The Reign of Wizardry (3 page)

Besides the
slave girls, there was another woman found unfettered in the Hittite captain’s cabin—such a woman as none of the pirates had ever seen. Her skin was the color of gold, her dark smoldering eyes almond-shaped and queerly slanted.

She was dragged out upon the deck with the rest, to await her lot in the partition of the loot. As the pirate smiths drew her hands behind her and riveted slave fetters
to her slim yellow wrists, she stood tall almost as a man, looking past her captors with a proud contempt.

“She’s a queen!” whispered Cyron. “There was never such a woman!”

He joined the eager pirates that ringed her, staring with an unfeigned admiration. Pillared elaborately upon her proud head, her hair was black and lustrous. Her golden throat and her arms gleamed with jewels of green jade.
A torn gown of sheer crimson silk hid few curves of her tall yellow body.

When the one-eyed Tirynthian, who was also the cook, had done hammering the last rivet, he pushed her roughly. She fell, and her bare yellow knees were bruised on the deck. But she uttered no cry of pain, and in spite of the fetters she came back to her feet with a sinuous grace. Her long burning eyes came slowly to one-eyed
Vorkos.

“You are now the masters!” She spoke the Cretan tongue, with a limpid singsong accent. “But I am Tai Leng, a princess of far Cathay. I have a talisman of vision, and now I see the angry hand of Minos hanging like a black cloud over you.”

Her smoldering eyes swept over the pirate crew, and her proud, yellow shoulders made a little careless shrug. “Before the sun is set,” warned her silken
tones, “the greatest of you will be a prisoner in the power of Crete.”

The one-eyed Tirynthian retreated uneasily, muttering that she was a sorceress and ought therefore to be burned alive. But Cyron hastily objected that no woman so beautiful should be wasted, even so, and the division of the spoil went on.

This partition was made by a method the pirates had devised. White shells were counted
out to each man, according to his rank and valor. Then the metal ingots, the slaves, and the other lots of plunder, were auctioned off for shells.

The golden woman went high. Gothung, the blond steersman, organized a group of men to make a collective bid. Cyron offered all his share of shells, a heavy golden belt, and
a fine silver bracelet. Finally, adding his precious purple cloak, he bought
her.

While the auction was still in progress on the trader, Theseus took the Hittite captain and his men aboard the pirate, and set them safely on the headland as he had promised. Still he was puzzled about the captain. His beady eyes had watched the division of his cargo with apparent unconcern. And they flickered now and then, Theseus had noticed, ever so briefly toward the southwest.

Southwest
was the direction of Knossos.

When Theseus went back aboard the prize, he found Cyron standing on the foredeck, staring anxiously in the same direction. The bearded pirate turned with a start.

“Captain Firebrand!” His voice was hoarse. “It is time for us to go. For I have spoken with the yellow girl I bought. And she laughed at me and promised me that tonight will end her captivity. The magic
of Minos will rescue her, she says.”

His voice dropped apprehensively. “The wizards of Knossos, the yellow girl says, have seen all that has happened. Minos will send a fleet, she says. Through the power of the Dark One, he will make a fair wind to speed the fleet. And he can even make a storm, she told me, to drive us back into the teeth of danger!” Shuddering, Cyron looked fearfully into the
southwest.

“It is true,” commented Theseus, “that our friend the Hittite captain was watching that quarter very hopefully.”

“Then,” Cyron demanded, “we shall raise sail while we can?”

“You may, if you think wise,” Theseus told him. “But I am going to Knossos.”

“To Knossos—in Crete?”

The eyes of Cyron grew big as moons, and he staggered a little backward.

“Not to Knossos! Captain Firebrand,
are you mad?”

“Perhaps,” said Theseus. “But I am going to Knossos.”

“In the name of all the gods,” gasped Cyron, “why? The yellow girl told me that Minos has placed a great price upon your head. You are the most feared pirate of the sea. But why walk into a cave of hungry lions?”

Theseus rubbed his lean chin—smooth-shaven with the edge of the Falling Star.

“I talked with the Hittite captain,”
he said slowly. “What he told me has decided me to go to Knossos. For the nine-year period of the reign of Minos is within two moons of its end, and these slaves and bulls we had taken were intended for the games that take place then.”

“But,” gasped Cyron, “Captain Firebrand!”

“You must have heard the rule of the Minoan games,” said Theseus. “You know that they are played, every nine years,
to choose the ruler of Crete. And if any man wins the contests, the old Minos must give up his life, and go down into the dread Labyrinth of the Dark One.”

Theseus fingered the hilt of the Falling Star, and a tiny smile touched his lean, bronzed face.

“The winner,” he said, “is declared the new Minos. The beauteous Ariadne, the daughter of the old Minos and the vessel of Cybele, will be his
to claim. And his will be the Empire of Crete, all the treasure of Knossos, command of the fleets, and even the wizardry of Minos and the Dark One’s power.”

Cyron stepped back, and his bearded face showed an awed frown. “But I thought, Captain Firebrand,” he muttered, “that you sought to destroy the wizardry of Knossos—not to take it for your own!”

Theseus nodded gravely. “I shall destroy them,”
he said, “when I own them.”

Cyron abruptly seized his shoulder and tried to shake him. “Captain Firebrand,” he said hoarsely, “are you an utter fool? Don’t you know that Minos won the games and his throne a thousand years ago? And that no man has ever had a chance to win, in all the cycles since?”

His voice was dry with dread. “Don’t you know that Minos is the greatest of the warlocks? That
even the terrible Daedalus serves him? That he is immortal, and destroys with his wizardry all who might hope with skill and daring to win the games?”

“I have heard all that,” Theseus said. “But I have never fought in the games at Knossos.” His blue eyes smiled. “And the Hittite tells me that Ariadne is very beautiful.”

The Dorian answered the grin, grew solemn again. “Captain Firebrand, you
can’t leave us now.” His voice quivered, broke. “It is but a year since you came to our northern rendezvous and begged to join us. But already you are my captain—and my brother.”

His dark eyes looked hastily away. “If you must go to Knossos, Captain,” he whispered faintly, “then I … I’ll go with you!”

Theseus smiled again, and took his hand.

“No, Gamecock,” he said, “I shall go alone. But cheer
up! When the time comes to loot the palace of Minos, perhaps you will be there.”

Cyron blinked and grinned. “I’ll be there,” he choked. Suddenly, then, he started. His dark eyes widened apprehensively again. He stared at Theseus, and then away into the southwest. “Don’t joke with me, Captain Firebrand,” he begged. “Give the orders, and let us seek the northern islands with our loot.”

His pointing
arm was trembling. “See the sky in the direction of far Knossos, Captain?” His voice sank hoarsely. “How fair it is? And how angrily the clouds are piling in the north? I have felt the wizardry of Knossos, Captain, and I fear it!”

The blue eyes of Theseus narrowed, swept the horizon. “It is a strange sky!” he said. “But I’m not joking, Captain Gamecock—for you are captain, now. Give your orders,
and take your men and the plunder aboard. Let the men divide my share—and you may have the treasure in my cabin. Only leave me the hull of the trader, for I am going to sail to Knossos.” He studied the northward sky again. “I think the wind will be favorable enough.”

“Captain Firebrand,” protested the Dorian, “I wish you wouldn’t—”

Theseus turned, stopped the pirate with a sudden pointing gesture.
Far away southwestward, across the flat blue sea, stretched a long line of infinitesimal black dots.

“There comes the black-sailed fleet of Minos,” Theseus said, “sweeping fast on a changing wind. I am sailing to meet it. And, if you hope to outfly the wizardry of Knossos, Captain Gamecock, you had better take your yellow woman and set sail!”

T
HESEUS RETURNED
to the pirate for the small leather bag that held his personal effects. Climbing back aboard the prize, he found that the preparations to leave it had halted. A score of the booty-laden pirates were standing in a staring ring about the mast. And Vorkos, the one-eyed Tirynthian cook, was kneeling to fan his fire, heating the point of a long bronze lance.

Theseus pushed
through the ring. He found Cyron standing angrily over a small yellow-brown man, who was bound to the mast. The prisoner was squealing in terror, trying to writhe away from another red-hot lance that the enraged pirate was flourishing in front of him.

“Now try your wizardry!” muttered Cyron. “Against hot bronze!”

Theseus stared in astonishment at the captive. He was almost a dwarf. Wide-mouthed,
froglike, his wrinkled face was remarkably ugly. Terror had given him a faintly greenish color. His head was completely bald, but he had thick black eyebrows. Huge and yellow and white-rimmed, his eyes were popping out with fear.

“Where did he come from, Captain Gamecock?” asked Theseus.

Cyron sputtered incoherently. Theseus looked wonderingly back at the squealing prisoner. He saw with surprise
that the little man was clad in torn fragments of crimson silk, that his scrawny brown arms and neck were laden with green jade and gold.

Theseus caught the angry Dorian’s arm.

“The Cretan fleet is coming,” he warned. “And the storm is gathering swiftly in the north. If you hope to get away, Gamecock, it is time for you to go!”

Cyron dropped the hot lance on the deck and tried to master his
wrath. He glanced apprehensively at the long far line of black sails across the south, and shouted at the cook to hasten his fire.

“We’ll be going, Captain Firebrand!” he gasped. “But first I am going to burn the eyes out of this small wizard.”

“Where did a wizard come from?” demanded Theseus. “And what happened to your golden woman?”

Cyron gulped for his voice, and kicked viciously at the
small brown man’s shin.

“There was no golden woman,” he muttered. “There was only this evil little wizard”. He moaned and picked up his buskined toe, which had struck the mast. “He had taken the woman’s guise, to save his cowardly carcass from harm.”

He spat at the little brown man.

“I sought to kiss the golden woman, and she changed in my arms. Into—that!” He trembled with rage. “To think
that I gave all my share of the prize, and my jewels, and even my purple cloak—to buy a grinning ape!”

He tweaked the small man’s nose.

“Anyhow, I shall have the pleasure of burning out his eyes—and I am going to enjoy it!”

The prisoner emitted another screech, and twisted desperately against the ropes. His bulging, yellow eyes rolled fearfully, and fastened upon Theseus.

“O, Captain Firebrand!”
His voice was a high nasal whine. “O greatest of the pirates, whose honor and audacity are spoken even in my own far Babylon! Oh, save me!”

Theseus hooked thumbs in his belt, and shook his red head. “I don’t like wizards.”

The yellow eyes blinked at him hopefully. “But I am the most insignificant and powerless of wizards,” came the frantic piping plea. “My spells are only the feeblest and most
useless. None of them can harm any man. If I possessed the powers of the warlocks of Knossos, would I be here, bound, tortured?”

The yellow eyes rolled fearfully to Cyron, and Theseus stepped a little nearer. “So you were the golden princess?”

“I was,” whined the little man. “That spell is the greatest of my powers, and even it is feeble. For every touch weakens it, and a kiss will break it.”
He was watching Cyron, and his voice became a frantic gasping. “I meant no harm, Captain Firebrand. I used the guise only to save my miserable life. Aid me, Captain, and I shall be your slave. You can command my tiny magic. Only save—”

Cyron came back with a red-hot lance, and his voice lifted into a shriek.

Theseus gestured the angry pirate back. “Wait, Captain Gamecock,” he begged. “Let me
speak to this small wizard. There is a saying that magic is best fought with magic. And I fight the wizardry of Crete.”

Cyron flourished the glowing blade impatiently. “But I bought this wizard,” he muttered. “Surely his eyes are mine, to burn out when I like. And probably his spells will be just as useful after he is blind.”

The little man squalled thinly.

“All the treasure in my cabin is
yours, Gamecock,” said Theseus. “You can buy one of the blond slaves.”

“They are not the golden princess,” muttered Cyron. “But you may speak to him, before I enjoy the small pleasure that his wizard’s trick has left me.”

Theseus stepped closer to the squirming prisoner, asking: “Who are you, and how came you aboard?”

“My name is Snish,” whined the little yellow-brown man, eagerly. “I was born
in far-off Babylon. There are many wizards and sorcerers in Babylon. But none of them is so great as the least warlock of Crete. And I was the smallest and feeblest of them all.”

“In that case,” inquired Theseus, “why were you sailing to Crete?”

“It is an unfortunate matter of the weather,” Snish told him.

“The weather?”

The little wizard rolled anxious yellow eyes at Cyron. “Only the most
advanced and gifted sorcerers can actually rule the elements,” he explained uneasily. “Minor magicians, however, have sometimes been able to establish substantial reputations upon the natural uncertainties of the weather, merely through fortunate coincidence.

“Now it was one very dry summer when I embarked upon my career in Babylon. The fields were parched about the city, the canals were dry,
and the river was too low for irrigation. Under such circumstances, I was unwise enough to undertake contracts to bring rain.