Scion of the Serpent

by J. Steven York

  Sheriti looked suspicious. “Hired by whom?”

  “I don’t know. I was contacted by an intermediary, but,”—he reached into his pouch and came out with his hand full—“there was a down payment.” He tossed each of them a shiny red bauble. They all examined them.

  “Blood rubies,” said Teferi, clearly impressed.

  “Cut,” said Anok, “and perfect.” He patted the pouch, which rattled. “There are more to purchase our prize, and if I can keep the price down, the rest are ours, plus a bounty when the object is delivered.”

  “It seems,” said Sheriti, “a high price for such a simple task.”

  Anok grinned. “You know, lovely sister, that such things are never as simple as they sound. We’ll earn our trinkets this day, I’ll wager. And then we’ll come back here to the Nest and party away the night.”

  Sheriti grinned back. Even now, danger was like candy to them. “Well then,” she said, “to the Great Marketplace.”

  2

  AS ANOK AND his companions made their way to the Great Marketplace, they were like fish swimming upstream—the flow of traffic against them—burdened with supplies to see them through the long night to come. There was a festive yet nervous energy in the air, smiles and laughter all around. There was also a stink of fear, noticeable even under the usual smells of the street, of cooking food, strange spices, woodsmoke, and the ever-present stench of livestock.

  The sun sank low in the western sky, casting long shadows inland from the sea and placing many of the narrow streets of Odji in premature twilight. Nervous, almost giddy, anticipation of Festival night gripped the slums. Already many of the shops were shuttered, and the taverns were doing a brisk business, as a constant stream of men emerged loaded down with wax-sealed jars of beer and bottles of wine.

  Women and children carried home such edible delicacies as their humble lot could afford: baskets of dates, jars of olives, fragrant flatbreads fresh from the ovens, salted fish, roasted ducks, or greasy tied bags containing seasoned and fried silkworms, a prized luxury.

  Others worked at rounding up animals, ducks, geese, goats, donkeys, even camels and horses, and locking them indoors. The streets would be empty tonight but for the serpents, the followers of Set, and those unfortunates who, having no place else to go, would be their sacrificial victims.

  In order to remain inconspicuous, the Ravens had spread themselves through the crowd, with Anok bringing up the rear and keeping an eye out for the others. He was surprised when, halfway to the market, Dejal fell back to join him. “Good Festival to you, brother Anok.”

  At the sight of his robes, the people fell back, and the usual jostling of the crowd stopped. Anok saw, with some disgust, that Dejal seemed to enjoy the fear his station generated. “Couldn’t you have left your robes back at the Nest, just this once?”

  Dejal pushed back the hood and grinned at Anok. “This is who I am now, old friend. See how they fear me? That is power and only the barest taste of what awaits me on my new path.”

  Anok snorted. “What is power? Can you eat it? Can you drink it? Can you spend it in the market? Will it warm your bed at night? Power is the narcotic of fools, Dejal.”

  Dejal only laughed. “Spoken by one who has none. But that could change, Anok. My father has influence, and you would have my recommendation. Despite your mixed Stygian blood, there might be a place for you at the temple.”

  It was Anok’s turn to laugh. He waved at the others, walking a few yards ahead. “And them as well?”

  “They do not have Stygian blood in their veins, Anok. The true blood of Set. I say this to you only, out of friendship.”

  “Friendship crosses all lines, including those of blood. He who fights at my side stays at my side. As did you once, Dejal. What happened to you? You came to the streets of Odji seeking to rebel against the inner city and your father. Now you walk in his footsteps.”

  He smiled knowingly. “As far as they will take me, but my father has wasted opportunities, and true power has always eluded him. I’ll go farther in the temple than he ever did, and I could take you with me.”

  Anok quickened his pace to distance himself from Dejal. “Then, ‘old friend,’ walk your new path, but walk it alone.”

  As he pulled away from Dejal, he noticed Sheriti looking back at him. She waited and took his arm, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. She glanced up at him with a smile. “Blending in,” was all she said.

  He was still angry at Dejal. Sheriti made him feel better, and he didn’t want to feel better.

  “I hate to see my brother Ravens like this,” she finally said.

  “Dejal is right. The Ravens have all but ceased to exist. You’ve seen it. Teferi has seen it. I should have, too.”

  “We will always be Ravens, Anok, even if we don’t roam the streets in search of adventure together. We’ll always be what our time together has made us.”

  He said nothing. His gaze and attention were well ahead of them, on a familiar face moving toward them, bobbing in and out of the crowd.

  Rami was a Shemite, a small-framed example of those famous horsemen. Dark-skinned, and hook-nosed, his blue-black hair fell about his shoulders in greasy curls. His large eyes were shifty, and his perpetual half smile never seemed sincere on the best of days. He brushed past Teferi, acknowledging him only with a slight glance and a nod, and moved casually toward Anok and Sheriti.

  Anok couldn’t help but smile slightly as Teferi, out of long habit, checked his purse, patting it to make sure it was still tied to his belt and the contents were intact. Rami’s skills as a pickpocket were legendary, and he was not above using them on his friends, if only as a prank.

  Rami fell in next to them without making eye contact, pretending his proximity to them was merely a coincidence.

  Anok didn’t look at Rami either as he spoke. “Our pirates?”

  “Fresh off the boat, eager for food, drink, and anything female. Most of them anyway.”

  “Most of them?”

  “There’s a barbarian among them.”

  Teferi frowned. “This isn’t the start of another barbarian joke, is it?” Though he had lived his entire life in cities, Teferi still took barbarian jokes personally, and Rami knew it.

  “A barbarian woman. Probably from a northern land somewhere. Maybe even the same place as that barbarian king in Aquilonia one hears tales of—Kutaman.”

  “It’s Conan,” corrected Anok, “King Conan.”

  “That’s the one. Anyway, she’s tall, dark hair, dusky skin, and a sword as long as I am tall. By the way she carries herself, she knows how to use it, too. I’d watch out for her.”

  Anok glanced at Sheriti and nodded.

  Rami stroked the little tuft of beard on his chin. “They’re at the Duck and Olive Tavern. About a dozen. A mixed lot, Argosseans and Zingarans. The captain’s Ar gossean, and bears watching. The rest are a motley bunch. Maybe not much good in a fight, but surly and unpredictable. They won’t need a reason to cause trouble; they might do it just for fun.”

  Anok nodded again. “Then we make it quick. In and out before they get jumpy. Go tell the others.”

  Rami glanced at him, his grin twisting slightly. “You have something for me?”

  Anok grunted in annoyance. He hated to trade payments right out in the open. He reached into his tunic, pulled one gem from the bag hidden there, and pressed it quickly into Rami’s palm. “Inspect it later,” he hissed quietly. “Now tell the others.”

  Rami glanced back at Dejal and curled his lip in disgust. There was no love lost between the two. Never had been. “Him, too?”

  “Him, too.”

  Rami pocketed the gem and moved off to pass the word to Teferi.

  But Rami had barely vanished into the crowd when a trio of men stepped into Anok’s path, an older, bearded man, about Anok’s height, with long gray hair and dusky skin, and a pair of identical twins, dark-skinned, muscular, bald, half-naked, and towering over their companion. The twins each wore a g
reatsword in a scabbard slug over his back, and they both looked fully capable of using the massive weapon one-handed.

  The twin giants were new, but Anok knew their elder companion too well and greeted him without enthusiasm. “Lord Wosret, good Festival to you.” Wosret wasn’t a true lord, or anything like it. He was a seasoned street rat with at least a little Stygian blood in his varied ancestry, and, for many years, the leader of the powerful White Scorpion gang.

  As with all the gang lords in Odji, Anok and the Ravens had worked for the man many times in many capacities, as runners, messengers, negotiators, collection agents, guards, and laborers to name a few. Anok had no love of the gangs, but they were a fact of life in Odji, and among the most reliable employers of the Ravens’ services over the years. Only recently had the street lords failed to call on them, another contributing factor to the decline of the Ravens.

  Anok had a feeling he knew why Wosret had stopped him, and he didn’t want to discuss the matter, especially right now. “I’d like to talk, but I’ve got other pressing business before sunset.” He started to slip past them, but Wosret put a surprisingly powerful hand against his chest and gently pushed him back.

  “Your old friend and benefactor asks a minute of your time, and you refuse him? I thought you were better than that, Anok Wati.”

  Anok frowned but held his tongue. There was no way he was escaping the confrontation, and he hoped the others had noticed his plight and were waiting for him.

  “I made you an offer recently, Anok. Have you considered it?”

  He tried to answer as diplomatically as possible. “It would be an honor, of course, to join the White Scorpions, my lord. But I’ve always prided myself on my neutrality in gang affairs. If I were to join any gang, it would be yours, but I don’t . . .”

  Wosret’s expression turned to anger, and his dark eyes flashed. “It’s the River Rats, isn’t it? They’ve been trying to edge into my territories lately, and they’d love a chance to wrest the Paradise from me. What did they offer you?”

  “Nothing, lord. I haven’t even talked—”

  “Lies! One of my minions saw you talking with Nakhti down near the poisoners’ district last week!”

  Anok groaned inwardly. He had indeed had a chance encounter with Nakhti, leader of the River Rats, much like the one he was currently entangled in. “Nakhti approached me, it’s true, and I refused him without even hearing his terms.”

  Wosret laughed. “You look remarkably unbruised for someone who rejected Lord Nakhti so harshly. Did you tell him you’d think about his offer? Perhaps you play one of us against the other to obtain better terms of employment.” He waved his hand, and the two giants stepped forward, looming over Anok. “Let me make it simple for you, Anok. Accept Nakhti’s terms, whatever they are, and you’ll never live to collect. I have the power to protect you from any threats he’s made. He can’t make the same claim.”

  “You’re quite powerful, lord, but I don’t wish to join any gang.”

  He laughed again, louder this time. “You speak as though you have a choice. We’ve no interest in most of your little band, the Kushite, or the whore’s daughter. We need true men of skill and breeding, not women or inferior stock. Dejal, yes, but he’s pledged to the Temple of Set and beyond our reach. But you, Anok. You have skills, talents, and great potential. Like me, you have Stygian blood in your veins. One day, I could even see you becoming one of my chief lieutenants. Or even my chosen successor.”

  “I’m flattered, Lord Wosret, and I will think on it. But the sun is low, and I’ve business to attend to.”

  Rami appeared out of the crowed and casually stepped in next to Anok. He cheerfully greeted Wosret, who grunted without taking his eyes off Anok. Rami turned to Anok. “Hey Anok, we’re late—for that”—he hesitated, thinking—“that thing. You know, that thing we’re late to.”

  Wosret continued to ignore Rami. “You will join me, Anok. You’ll join me, or you’ll die.”

  “I’ll join you,” said Rami. “Sign me up.”

  Wosret turned quickly and walked away, his giant bodyguards moving out ahead of him to push aside the crowd.

  “I’ll join you,” said Rami, shouting after them, but he was completely ignored.

  He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “If the Ravens break up, I’m just going to have to go back to picking pockets full-time.”

  “When did you ever stop?” Anok looked around. “Are the others waiting?”

  Rami nodded. “I saw what happened and got the word to everybody. They’re around here somewhere.”

  “Then let’s get moving. We’ve lost valuable time.”

  The crowd thinned rapidly as they entered the Great Marketplace. Most of the stalls were closed or closing, merchants loading their remaining wares onto carts, rolling up their colorful tents and awnings, and preparing to leave. What little business was still being done took place mostly around the edge of the open market, where permanent businesses, mostly taverns, bakeries, smiths, and merchants in luxury goods kept their shops.

  The Duck and Olive was located on the far side of the market, and with the sun as low as it was, each step farther away from the Nest made Anok more uneasy. To make matters worse, a bank of yellow, sulfurous-looking clouds was rolling in from the ocean, and bringing with it the first traces of fog. It was as though the night was rushing up to meet them.

  The marketplace was rapidly emptying, and there was little point trying to disguise their movements, so the Ravens closed ranks and walked the rest of the way to the tavern as a group. Anok heard a crunching sound, and looked over to see Rami munching from a clay cup filled with fried silkworms. He frowned. “Did you pay for those?”

  Rami looked indignant. “Yes!” After a moment. “Maybe.” Then, “No! But he wasn’t going to sell any more this late in the day anyhow.”

  Anok looked over his shoulder for any sign of pursuit, and seeing none, grunted. “It would be fine if you lost us our prize because you had thieved something to satisfy your belly.”

  Rami shrugged and held out the cup. “You want some?”

  Anok pushed the cup away. “We’re here.”

  The Duck and Olive was a small tavern at the edge of the market. The old glyphs for “duck” and “olive” were carved into the masonry above the open door, but the green-painted shutters were always closed and locked tight. A wiry, bald-headed man stood at the door, arms crossed over his chest, a mixture of anger and alarm on his face. Anok would have bet his father’s amulet that the fellow wasn’t a pirate. He would have been surprised if the man had ever been to the waterfront. “We’re closed,” he said.

  But Anok heard male voices and laughter from inside. “Sounds like you still have customers.”

  “Pirates, fresh off the boat. The fools won’t leave, and I have to get home to my wife and children. They either don’t know that it’s Festival, or don’t care.”

  Anok grinned slightly. “We’ll get them out for you—for two pieces of gold each.”

  “That’s robbery!”

  “If it was robbery, you’d know. We’re the Ravens. You’ve heard of us.”

  The man’s eyes widened slightly with recognition. “I may have.” He looked nervously over his shoulder at the men sitting at the bar inside, then back at Anok. “Don’t break anything.”

  “Two pieces of gold each—in advance.”

  The man grumbled and dug into a purse hidden behind his leather apron. “Robbery. I was right the first time.”

  Anok took the coins and passed them to Sheriti for distribution to the others. Then he leaned his head inside the door. Most of the pirates were at the bar. A barrel of a man stood on the bar, pierced silver coins braided into his long hair, one ring-encrusted hand holding down a wild salt-and-pepper beard while he poured a jar of beer down his throat. Anok took him for the captain.

  The barbarian woman Rami had mentioned sat alone at a table, feet up, leaning back on her bench with her shoulders against the wall, a bottle of wi
ne clutched in her hand. Anok had somehow expected a brutish hag, but she was quite striking, long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, a leather skirt and top showing much of her dusky skin and amply curved body. Her limbs, especially her arms, were lean and well muscled. Her dark eyes twinkled in the gloom of the shuttered tavern, and her angular features were hard but attractive. Though she made a great show of relaxation, she was alert and aware. Anok became aware that she was looking at him, and her free hand slid casually over to rest on the hilt of her oversized cutlass.

  “Hey!” Anok turned his attention back to the captain. “I’m looking for Captain Danyo, of the Seahawk.”

  The man on the bar looked at him blankly, dropped his now-empty jar to shatter on the floor, and reached for his own cutlass. “Who seeks him?”

  “Anok Wati and his Ravens.”

  “I don’t know the name.”

  “You wouldn’t. We were hired to purchase an item from you and told you’d be expecting us.”

  The tavern keeper glared at Anok, seeing he’d been taken, but said nothing. Doubtless it would be worth the gold to him if they’d simply leave.

  The captain let his half-drawn cutlass slide back into the scabbard. “Aye, we have a thing for sale. A rare thing of great value.”

  “We’ll see,” said Anok.

  “Come inside. Drink with us. We’ll talk.”

  “I prefer to talk outside.”

  “Inside.”

  Anok shrugged and held up a crimson bauble. “If you’ve no need of these blood rubies, then we’ll be on our way. It’s getting late.”

  The captain’s eyes widened slightly, and he licked his lips like a hungry dog spying meat. “Lads,” he said, “and lass. Let’s outside with us.”

  Anok and his fellow Ravens stepped back from the door as the pirates emerged into the twilight gloom. Already the fog was thick enough they couldn’t see the far side of the deserted market.

  The tavern keeper watched the last pirate emerge, then slipped in the door and slammed it behind him. The sound of a heavy bolt falling could be heard. The last pirate turned and pounded on the now-locked door. “Hey!”