The Reign of Wizardry (4 page)

“Every similar drought, I knew, had been ended at last by rain—and some enterprising magician had been able to claim the credit for it. Therefore, I built a mud tower in the fields, and burned herbs on the top of it, and sacrificed a kid, and kept vigils under the stars,
and waited, like the farmers, for rain to come.

“But there was never such a drought in Babylon. The sky by day was like a hot copper bowl, and the stars were jewels at night. The young corn withered and blew away on the wind, and the starved cattle died, and men with donkeys made fortunes selling muddy water in the streets of Babylon.

“My clients began to grow impatient. In vain I discussed
with them the phenomenal difficulties that faced my enterprise, and trebled my fees. Finally they demanded the return of all they had paid me. The money, unfortunately, was already spent. But my clients departed, without it, and took their problem to another magician.

“This other magician was a stranger, who had arrived in Babylon only recently—almost on the day, in fact, that the drought began.
Very little was known of him. But a sudden rumor had swept the city that he came from Crete, and had studied the arts of Daedalus and Minos.

“The stranger offered, for a fabulous sum, to bring rain on this very night. My former clients were desperate. They went to the Hittite usurers, pledged their lands and slaves and cattle and even their wives, and borrowed the stranger’s fee.

“That night
it rained.

“I knew then that the stranger possessed the power that I had claimed, and that his superior arts must in fact have been responsible for my failure. I sought for him, intending to ask him to take me for an apprentice. But I found that he had already departed. None knew how or where he had gone, but a huge strange bird had been seen rising through the storm clouds.

“Returning through
the muddy streets to my own dwelling, I found that some of my angry clients had come there to insist upon return of their fees. I found it therefore expedient to assume the guise of a woman and leave Babylon also, astride a donkey.”

The Dorian pirate made an impatient gesture with his smoking lance. The little wizard shuddered in the ropes that bound him to the mast, and Theseus held out a restraining
hand.

“Wait till you know my peculiar misfortune,” begged Snish. “The stranger from Knossos must have cast some powerful spell upon me, which he neglected to lift before he departed. For all matters concerning the weather remain unfortunate for me.

“My travels since I left Babylon have been extensive and
usually unwilling. I was put ashore near Troy some moons ago by an Egyptian captain who
had begun to suspect that my presence aboard his ship had something to do with unfavorable winds.”

Cyron came with a hot lance from the fire. “Let me at him, Captain Firebrand,” he begged. “The Cretan fleet is bearing down upon us—this lying little wizard is trying to talk us all to death. Let me burn his eyes out, and go.”

“Wait, Gamecock.” Theseus stopped him, and turned back to the shuddering
little wizard. “If you have such cause to fear the warlocks of Knossos,” he said, “you had better explain why you were sailing for Crete! And talk fast!”

Snish rolled his bulging yellow eyes. “I was coming to that,” he wheezed anxiously. “I found myself friendless in Troy. In Babylon, before I so unwisely sought to change my trade, I had been a cobbler. I sought employment in the shops of Troy,
but I could find nothing, and hunger presently forced me to make a living with my small arts. I began to make certain prophecies to the clients who came to me—with results that proved unfortunate.”

Snish shook his bald, brown head regretfully, and his eyes rolled at Cyron, who was watching the southward sea and flourishing the hot lance with increasing impatience.

“You see, even Troy has been
compelled to yield tribute to Minos, and many were inquisitive about the future of Crete. Now, whatever one may actually read of the future—and it is said that the warlocks of Crete can survey it with considerable certainty—it is almost invariably the best policy for the seer to ignore his actual findings, and tell his clients merely what they wish to believe.

“I assured the Trojans, therefore,
that Minos is doomed, and that all the splendor of Crete will one day be forgotten, and that Troy will one day be the mistress of the world—I ignored certain grave indications in the stars as to the fate of Troy itself, save to warn the Trojans to beware of horses.

“I had no rivals in Troy, for it is but a small city, and for a time I was very successful. Too successful, in fact, for my fame
reached the ears of the Cretan resident. He sent for a Cretan priest, and the priest had me arrested.”

Snish shuddered against the ropes. “It appears,” he said, “that all the practitioners of magic in the dominions of Minos are organized in a compact and jealous guild. No wizard outside the guild is allowed to practice. Unwittingly, I broke
the law. I was being taken to Knossos, to face what
is called the justice of the Dark One.”

The little Babylonian trembled and turned slightly green. “Perhaps you have heard of the justice of the Dark One,” he gasped. “It is the most fearful fate that can befall a human being. For the victim is sent beyond human justice. He is thrust into the black Labyrinth, beneath the palace of Minos, that is the dwelling of the Dark One. And that evil deity,
it is said, devours both body and soul of all who enter there.”

Snish repressed another shudder, and blinked hopefully at Theseus. “I had induced the Hittite captain to post a bond for me,” his shrill voice hurried on. “And I hoped that he could be persuaded to escape from the convoy tonight, and sail for Egypt. But that would have brought all the wizardry of Knossos upon my trail.”

The yellow
eyes of Snish followed Cyron’s smoking lances. “It is most fortunate for me, Captain Firebrand, that you took the ship,” he wheezed hastily. “That is, if you can dissuade this pirate from his evil intent toward the smallest, the kindest, and the most insignificant of wizards. Save me, Captain Firebrand!” His voice became a squeal. “Let my small magic serve you!”

Cyron tugged at the arm of Theseus,
and his fingers trembled. “Let me at the wizard,” he begged huskily. “For the fleet is coming fast, and the northward sky has an evil look.”

“Wait, Gamecock,” urged Theseus. “Perhaps I can use his magic.”

Snish stirred hopefully in the ropes. “Indeed you can, Captain Firebrand.” His yellow eyes lifted to the rising black clouds. “And I suggest, Captain Gamecock,” he shrilled, “that you had better
leave me, soon. Because, as I told you, I have difficulty with the weather. That storm is doubtless following me.”

Apprehension had mounted above Cyron’s cooling wrath. He flung his smoking pike down upon the deck, and shouted at his men to make ready with the sail. “Take him, Captain Firebrand,” he muttered. “But watch him. For no wizard can be trusted—not even such a cowardly dog of a wizard
as this!”

He leaped to the pirate’s deck, and axes flashed to cut the lashings. “Farewell, Captain Firebrand!” His shout came hoarse and strained. “Beware the wizard!”

The red sail went up—for there was still a breath of wind in the south. The Mycenean’s long whip came to hissing life, and flashing oars pulled the galley toward the northward strait, to meet the coming storm.

Alone with Snish
on the prize, for even the oar slaves had been herded aboard the pirate, Theseus cut the ropes that had bound the little wizard, and sent him to take the steering oars.

Theseus himself climbed the stays and loosed the huge yellow sail to the fitful wind. He had it spread by the time the south wind died and the first cold blast of the storm struck from the north.

“Which way, Captain Firebrand?”
came the anxious piping of Snish. “Shall we steer to the east, and seek to escape the Cretans under the darkness of the storm?”

The head of Theseus lifted high, and his red hair whipped in the wind. He looked across the sea, at a long line of black sails advancing upon that amazing south wind. At last he turned, grave-eyed, back to the little wizard.

“No,” he said quietly. “Steer straight to
meet them.”

The brown frog-face turned faintly green once more, and then gnarled hands trembled on the steering oar. “Aye, Captain Firebrand,” wheezed Snish, “we steer straight to meet them.” His bald head shook ominously. “But my feeble arts tell me that I should have done better to remain with the Gamecock, even at the cost of my eyes!”

L
OOKING AFT
again, when he had the square yellow sail securely set, Theseus was not greatly surprised to see that Snish, at the steering oars, had resumed his feminine guise.

Tai Leng smiled at him, with a smoldering light in her long, almond eyes. A provocative twist of her tall, golden body moved Theseus briefly to inquire whether the spell might not be made proof against destruction
by contact.

The yellow princess shook her head. “The guise is merely a measure of safety,” commented her soft singsong. “Even a
woman is exposed to certain dangers. But a sufficient beauty can usually evade them.”

Approaching her, Theseus fancied that he saw in her yellow features some faint mocking hint of the frog-face of Snish. And the limpid singsong, when she spoke again, had a slight nasal
undertone.

“Shall I not disguise you, also, Captain Firebrand?” she asked. “My insignificant arts are at your command.”

Theseus shook his head. “I seek to destroy the arts of wizardry, not to employ them.” He shrugged wearily. “Anyhow, the overthrow of the throne of Minos is no task for women.”

“The guise need not be a woman’s,” the yellow girl assured him. “That is merely the one which best
insures my own safety. I can give you the likeness of any man you choose.”

Theseus stared at the black sails marching from the south, before that mysterious wind. “There is the black priest I killed.” He rubbed reflectively at his lean chin. “No,” he said abruptly. “In time, such a guise might be useful. But now I am going to meet the Cretans as the pirate, Captain Firebrand, with the Falling
Star to speak for me.”

The long, almond eyes of Tai Leng smoldered, inscrutable. “But Captain Firebrand is already wanted,” her silken voice protested. “Minos has offered ten talents of silver for your head—”

The singsong ceased abruptly; something glittered in her smoky eyes.

“Seek to collect it,” warned Theseus, grimly, “and no wizard’s guise will save your guts from being spilled by the
Falling Star!”

To emphasize the warning, he seized the soft yellow curve of a shoulder exposed by the torn crimson silk and shook vigorously. The result was a strange transformation.

The yielding golden flesh changed under his fingers; became brown, bony. The exotic woman’s face melted halfway into the ugly frog-features of Snish, and the protesting voice had a nasal whine: “Captain Firebrand,
can’t you trust me? For I owe you my eyes, and even my life. I am your smallest, most miserable, most devoted slave.”

“I trust no wizard—not even if he is small enough to be a louse on my belly,” muttered Theseus. “However, your arts may be useful to me—puny as they are against the wizardry of Knossos. I shall not destroy you—yet.”

The golden princess dropped on her knees and kissed his hand.
He felt her lips change, as they pressed against his fingers. And for a moment the black lustrous pile of her perfumed hair was gone, and he saw the brown bald head of Snish.

“Go back to your steering oar,” Theseus told her. “The word of a wizard is nothing; but, so long as we are both enemies of Knossos, perhaps we can serve one another.”

He threw hay to the three great black bulls, bellowing
in their narrow pen. Eying the graceful danger of their tapered tossing horns, he thought of the games to be played for the throne of Minos, and could not help a little shudder. For many perils lay before the throne, and those horns were but the symbol of the Dark One’s monstrous power.

Driven before the storm, the trader plowed on southward. The fleet came before that strange south wind to meet
her, and narrow black hulls lifted beneath the black square sails.

Black bull’s-head standards came into view, and at last Theseus could see the purple streamer that marked the flagship. He commanded the yellow woman to steer toward it. Tai Leng silently obeyed. Her yellow face was pale, and fear distended her long, oblique eyes.

The cold storm wind faltered and died as the fleet drew near.
The galley wallowed, yellow sail slack, in a sudden calm. The south wind that brought the Cretans had ceased also, and glinting oars brought the flagship across the last arrow’s flight.

“Ahoy!” shouted a brass-lunged officer. “What ship spreads the yellow sail of Amur the Hittite?”

Theseus cupped bronze hands to his face. “This ship is a prize of war,” he returned. “Her captain is the free Achean,
Captain Firebrand. He sails to Crete, with a gift of three black bulls for the Minoan games, and a yellow princess of Cathay to grace the megaron of Minos. But what ship spreads the black sail of Knossos?”

There was a startled pause before: “This ship,” the officer bellowed, “is the flagship of the north fleet of Minos, who is himself a god and companion of the Dark One, who is also ruler of
Crete and the isles of the sea and the coasts beyond. And her commander is Phaistro, first noble of Knossos and admiral of all the fleets of Minos.”

The ships touched. A squad of Cretan marines, armed with nets and tridents, leaped to the trader’s deck and made a watchful circle about Theseus. When the ships were lashed, Phaistro himself followed.

The admiral was tall for a Cretan, but small-boned
and wiry. His swarthy face was thinly aristocratic, almost handsome. Theseus looked at the feeble chin, the full red lips and the dark, sullen eyes. He saw the lines in the face, the nervous tension of the body. For all his passion and his pride, Theseus thought, this man was yet a weakling.

With a walk that had a certain womanish grace, Phaistro crossed the deck. Theseus caught the perfume of
his dark hair, which was dressed in the elaborate Cretan fashion, with three coils on the head and three long curls behind.