The Thirteenth Magician

by Patrick Welch

  It was two moon phases since he had left Ta'Bel. He had ridden hard the first two nights and hidden during the day. But pursuers (if there had been any) never appeared. The remainder of his southwest journey had been at a more leisurely pace, and he had even spent several days at a remote homestead, trading his labor for a meal and a bed for the evening. The old farmer and his wife had refrained from asking about his terrible accident, a courtesy he appreciated. Instead, they had accepted his help eagerly, and, if truth be told, he would have preferred to remain longer.

  But he could not. The urge had come upon him, forcing him to abandon their hospitality in the middle of the night. Even this respite within the friendly grove would end all too soon. Daasek shook himself to escape the inevitable and reached for his dagger. The blade was circular, not flat, and made of bone, totally unlike any he had seen in his travels. He couldn't remember where he had gotten it and he somehow knew that lost knowledge was important. Then he recalled the comments of Krujj, but the tantalizing hints from the dead magician only frustrated him more. Even the marks on his arm, left by the burning man's grasp, stirred a memory. Yet his past remained as remote as the icecaps of Rhykensk.

  Finally, he sat up in disgust. Contemplation was fruitless, but it had succeeded in ruining his momentary contentment. He stood, took aim at a knot on a nearby tree and threw his dagger almost by reflex. The blade stuck in the heart of his target.

  For a good hour he practiced, choosing objects at random from the many which were present. He missed only three. Then he took his sword and shadow-fought. Not as satisfactory as the dagger, perhaps, but he recognized his limitations. If he was ever given the time, he vowed, he would seek instructions from an expert. But time was something he was rarely permitted.

  * * * *

  The sky was graying when he finally threw down the weapon in exhaustion. He stripped to only his belt and dagger and jumped into the lake nearby. The water was ice-cold, just what he needed to offset his extensive workout. After swimming for a few minutes, he took a deep breath and dove underwater. He knew almost by instinct that mollusks and crustaceans would inhabit the bottom. He found a bed of freshwater clams with very little effort and just as easily loosed a half dozen. Satisfied, he swam upward. When he again broke the surface, he had been underwater for a full five minutes, and a troop of soldiers was standing on the riverbank.

  “Come ashore now,” one said, and the bowmen near him notched arrows. Daasek considered. He was near the middle of the small lake fed by an even smaller stream. A difficult shot for a bowman if he just stayed where he was. And he doubted they had time to surround him completely. Yet his few belongings were ashore. And there was something else as well. He felt the urge rise within him, like an infant making its first movements in its mother's womb. Whoever he was seeking was nearby, had indeed chosen to come to him. With powerful stokes he swam to shore, sheathing his dagger as he left the water. “What do you want?”

  “He is ugly, isn't he, sergeant?”

  Daasek turned, startled. A young girl perched on a white horse rode forward and eyed him with bemusement. He guessed her to be no more than fourteen. Her hair was black and long, tumbling carelessly over her brow and shoulders. She wore a yellow dress of sheer cloth draped across one shoulder, leaving her small left breast exposed. In the center of her forehead rested a single black stone. He knew immediately she was the one he sought.

  She returned his gaze without hesitation. “You are trespassing.”

  “I did not know, dear lady. I apologize. I will pay for the fruit and fish I have taken.”

  “How kind of you,” she replied without warmth. She turned towards her minions. “Sergeant, what did you find?”

  “His saddlebags were empty. A few coins in his purse. As for weapons, just the sword. And, of course, the dagger he is wearing.”

  She returned her attention to Daasek. “You expect to satisfy your penalty with a handful of coins? I think not, criminal. You have abused my property for well on a full day.”

  Daasek might have been relaxed, but not that remiss. He was certain there had been no watchers in the forest. Yet he felt it best to maintain the charade. “Lady, I assure you it was only a few hours.”

  “Do not lie to me, criminal. We have observed you the entire time. Sergeant, relieve him of his dagger. He may be clumsy with the sword, but certainly not with that weapon.” The officer removed the belt without protest and carried away the last of Daasek's possessions.

  “If I had been told, I would have left immediately,” Daasek said.

  She laughed. “I rather doubt you would have understood anything my watchman would have to say,” and she gave a short whistle. Immediately a falcon swooped down and perched on her proffered wrist. It turned and stared at Daasek, and he gasped. Instead of eyes black and piercing, he faced orbs white and dead. “He comes with us, sergeant,” she said as she urged her mount away. “And he walks.”

  Daasek watched as the soldiers mounted. At all times he was observed by at least one bowman well-prepared. Finally he walked forward. “May I at least have my boots?” The girl turned. She considered briefly. “Give him his boots. He will just slow us down otherwise.” She looked at his nakedness another moment. “And a cape. His sight is beginning to offend me.”

  * * * *

  Three hours later they approached a small clearing. The lush forest had long given way to rock and desolation. During the journey the soldiers had left him unbound but Daasek had never considered escape. The blind falcon had remained circling overhead throughout and even though it was only late afternoon the sky was unnaturally twilit. Besides, he was being led exactly where he wanted to go.

  They stopped in front of what appeared to be an abandoned cottage. She dismounted first. “Sergeant, you will remain. The rest of your men will go.”

  The officer nodded and she snapped her fingers. The other men—and horses—vanished instantly.

  “Leave his horse and belongings outside. He won't need them anymore. You,” she looked at Daasek, “come with me.” She then entered the cottage.

  Daasek turned. The remaining soldier stood casually, sword drawn. In a saner moment, he might have fought, but the urge was now too strong. He entered the hut as well.

  The hovel was empty. No furnishings, no fireplace, nothing to suggest it was ever lived in. Even the windows were boarded. There was a rear door he presumed led outside. Since it was ajar, he assumed that was where he was expected to go.

  He walked through it and entered a palace. The entrance was at least 40 kines wide and the hallway stretched thrice as far. Chandeliers hung down from beams of iron and wood, filling the room with almost painful light. Servants and soldiers bustled everywhere, yet they passed unmindful of his presence.

  He walked slowly down the aisle and turned his attention from one wonder to another. Before him were suits of hammered golden armor and statuary of finest marble, shimmering oils and rich tapestries that portrayed creatures and landscapes he had never imagined, let alone viewed. The air was scented with essences that confused and delighted and resisted all his attempts at naming. Small children ran tirelessly around him, laughing and playing tag and using him to hide behind. Musicians wandered playing their pipes and lutes to entertain the jugglers and clowns who in return entertained them. All ignored his scarred body, his near nakedness. If they cared not Daasek decided he would not and ceased his efforts to cover himself with the inadequate cape.

  He did not realize he had stopped walking until someone grabbed his arm. He turned to find himself in the tow of a laughing, beautiful servant girl, provocatively dressed. He tried to talk but she only shook her head, putting her finger to her lips as she did so. Another servant approached with a tray laden with plates of food and goblets of wine. He allowed himself the wine but ignored the other. The servant eyed him as if insulted, then finally left. He downed the drink without tasting and tossed the crystal away, laughing as it shattered on the stone floor. Others appeared almost insta
ntly and began removing the wreckage. He looked at his guide but she ignored his poor manners as thoroughly as the others. Instead, she led him to a steel door. She placed his hand on the latch, then backed away, still giggling mindlessly. Daasek shrugged and pushed the door open.

  This room bore no relation to the former. It was actually a narrow hallway that veered to his left. As he turned, a hand shot out and shut the door behind him. From out of the shadows a creature appeared. It was an amphibian, yet walking on hind legs like a man. “Follow me,” it managed to say, its long tongue sliding out between thick lips. The hallway was lit by torches, the only ornaments on the gray stone walls. They seemed to be ascending, but Daasek was not sure. It was cold and damp and he wished he had borrowed—or stolen—more substantial clothing before entering. His guide offered no conversation, although Daasek saw his tongue dart out several times. There were occasional insects here as well.

  As they continued walking, the amphibiman said nothing. Daasek was getting colder by the minute. The creature wore a sword at its waist but made no effort to unsheathe it. Daasek could certainly wrest it away, or use one of the torches as a weapon, but finally decided against it. Without the amphibiman, he could easily wander this maze for the rest of his days.

  For in truth it was a labyrinth they were traversing. Alternate paths appeared with increasing frequency, yet the frog man was unerring in his chosen path. A left, a right, then two lefts again. The walls never changed and Daasek wasn't sure he could ever hope to retrace his steps. He wondered grimly if his hostess was being entertained. He was certain they were being watched.

  Finally his guide took a final turn to the right and they were back again in a long, narrow and straight hallway. The creature pointed to the door at the end, then walked away. Daasek wanted to laugh as he approached it. All that walking and he was certain they had come full-circle. He wondered if the same serving wench would greet him. He hoped the man with the tray of delicious wine did.

  This time when he opened the huge steel door, he found himself in a garden. The air was surprisingly warm and dry, a welcome change from the chilly catacombs. Birds of multi-colored plumage flew overhead. Monkeys and creatures he didn't recognize played in the bushes and trees scattered abundantly about. A fountain in the center of a pool sprayed blue and red waters, and fish and insects sported within. Near the pool with her back turned to him, his captor waited.

  “I shall have to punish you for making me wait so long,” she greeted in the same high girlish voice. But no haughty teen-age girl turned to greet him.

  The dress was unchanged. The person before him, however, was not a budding adolescent, but a mature and beautiful woman. Her breasts were fully developed, her hips wide with promise. Her hair was brushed back and held with pins of gold and amethyst. In the middle of her forehead, the single black stone nearly glowed.

  Daasek took a moment to reply and she smiled at his bewilderment. “The route was at fault. Perhaps your servant was lost,” he offered finally.

  “A necessary precaution. Your people are so belligerent. I needed to learn what type of ... manners you have. Whether you would attack at the first opportunity.”

  “And if I had?”

  She smiled at the possibility. “You wouldn't have been the first to wander those corridors until you died.”

  Daasek felt himself tremble as the urge rose within. Not now, he scolded himself. There is too much to learn. “Then perhaps I should thank my parents for educating me properly.” He forced himself to remain obsequious.

  “Perhaps,” she said softly, misunderstanding the tremor that had run through him. She gazed at him thoughtfully and a playful smile flashed across her lips. “I see too much of you I think.” She snapped her fingers and one of the frog creatures appeared, carrying a suit of yellow.

  Daasek eyed it suspiciously. “I would feel more comfortable in my regular clothing, if you wouldn't mind,” he said, recalling Krujj and his accursed red velvet.

  “Since when did I invite your opinion? Wear this or wear nothing. I prefer the former. You are truly the ugliest man I have ever met.”

  The frog man neared Daasek. He reluctantly took the bundle and donned it swiftly. He was not surprised that it fitted him perfectly. “Thank you, madam.”

  “You are permitted to call me Aletia.”

  “Not princess or queen?”

  She laughed without warmth. “I am much more than that. Much more than that. Come, let me show you the wonders of my garden. Then you will tell me about yourself.”

  She led him to a solitary tree whose trunk displayed a rainbow of colors. “From Calenba. One of my favorite places. The leaves produce a potent narcotic. My help,” she gestured at one of the frog creatures nearby, “are addicted to it.”

  “I've never heard of Calenba,” he offered.

  “Of course not. It's not of your world. Most of what is in my garden, most of my home, in fact, is not of your world. Frankly, Horea is one of the least interesting of the thirteen spheres.” She gazed at him. “You don't understand, I see. Will you believe me if I tell you there are more worlds than your own?”

  Daasek nodded. Part of Krujj's conversation came to him. The magician had said much the same.

  “We entered my palace through the doorway on your world. This garden, this room, most of my realm, however, is not on your world. Not on any of the thirteen worlds, actually. But my palace contains a doorway to each. When it suits my interests, I have access to any one I choose.”

  “I was indeed unfortunate you chose to visit mine today.”

  “Most assuredly,” she said and began walking away. He lingered to admire the vegetation but one of the frog creatures was suddenly next to him, its intent obvious, so he followed immediately. He caught her by a tree covered with white flowers. “Aren't they lovely?” she asked as she carefully picked one. “They are my favorite. Their perfume is so delicious. Especially after they've been fed. They are called blood orchids.” She faced him with a carnivorous smile. “Would you like to see why?”

  Before he could answer, one of the frog creatures stepped forward. She set the flower carefully on its shoulder. Roots stirred as if awakening from a long sleep, then slowly wrapped around the creature's arm. At first nothing more happened. The amphibiman stood rigidly while Aletia watched expectantly.

  Then Daasek noticed the bloom. It had been snow white when first selected, but now he saw a blush of pink at the center. He shook his head, then looked again. There was no doubt. The heart of the flower was darkening by the second and the petals were reddening as well. He looked at the amphibiman. Its eyes were closed, its body trembling. The roots were throbbing and growing with its heartbeat. Aletia's smile broadened.

  The flower continued to darken, and it was clear the creature was in great pain. Daasek expected it to scream. It didn't, it collapsed instead. Aletia waited another moment, then reached down and pulled the flower from the supine body. The roots had returned to their original size and the flower now looked no different than it had in the tree. Except that it was a deep blood red. She inhaled its bouquet greedily. When she turned back to him, her eyes were glazed. She took a step forward and almost lost her balance. “Delicious,” she said finally. She looked at him. “I am such a poor hostess. Would you like your own? The effect is lost within minutes, you understand. Once the pollen is released.” She wiped her hand across her nose, and he noticed yellow powder on the back of it.

  “Thank you, no. I doubt I would survive the experience.”

  She giggled. “I didn't mean it that way. Someone else would have provided it sustenance. I have plenty of help.” She looked down at the fallen creature. “They'll do anything you tell them to. So obedient. So loyal. So mindless.” She turned. “Remove him.” Two other creatures appeared within seconds and began to carry the corpse away. She ignored them.

  “What happens, you see,” she continued as they walked, “is that the roots continue to grow as the blood orchid feeds. They follow the vei
ns, seeking more blood. Eventually they reach the heart. You knew that circulates the blood, yes?”

  Daasek just looked at her.

  “No wonder I hate your world,” she sighed. She turned and summoned another of her servants. “The others are of such greater interest. Worlds where men clad in metal fly in the air and water. One where the rainbow arcs in fifteen colors. One where there is no night and the creatures live forever and move as slowly as an ice field. A world of crystal shadows and endless quiet, and the slightest sound can shatter their edifices.” Her reverie vanished, replaced by anger. “And I am forced to spend my hours spying on the sty called Horea. Searching for you.”

  Daasek maintained his innocence. “Are you sure I am the one you seek?”

  She sipped on the wine her servant had handed her. “A squat, strong man. Flaming red hair. A weapon made from the spine of a warback. Do you possibly believe there is another like yourself terrorizing the peaceful mages of Horea?”

  Warback? What does she mean? He felt a memory stir but he knew now was not the time to pursue it. Instead, he bowed. “Then I am deeply honored.”

  She snorted. “You're a deep hemorrhoid is what you are. The price I pay for this.” She looked at her garden, then back at him. “Are you worth it, I wonder? How can one man have caused such excitement and consternation among the Thirteen? Just look at you!” Daasek stood still as she walked around him, as if sizing a calf for a holiday dinner. “Strong, yes, and clearly intelligent. At least, you use words of more than one syllable. But you're such an ugly man!” She touched one of his shoulders lightly. The caress was like ice and he shivered involuntarily. She walked away with a laugh. “I wonder, should I be entertaining you by revealing these wonders? Could one as crude as you truly appreciate the music of the spheres? Or do their luxurious harmonies fall upon tin ears?” She eyed him carefully, then shook her head. “I think not. Still, you are the most interesting event that has befallen Horea in many a moon. Without you, I suspect Horea would be as easily forgotten as yesterday's bath. Yes, you might be good for one evening's entertainment.”