The Thirteenth Magician

by Patrick Welch

  “It's not for sale.”

  “Is that so?” He took another drink of wine. “Seven.”

  “No.”

  “Choro, what are you...”

  Choro hushed his companion with a wave of his hand and returned his attention to Daasek. “Where did you get this?”

  “My father. He was a fisherman.”

  Faya laughed. “A fisherman! Just what you need, Choro! Someone fishing for a handout to be sure.”

  Choro suddenly set a crous before Faya. “Go elsewhere and entertain yourself. This man and I have much to discuss.”

  Faya looked at the coin, at Choro, at Daasek. “If I leave now, my offer leaves with me.”

  “I'm sure you can find some other fool who will accept it.” Considering his companion dismissed, Choro turned to Daasek. “Please sit, whoever you are.”

  Daasek settled in Faya's hastily abandoned chair. “My name is Daasek.”

  Choro appraised him. “Where are you from?”

  He had gotten this far by being bold; he saw no reason to change tactics now. “Myniah. I left there long before ... the recent troubles started. I have not been back since.”

  “Myniah. Hardly a glowing recommendation.” Choro toyed with the knife. “Yet you speak openly, like an honest man. Obviously, you overheard our conversation. Extremely bad manners, but I will overlook them this time. If you tell the truth, then you must know the difficulties. How do you propose to surmount them?”

  “A small boat with a small crew should not interest pirates. I've sailed the Horean Sea nearly my entire life. I know channels where a large boat cannot hope to pursue.” “And the warbacks?”

  “The coastal waters are too shallow for them. If we follow the coast we should be safe.” And I have no fear of warbacks.

  “Daasek!” Daasek turned and found an angry tavern owner standing behind him. “I pay you to watch my customers, not badger them. Get back to work!”

  Choro looked steadily at Daasek. “How much do you earn here, Daasek?”

  “Three crous a week.”

  “Which is more than you deserve,” the innkeeper exploded, as angry at being ignored as at his employee's work habits.

  Choro set down his mug, then put two crous on the table. “You now make four. Come with me.” Without further comment he rose and headed out the door. Daasek followed rapidly, ignoring the curses from the innkeeper.

  “You will no longer be welcome there,” Daasek said as they forced their way through the crowded streets.

  “I have suffered greater hardships, I assure you. I suggest we finish our discussion in a friendlier atmosphere. That,” the merchant pointed out a richly appointed inn nearby, “will do nicely.”

  * * * *

  “I am sorry if I angered your friend,” Daasek said over his tankard of wine. Choro was apparently well-known in the establishment as they had been seated rapidly. Considering the rich appearance of the other patrons, Daasek was certain that, alone, he would have never been permitted inside.

  Choro chortled. “Faya a friend! I don't believe anyone has ever called Faya a friend before! Excuse me.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “That concept is most amusing!”

  Daasek waited patiently for the merchant's mirth to subside. “What are you taking to Tscheran?”

  His good humor vanished. “You presume much of my hospitality,” he answered with a frown. “But since you ask, spices. Some gems. Nothing you need be concerned about. But it occurs to me the wrong person is asking the questions. The knife made a most convincing argument. I have seen warback blades before. If you had stolen it, you surely would have sold it for what I offered. One made of Byrnean steel is much more useful and valuable. Unless, of course, you are a member of the Guild. In which case nothing short of death would have pried it from you. But,” he paused just long enough to pat the bottom of a passing serving wench, “I need more proof than that if I am to entrust my future fortune to you.”

  “And how do I convince you?”

  “Draw me a map of the Horean Sea,” and he handed Daasek a stick of charcoal.

  Daasek saw no paper so he began to sketch on the white linen tablecloth. Choro stood behind him, watching without comment. After fifteen minutes, Choro nodded. “You even put in the reefs near Todolea. You are either a sailor, Daasek, or an excellent mnemonicist. In either event, I have no more time to waste. My cargo begins to spoil. You are my pilot.”

  “I will justify your confidence,” Daasek assured him stiffly. He was confused, lightheaded, elated and cautious all at once. Most importantly, he was once more on his way to Myniah!

  “Then I toast our venture.” Both drank deeply from the thick Ferring wine, which had been brought from the private stock Choro maintained at the establishment. Choro was beaming when he set down his glass. “We sail in the morning. You will stay at my quarters this evening.”

  “I want the smallest crew and smallest ship possible to handle your cargo.”

  “So do I. As for the crew, there will be only one.”

  “Is he a good sailor?”

  Choro beamed. “The best, comrade Daasek. The sailor is me!”

  * * * *

  Daasek manned the tiller and smiled. Once again, he felt like a fisherman. A small boat, asail at dawn. The fact they were carrying cargo rather than searching for it mattered little. He took a deep breath of the air. The scents of seamocker, grickle, and warback mingled with those carried from the land and aboard their ship to make, for him, the finest perfume imaginable.

  Choro snored away at the bow. He would have preferred a later sailing time but finally agreed with Daasek that it would be best if the fewest people possible knew what they were carrying or where. They had purchased everything that evening, Choro following Daasek's recommendations completely. He had even helped load the craft and seemed no more tired than Daasek when they were through. Daasek had then changed his opinion of the trader. Choro appeared obese, but much was muscle. He might, Daasek decided, make a good shipmate after all.

  * * * *

  “Excellent, Daasek, excellent,” Choro said between mouthfuls. “You are a true magician with the net. And an excellent harvester as well. Without doubt you are a true, honored master of the Guild.”

  Daasek smiled at the irony over his plate of freshly-caught fan fish and clams. “No magic involved at all. I could teach you if you wish.”

  Choro shook his head. “Don't bother. I have fat fingers. I have trouble tying my own shoes. No, the advantage of money is that you can hire people to do what you cannot. My talent, if that it is, is that I usually hire the right people.” He took a hefty swallow of wine. “You know why I am eager to get to Tscheran,” he continued. “Why do you?”

  Daasek paused. “I am not eager...”

  “Tut, tut,” Choro waved him silent. “You are probably more eager than I. We have not even discussed wages, my good man. The four crous I offered you in that stinkpot is hardly pilot's fare. I will pay you equitably, I assure you. But I am curious. And I am your employer. Are you fleeing someone?”

  Daasek considered how much he could tell Choro. “Not fleeing. I must get to Myniah. There is ... something I have to do.”

  “Myniah. Yes, your homeland,” Choro mused. “I never visited there, mind you, but I used to have great respect for the men who sailed from her harbors. The plague that has befallen her is a blight Phann should not tolerate. Well,” he smiled, deciding he would learn no more, “the fish was excellent. If you wish, I will steer for awhile. You might need a rest. Since you will be the one who will sail this evening.”

  “Just keep the coastline in sight. We should have nothing to fear,” Daasek instructed, then made his bed on top of the aromatic sacks of spice. He was surprised at how tired he was and neither the strong smell nor Choro's off-key caroling kept him awake for long. He dreamt of Myniah and Nyxx. And revenge.

  * * * *

  On their third day out Daasek saw the first warback. It was a small one, not quite as long as their
craft. Choro watched nervously as it kept pace with the boat, not approaching but not leaving, either. Daasek merely watched.

  “Can't we do something?” Choro finally asked.

  “You are welcome to try. Perhaps a sack of spice will placate it.”

  Choro looked at his cargo, then at Daasek. “I am not amused. Are you sure it won't trouble us?”

  “I am sure. The waters are shallow here. The warback is curious, perhaps confused.”

  “As long as it's not hungry.”

  “Warbacks are always hungry. If you wish we can try to scare it.” He turned the tiller and the ship veered sharply toward deeper waters.

  “No,” Choro waved his hands frantically. “Are you trying to kill us? Or scare me half to death?”

  “Neither,” Daasek replied and returned to their original course. “A member of the Fishermen Guild has nothing to fear of warbacks, no matter what their size. Those who sail with him enjoy the same protection.”

  As if in response, the warback suddenly roared. It turned and started to race towards them, only to turn again. It sounded, resurfaced, roared once more and sounded again. When it reappeared, it was hurrying away from their craft.

  Choro eyed Daasek suspiciously. “What is it, Daasek? What is the secret?” “I told you. I am a member of the Fishermen Guild.”

  Choro nodded. “Then I shall ask no more.” He gazed at Daasek with new-felt respect. “The knife was convincing, but that is final proof. This needs a celebration, I think.” He rummaged among the bales and returned with a small flask. “Maidshair wine. The finest that pitiful hovel of Ferring had to offer. I noticed you enjoyed it our last evening ashore. It shows you have excellent taste.” He poured two glasses. “To profit.” He handed Daasek a glass and drank.

  “To Myniah,” Daasek rejoined.

  Choro sat back, relaxing in the sun. “I must confess to you that for the first time I am truly confident we shall arrive at Tscheran.”

  Daasek coughed in surprise. “If you had doubts, why did you come along?” he gasped.

  Choro was equally surprised. “And trust you with my load of spice? Trust you to bargain successfully with the thieves who command the Tscheran markets? Trust you to return to Ferring with my profits? I am no newborn foal, Daasek. If my ship is to be captured by pirates or eaten by warbacks, then I want to be there to see it for myself!” Daasek decided there was no worthy response. He contented himself with more of the delicious wine and the thought they were getting ever closer to Myniah.

  Their encounter with the warback was the only real difficulty on their voyage. Twice they spotted the sails of far larger ships on the horizon, but as Daasek had predicted, they were too small and too close to the coast to attract interest. When they docked at Tscheran they were equally relieved, although for different reasons.

  * * * *

  “Drop that sack and your testicles follow,” Choro called out a warning as he supervised the unloading. “Do they only hire offspring of cousins?” he muttered and paced the dock more ferociously. Daasek struggled to keep up. He had been the merchant's shadow for half the morning, waiting patiently for an opportunity to talk.

  He had yet to find one. Once ashore, Choro was back in his element and he reveled in his reassertion of control. It was not proper that a member of the Merchants Guild be seen helping to unload a shipment, steer a craft, or do anything more strenuous than issue orders. Daasek received an education as he tagged behind and watched, bemused, as Choro haggled mercilessly with workers and merchants alike. Not once did a smile cross the merchant's face until they had left the warehouse district, a bulging sack of crous securely in Choro's grasp.

  For perhaps only the second time that day, Choro deigned to notice Daasek. “Entertaining, yes?” he winked.

  Daasek nodded. “We must talk.”

  Choro raised a finger to his lips. “Not until we dine. Then we can talk. But first to the spa. I am tired of smelling of fish and spice!”

  * * * *

  “You know I cannot guide you back to Ferring,” Daasek said as he cut into the thick fillet of horse. After three weeks of fish, even he was grateful for a different diet. “Myniah, of course. I understand,” Choro replied absently while darting from one of the many delicacies that surrounded him to another.

  “As for my pay.”

  “And well earned, I must add.”

  “I would like to buy your boat.”

  Choro nodded while sipping his wine.

  “How much do you want?”

  Choro gnawed on a seamocker leg as he considered. “I was going to pay you 50 gold crous for your services. The craft cost me 80. However,” he beamed, “our excellent time of delivery, combined with my considerable skills at bargaining, has garnered me a greater profit than even I anticipated. Of course, the fact that the scourge of pirates has left Tscheran virtually bereft of any trade may have had something to do with it,” he winked at Daasek. “You can have the boat for your share.” He paused. “And your knife.”

  “I will take my 50 crous now, if you please,” Daasek said and began to rise.

  Choro grabbed his arm, smiling. “Only joking, my friend. I think I owed you that, especially the way you terrified me with that warback. No, the ship is yours. And I wish you luck. When do you leave?”

  Daasek looked at his half-finished meal. “Tonight.”

  “In that case.” He reached in a shirt pocket and withdrew a small packet. “Eat this.” He dropped it on the table.

  It contained what appeared to be a mixture of herbs. “What is it?”

  “In a minute. Sprinkle it on your meat. Put some in your wine. Just eat it.” He looked at Daasek beseechingly. “You won't even taste it. It's harmless. Here, look.” He took the packet and spilled some over his own food, which he quickly devoured. “Try it,” he handed it back.

  Daasek shrugged and sprinkled some on his plate. The herbs were slightly pungent, but not unpleasant. After several bites he decided they complemented the taste of horse nicely. “What was that?” he asked when he finished. “The spices we brought with us?”

  Choro shook his head. “The antidote.”

  Daasek stared at him, not wanting to believe what he heard. “What?”

  “I poisoned you with the wine we drank,” he explained calmly between mouthfuls.

  Daasek sat rock still for several moments, trying to digest the news along with the food. “Why?” he finally managed to ask.

  Choro reluctantly set down his knife and fork. “To protect myself, of course. Don't look at me like a beaten puppy! Daasek, we were on that ship nearly a month. I had no idea if you might be leading me into a pirate's ambush, or worse. You had ample opportunity to stab me, to strangle me, to feed me to the warbacks. I had to protect my investment, not to mention myself, somehow. It seemed my only recourse.”

  Daasek considered. The merchant's arguments were reasonable though not appreciated. “You could have told me.”

  “And have you angry at me the entire voyage? Besides, if you would have known, you may have thought you could kill me and get the antidote later. You wouldn't have, incidentally. It is a very unique poison. One must continually ingest it, or take the antidote. Otherwise it becomes potent. Don't act so upset,” he finished, suddenly angry. “I took it, too!”

  Daasek understood the merchant's actions, and he wished he didn't. Still he felt betrayed. By the sign of Hys, he actually liked the man. “So you need to poison a man in order to trust him,” he said bitterly.

  “Trust?” He looked at Daasek in surprise. “I never said I trusted you. I merely said I had confidence in you. The two are not companion emotions.”

  Daasek now had no more desire for his food or Choro's companionship. “I must leave now. I wish to catch the outgoing tide,” he said heavily.

  “Sit down. Finish your meal. Enjoy some more wine.”

  “No. Not with you.” He rose. “Thank you for the ship.”

  Choro shook his head. “Think nothing of it.”


  “I won't.” When he left Choro was attacking his third plate of pickled hare's feet.

  * * * *

  Daasek rowed out into the harbor. Above him, the Face of Threnn smiled. Iofhee chased Phann across the sky. The wind was rising from the east, the current flowing strongly south. He could reach Myniah within a moonphase. For the first time, he realized he had no idea what he would do when he got there. And unlike times past, the answer would not come in his dreams. He brought in the oars and raised the sail. He would think of something.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Ten: Preparations

  From the small outcropping of rocks, Daasek surveyed the cliffs and harbor of Myniah. The light from Phann was sufficient, but was heavily augmented by the torches and lanterns borne by the many ships that crowded the moorage. Rough laughter or threats occasionally drifted his way, not the sort associated with a peaceful fishing community.

  Daasek shook his head. Even during the heaviest trading or fishing times, Myniah had never hosted that many craft. Most were corsairs, with a scattering of damaged hulks of captured merchantmen. Nowhere was a fishing craft evident. It depressed him. Even destroying Nyxx might not be enough to save his homeland from the oppression of the criminals who now called it sanctuary.

  He climbed off the rock and reentered his beached craft. The normal week's journey from Tsheran had taken considerably longer. He had been forced to abandon day sailing, and the coastline, with its dangerous rocks and shoals, had always been near at hand. He had beached in every small cove and hidden inlet he knew in order to escape the daylight watch of the pirates. This close to Myniah, not even a seemingly peaceful fisherman could hope to escape capture if seen.

  Worse, he couldn't sail into the harbor, even at night. Which left him two alternatives; swim or scale the cliffs. The cliffs, he was certain, would be well-guarded. Even though he had climbed them often in his youth, it was too hazardous to attempt by starlight. Swim it would have to be.