But not this day. He was tired from his long ride and the constant haggling with Byrnhean merchants. Maybe this is the home of the Mercenaries Guild, but the Merchants are clearly in charge. He was sure he could find Partuk with little difficulty if he decided on entertainment this evening. But he preferred the quiet of his room. Besides, he still needed one more bit of information: the name of the man or woman to place on the third line of the contract. Daasek was certain that when he awoke the following morning he would know it.
* * * *
“Where to today, master?” Daasek was not surprised when he found Partuk waiting for him outside the inn. The boy was noticeably cleaner, although his clothes retained their ragged look.
Daasek smiled. He was hoping the lad would be there. “You know of a man named Ensten?”
Not unexpectedly the boy nodded. “A great scholar, master. He teaches only the wealthiest, the most nobly bred. You wish to have him instruct you, master?” “Perhaps. Do you know where I can find him?”
“He often orates at the square near the courtyard. He may be there now.”
Daasek patted his pocket. Two red forms, carefully completed, were there, as well as his knife. “Lead on.”
It was still early, but the crowds grew heavier as they approached the courtyard. Increasingly, officers of the Guild appeared among the passers-by. They were of no import to Daasek. He was not concerned about escape, only about getting close to Ensten. And the urge within surged more strongly at every step.
Partuk proved to be an excellent guide. He easily slid between small gaps in the crowd, clearing the way for Daasek. Several took offense, but when they noticed the husky barbarian Partuk was leading they kept their objections to themselves. In a surprisingly short time the two had found room at the front of the large crowd surrounding the square. In the center, a man dressed in deep indigo commanded everyone's attention.
“You must each of you look upon your lives as a great river,” he called to the crowd in a silver-sweet voice. “The banks are what guide you throughout the course of your existence. And, again like a river, the banks provide the strictures which you must obey, the fate which you must follow. If you struggle, if you rebel against your inherent nature, then you will overrun the banks and flood the plains of Byrnhea. This will only cause your ruin and perhaps our ultimate destruction.”
“No matter how unjust those strictures might be?” an angry and slightly slurred young voice called from the crowd.
The scholar turned seeking his questioner. The crowd seemed to part as if ordered, revealing a tall, somewhat handsome young man clearly into his cups. Ensten smiled. “Do my ears deceive, or has someone loosed a jackass upon the city's streets?” The crowd roared. The young man reddened, but this time held his tongue. “Our laws are our society. Something you must learn. One does not question what has been proven for centuries. One accepts and follows gladly, peacefully. That is why we have survived and prospered for centuries, and why we shall continue to do so.
“Your fate is ordained for you at birth,” he continued. “It is the destiny of the hare to be eaten. It is the destiny of the snake to kill. A snake that tries to run, or a rabbit that attacks the snake? Ridiculous. And yet that is the kind of fantastic unnatural behavior your remarks propound, dear child.”
The lad, unwisely, Daasek soon learned, accepted the gauntlet. “And yet the caterpillar transforms into the butterfly, the tadpole into the frog. It is the law of nature to grow, to change. A stagnant river is as devoid of life as the rocks beneath our feet.” The scholar reddened at the rejoinder. He studied the young man carefully. “You bray loudly, young one. And you bray diseased ideas that can only harm the great citizenry of Byrnhea. Or perhaps your hearing is not as acute as it should be. We shall rectify that.” The man raised his hands to the air and began to tremble. The young man, red with anger before, suddenly turned white with fear. Those around him began to move even farther away.
Abruptly the scholar brought his arms down and pointed directly at the rabble-rouser. His fingers trembled, and Daasek would have sworn a ray of light flashed from them directly at the youth. Then he looked again. It was not a young man standing there, but a long-eared donkey.
The animal brayed once, then tried to force its way through the crowd. The onlookers parted, laughing, and the animal soon was lost from sight. The scholar returned his attention to his vast audience. He smiled benignly. “What sounds like an ass should look like an ass. I regret I was compelled to instruct him so vigorously, but I could not allow that fool to assault your ears with such heretic drivel any longer. Perhaps he will learn one day that the long river of life must progress peacefully, swiftly and surely along its chosen course. Otherwise, we become confused, abandoned, with no sense of purpose and no opportunity for a successful, productive life.”
“Even if not a particularly happy one.”
The scholar frowned. “Who speaks?”
Daasek stepped forward. “I do. I thought the youth posed a most interesting argument. I believe your answer to his proposition was no answer at all.”
Ensten studied Daasek, surprised by the intrusion and his inquisitor's brutish appearance. “First the foal of a jackass, then the sire itself! We are indeed most fortunate this day.”
Daasek felt Partuk tug at his sleeve. “What are you doing?” he hissed. “Can't you see Ensten is a magician as well as a Philosopher?”
Daasek ignored him. “You posit that we must live like the river, flowing mindlessly along our banks to some unknown sea. Yet someone had to form those banks, someone had to determine the course that river is to take. Since you do not argue for the gods, I assume you refer to those of mortal cloth. Should I give you that freedom, or should I reserve it for myself, I wonder.”
“The banks are eternal!” Ensten roared. “They are there before our birth. They are with us during life. They guide us after death! It is blasphemy to suggest otherwise!” “And it is abject cowardice to allow anyone to bind us within riverbeds that crowd us, crush us, lead us over the great falls beyond and into our final destruction. If the banks have become so narrow that a flood is inevitable, then let the waters rise!” Daasek raised his fist and a roar came from the crowd around him, not so much in support of his arguments but more to encourage his unexpected entertainment. Daasek allowed himself to smile.
“Blasphemer!” Ensten threw his arms up to the heavens and shouted an arcane phrase. He brought them down and pointed at Daasek. That was when Daasek hurled his blade.
At first it appeared Ensten had caught the weapon. His hands were wrapped around the haft and a look of near triumph remained on his face. But then his knees buckled and he fell back, his arms flying apart and revealing to all that the blade had driven deep into his chest.
The onlookers watched, silent and stunned as Daasek walked calmly to the body and withdrew the weapon. It was only when he smashed his foot down on the dead man's hand, shattering the black-stoned ring he wore, that the crowd reacted. People began to scream and suddenly the crowd was fighting among themselves, trying to flee from the madman in the courtyard. Daasek might have been able to escape in the melee. Instead he waited calmly until a handful of troops appeared. They approached him with swords drawn, but he merely smiled. “You are under arrest,” one said firmly.
“I know.” He held up the Charter. “Please take me to your captain.”
His knife was taken from him, but he made no protest as he was led away. He was relieved to notice, however, that Partuk followed at a safe distance. The boy might still be of help.
* * * *
“As you can see, the contract is in order.”
The captain looked at the red forms and snorted. “Yes, I recognize a Hangman's Charter when I see one. But I just can't understand why Galilo would hire you to provide Ensten with his final reward.”
“I am not required to question my employer. That is up to you. I fulfilled my obligation. I believe I am free to leave.”
The cap
tain looked at the papers once more. The names were in place, the signet was imprinted, the forms appeared in order. But this can't be, he thought. The barbarian is not from here. He could never have been granted a charter. I must speak with Chandoul about this immediately. “Of course.” He returned one of the papers. “I keep this for our records. May profit always be yours.”
Daasek nodded and left. He was not surprised to find Partuk waiting for him. “You are free?” the boy asked.
“Yes, but perhaps not for long. Can you lead me to a swift steed and a convenient exit? I will reward you handsomely.”
The boy frowned, then brightened. “Follow me.” The boy smoothly led him through the increasing throng drawn by the marketplace to stables at the northern end of the city. “The gentry of the city will not be pleased. Ensten was an important man,” he observed as they half walked, half ran.
“It is not my responsibility to question the motives of my employer.”
Partuk frowned, then smiled. “I have a question, if you would.” Daasek gave him a warning look, which the boy ignored. “Where did you learn such discourse? Are you a Philosopher as well?”
Daasek nearly tripped as he pondered the question. As always, many of his instructions had come in a dream. But the words? He tried to remember. The words may have come from him. Am I a Philosopher? Daasek shook his head. It was just another question which would frustrate him. If only someday I am granted the answers! Daasek refused to respond to Partuk's query and they talked no more until they reached the stables.
Daasek had little difficulty procuring a mount—after he allowed Partuk to do all the bargaining. The owner was even willing to lend Partuk the use of a pony for the little time it would take them to exit Byrnhea. “This way to the inn,” the boy said as he turned back towards the city's hub.
“No need. I left nothing there of consequence. It is better I leave quickly.” The Guild would know soon enough what crime had been perpetrated in the name of the Hangman's Charter.
The lad hesitated. “But you have yet to complete your stay.”
“You can use my room if you wish. Although you will not sleep alone,” he added, scratching one of his many new insect bites. “Just lead me to the gates.”
The boy shrugged. “This way, master.” The lad took them on a twisting path through crowded streets and narrow alleys.
“Why did the Guilds permit a magician to act so openly? I thought magicians were still considered anathema,” Daasek asked as they progressed.
Partuk shrugged. “He had powerful friends. And followers. Perhaps by being so overt, he convinced the Guilds he was no threat. It's been many years since the Conflict. The magicians have learned not to challenge the power of the Guilds.”
He returned his attention to their surroundings. The increase in carts and horsemen was proof they were nearing his freedom. Then they entered a courtyard that allowed only one exit, a narrow lane bound tightly by buildings on either side. Daasek turned and looked at his guide.
The boy shrugged. “You asked for the quickest route, not the most convenient. You will have to walk your horse, methinks.”
Daasek sighed and dismounted. It appeared a short alley, anyway, and he could see the gates beyond. He took the reins in hand and walked several steps into the shadows.
Something stung his arm. He turned. Partuk remained on horseback, putting an object that looked like a tube back in his saddle. Daasek looked at his arm. A tiny dart stuck out. He removed it, then stared at Partuk.
The boy was grinning. “I know all about the Hangman's Charter, Daasek.” He held up a red sheet of paper. “This is mine. That is why I did not kill you after you slew Ensten, not when I saw you wave the Charter in front of the constables. Guild protocol demands as much. Although how you procured one I know not. The dart is poisoned, incidentally. You won't be going very far. Thank you for the crous.” With a laugh he turned his pony away and trotted back into the courtyard.
Daasek watched him leave. He could have pursued, but he didn't dare waste the time. After all, Partuk had done what he was paid for; he had led Daasek to the city gates. Daasek grinned as he led his steed the last few paces. The lad had no way of knowing Daasek was immune to poisons. As he rode out the city gates, another idea arose. The confrontation with Partuk was most opportune. It might give him the means to stay the wrath of the Guild.
* * * *
The Mercenaries Guild had chosen the location of their home well. Byrnhea was situated on the edge of towering cliffs. The great Byrnhean plain was bordered on one side by the Lhanza river, a torrent of rapids and rocks ... nearly unfordable. A vast forest protected the other. The great plain itself naturally funneled traffic to and from the city, and the Mercenaries had placed watchtowers for added protection along the route. During the years before the Guilds’ ascendancy, when the magicians had battled for supremacy, this location, easily defensible from invaders, had been a necessity.
For Daasek it now posed a different problem. It was difficult to enter but it was also difficult to leave. Most opportune, he decided, that Partuk's interference now offered a safer avenue of escape. Daasek led his steed down to the roiling Lhanza waters. Crossing the river on horseback was impossible, but that was not his plan. He dismounted and gazed at the torrent. The Guild would be after him, but they would take their time. They would probably be surprised he had managed to travel as far as he had, considering the poison flowing through his veins. They would not be surprised to find his horse waiting patiently by the river. It would seem evident to them what must have happened. Driven to madness by the drug, Daasek had attempted to cross the river anyway. Maybe he died before his body was broken along the rapids. In any event the evidence would have been washed over the great Lhanza falls. And they would leave, satisfied.
As an afterthought, Daasek removed his vest and tossed it into the river. He smiled as it fortuitously caught on an outcropping of stone. That made the illusion so much the better. He waded into the river and headed upstream as rapidly as possible. Eventually he would ford the river, but not until nightfall and not until he was past the more dangerous rapids. What to do about a horse, about food and clothing, most of all about the urge he was certain would strike again, were problems he would address at a later time. For now, he needed a place to hide.
* * * *
Pahluv the Tinkerman frowned when he heard the bell. It meant someone had entered his little shop. Normally that would be time for rejoicing, but he was in the midst of a most intricate carving and he hated to be interrupted.
“I am coming,” he yelled out and thoughtlessly wiped his hands on his new jerkin. He noted the hour as he pulled back the heavy curtain that separated his workplace from the shop proper. The hour was late, well beyond the time normal customers did their business.
He had been warned, and he paused. Beware of a short man with blood-red hair, the Thirteen had told him. Apparently the Thirteen were in conflict and an assassin was loose among the magicians of Horea. One who had proven to be surprisingly successful. He did not consider himself threatened. Not even the citizenry suspected he was more than a carver of ingenious toys. The troubles of the Thirteen should not trouble him. Still ... He peered from behind the curtain. A man was standing by his door and Pahluv sighed with relief. The visitor was taller than the danger he had been warned about and had black hair. Still, before entering, Pahluv made a gesture, which armed his sentries. Now if he was physically attacked he would be protected. A cacophony of whistles, barks, laughter, cries and wails assailed him when he walked into his shop. They came from the intricate moving devices that Pahluv created for his livelihood. His shelves were crammed with countless automatons; jugglers that juggled, beautifully plumed birds that rocked on their perches and sang, swordsmen who fenced and parried, steeds and riders prancing proudly.
His visitor was raptly admiring a bowman shooting a deer. It was one of his better works and Pahluv smiled in admiration of his own artistry. He approached his customer stiffl
y. “Yes, dear sir, may I be of service?”
The man turned. The stranger was well-muscled and dressed in the clothing of a rich merchant. “You are Pahluv the Tinkerman?” he asked in a mellow voice.
“Yes, dear sir,” he bowed. “How may I be of service? A gift for a loved one perhaps? I have found that maidens fair are particularly attracted to my lovely menagerie of birds and animals,” he pointed to shelves on the left, where a continuous serenade of chirps, whinnies, roars, barks and howls emanated. “Or perhaps something for a child? A juggler, a clown?” He walked towards the right wall.
“Actually I was hoping you could repair something.” The stranger reached into his purse. “This was given to me,” he brandished a spherical object. “It has ceased its functioning. I believe it came from your shop.”
“One of mine? Not performing? I do not believe ... let me see it.” Pahluv accepted it reluctantly. As he studied it, he had to admit that the design was exquisite and, when working properly, was surely a wonder to behold. But it was not one of his. His pieces never failed. His magic was too strong for that. He returned it and said emphatically, “Not mine. Definitely not one of mine. The machines of Pahluv never exhaust their,” he caught himself, “energy.”
His customer sighed. “I was told it was purchased in Phrion. Is there any other tinkerer here?”
Pahluv shook his head. “No one but I makes and sells such wares. Yet I assure you that was not made by me.”
The man turned towards the door, then stopped. “I've come a long way. Perhaps you still could repair it?”
Pahluv frowned. He would garner little gold from that. “No. I am sorry you are inconvenienced, but no. I do not salvage the mistakes of amateurs.”
“When it did work, it was one of my daughter's favorite enjoyments. She will be quite disappointed.” He looked beseechingly at Pahluv. “I will pay you well.”
That promise brought a smile. “A daughter, you say! And a handsome one at that, I would judge from her sire. I have devices here that will light a smile on the face of even the saddest mistress.”
The Thirteenth Magician Page 12
