by Scott Taylor
Atop the creature, a man rode a makeshift saddle of leather and petrified bone. He dressed in a blue robe that was, at one time, formal and opulent, but had become soiled and torn. His hair and beard, black with a touch of gray, was neatly trimmed, though his flight had put them in disarray. With one hand, he held the reins; the other hand, he swept about him, encompassing the affluent crowd.
“Behold,” the rider said, “the return of Syrtuno! Banished unjustly from your polite society, and now come back to destroy his enemies!”
Even though more than a few in the crowd seemed ignorant of the declaration’s meaning, many in attendance gasped. Wenintal cursed, and then ran to gather guards. Andril and Thock took cover behind one of the upturned tables. Pelantus, rather than be cowed, moved to stand defiantly before his predecessor.
“We had wondered,” the Eldaryn said, “whether you would show your face in Taux again, after the charges were made against you.”
Syrtuno glared down at the Eldaryn. “Ah, the unworthy charlatan who has taken my place. For you, I have nothing but mild disgust. My rage is reserved for Vash, and all the others who cast me down.”
Pelantus reached into his robe and pulled out a wooden wand and two vials of unknown substance. “Disgust or not, you shall have to pass through me before earning your vengeance. I have prepared myself with a charm, making me strong against any magic you could send at me. If you were wise, you would fly your ugly mount back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”
At that, he raised his wand up to begin an incantation, but Syrtuno merely cackled. “This is no mere mount! This is my weapon! A thrice-souled instrument of my revenge!”
Pelantus stopped at that, looking at the beast, confused. He did not have a chance for realization to dawn, or for panic to grow within him; the three heads simply extended themselves, side by side, and a blast of black fog poured out at the unlucky tome mage. At the fog’ touch, what once had been flesh and bone was dissolved like sugar in water, then siphoned into the creature’s maws. Three breaths later, there was only an unrecognizable mound where he had stood.
Syrtuno cackled again. “It would seem the ‘Arch Pyromancer’s’ flame has been snuffed out!”
By this time, Vash’s guards had assembled. Though the city guard was undoubtedly aware of the disturbance, Vash’s men were in no mood to wait for the Sturgeons to take the glory from them. Valiantly, they drew steel and charged the creature from behind. The beast was slow to turn around, but their weapons had little effect on its hide. A beat of the wings sent several flying, while one of the beast’s necks swept half a dozen off of their feet, Syrtuno laughing the whole time.
Behind their table, Thock and Andril watched all of this.
“I’m not sure what surprises me more,” Andril said. “That creature out there, or Syrtuno’s cackle. It’s very impressive.”
“He said it had three souls,” Thock said. “He must have built the creature himself, and then managed to acquire souls to bring it to life – putting one in each of the heads.”
“Does that make it more mystically potent, or something?”
Thock shrugged. “Possibly? I’m mostly guessing.”
Syrtuno and his beast turned, moving towards the box where Vash stood, calmly watching the proceedings. As the creature advanced, one of the Jaguars grabbed a spear and charged towards the rightmost head. It snapped down on him, and he found himself without weapon, or weapon arm. He fell to the ground, clutching the stump and screaming in agony.
Andril steadied himself. “Well, I guess it’s time, then.”
Thock looked over at his companion. “Time for what? You’re not seriously contemplating-”
Andril sprang onto the table, and started running. “I’ll distract it! Get moving!”
Thock cursed, but made his move.
Andril ran atop the tables until he was closer to the melee. The guards had fallen back, trying to rally for another push, but the creature now ignored them, and continued moving towards Vash’s box. Looking down at the table he was on, Andril grabbed a bottle that had been left out, and hurled it at the heads. It struck the leftmost one, and shattered, red wine dripping onto the grotesque face. The head turned towards Andril, ready to kill, when a long tongue darted out, and licked up the liquid. An odd look of reptilian glee came to its face, and it slithered closer to Andril but didn’t attack.
Confused, but desperate, Andril grabbed up another bottle, and threw it. This one, the creature caught within its mouth; Andril heard the crunch of the glass as the head bit down, then a satisfied gulping noise. Quickly, the thief grabbed up more alcohol and tossed it to the head, which gulped down each as quickly as it could. After a dozen bottles, plus a few half-filled goblets, the head clumsily swung back and forth in the air.
A frowning Syrtuno, his cackle now quiet, gripped the reins tighter. Runes carved into the bone of the saddle glowed, and the leftmost head held itself straighter. Meanwhile, the rightmost head dove at Andril, who fell backwards off the table, barely avoiding the head as it smashed the table to splinters.
By this point, the guards were advancing again. Several tried throwing spears at Syrtuno, but none even came close. In response, Syrtuno pulled forth a tube from his robe and aimed it in the direction of the guards. From the end of the tube shot forth a shower of brilliant, multicolored motes of light. The motes slowly changed from simple rainbow light into angry rainbow hornets that flew at the guards. Some were chased off, but those that stung the men exploded in fiery bursts of violet and green and gold.
Syrtuno cackled again. “Fools! The magic I have at my disposal does not end with my mount. I have been preparing for this night for years. Your only hope against me was lost with Pelantus!”
While Syrtuno ranted, the rightmost head continued to snap at Andril. He jumped out of the way four times, as it got closer. Finally, he jumped over a table, and the head bit through it. In doing so, it swallowed whole the roast pig that had been sitting on the table. The eyes of the head lit up, and it took another bite out of the table, swallowing an entire tray of finger food. As Andril regained his feet, he saw the head gorging itself without any prompting.
Seeing that Andril had distracted another of the heads, Syrtuno snarled. “That is quite ENOUGH!” he shouted, pulling out a silver orb. He tossed it into the air, and it flew forward and collided with Andril. He was knocked back, slamming into the side of the courtyard and tumbling into one of the Old City art displays. Syrtuno grabbed the reins and ordered the creature forward, ignoring the few guards that hadn’t run, he positioned the middle head right above Andril’s prostrate form.
“You’ve done very little, compared to the others,” Syrtuno said to this middle head. “Eat him, and do me proud.”
Andril’s vision was clouded and red. Something very bad is about to happen, he thought shakily, and I don’t think I can do anything to stop it. Desperately, he felt about him, for anything that could be used to help. He grabbed the first thing his fingers touched and lifted it in front of him, showing it to the beast. So, as the head closed in, maw gaping open, it found itself looking at…
A small, cloth, child’s doll.
The middle head paused, staring at the doll. Then, it let out a surprised screech and bobbed up and down, excitedly. Through a blurry haze, Andril looked from the head to the doll.
“Do you want the doll?” he asked groggily.
The head nodded, and its maw extended in what seemed to be a grin. Andril weakly tossed the doll to the side. The head turned after it, causing the whole beast to shift in that direction. Syrtuno wavered back and forth before snarling again, taking the reins in both hands.
“Stop it! Stop it! Listen to me, you stupid lumbering thing! I am your master! You do as I command! And I command you to DESTROY HIM!”
Immediately, the three heads snapped to attention. Thock, meanwhile, had maneuvered through the crowd, and now stood with several onlookers a dozen paces away from the beast, with a silver goblet in hand. He
watched as, at Syrtuno’s command, the beast turned, slowly and deliberately back towards Andril, who appeared too dazed to rise. Thock glanced around, and noticed that Lady Paige was crouched next to him. With the quick, precise movements of a master thief, he undid the knots of her Old City top and pulled it off of her. Paige yelped in shock, wrapping an arm about herself and ran for cover.
Syrtuno cackled again, “The souls will dine well on you.”
“I hate slings,” Thock muttered. As the heads reared back to breathe death on his friend, the Jai-Ruk placed the goblet within the top, spun it around several times, and loosed.
The goblet sailed through the air, in a beautiful arc. It struck Syrtuno on the temple. The force of the blow made Syrtuno lose his balance and with a cry, he fell from the beast landing on the ground.
Freed from the tome mages’ control, the beast became confused, each of the three heads pulling towards their various desires. The body shifted back and forth while the long necks darted around, heads snapping at each other. With a hideous ripping sound, the beast tore itself apart.
The leftmost head flew off of the body, leaving a bloody stump behind, and slammed into a barrel of ale, smashing it apart. The rightmost head, likewise, became unattached from the body, and landed on one of the tables, sliding into a collection of pies and cakes. Both heads greedily consumed the substances they had landed amongst, but after a minute or so, their movements slowed, and they eventually lay still.
The middle head remained attached to the body. It snaked through the air, looking for something, before spotting the doll. The beast walked forward and gripped the doll in its talons, uttered another shriek of unearthly delight, and took to the skies, flying off into the night with its prize.
All was silent in the courtyard for several moments, the gathered people uncertain what they had witnessed. This silence was broken when Syrtuno pulled himself to his feet.
“Fools!” he shouted. “Do you think this will stop me? It was but one of my…”
Which was as far as he got before Wenintal clubbed him from behind. The mage crumpled to the ground again, and a group of Sturgeons, who had finally arrived, moved to take custody. Servants resumed moving through the party and began to clean up the sizeable mess. The conversation started flowing again between the guests. The remainder of Vash’s guards, meanwhile, had moved over to the beast’s heads, discussing where best to display them as trophies.
Thock moved to help Andril to his feet. As he did so, Wenintal walked over to them, smiling.
“Well done!” he said. “The two of you have helped to detain a dangerous madman and, I daresay, saved several lives in the process! I don’t know how the household of High Man Vash can repay you!”
Andril coughed. “Oh, Sir, it was nothing that any…”
“Actually,” Wenintal continued, “I suppose the best way to repay you would be by not throwing you to the Sturgeons for masquerading as servants and sneaking into the party with intent to steal. Instead, you’ll simply be escorted out. Guards!”
House guards that Andril did not remember being there during the fighting manifested all around Wenintal. Andril was not in any shape to resist, so he meekly threw his hands up. Thock saw this, sighed, and did the same. The guards grabbed them both and lead them towards the exit.
“Wait,” called a voice.
The guards and their prisoners turned, and saw Lady Paige walking towards them. She wore a tablecloth draped over her, and looked rather cross. Thock sighed as she walked over to him. He extended the silk top, still in his hands, to her.
“My Lady,” he said, now employing the perfect diction of a high noble, “I wish to thank you for your valuable contribution in the saving of this city. I return your possession to you, and hope you will remember the valuable service that the garment has rendered on all assembled here.”
The lady took the garment, but her fire-spark filled the air with heat. Thock braced himself to be slapped in the face, and thus was caught unawares by her rather vicious right hook.
“It’s completely unfair,” Andril said, sometime later. The two of them were sitting on the ground beside one of the Black Gate fountains, not far from where they’d been ejected from the celebration.
“It’s more favorable than rotting in a cell,” Dethocrates replied, holding his swollen eye up to a cold stone recently removed from the well.
“But we were the heroes of the day!” Andril insisted.
“Not by the time the guards are done with the story,” Dethocrates said. “Besides, our contribution was almost certainly luck.”
“Damn it all, what do I keep telling you? My luck is an asset!”
Dethocrates slowly rose to his feet. “After seeing you survive all of that, you may have a point. Come on – the Emerald Serpent’s certainly serving, and I could use a drink.”
Andril stood up, stretching. “We can’t even say that we saved Tlacolotl Vash’s life as I don’t think he was really in danger.”
Thock shook his head. “I think he stayed up in his box, just watching, for a reason. But whatever the case, I’m almost glad that his party was so disastrous.”
“I suppose,” Andril said, as the two walked away. “People scared, property smashed, several guards killed, a few dozen more injured or crippled, and the Arch Pyromancer utterly destroyed, with nothing remaining.”
At that remark, Dethocrates chuckled. “A night like tonight gives a person a chance to learn new things. That hideous fog the thrice-souled beast spat out, for example. It has a truly horrible effect on living beings, but what effect does it have on, say, precious minerals? Perhaps none at all?”
“Some of us were, indeed, wondering about that,” Andril said. “Does that mean that you got something valuable from all this?”
Dethocrates stopped walking, standing in a shadow obscured from the light of the Ghost Moon. “I imagine that a normal roguish adventurer, when he says ‘I’ll distract it,’ is implying that his companions should find a way to destroy the beast they are confronted with. You, of course, are not normal, so I stuck to the original plan.”
At this, he reached into his tunic and pulled out a small bag, handing it to Andril. The smaller man opened it up, and gazed down at several golden rings.
Audril frowned, “Well, it’s no ruby necklace, but it’s still a sight better than empty pockets and a black eye.”
Dethocrates nodded. “After we give the Nightmen Guild their share, we should have enough to settle the tab at the Serpent, pay off an outstanding debt or two, and leave us a bit of spare coin to waste.”
“And waste it I will – eagerly,” Andril said, picking up one of the rings and noting that it was somewhat sticky. “Hold on. There’s a red, sticky substance on the rings, and in the bag – isn’t that bits of…”
“Don’t waste a moment’s thought on it,” Dethocrates said. “It might ruin your drinking mood.”
“Fair enough. After all, whoever we sell them to certainly won’t ask questions about a bit of grime.”
“Very true,” Dethocrates agreed, discretely moving a hand to make sure that the other bag – the one containing the central ruby – was secure inside his tunic. “Our clients like to keep things as discrete as possible.”
Illustration by Jeff Laubenstein
REVENANTS
Martha Wells
“Jelith.”
“Hush, I’m busy.” His awareness of the chamber had faded until there was nothing but the rock.
“I have a job for us.”
“We already have a job. I’m doing it now.” The stone under his hands echoed with rushing waves of voices, their words incomprehensible, coming and going like the edge of the ocean. The temptation to listen was a mistake; they could draw in the unwary and sink them forever. Jelith fought past the waves to the stone itself, and sensed the cavity. At first it was smooth, but he winced as he sensed sharp edges. For a long moment it seemed like a promise fulfilled, then it narrowed to nothing. Disappointed, he drew h
is awareness back up to the surface. “Ah! Damn.”
“Not a room?” Despite her distraction with jobs, Kryranen’s voice was tinged with disappointment. They had had high hopes for this spot, now dashed.
“No.” The taste of old blood filled his mouth and Jelith had to clear his throat to make the word understood. All the stone in these catacombs, the bedrock of the city above, tasted as if it was drenched in blood. “It’s too irregular to be constructed by sentient beings, even those of such odd tastes as once populated Taux.” He stepped back from the wall and dusted rock fragments off his hands, his dark skin briefly mottling with the sandstone color of the stone.
Jelith took a seat on his folding camp stool and lifted the small wooden box that he used as a lap desk. He dipped his writing stick into the inkstone to fill it, then began to note the dimensions and characteristics of the cavity. If they were lucky, this information would eventually form some small vital part of a greater whole. More likely it would just serve to remind him of what he had done today.
This tunnel was in the outer ring of the concentric circles of catacombs beneath the city, deep enough underground for Jelith to feel the weight of rock and stone buildings overhead, to taste the living earth in the back of his throat past the blood-drenched stone. Kryranen, oblivious to the sensations of stone, leaned one shoulder casually against the wall. She was a muscular Jai-Ruk, with skin similar in color to the sandstone lining this passage, and onyx-dark hair. Only the tips of her lower tusks were visible above the line of her pursed lips.
They made an odd pair for a number of reasons, but one was that she was tall for a Jai-Ruk and he was short for a Kin. They were dissimilar on all counts, except for their interest in the past, in strange myths, and mysteries, and how the world had looked before they set foot on it. They talked of things no one else cared about. Rather than an odd pairing, everyone thought they were just odd.
