The Venom of Luxur Page 6
The answer was a dry rustling from over the crest of the next dune. A flat, skeletal head appeared, empty eye sockets set as wide as his shoulders, jaws bristled with needle teeth, followed by a sinuous body, a spine lined with curved ribs.
He had seen it before.
Parath!
The last time he had seen the self-professed lost god of Stygia, the skeleton had been immobile, trapped in the desert, so it said, by the ancient treachery of the gods Set and Ibis.
Now it moved with the graceful power of a real snake. “This is a dream,” he said.
The great snake reared up before him, sand running off its white bones in rivulets. The voice came at both a booming rumble and a dry hiss, so his ears strained to hear both its high notes and its low. “This is the shadowland between life and death. I have been trapped here, in this serpent form, since before the time of true-men, when great beasts walked the world!”
“Then if I am not dead, I soon will be.”
“No! I have brought you here so that we may speak. You have lost faith in me, Anok Wati! You have lost faith in the mission on which I sent you! You have lost faith in the beliefs of your father!”
Anok twitched at the mention of his father. His memory was drawn back to his Usafiri into the Sea of Sand, a spiritual quest where he had first encountered Parath. Parath claimed that his father, indeed Anok’s entire male family line, had served the fallen god.
But Anok had since learned things that made him think otherwise. “I have doubts. I have concerns. I have seen evidence that my father was secretly an agent of your declared enemy Ibis, not your servant, as you claim.”
“I claim, nothing, little human! I speak truth! Both Ibis and Set are my enemies! As you pose as an acolyte of Set, to strike at him for me, so your father posed as a servant of Ibis for the same reason! Are you so simple that you cannot see this?”
Anok blinked in surprise. It made sense. His father might have pretended to be a follower of Ibis in order to strike at the Moon god for Parath. “What then, of my sister?”
“Sister?” Parath’s voice was incredulous. “You have no sister!”
Anok was confused. What was the truth here? His father told him he had a sister, that he had to find her, and give her the Scale of Set that his father had entrusted to him. Yet ever in that task, he failed. Even here, on the edge of death, he had failed.
What was the truth? Only one person could tell him for sure, and that person was long gone from the world of men, murdered before young Anok’s eyes.
He missed his father so.
He felt empty and cold. The warm spot on his neck began to throb painfully. He noticed a part of the sky, darker than the rest, where the pink sky and yellow swirls of sand gave way to deepest indigo. It called to him.
“I have failed. I cannot free you from this place, any more than I can free myself.” He began to walk down the dune, headed for the dark spot on the horizon. “Perhaps my father’s spirit waits for me, beyond that next dune. Let me go to him.”
With startling speed the skeletal snake slithered down the dune after him, passing him, blocking his way with its massive coil, curved ribs surrounding him like a fence. “Your father is gone. Nothing waits for you there but cold, darkness, and oblivion. Life is not done with you, and neither am I! You are destined to play an important role in the destiny of gods!”
“I have no destiny. I cannot bring you back to life. I am a poor sorcerer.”
“You are more powerful than you know, but you resist that power at every turn. Your efforts to fight it are pointless and pathetic, but you cannot resist forever. You will let the power claim you!”
“I am my own man.”
“You are an instrument of powers you cannot even begin to understand!”
“I still can’t bring you back.”
“You do not need to. Such is the task of others. It is only afterward, that your time of greatness will come. When it does, remember who your true master is and bring the Golden Scales to me!”
The sand beneath his feet seemed to move, to draw him back, faster and faster.
The Parath faded into the distance.
“Remember your master,” the voice faded in the distance. “Bring the Scales to me!”
The sand seemed to run out from under Anok’s feet, as though he stood in an hourglass, and he fell, swallowed into blackness.
The darkness enfolded him, and he welcomed oblivion.
TEFERI TROTTED AWAY along the ridgeline, ducking low so he wouldn’t be seen silhouetted against the night sky from below. It was difficult to see much by starlight, but that was all to his advantage.
He’d spent the better part of the day lying at his vantage point above the shrine, studying the surroundings and committing it all to memory. He carried in his mind’s eye a map, and he already knew his exact route into the temple.
He worked his way around to the west side before heading down the slope through a narrow wash in the embankment he had spotted earlier.
Though it was even darker in its depths, he didn’t need to see. He could reach out and touch the steep walls on either side. He also didn’t have to keep watch for attack from all directions, only front, behind, and above.
He moved with an emphasis on speed rather than stealth. More than once he stumbled, or started a cascade of pebbles sliding noisily down the slope, but it couldn’t be helped. With the venom in Anok’s blood, every moment counted.
Teferi had seen Anok heal himself magically from major wounds, but he was far less confident of his ability to deal with such a devastating dose of poison. The speed with which he had collapsed didn’t bode well.
Teferi considered himself fortunate in that he hadn’t seen any guardian patrols. Apparently, most of the guardians were at the ceremony.
Fortunate for them it is only me and not a gang of bandits seeking gold.
Actually, at this point, bandits would have been a welcome distraction, but he couldn’t be that lucky.
His entire plan was based on a supposition. He had many times seen people go into the small building behind the temple. Several times, he had seen more people enter or emerge than could have possibly fit inside. And on several occasions, he had seen people, including Anok, go into the small building and emerge from the front of the tomb.
Assuming there was no magical trickery at work, the two buildings had to be connected underground. He had seen his unconscious (hopefully not dead) friend dragged back into the tomb. Anok would either still be inside, or he would be coming out through the smaller building.
Either way, I will find him.
A low wall surrounded the rear of the site. He considered scaling it, but it would be difficult to do quietly. Instead, he looked to an arched gate to the north. It was dimly illuminated with a single torch, and the lone guard seemed to be sleeping on his feet.
A single, well-placed arrow would have taken him down, but it also would mark Teferi a murderous invader. Considering the overwhelming odds against him, that would accomplish little. There was still the chance Teferi could bluff his way inside.
If not, Teferi had brought other traditional weapons of his people, weapons of stealth. He also had a new weapon that he had recently picked up in Kheshatta. He wasn’t as practiced with it as he would have liked, but it might serve him.
But after he reached into his bag, it was the traditional weapon he casually held behind his back. He walked boldly up to the gate, pretending to be out of breath and on the verge of collapse.
The startled guardian, a round-faced man, jumped to alert and raised his sword. “Halt, in the name of Set! Halt or die!”
Teferi pretended to ignore the sword, leaning over as though too tired to stand. “I come—I come for an important message—For my master—Anok Wati—An acolyte of Set—Aide to the mighty Priest of Needs—Ramsa Aál—I am his—servant—”
The guardian seemed to relax, convinced Teferi was more annoyance than threat. “No outlander may enter this sacred place
—”
“But lord! My skin is Kush, but I am born of Stygia!”
He laughed. “Birth is nothing! Blood is everything! The noble blood of Stygia runs in all who enter here!”
Teferi could not resist glancing up at the man for a moment. His pointed, hooked nose was the only sign that a drop of Stygian blood ran in him. He rapidly hung his head and kept his contempt to himself. “But lord guardian! I have come far. I bring word from the temple in Kheshatta—Directly from the High Priest—”
“You have done well enough then. Give me your message and be gone!”
Teferi frowned. This wasn’t going to work. “As you wish, my lord!”
He stepped forward, and from behind his back his arm flashed forward, his reach extended by a polished black knobkerrie, a knob-ended club. The ball of it smashed into the guard’s jaw, and Teferi heard bone crack. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head as he fell backward, bounced off the inside of the gate’s arch, and thudded into the dirt.
Teferi quickly dragged him inside the gate, where he found a small gate shack a few feet to one side. He pulled the man inside and removed a pair of snares from his bag. The slip-knotted leather cords were used to bind the legs of killed and live game, and they worked just as well for men. He pulled the man’s wrists behind his back, slipped the snare over, and pulled the knotted cord tight, then repeated the process on his ankles. He gagged the guardian with his own robe tie, flinching sympathetically as he felt the grinding of bone in the broken jaw. Certainly this unfortunate was not going to chew through his gag.
There was one more thing. He reached into the bag and removed a small box made of hollowed bamboo. He opened the lid and removed his new weapon, a steel dart with a tuft of fur on the back, careful not to get near the poisoned point. He jabbed the point into the man’s neck, then drew it out and tossed it away into the darkness. According to the Kheshattan poisoner he had bought it from (and were they not the finest in Hyboria?), it would be at least a day before the man awakened.
Teferi slipped out of the shack, closing the door behind him. Keeping to the shadows, he moved toward the little outbuilding. As he peered around a corner at his destination, he spotted two laborers loading a cart with camel dung, probably from the heavily laden pack caravan he’d seen taken out just after sundown.
Ducking back into concealment, he removed two pieces of carved bamboo tube from his bag, put them together end to end, and twisted the connection to lock them together. Then he took out the little bamboo case and removed two of the tiny darts. He slid one inside the mouthpiece, careful not to let the poison touch the sides, took a deep breath, placed the blowgun to his lips, carefully aimed, then blew.
There was a rushing whistle, like a small bird flying quickly over. The nearer man slapped his hand to the back of his neck, then quietly slumped to the ground.
Teferi ducked back, reloading. The second shot would be harder. Speed was of the essence, and the target might be moving. He inhaled, popped out, aimed, and let fly.
The dark struck the second man in the cheek. He yelped slightly, swatted at the side of his face, and fell on top of his companion. Not an elegant shot, but it would serve.
Teferi put the blowgun into his quiver and ran to the men, dragging them inside the little building. As he had expected, there was a stairway inside.
Less welcome was the sight of a guardian at the bottom, facing away from him, armored so that a blowgun shot from the rear would be difficult to impossible.
Instead, Teferi extinguished the lone torch inside the structure and withdrew to the shadows. In a loud whisper, with as much authority as he could muster, he said, “Up here! Quickly!”
The guardian turned, walked slowly up the stair, weapon at the ready.
Teferi crouched just above the tunnel opening, another dart in his hand. He waited until the man was in front of him, then jumped down to land behind him.
He slapped his hand over the man’s mouth and jabbed him in the throat with the dart, leaving his hand free to grab the man’s sword hand. The guardian struggled briefly before going limp.
Teferi struggled to lower his armored form as quietly as possible. It would be nearly impossible to drag or carry him up the stairs without making too much noise, so Teferi left the guardian where he lay, moving cautiously down the stair past the fallen man.
He found a chamber below, illuminated by many lamps, divided by curtained partitions. He saw ceremonial clothing and various temple artifacts lying around and surmised he was in some kind of staging area for the ceremony in front of the tomb. Though he saw no one, there were people nearby. He heard voices, footsteps, saw moving shadows cast on the chamber’s ceiling, but heard no indications of alarm.
PEERING AROUND A corner, Teferi spotted two acolytes removing ceremonial garb. He extracted the blowgun and carefully readied two darts. With such powerful poison, he had learned from experience that it was dangerous to get in too much of a hurry.
One of the acolytes, an ivory-skinned Stygian, stripped down to his loincloth, becoming an easy target. An easy puff, and a dart appeared between his shoulder blades. The man yelped and flailed his arms, trying in vain to reach the dart.
As he did, he spun, revealing the dart to his companion, who had only gotten as far as removing his headdress. The man’s eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth to sound an alarm.
Teferi had already reloaded and hastily raised the blowgun to his lips.
The poorly aimed dart stabbed into the acolyte’s tongue. The man stuck his tongue out grotesquely trying to grab the dart, but striking so close to the brain, the poison was almost instantly effective, sending the man first to his knees, eyes rolled back, then thudding to his side on the floor.
Teferi looked at the man, his dart-pierced tongue still hanging from his mouth like a sleeping dog’s. He realized that, in his haste, he’d almost forgotten to take a breath before putting the blowgun to his lips. With this weapon, breath control was everything. Lucky the dart ended up in his tongue, not mine!
Teferi resolved that he’d taken enough chances with the unfamiliar weapon and stuffed it back into his quiver. He quickly dragged the two men into a curtained dressing area and drew the canvas over the front of it.
He crouched by the bodies for a moment, listening for signs of detection, then slipped under the back curtain to a similar, empty, cubicle on the other side. A servant’s table, with large carrying handles, stood in the center of the space, loaded with jars of ceremonial herbs and oils. Alongside them was a nasty-looking dagger, with a blade that twisted from side to side like the body of a snake, its hilt in the shape of a golden snake’s head.
He shuddered when he thought of the countless innocents whose blood it had likely spilled.
Curse this cult! Curse them that killed my brother!
He surprised and angered himself with the latter thought. He should not yet give up his brother for dead, yet he knew what the black cobra’s poison could do to a man and how quickly it could do it, even when the bite was on an extremity. Anok had been bitten on the throat.
No! My brother must live, or that damned priest must pay! Teferi was startled as the far curtain was thrown back, and he found himself looking into the eyes of a startled priest.
Teferi grabbed the knobkerrie and swung it at the man’s head.
But the priest was fast, ducking and stepping back in one motion, so that the club only succeeded in ripping off the man’s serpent headdress.
Teferi swung again for the man’s midsection, hoping to at least break a rib, but the man vaulted over the club, catching himself on one hand, somersaulting to land smoothly on his feet several paces away.
He has skills.
Teferi was planning his next attack when the man raised his hands and gestured—
Not magic!
“Bands of Crytos, this barbarian bind!”
There was a flash of light, and Teferi felt a tingling. Then nothing. He moved experimentally, and felt no hindrance.
Teferi didn’t understand, but he grinned.
As Teferi stepped closer, club pulled back over his head, the man gestured wildly. “Sands of Stygia, winds of home, strip man’s flesh and show me bone!”
A bit of wind plucked momentarily at Teferi’s clothes, then faded. The priest’s eyes were wide with fear and confusion.
He slammed the club down in the middle of the man’s skull, dropping him like a bag of rice.
You should have kept fighting. You would have had a chance.
“Well fought, Kush.”
The voice came from behind him, and Teferi knew it well. Ramsa Aál! He spun.
The priest stood behind two other priests, who stood, hands raised, ready to make magic. A pair of guardians stood behind Ramsa Aál, Anok’s limp body held between them.
“Don’t kill him,” said Ramsa Aál, with a cruel smile, “but you can break him a little.”
One of the priests brandished his ceremonial staff as the second began muttering the beginnings of some slower spell.
The priest with the staff held it over his head. “By Set’s power, bring forth his serpents!”
The staff seemed to transform in his hand into a veritable bouquet of poisonous vipers, which were immediately flung at Teferi, a hissing mass, fangs dripping poison.
He swung his knobkerrie. There was the sound of wood striking wood, and the spell was broken. The staff clattered to the floor, harmless.
Ramsa Aál’s lips parted, and a look of surprise and wonder appeared on his face. He watched as the second priest completed his incantations.
“By Set’s power, I draw forth your immortal soul!” He priest gestured.
Teferi felt a tingling that moved up his body like crawling ants, and danced around his head and neck, making him shudder. Then he threw the feeling off.
The priest fell back, a look of surprise on his face. He glanced at Ramsa Aál, who only smiled knowingly.
Teferi heard shouts and armored footsteps running down the stairs and in from the front of the Tomb. Suddenly, guardians seemed to appear from every direction.