The Thirteenth Magician

by Patrick Welch

  He retrieved both knives, one his warback blade and one of steel he had purchased in Tsheran. The first he hid behind his back, the second he sheathed at his side. He placed what few crous he had saved from his work in Ferring in a waterproof sack and tied it securely to his waist, then returned to his perch on the rock. Now it was a matter of waiting.

  * * * *

  “Help. Help me I pray.”

  The watchman, startled, looked around. It was not an hour past dawn and he was still feeling the effects of the previous night. The revenge of the grape, he decided, and relaxed once more.

  “I need help. Throw me a line before I drown.”

  The watchman shook himself and walked to the gunwale. Far below, bobbing in the water, a man was waving frantically. The watchman grinned. “What have we here? A baby warback, I do believe. I shall fetch me a harpoon and spear me a handsome breakfast!”

  “By the love of Iofhee, throw me a line! Or shall you make me swim all the way to shore?”

  The guard smiled at the idea. “It is a lovely morning, is it not? The water must be pleasantly chilled. Enjoy yourself.” He turned away.

  “I will pay you,” the swimmer called out frantically.

  He reappeared. “Pay you say? Pay you must. The use of my rope will cost you, say, five crous.”

  “Done.”

  The man nodded. “Wait there. Don't drown on me now.” He quickly returned with a rope. He lashed one end to the mast and hurled the rest far out to sea. With a few powerful strokes the swimmer grabbed the line and began to reel himself in. The watchman waited patiently while the man climbed the cord to safety. When he was finally aboard the watchman held out his hand. “Five crous. Or,” and he drew his sword, “you go back where you came from.”

  Without a word, the man opened a purse at his side and paid his rescuer. “Now you will come with me and explain to my captain why you are bathing in the harbor.” His drawn sword added weight to his demands.

  The privateer did not appreciate the early knock on his door. He appreciated less the dripping man who was shoved before him. “You have a distasteful sense of humor, Alrod.”

  “I saw the man floating in the harbor. I couldn't leave him as warback food, now, could I, captain?”

  “Why not?” The captain looked at Daasek in distaste. “It appears that's all he is good for.” Then he spoke to Daasek. “What be you called?”

  “My shipmates called me Patch.”

  “And no wonder.” He turned to his watchman. “Go back to your watch. I will handle it from here.” Alrod saluted with a grin and left. The captain took a seat behind his small desk. “Why were you floating in the harbor? Why are you aboard my ship?” “I was on the ‘Mist Runner.’ We sailed late last night.” He spat. “We were only a few hours from harbor when some of my crewmates attacked me and threw me overboard.”

  The captain poured himself a small cup of wine, apparently unmoved or uninterested in the tale. “Why is that, do you think?”

  “The slime spawn owed me money. I had been fortunate at dice the previous evening. They apparently did not feel obligated to pay their debts.”

  “Or perhaps you cheated.” The captain stared at Daasek, who returned it steadily. “No matter. I will be leaving soon myself. I have no need for another hand. Certainly not one as clumsy as you.”

  Daasek smiled weakly. “I do not have stomach for the sea at the moment. Or perhaps too much sea in my stomach. I think I would prefer employment on more trustworthy terrain.”

  The captain appraised the barrel-chested man. “Yes, I would think the Shore Guard could use a man like you. I will be sending a skiff ashore this morning for more supplies. You'll be on it. Until then, don't get in the way of me or my crew. Now leave. You are damaging my carpet.”

  Daasek obeyed, suppressing a smile. Perhaps his wasn't a plan equal to the machinations of Nyxx, but it had been effective. He had watched the Mist Runner sail away that previous evening. He had waited until dawn, then swam out towards the nearest craft. It worked! he congratulated himself.

  “What did my captain say?”

  Daasek found his “savior” suddenly standing before him, sword once again in hand. “I am supposed to go ashore with the supply ship.”

  The man nodded. “I will check with my captain. Wait here.”

  “Of course.” The man was gone only moments. He was smiling when he returned. “You forgot to mention your transfer fee. That will be another five crous.” “Transfer?” Daasek caught himself. Without further comment, he handed over five more coins.

  “And one for the pilot.”

  The man must be from Byrnhea, he thought darkly as another coin exchanged hands.

  “Very good.” Alrod slapped him on the back. “You are to stay with me until we leave.” And give me one reason and I'll have everything else you have in your purse, he thought and squeezed the haft of his weapon.

  Alrod's sword remained drawn until the small craft reached the great docks later that morning. “We have no more need of you. Begone.”

  Daasek nodded. “Thank you for your help,” he said with total sincerity.

  Alrod grinned. “Anytime you need a lifeguard, just whistle.” He threw back his head and laughed as Daasek headed ashore. A most profitable day indeed! he thought and then began to load the skiff. By the time they were back to their own boat the man called Patch was forgotten.

  * * * *

  Daasek had to remind himself continually to keep from gaping. No longer was Myniah a fishing village. The city was now bursting with as much activity as the great ports of Ferring or Brayf. Buildings had been thrown up everywhere. Any available space was occupied by a tent or a small stall offering food, trade goods, small weapons, herbs and drugs. Wineshops and brothels abounded. Seamen wandered everywhere, eager to shower their booty on those eager to accept it. The white uniforms of the well-armed Shore Guard were common, although the men seemed to pay scant attention to what occurred before them. Even a fatal duel outside a tavern failed to arouse more than fleeting interest.

  That suited Daasek perfectly. He had no difficulty losing himself in the crowds. The biggest problem, he decided, would be finding a quiet spot where he could think. On a cramped side street, he found it, a small wineshop that had once been frequented by merchants and ignored by the fishermen. The proprietor did not welcome him, but one look at his muscled and scarred body convinced him to serve the watered wine he was infamous for and keep his complaints to himself.

  Daasek took a table in a dark corner and mulled over his situation. Nyxx had resided at the Timbermen's lodge, but perhaps no longer. He needed a horse and information. He fingered his purse. Scant few coins jingled within, not enough to purchase either. He would prefer a sword as well, and a place to sleep and food for the time he remained in Myniah. He sighed as he considered everything he needed, including a plan for the destruction of Nyxx. I could use the knowledge of Roaine right now. Or Alegro. He needed some special intelligence about Nyxx, which he could use to defeat him. Or at the least give him hope. Attacking the strongest mage, the only mage, on Horea appeared an empty dream without it.

  Suddenly he felt uneasy. He sensed danger here, unexpected danger. He looked up and studied the room. There was only one other occupied table, surprising considering the crowds at other, cruder establishments. At the table sat four men dressed as neither soldiers nor sailors. Their conversation was low, but he noticed them look his way frequently. He sighed. A confrontation was the last thing he wanted.

  But he was not to get his wish this day. One of the men angrily waved the innkeeper over. “Since when do you let dung eaters enter here? It offends my nostrils. Get it out of here now!”

  “He has not troubled anyone,” the owner protested mildly. “He has merely sat there and drunk my wine.”

  “And paid for it with bloodstained pelf, no doubt. If you have not the nerve to oust him, then say so! My eyes will no longer tolerate this affront.”

  The protester stood a
nd Daasek caught his breath. It had been nearly six years, but time had not changed him that much. The angry patron approaching him was his old friend Borof.

  Unbidden, Borof took the seat across from Daasek. There was no flash of recognition and Daasek expected none. How could any of his former comrades know that the barrel-chested, scarred warrior was the same gentle boy they had played, fought and sailed with so long before?

  Borof took out his knife and brandished it before Daasek's nose. A warback knife. “We do not allow your kind in here,” Borof said softly. “In what manner do you prefer to leave?”

  Daasek spread his hands to emphasize his harmlessness. “I do not seek trouble.” “Then Mistress Chance is indeed smiling upon you. You have found it with no effort at all.”

  Daasek thought rapidly. What could he possibly say that would still Borof's anger? “I see a warback blade. You have survived the Great Sail.”

  Borof's anger dimmed only briefly. “More than the likes of you could ever hope to earn. You have not answered my question.”

  “I would prefer to leave on my feet. But may I show you something first?”

  “Just the back of you walking out that door.”

  I will have to take the risk. “I have a warback blade also.”

  Borof sat back, studying him closely. His eyes narrowed. “Show me.”

  Very slowly, Daasek reached behind and withdrew his own blade. Strong arms suddenly grabbed his and Daasek found himself surrounded by the other men, arms pinned.

  “He was taking out a knife,” one of his captors said.

  Borof remained calm. “He claims he has a warback blade. Let us see it.”

  Daasek was freed. He carefully swung his arm forward and dropped his own blade on the table.

  Borof was on his feet in seconds, his knife inches from Daasek's throat. “Who did you kill to get this?”

  “You recognize the weapon?” Daasek asked, knowing the answer. All warback blades were distinctive. Each carried somewhere the unique signature of the fisherman who had made it.

  “Yes.” Borof's blade nicked Daasek's throat. “Where did you get it?”

  “My father gave it to me.”

  Borof stood in stunned silence a moment longer, then stepped back, reluctant recognition rising in his eyes. “It cannot be.” He was nearly shaking when he sat down. Daasek managed to smile. “But it can, dear friend Borof. It has been many years, I cede you that, and we both have changed.” He looked down at his body and forced a laugh. “Me most of all. But I am Daasek.”

  Borof leaned forward, staring into Daasek's eyes. Then a smile exploded across his face. “By Phann's phallus, it is you!” He jumped up and began a wild reel, and tears flowed. “More wine, innkeeper. We must drink, we must whore.”

  “We must talk,” Daasek said quietly. He glanced at the three men who still surrounded him. He recognized none. “Borof, please.” Borof ceased his celebrating. “We must talk alone.”

  Borof nodded. “Yes, indeed we must.” Borof looked to his comrades. “This is an old friend of mine and there is much we must discuss. You may find our reminiscing tiring. If you would.” He pointed at their former table.

  The men shrugged and left them.

  Borof had difficulty sitting. “You must tell me! Your Great Sail. Where you have been? What,” his silent appraisal of the great scarred body dimmed his enthusiasm, “has happened to you?”

  Daasek shook his head. “My tale, I think, would best be told elsewhere.” Then he touched his mug to Borof's. “But surely you have some adventures to relate as well!” Borof frowned only briefly. “Indeed I do! And after I regale you with the most perilous Great Sail imaginable, we shall go to my home and you can bore me with yours. And until then, more wine!”

  Some things haven't changed, Daasek thought warmly as he sipped his third mug. The innkeeper still served execrable potations. And Borof was as thirsty and long-winded as ever.

  * * * *

  Daasek didn't know which of the delicacies the maid set before him to attack first. “There will be no inn for you,” Borof had insisted. Instead, he had been led to Borof's home. It was one Daasek could never have imagined anyone from Myniah, especially a boyhood friend, possessing. Once it would have been the grandest in Myniah, but since the coming of Nyxx, much had changed, including the easy availability of wealth. Now, Borof assured him, many merchants lived as well as he. Seated before the groaning table, Daasek was caught between amazement, admiration and amusement. But with a pinch of sorrow thrown in.

  “Yes, I have to deal with them,” Borof had confessed in the wineshop. “May they all drink from the cup of Karmela! The freedom of the sea, that is what I long for. Not the daily bartering with men I would as soon butcher as do business with. But I have no choice.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “Not long after our Great Sail began, so I've been told. The man arrived on a standard trading ship. Except for his odd attire, no one paid him any mind. He spent a week visiting the council, the Guild representatives, the commander of the Shore Guard. When he was finished, so was Myniah. Edicts were issued, the power and number of the shore guard trebled, the military control of the Mercenaries Guild eliminated. The first pirate ship arrived only three weeks later.

  “The fishermen of the Guild, of course, wouldn't tolerate it. They left. I wish I could have as well. But I had to stay because of my family.” He smiled sadly. “And now, well, you see.”

  What Daasek saw was a man made wealthy by the criminals he abhorred so totally. And yet, he thought as he feasted on roasted fowl, could he really blame a man for rolling the dice that Mistress Fortune handed him and accepting the lot that came his way? He looked across at Borof, who was bursting with curiosity but had enough grace to suppress it until after their meal. Were the changes only on the surface? Or has the wealth corrupted Borof's soul as greatly as Nyxx's power has corrupted my body? He sighed. The only way to find out was to ask.

  “Now you must tell me,” Borof began, taking a comfortable seat before his great fireplace. With the meal over, they had repaired immediately to his library. Full decanters of wine were close by to assure a long privacy. “What befell you during your Great Sail?”

  Daasek had more important matters in mind, so he kept his description as sparse as practical. Still, when he finished, Borof was gazing at him in awe.

  “Iofhee surely held you to her bosom that day. To have survived all that! No wonder you carry the scars you do.”

  “The warback did not cause these.”

  The amazement in Borof's eyes trebled. “Then what?”

  “The magician who now holds Myniah in thrall. The magician,” Daasek added softly, “I have come to kill.”

  Borof set down his goblet slowly. After a long silence he spoke. “If you could indeed accomplish that, we would carve your name proudly in the cliffs themselves.”

  Daasek felt a fire stir inside him, and it was not caused by the wine. Dear Borof, you have not changed! Then he sighed. “I don't know anymore. Before, I was certain that I only had to deal with one man.” He shook his head sadly. “But I never expected so many changes. The pirates, the soldiers.” He looked Borof in the eyes. “Even rich merchants like yourself. What would it accomplish if I could destroy him?”

  Borof pondered a long while before answering. Finally he smiled. “Your cares are chimerical. The pirates? They have no loyalty to Myniah. To anyone, even themselves. They would vanish like the mists at dawn if they were no longer welcomed. The Shore Guard? Merely stop their wages and see how many remain. Especially when the Mercenaries return. Which they would immediately, once they were informed. As for the merchants...” He shook his head. “This may surprise you, but those of us from Myniah long for the simpler times. The others are free to seek profit elsewhere. Besides, there is something else you do not know.”

  “What?”

  “The magician wants to go to war.”

  Daasek nearly choked on his wine. “War? Impossible! The Gu
ilds won't tolerate it!”

  “Which he has discovered. First he tried to put our Guild under his rein. But you know as well as I that no fisherman binds himself to another. Even, truth be told, to the Guild itself. Somehow he controlled our Guild master, but that was all.”

  Nyxx stole his soul, Daasek thought, but kept that knowledge to himself.

  “You understand fishermen, Daasek. To most of us, Myniah is a port, little more. The magician didn't understand that and was quite surprised when, one by one, our members went out and never came back.

  “Next he tried to hire the entire Mercenaries Guild. Bind them to an exclusive contract, so I hear. Of course, they would have none of it. For every warrior he hired, they placed a soldier somewhere else. The Guild and their membership profited greatly, but in the end he was no better off than before and he was forced to release them all. Then he tried to enlist the pirates, to turn them into his own navy.” He smiled grimly. “How reliable do you suppose a fleet of privateers would be in battle, with every man concerned only for his own ship and his own welfare?

  “He has fared no better with his private Shore Guard. To build them into a reliable army would require more than the tribute he receives from the corsairs who now base themselves here. In any kind of battle, the Mercenaries Guild would rout them easily. His grand plans for conquest have proven as enduring as a lad's first fornication.”

  Borof refilled their glasses. “No, my friend, your concerns are nothing. If you can destroy the mage, there are enough merchants like myself who can apply the appropriate and necessary pressures. Without the magician to protect them, the pirates, thieves and shore scum will be out of Myniah within one passage of Phann.”

  Daasek looked around at the opulent surroundings. “You are confident they would be willing to sacrifice,” he gestured towards the far wall where shelves sagged with hundreds of richly bound books, “all these wonders?”

  “Do not underestimate our love for our homeland, our disgust at what has befallen it, Daasek,” he said coldly. “Would you care to guess how many assassins we have hired thus far? How many the Mercenaries have sent here on their own command? They have all failed. You may fail. But we will not stop trying.” He laughed bitterly. “We have even considered recruiting another magician, but we can't find one.”