by Scott Taylor
Art of the Genre represents a huge shared world called The Nameless Realms, a place that spans thirteen extraordinary Ages of Man. Each category of fiction in this fantastic world has its own specialized medallion that is ‘active’ in the upper right corner of each book, thus allowing you to easily tell what specific genre you’re purchasing. In the case of Tales of the Emerald Serpent, you’re about to enter the 5th age of Man, and the shared anthology city of Taux, so the medallion you see above is the symbol for all books in that field.
Tales of the Emerald Serpent
Edited by
SCOTT TAYLOR
Illustrated by
Jeff Laubenstein
Janet Aulisio
Todd Lockwood
Tales of the Emerald Serpent
Copyright © 2012 Art of the Genre
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the copyright holder and the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
First edition: June 2012
ISBN: 978-0-9857674-1-9
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events portrayed in this publication are either fictitious or used fictitiously.
Editor: Scott Taylor
Cover: Todd Lockwood
Interior Illustrations: Jeff Laubenstein, Janet Aulisio, Todd Lockwood
Copy Editor Extreme: Joshua Villines
Graphic Design: Jeff Laubenstein
Book Design: John Woolley
Writing Instructor: Terri-Lynne DeFino
Sounding Board: John O’Neill
Art of the Genre
217 Palos Verdes Blvd,
#217 Redondo Beach,
CA 90277
artofthegenre.myshopify.com
Ordering Information:
For details, contact the publisher at the address above.
As an editor, I guess you get to take credit for the anthology you create, so I will do so here. However, I’d like to dedicate this book to John O’Neill, who took a chance on an unknown writer, art enthusiast, and editor long after I’d given up hope that someone would. Without John, nothing I have accomplished in this field, including this beautiful book, would be possible.
I also have to give thanks to the wonderful writers and artists who signed on to an unknown product and helped create a world richer than any I could have imagined when this began. You all made a miracle happen!
I’d also like to put in one last thank you to all the fans on Kickstarter who made this dream a reality with their generous donations. I know I say it everywhere, but it just never gets old. You all are the catalyst the make the imagined a reality.
CONTENTS
FOREWORD
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
NAMESAKE
Lynn Flewelling
THE ONE THING YOU CAN NEVER TRUST
Harry Connolly
BETWEEN
Todd Lockwood
VENTURE
Juliet McKenna
THREE SOULS FOR SALE
Mike Tousignant
REVENANTS
Martha Wells
WATER REMEMBERS
Julie Czerneda
CHARLATAN
Scott Taylor
FOOTSTEPS OF BLOOD
Rob Mancebo
FOREWORD
What you hold in your hands began in 1978, when Robert Asprin decided that he’d create a shared world anthology without having any experience or right to do so. A year later, he put Thieves World in print, and publishing was forever changed.
As a floundering man in my late 30s, and a struggling writer to boot, I read Asprin’s tale of the Thieves World creation and decided that if he could do something like this, then so could I. A year later I’d published Art Evolution; The Study of RPG Art from 1979-2009, and afterward an entire world opened up.
Having overseen and reconstructed Asprin’s vision with art, I decided I could also do it with writing, and in 2011 I began the first stages of what would become Tales of the Emerald Serpent. Incredibly, Asprin’s simple formula worked again, and here we are at the inception of a mosaic shared world anthology that I hope recaptures some of the lost glory of Asprin’s Thieves World.
Tales was a true labor of love, and the writers you are about to read dedicated far more brain power to the project than I deserved to create something unique in today’s marketplace. The characters in these pages interconnect on a much deeper level than simply sharing a city. With constant correspondence, shared notes, and encouragement, we built Taux brick by brick, and then promptly cursed it!
It is my hope that you enjoy this work as much as we did making it. May your Element be ever strong, and you blade ever sharp! Long live the shared world anthology!
Scott Taylor
June 2012
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Veronique Poulin, Heather Dryer, Molly Hunt, Julie Page, April Steenburgh, Itinerant_vae, Michael M. Jones, Devin Harris, Cody Nelson, Samuel Erikson, Terry Tuttle, Estara Swanberg, Persephone, B. Ross Ashley, Shawn Morrill, Tarja Rainio, Erik DeBill, Mary Agner, Kristine Smith, Tony Glinka, Nancy O’Toole, Nancy Steen, Carl Rigney, Adrianne Middleton, Steve Barr, Sheri Larrimer, Gundato, Sally Beasley, Pratchettfan, CE Murphy, Fred Hicks / Evil Hat Productions, Agrimony, Rodney Ramsey, Kelly Maron, Paul Bulmer, Bruce Cordell, Jennifer Stansbury, J.C.Petrovich, Cailleuch, John Bogart, Michael Bowman, Michael Parker, Jeff & Marisa LaSala, Nathan Stohlmann, Nik Hawkins, Margaret Welsh, Andy Molloy, Joerg Ruedenauer, Ncribbin, Nicole, Ted Brown, Sarina, Anthony Paul Frost, Kathryn Young, Rich Burlew, Meghan LaLande, Lauren Sidell, Joseph Hoopman, Lara, Badger, Gawain Lavers, Kai Nikulainen, Lianne, Julian West, Scott Craig, S Gawith, Michele Dainiak, Robert Forbes, Dorothy, Jarrod Coad, Eli Ace Katz, John W. Hicks, Benjamin Read, Gary Hoggatt, Brandon Haase, Laurence O’Brien, Cheryl Morgan, Miles Matton, James Clark, R J Rotscheid, Ted Martin, Nikki, Andrew Barton, Mary Kay Kare, Kate Kirby, Jeff Linder, Tantris Hernandez, Alan Petrillo, Evenstar Deane, Amy Sheldon, Catherine Farnon, Matthew Grierson, Anna Innocenti, Erik Parker, Alexis Darbon, Jami Nord, Thomas Hahn, Wolf, Risa, Rick Cobb, Soli Johnson, Beth Gis, Yago Gonzalez Rozas, Cody Markle, Jenn Ridley, Colette Reap, Jared Trezise, Morgan
Justine Etzkorn, Sam Karpierz, Yileen, Benoit Jauvin-Girard, Jill Valuet, Cassandra Dickson, Jeff Spangler, Nicole Sportsman, José, Barb in Maryland, Edie Evans, Rob Trotta, Gwendolyn McIntyre, Margaret Lindstrom, JP Chapleau, Sara, David, Warren Johnson, Alana Otis
Helen Wright, Marni Cooper, Pat Knuth, Karl Hailperin, Daryl Weade, Ben Lyons, Sharon Vinson, Mark James Featherston, Lisa Evans, Drae Corben, Nurse Minako, Kit Brown, Sheila Lane, Shari Bromley, Poppy Arakelian, Michael Feldhusen, Keith West, Scott Hinckley, KarlTheGood, Greg Clarke, Timothy Cash Durrett, Rob Dooley, Vivian Street, Ann Byassee, Howard Tayler, John Beattie, Richard Strang, Sue Edwards, Brian Monaghan, Jeff Hotchkiss, Anthony W Miller, Jimmy Crase, Lewis, Daetrin, Josh Martin
Heidi Berthiaume, Paul Weimer, Nehar Arora
Kyle Pinches, Chris Thompson, Claire Eamer, Kada McDonald, Kathleen Hanrahan, Kathy Baker, Justin Yeo, Kurt Nolte, Kent Rice, Michael Falcone
Ruth Stuart, Carolyn Coulter, Michael Mock, Henry K. Wong, Temp2264, T M Reed, Christian Lindke, Shane Wheeler, Silevran, Alexandra Cenni, Rule-of-Three, ChrisMcLaren, AD Rutledge, Mary.C.Sutton, Brenda Snyder
Martin Beier
Mikael Olofsson, Wendy Elrick, Igor Zeiger, Marissa Barter-Waters, Rhel, John Idlor, Ryah Deines, Caroline, Ferrex Baldwin, Kirk Hall, Kimberly M. Lowe, Beth Laubenstein, Ingrid Emilsson, Don Ba
ssingthwaite, Peter Halasz, Robert Charron, Derek J. Quinn, Donna L Young, Michael Stackpole, Oliver, David DeRocha, FA OSullivan, Dennis, Jason Simcoe, Andy Tinkham, David Kirkpatrick
Dani Akiyama, Sarah Gruetze, Kent Pollard, The Sand Tiger, Peter M. Poulsen, Joshua Villines, Paul Jarman, Nathan Page, Elizabeth
Maryann Cook, Nathan Morris, Elizabeth Campbell, Jim Goleski
Alanba42, Neil Ferrin, Chiara Pasquini, Kristie Tousignant, Lance Lones, RadiantAbyss
Tales of the Emerald Serpent
Illustration by Janet Aulisio
NAMESAKE
Lynn Flewelling
The great city of Taux lay quiet as a spent lover under the silver shades of the Ghost Moon. Shay knew better than to trust it, though. This was enemy territory. Always had been. Always would be. Especially tonight.
“Come on, let’s get this over with,” Balthazar called softly from the shadows.
But Shay paused, dark eyes narrowed as he looked up at the looming bulk of the great guildhouse atop its stepped platform. Memories nibbled like rats at the wound in his soul. He knew this place all too well. Five years ago, it had been the center of all his hopes.
His eighteenth birthday had begun like every other birthday he could remember, with his mother and her courtesans crowding into his bedchamber at the break of day, bouncing on his bed and kissing him to waken him for presents before they went off to bed.
“My baby boy!” Mama Serene exclaimed, gathering him to her lush bosom in a perfumed, man-scented embrace. “Wasn’t it only yesterday you and your sister were playing at my feet? You’re practically grown.”
“Practically?” Shay grumbled, gently freeing himself.
“I believe you’re right, Mama Serene!” exclaimed pretty Will. Flopping down beside him, he ran a thumb across the mere promise of a moustache on Shay’s upper lip. “Look at this great thatch.”
Lucinda laughed as she pretended to wrestle the velvet and linen bedclothes away from him. “I wonder where else he’s growing hair?”
Shay tried to look outraged as he fought to keep them, but he was used to their teasing; the courtesans had been his brothers and sisters, as much as his own twin, Shayla.
She was there too, a special dispensation from her apprenticeship with the Hospitalers Guild. She worked her way free of all the kissing and cosseting to buss Shay on both cheeks. “Happy birthday! And good luck today!”
“Who needs luck when they have skill,” he returned with a laugh.
She raised a pale brow at his youthful arrogance. “Even one named after the Saint of suffering?”
“And lust and deceit!” Laughing, he grabbed her and tumbled her onto the bed.
Strangers never took them for siblings. Tall like Mama Serene, he had her soft brown hair, sultry eyes, and that olive skin that turned the color of milk-slaked chocolate in the summer. Shayla was fair-skinned and blue-eyed, with a wild mass of pale curls tumbling over the shoulders of her lace dressing gown the image – those in the know said – of their father, the man Shay knew only from an ivory miniature in his mother’s jewel casket, and from a few stolen glances on the streets of Taux.
“Here you are, buried in delectable flesh as usual!” Balthazar exclaimed, striding in. He was dressed in dusty dueling leathers. Two years older than Shay, his friend sported an enviable black goatee and gold earrings that Shayla claimed made him look like a corsair. “Are you going to lounge around fornicating, today of all days?”
Everyone had a good laugh at that. Outsiders made certain assumptions about a young man who’d grown up in the Silk Purse, but the truth was the closest Shay had ever gotten to lying with any of his mother’s people was crawling into bed with them during thunderstorms when he was very small.
“Come on,” Bal urged, pushing the others aside to haul Shay naked out of bed. “You know how Xavier gets if we make him wait.”
“You’re not staying for breakfast?” Shayla asked, disappointed at this break in tradition.
Shay kissed her. “Just this once. I’ll make it up to you with the best dinner you’ve ever had at the Golden Monkey.”
“Good luck, Cricket. You’ll be brilliant!” the others assured him as Mama Serene shooed them out. He gave them all the fig for using the hated childhood pet name.
Bal threw himself down in the armchair by the window. “Get dressed or we won’t get a good place on the court!”
Shay pulled on his old practice leathers. “Today’s the day, Bal. It all changes today.”
The sun was just peeking over the high walls of the Ullamalitzli as they made their way down to the practice court near its center. The streets were steep, narrow, dark, and often as dangerous as the ancient friezes that decorated them, though less so in daylight.
It was still cool at this hour and what honest folk there were who lived here were bustling about their business, shilling milk, beer, fruit, bread, and water from baskets on poles across their shoulders. Fynn, a fiery-haired Eldaryn with a trained monkey, was dancing and lighting firepots for pennies while his woman, Analyse, picked the pockets of those who gathered to watch.
As Shay and Balthazar entered a tiny market square they passed close to a wall, and Shay thought he caught movement from the corner of his eye that wasn’t a lizard or hairyfist spider. He quickly spat over his left shoulder to ward off bad luck.
“What’s the matter?” asked Bal.
“Nothing.”
Few Gate dwellers took much notice of the grisly reliefs carved on every wall, the savage figures lurking in the shadows as if waiting for more victims to butcher in stone. But sometimes the carvings whispered to Shay in their own strange language; sometimes he saw them move, turning to look at him. It almost always presaged bad luck: a broken bone, an unwanted advance from some old sod, the death of someone close to him, and the like.
Soon, thought Shay, carefully keeping his gaze averted, I’ll never have to hear or see any of you again.
Other people were already at sword practice on the packed earth court, and a few young boys were tossing around a heavy rubber ulama ball. As Balthazar had guessed, old Xavier Crane was already waiting for them. One of Mama Serene’s favorite lovers, Xavier had been uncle and swordmaster to both of them. Thanks to him, and a few other swordsmen among the Purse’s patrons, they’d mastered not only the Taux dueling style, but the Ebontian Cross Defense and Findalynn Bravo styles, as well.
“About time! The day’s half gone,” growled Xavier.
“Sorry, Uncle…
“Never mind sorry. Take your positions.”
Under the watchful eye of their teacher, Shay and Balthazar paced out the customary starting distance and pulled loose the grubby ribbons that secured the hilts of their blunted practice blades to their scabbards. As long as you kept your rapier hilt tied, no Razor could challenge you. Otherwise, you were fair game.
Xavier took out a handkerchief and held it up. “And…” He let it fall. “Begin!”
The young boys grabbed their ball and retreated up the rows of stone benches to watch as Shay and Balthazar drew steel and began the cruel, intricate dance of thrust and draw. Balthazar scored first, with a painful touch over Shay’s heart.
“One dead! One dead!” the young boys chanted.
Shay came back with quick cuts to his friend’s thigh and neck.
“Two dead! Two dead!” the boys cheered and some of the others stopped their practice to watch. Shay felt the heat rise in his blood; he knew how good he was, but there was only one person whose opinion really mattered, and Shay was finally going to be able to prove himself.
Balthazar tried to regain the upper hand but Shay caught his blade with his own, and with an elegant twist of his wrist in a envelopment, jerked his opponent’s sword from his hand and sent it flying through the air to land point down in the earth while Shay brought the blunted tip of his blade to the hollow of Bal’s throat. “Concede.”
Bal threw up his hands. “I concede!” As soon as the blade was lowered, however, he
grinned wickedly. “This time.”
And back and forth it went. The sun had risen an hour’s span when Xavier called a halt and clapped them both on the shoulder. A warm spark of Human fire passed between the three of them, their common element and purpose binding them as it always had.
“Well done, boys. Best to save your strength for the test.”
“Do you really think we’re ready?” asked Bal.
“Of course we are!”
Xavier gave him a sharp look. “Mind that pride of yours, young Shay.”
“Nothing wrong with having confidence, is there?”
“By the Saints, you’ve no shortage of that.”
Mama wanted to go with them, of course, and hire a fine litter outside the Gate, but Xavier stepped in and explained that it wouldn’t look proper for young swordsmen to appear at the Razor Duelist Guild in such a fashion.
Before they left, however, she drew Shay and his sister aside into her suite of rooms, sweeping ahead of them in her silk and lace.
The sitting room was lavishly but tastefully appointed with velvet and gilt. She settled on the sofa and gazed up at the two of them, but it was Shay she spoke to. “Are you certain you want to do this, my love? I’ve left well enough alone all these years. Can’t you?”
Shay sat down beside her and took her hand. “No, not anymore, Mama. It’s my right.”
“And what do you say, Shayla? This concerns you as much as him.”
The young woman shrugged. “I’ve chosen my path with the Hospitalers Guild. Shay must choose his.”
“Very well.” Mama sighed, then went to her bedchamber and returned with a yellowed envelope sealed with a dusty, wax, notary stamp. She held it to her heart for a moment, then handed it to Shay. “Use it wisely, my darling. For once in your life, don’t be impetuous.”
