travel to Avania. You will know who to kill once you get there.

  “Yes.”

  You make very boring company. But perhaps the imagination goes with the soul as well. Good night, whatever your name is. I will see you in your dreams.

  The voice disappeared, but the deadness of his senses did not. He fell asleep staring at the fire.

  Daasek awoke and gazed long at his surroundings. He did not recognize where he was, had no idea how he had gotten there. He did notice hunger, and thirst, and a bladder close to bursting. He noticed something else as well. An urge, almost a physical presence, as if thousands of ants were crawling across his body. He could not stay here long. He knew not why, but he had to travel east. To Avania. Only there would he find respite from the fire that was slowly rising within.

  * * * *

  “You want to join the guard?”

  “Yes.”

  The officer looked at the man before him. The barrel chest, the ax handle arms, the leather jerkin and rough-hewn boots. He was surely a barbarian from the wild uncharted plains beyond the Toron ridge. But the soldier had seen barbarians before and none had had flaming red hair. Only those farther south betrayed that trait. He glanced again at the form before him. He had yet to meet a barbarian who could read or write. “You say you worked for the Guild at the courts of Kyleine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very few of the Guild come here. Why did you leave?”

  “A disagreement over a,” Daasek shrugged, “game of chance. My opponent was taking liberties with the dice. His father, however, was a duke. The Guild sided with my employer. You understand how justice must bow to blood.”

  His interrogator smiled. “Of course. We do not condone gambling in Avania, you understand. Of any type.”

  “I have learned the error of my ways. The Goddess of Chance has proven she is no lover of mine. And I am no longer a lover of the Guild. Or a brother. Which is why I came here.”

  “You look capable enough.” And you will be watched most carefully to make sure you are what you say you are. The man walked to the wall and took down two swords. “You talk well. Let us see how well you fight.”

  Daasek caught the weapon, then threw it away. “The sword is not my pleasure.” He withdrew his dagger. “This is.”

  The officer gazed at it, unimpressed. “Not very good in crowds. Or in large battles.”

  “I worked from the rafters. Assassination specialist.” He whirled and sent the blade spinning into the painting on the far wall. Direct into the forehead of the man he was to kill.

  The officer stared at him for some time, then at the ruined painting. Finally, he replaced the sword. “I may have use for you after all. Sign these papers and then come with me to the barracks. And, by the way, payment for damages will be deducted from your wages.”

  * * * *

  Daasek sipped at the watered wine and tried to ignore the chatter of the soldiers around him. He had been in Avania a month, yet his duty had not brought him into contact with his target. That he had known the second he had entered the commander's office. He had looked at the painting of the Pasheur and immediately felt bile and hatred rise within him, a feeling which eased only slightly when he hurled the knife into the image. Each day the urge grew more intense, yet he still had no opportunity. Because the Pasheur was firmly ensconced in his palatial mansion, a building he rarely left and kept extremely well guarded.

  The guard was a necessity. The Pasheur was not well liked by his people. Yet for Daasek this was fortunate. The Mercenaries Guild normally provided the soldiers and police for cities and fiefdoms of Horea. Yet the current ruler was viewed with such distaste that the Guild, normally a political neutral, refused to offer that service, so the Pasheur was left to fend for himself. It was not difficult to find men—and women—willing to provide military assistance. And if indeed such labor was more expensive than the standard Guild contract, it mattered not to the great Pasheur. He merely increased the pressure of his assessors upon his kingdom. Still it made the man's existence a solitary one, and the Pasheur was rarely seen except by the most trusted of his protectors. Daasek had no alternative. He was going to have to find a way to get inside as one of the Palace Guards.

  Currently he roamed the hot streets during the day, searching for thieves and spies and occasionally serving as escort for one of the fat, gloating merchants. Nights he shared with the other soldiers in the few wine shops which welcomed their trade. He had already earned a reputation for his drinking prowess ... as well as money for those who bet on him against the unwary.

  He wished he could get drunk. Too many nights he awoke screaming, trembling and drenched with sweat, reacting to vivid dreams that, upon awakening, he forgot instantly. He now slept in his own quarters for the comfort of his barrack mates. When he slept at all.

  “Join us in dice, Daasek?” someone tapped his shoulder.

  Daasek turned. One of his former patrol mates stood next to him, Rugerigo, he thought. “I was informed gambling was illegal in Avania.”

  The man laughed. “Who is here to tell? We're all guards, are we not? The innkeeper doesn't mind.” He favored the man with a smile. “He dare not.”

  “I am still paying for a ... painting I damaged. My purse is very light tonight.”

  “Your word is good. Some of us have profited highly from your capacity for drink. We will not be adverse to loaning you a crous or two.”

  “I shall consider it. I'll join you if I decide to.”

  The man nodded and returned to his companions. Daasek returned to the wine which he could neither taste or smell or feel. When he left there was no stagger to betray his communion with the wine.

  And later that night he had a dream in which Rugerigo and his friends played very important roles.

  * * * *

  “So you will honor us!” Rugerigo looked up from the dice and smiled. “I hope you make decisions when you gamble much faster than this one. It only took you an
entire day.”

  It was the following evening and the gamblers were at the same activity at the same inn. “If the dice are in my favor, there will be no decisions to make,” Daasek replied, setting down a tray laden with mugs of wine. “I talked to the owner. He said I could pay him back collection day. Of course, I hope that will not be necessary.”

  “Let us see if the Lady has eyes for you this evening.” Rugerigo tossed him the three dice.

  Daasek played without plan or concern. His six comrades laughed when he often lost and carped good-naturedly when he won, told barrack tales and drank. The last was Daasek's chief concern. That morning he had found a small packet in his pouch. From his dream he knew what it was, a drug which he had evenly divided among the goblets. Soon the drug would take effect. Then he would put the remainder of his instructions into action.

  Most of his companions were well into their third or fourth refill when Daasek yawned theatrically. “I'll be leaving now,” he said softly. “Meet me in the alley behind the inn in fifteen minutes. Now wish me a good evening.”

  “Maybe the Lady will sleep with you next week,” Rugerigo said joyfully. The other men nodded and laughed before quickly returning their attention to the game. Daasek spoke briefly to the innkeeper, then left. He pretended to stumble as he walked, then staggered into the nearby alley. Anyone watching would assume he had gone to relieve himself. In a sense, they would have been right.

  His companions arrived exactly fifteen minutes later. Several showed the effects of their revelry. The drug he had given them, however, was far more powerful than anything the innkeeper offered. None of them spoke, although several appeared confused. But explanations were unnecessary. They would do exactly what he ordered. “This is what I want you to do,” he began softly.

  * * * *

  Daasek relaxed in the captain's chair and gazed into his wine. After hearing his tale, the captain had left immediately, although not before treating him to the vintage and bidding him wait. Such vigilance, he had been assured, deserved a suitable reward.

  The story he told was alarming. A palace raid by a handful of trusted guards. They would know the grounds and the patrol schedules, the staff, which doors led to traps and which led to the living quarters of the Pasheur. “I can't believe this,” the captain had said when Daasek finished.

  “The most dangerous enemy is the man you trust,” Daasek offered reasonably. “I've seen it happen before. In Kyleine. Bahkvai. Turquoret. You shouldn't be so surprised it could happen here as well.”

  “You're right,” the officer said finally. “Wait here. I will want the chief of the guards to hear this.”

  So Daasek waited, and when the two men returned he went over his story again. How he had been in the wineshop, almost drowsing, when a sudden outburst had startled him. He had glanced about and spotted the six conspirators at a nearby table. His training in Kyleine had made him suspicious of everybody. He pretended to sleep but instead listened carefully to their whispered conversation. Apparently one of the men, he wasn't sure which, had a brother who had been shamefully treated by the Pasheur. He had joined the guard to get revenge. The other men would assist him for varying reasons of their own, but they were all willing to risk what little they had for the empty promises of the madman. Their plan was to strike the next evening.

  The chief of the guards snorted when Daasek finished. “The babblings of the village fool. You said you were asleep. We all know about your dreams, Daasek. I suspect this is another.”

  “I said I pretended to be asleep.”

  “And you could hear a conversation several tables away, in an inn full of patrons? You were born with a magician's talent, Daasek.”

  “No, a skill which I could teach you. Guild training is very thorough. The inn last night was not crowded. You may ask the innkeeper if you wish.”

  “I will do just that. Captain,” he turned to his fellow officer, “I don't believe a word of this. He is accusing men hand-picked by me. I don't make mistakes when it comes to the honor and well-being of our beloved Pasheur.

  “This man has admitted to a weakness for gambling. I suspect he owes these fellows money and is searching for a way to avoid paying his debt. Or he merely wants to worm his way into your favor. In either event, I don't trust him.” He gazed at Daasek with pure malice. “I say we put him in the stocks for a month, and treat the citizens to thirty lashes each day.”

  “What if he speaks the truth? The benevolence of the Pasheur would be boundless,” the captain said.

  The senior officer glared at Daasek once more and considered. “Perhaps.”

  “The men said they would strike tonight,” Daasek interrupted. “It will be a simple matter to have several men waiting, hidden, just in case. If I misspeak, the stocks will still be there tomorrow.”

  The chief officer decided. “Indeed. Captain, make arrangements. Say nothing of this to anyone, especially the Pasheur and his advisors.”

  “Of course.” The men saluted and the commander stormed from the room. The captain filled his own glass, refilled Daasek's. “Your news has upset him greatly.”

  “It should have.”

  “A very small army to overthrow our Pasheur.”

  “But large enough to kill one man.”

  The captain sighed. “I can only use my most loyal men. Only a few can be trusted with this knowledge.” He looked at Daasek. “And what do I do with you?”

  This was the critical moment. Daasek knew he had to appear calm and reasonable. “I know what their plans are. I can be of greater help within the palace than within the stockade.”

  The captain downed his wine quickly. “You will work your regular schedule. Then report to me immediately after. If your tale is exactly that, I want you near me this evening. Dismissed.”

  * * * *

  Daasek almost enjoyed his work that day, if in truth he could enjoy anything. He wasn't concerned about the verification of his story. He had drugged the innkeeper as well and the latter would confirm what was necessary. He paused and looked up at the Pasheur's offices, which dominated the central portion of the city. A high wall surrounded the palace, the spacious gardens and grounds, and the armed patrols protected them. The walls were smooth and featureless save for the small balcony and windows of the Pasheur's den itself. There was no way, he knew, that the Pasheur could be attacked from the outside. Even an assault planned from within would be difficult since the palace was a maze of blind hallways and traps, hidden doorways and pitfalls. The men at the barracks talked often about their work and he had learned much. He was certain only the plan that appeared within his dream could succeed.

  He maintained his patrol along the outskirts of the building. There were only two gates along the entire barricade: one ornate entrance where visitors and supplicants entered, and one for the stables and barracks in the rear. If he were to escape, it would be through one of these. But the thought of escape didn't concern him. Only the plan, and the urge that grew within him, becoming stronger and more uncontrolled with every passing hour. And only the death of the Pasheur could satisfy it.

  * * * *

  He finished his shift at eventide and hastened to the captain's office. When he entered, there were a dozen men waiting. Each wore the white linen uniform of the Palace Guard. He recognized none of them, but since he had yet to patrol the palace proper, it was not surprising. What was surprising was the white clothing they handed him.

  “If you are to be with us, then you must look the part,” the captain explained. “The Pasheur is to know nothing until this episode is finished. One way,” he finished coldly, eyeing Daasek,” or another.”

  “We could arrest them all,” said one of the older guards. “Then we just torture them, and him,” he nodded at Daasek, “until one or the other confesses the truth.”

  “We discussed this before,” the captain said patiently. “How large is this group? Are there more than the handful of men at the inn? Daasek, could you recognize all the men, or at leas
t tell us their names?”

  Daasek shrugged. “I have been in your service barely a month. I do not know the names of all the men in my own barracks, and several of these men were strangers.”

  The captain sighed. “We talked with the innkeeper. He confirms your story, such as he could. Get cleaned up and put on that uniform. As soon as you get back, we can discuss our plan.”

  * * * *

  Which was simplicity in itself, considering the inner palace of the Pasheur was a jumble of dead end corridors, tripfalls, false doors and sliding walls. It was only necessary to wait in ambush along the one safe route to the Pasheur's quarters. A surprise assault might succeed, an expected one could not.

  Now Daasek stood with his captain in the hall outside the great chamber of the Pasheur. The honor uniform did not fit him well, especially across his barrel chest and arms. The captain had snickered when he first donned it. He said Daasek looked like nothing more than a great red-capped mushroom. Daasek would have preferred to being stationed alone, but he understood the reason for the captain's presence, as well as that for his lacking a sword. If his was in fact a fanciful tale, he would not greet the morning.

  The captain relaxed against the wall. It was plain by the way his sword dangled in his hand that he truly hoped Daasek was lying.

  “If the conspirators get this far, I would prefer more than a knife,” Daasek touched the steel dagger at his side, “to protect myself with.”

  The man smiled coldly. “You're good with a dagger. In any event, there is little chance the assassins will get anywhere close to the Pasheur. If they come at all,” he added darkly.

  They will come, Daasek thought. They have no choice.

  * * * *

  Iofhee had nearly completed her solitary journey across the night sky when the two heard voices approaching. The captain recognized them and calmly sheathed his sword. After a moment a small contingent of the palace guard turned the corner. They dragged one man with them. Daasek recognized him as Rugerigo.

  The sergeant threw the prisoner at the captain's feet. “The others are dead. We let him live for the pleasure of the Pasheur.”