Heretic of Set

by J. Steven York

  Mother.

  Before he could process that, thrown knives stuck the dragon’s face, first one, then two, then four.

  It roared, and the mighty tail swung again at their source.

  The woman moved gracefully, like a dancer, stepping over the swinging appendage as effortlessly as a child jumping a rope. She tossed her blond hair and pulled more daggers from her belt, throwing them, one after the other.

  Anok’s breath caught in his chest. Sheriti!

  The Sabé-dragon was surrounded by small attackers, like a bear besought by wasps, his size could not save him from their torment.

  Anok took advantage of the distraction to recover his fallen swords. Careful to avoid the pounding tail, he leapt onto the beast’s lower back and jammed the point of one blade in, using it as a handhold.

  The dragon roared and spun.

  Anok clung to the hilt of his sword, until another distraction stopped the spinning. Then he jammed his blade in even higher up the scaly spine.

  Another roar, but now Anok had two handholds, and there was no dislodging him. Up he went, hand over hand, until he was able to drop down and straddle the man-beast’s leathery neck. He pulled his blades free, and prepared to plunge them deep into the creature’s spine.

  “Enough!” The old man’s voice was startling, coming as it did from the huge creature. “I yield! I see I have misjudged you!”

  The bright world faded, and with it those who had come to aid Anok. At the corner of his eye, he saw his father riding away, his hand raised in salute. But it was Sheriti’s eyes that he met, and watched her smile as she faded into the mists of memory.

  Suddenly they were back in Sabé’s study, standing exactly as they had before. Anok had the impression that only brief seconds might have passed.

  The old scholar sagged, leaning his weight against the heavy table.

  Anok was suddenly aware that there were tears streaking his cheeks.

  “I sense,” said Sabé, his voice weary and pained, “that we are both wounded by the battle. Yet in battle we are tested, and we learn much of ourselves and those around us.”

  “I should not have come here,” said Anok.

  “You came seeking knowledge, and I sense now your purpose is true. A dark sorcerer seeks only power, and in that plain of dreams stands alone, lest someone try to steal that power from him. He may summon slaves, beasts, demons, and lesser gods. But of friends—he has none.”

  Sabé staggered and started to fall.

  Anok rushed to catch him. He took the old sorcerer’s arm, surprisingly thin and frail beneath the long sleeve of his robe, and helped him to a nearby chair.

  He stepped back and considered the old man. He seemed so weak and harmless. It was deceptive. “You could have killed me.”

  “Perhaps,” he said without the least bit of pride. “We will never really know.” He lifted his head, looking somewhat toward Anok, but now really blind again. “One should never seek a reason to kill a man. The reasons present themselves. One should seek a reason to spare him.”

  “I seek a scholar. I seek knowledge. I wear the robes of Set, but in my heart I seek to destroy him.”

  “Set has wronged you?”

  “His followers have killed those most dear to me. Matters of my past are intertwined with secrets. I must learn the mysteries of his cult, and then destroy it.”

  “An impossible goal—and yet, a worthy one.” He nodded. “I will aid you.”

  “I have gold.”

  He smiled slightly. “Then I will take it, for dragons are ever desirous of gold. But I would aid you were you but a pauper. My grudge against the snake-god is old and deep, and rarely, in my time, have true seekers crossed my threshold.”

  “When can we begin, then?”

  He raised his hand weakly and waved Anok away. “I am tired. Return in the morning. We will speak further then.”

  The old man refused any more aid, so Anok left him there in his chair and closed the door behind him.

  He found the carriage waiting. Teferi was stretched out across the back, snoring softly. Anok poked at his foot to get him out of the way.

  Teferi snorted, blinked his eyes, and sat up. He looked strangely at Anok. “I just had the strangest dream.”

  Anok climbed in across from him. “I’m not surprised.” He turned to Barid. “Take us to our villa.” Then back to Teferi. “I hope Fallon has returned with refreshments. I could use strong drink, and lots of it.”

  He was silent for a minute, then he looked back at Teferi. “I was thinking about old friends, Teferi. When was the last time we talked about Asrad?”

  14

  THE VILLA REMINDED Anok a bit of his father’s house in the Akhet district of Khemi. He suffered a pang of sadness as he made the comparison, but it also made him feel curiously at home in a way he’d not felt since leaving the Ravens’ old Nest beneath the Paradise brothel.

  It was a masonry building, flat-roofed and two stories tall. It was much smaller than his father’s house, with fewer rooms, but there were similarities. Through the front door on the right side of the house, there was a small entry hall with stairs to the upper level. At the top, he could see part of a hall, with doors, where likely two or three sleeping rooms were located.

  To his left was a large sitting room, with chairs, tables, and padded couches. Unlike his father’s house, this room was not walled off in the rear to create the room that had been his father’s study. Instead it was open from the front to the back of the house, where a row of tall doors stood open to a small but lush garden surrounded by a high wall.

  He could see a wing projecting off the right rear of the building with a chimney, and wood was stacked near an outside door, likely a kitchen: there was a small structure against the back wall of the garden, probably a bathhouse. On the far side of the sitting room was another door, probably leading to the remaining sleeping room.

  By the standards of Odji, it was a palace, though compared to the sorcerer’s castles in the hills above, it was no more than a shack. By the overall standards of Kheshatta, it fell somewhere in the upper middle range of things.

  It was not that Kheshatta seemed wealthier than Khemi, it was that the wealth seemed somewhat better distributed among the lower classes. There was little of the dismal poverty he had grown up with in Odji, and the class of truly wealthy seemed smaller. Money seemed to flow more freely here, perhaps because it was not the true path to power, and power was what people truly craved.

  As they entered the sitting room, there was a sleepy yawn, and Anok saw a muscular but feminine arm stretch up over the back of a couch and wave. “I thought you would never get here,” said Fallon, “so I started without you.”

  They walked around the couch to find Fallow stretched out on it. She sat up sleepily. “I had the strangest dream,” she said.

  “It seems,” said Anok, “that everyone did.”

  In front of the couch an array of food bundles, loaves of bread, and jars had been spread. Anok’s stomach reminded him at once that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  Teferi went immediately for the beer jugs.

  Seeing this, Fallon said, “I’ll say this for Kheshatta, the beer is better than that swill they serve in Khemi.”

  Teferi looked at her like she was insane. “What’s wrong with Khemi beer?”

  “It’s swill,” she said, “I told you.”

  He filled a mug with the contents of one jar and looked skeptically at the amber fluid. “This looks like piss.”

  “It’s good,” she said, “drink it.”

  He continued to stare at her. “This isn’t more of your barbarian humor, is it?”

  “Oh, Crom!” She snatched the cup from his hand, took a quick sip, and handed it back to him.

  He cautiously took a sip, tasted. “You’re sure it isn’t piss?”

  She laughed. “Just because you don’t have to strain it through your teeth? Who’s the barbarian here?”

  Anok poured a cup a
nd tasted. It was similar to some of the inner city beers that had been served in the Great Temple of Set in Khemi, and he found it quite palatable.

  He and Teferi had been friends for so long, shared so many things, it struck him as strange and a little sad. He realized that there were now many things that he and only he had experienced. There were things about Anok that Teferi not only wouldn’t understand, they couldn’t even talk about them. Time and circumstances were pushing him apart from his oldest and closest friend, and it suddenly made him feel very alone, even in friendly company.

  Even now, the Mark of Set troubled him, as it had since the war of souls. It paced and growled in the back of his mind like a caged lion, but even more dangerous.

  He chugged his cup, hoping to silence the danger within and succeeding only in nearly choking himself.

  He hacked and coughed, and his companions looked at him with concern.

  He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and, with effort, quieted his coughing. “I’m fine,” he said.

  But of course, he wasn’t fine at all.

  AFTER A NIGHT of dark and restless dreams, Anok awoke in one of the upstairs rooms of the villa, with little recollection of how he’d gotten there. He had some dim memory of staggering up the stairs with Teferi, but little beyond that. His head told him that the drinking had gone on for some time into the evening.

  The room was comfortably, if not luxuriously, furnished, with a soft bed, a worktable, shelves, and a chest for storage. His belongings were piled in the corner, and he decided he’d unpack later.

  He met Teferi in the hallway, just emerging from his own room, and they found Fallon already awake downstairs, apparently having taken the large sleeping room there for her own.

  She laughed at Teferi as he came down the stairs, bleary-eyed. “I thought you cared not for the beer of Kheshatta?”

  He sat down, rubbing his head. “It has its charms. Gods if I can remember what they are this morning, though.”

  Anok poked through the remains of last night’s food, looking for breakfast.

  Teferi watched him, frowning. “How can you think of food?”

  Anok picked up a bit of greasy sausage, which looked a bit more appetizing than nauseating, and wondered the same thing. He took a bite of the salty sausage, and Teferi turned his head away.

  He glanced at his left wrist, where the Mark of Set tingled slightly. He had a feeling there was a connection. The mark had helped him to heal rapidly before. Perhaps it was helping to burn the drink from his veins as well.

  “I go to see Sabé this morning and begin my work.”

  Teferi scowled, though it didn’t seem to be about anything in particular, just the pounding in his head. “Shall I try to flag down a carriage?”

  “There’s no need. It isn’t far, and I can find the way. There really isn’t any need for you two to go with me, either.”

  Teferi glanced up. “We are here to be bodyguards, and I, for one, will act the part. We do not know this Sabé, or if he can be trusted, and the streets are full of danger.”

  “Perhaps you’re right about the streets, but as for Sabé, I think I know him well enough now. Still, it might be good for him to meet you, should I ever need to send one of you to him on an errand.”

  “I will go, too, then,” said Fallon. She grinned. “What else would I do but drink or get into trouble?”

  “Knowing you,” said Teferi, grinning back weakly, “little enough.”

  THEY FOUND THE curtains open at Sabé’s house when they arrived, and the old scholar opened the door promptly when they knocked. He introduced Teferi and Fallon, and the old man greeted them cordially.

  “I feel as if I know you both,” he said, failing to elaborate. “I hope the room is bright enough,” Sabé said, leading them into his cluttered study. “It has been some time since I’ve had guests.”

  “I’d think,” said Anok, “that a scholar of your reputation would have many callers seeking his services.”

  “There are callers,” he said, “but as you experienced, not many make it past the door, or even to it. The secrets of the ancient tablets here I mostly keep to myself.

  “None besides I can read them, and I do not write my translations down. Those few that I do share are greatly valued. I earn enough to take care of my humble needs, and the importance of my translations earns me the protection of the city’s most powerful sorcerers. They all vie to seek my favor, for they know that any one of my tablets could change the balance of power in Kheshatta forever.”

  “Then,” said Anok, “I am little different. I seek to study the ancient texts and learn powerful spells that I can use against the Cult of Set.”

  Sabé ran his fingers over one of the tablets, his fingertips scanning down the lines to read them. “Powerful magics I have plenty. But you must know by now that sorcery corrupts the user, brings him madness, and often escapes the wielder’s control. The trick is to use the magic without doing more harm to yourself than your enemies.

  “That is less of a care for villains who care not how their hearts are corrupted, but I know that your heart is good and that you would wish to keep it that way.”

  “I fear it is not so good as you say, anymore. I have seen and done things . . .” He faltered.

  Sabé watched him patiently.

  “In this guise of an acolyte Set, I cannot avoid magic. I must engage in it, for their purpose, or my own. I chose that it be my own, and if a price must be paid, so be it. I only wish that I never harm my friends or lead them to my corruption.” His eyes narrowed, and he looked at Sabé. “Yet you must have some way, or you would not have agreed to consult with me.”

  “A man may use fire without being burned, or hold a sword without cutting his hand, but sorcery is not like that. Long have I searched out methods to wield it for good, without harm or consequence, but my success has been limited.”

  “Limited, but you have had some success. Is this how you were able to create the magical traps around the house?”

  Sabé smiled and nodded, apparently impressed. “So you sensed their exact nature, did you?”

  “That you had contrived them to visit their ill effects on the intruder who triggered them, yes. Can’t this method be employed in other ways?”

  “To attack your enemies? No. So far as I have learned, such trickery only works on defensive magic of the most passive nature. My recent studies have been working toward using the method to create a kind of mystic armor that would protect a sorcerer from magical attack as these traps protect my home.”

  “Then we will aid you in that task, if we can. If I am ever to stand against Set and his followers, I will face the wrath of terrible sorcerers, perhaps even the head of the cult, Thoth-Amon.”

  Sabé sneered at the mention of the name. “The Lord of the Black Ring. That foul wretch. Long I have wished for his downfall. Does he contaminate the clear waters of Lake Nafrini with his presence again?”

  “Not now that I know of, but I have been told he will return here soon, and I may be given audience with him.”

  “I do not envy you in that, then. Know that he is the most evil and treacherous man in all of Hyboria.” He raised his hand and waved it before Anok. “I sense that you have already learned to cloud aspects of your true nature. What I have seen of you is not all you are, but I have seen enough to trust you and your purpose.

  “Know that Thoth-Amon will try to learn all your secrets, to peel you like a grape. You face a terrible danger in his presence.”

  Anok was a bit mystified by Sabé’s statement. He had not consciously applied any spells of concealment to himself. Perhaps it was some doing of the Mark of Set. Did Sabé know he had it, or what it meant?

  He almost said something, but hesitated. What purpose would be served by revealing himself? Perhaps Sabé would even judge him tainted by the mark and withdraw his offer of assistance. Better to wait.

  “Then you must help me prepare for the meeting.”

  Sabé scowled. “I
t would be better to avoid it completely.”

  “I don’t see how that is possible.”

  “You can run, as far and as fast as you can. Give up this foolish notion of defeating Set!”

  Teferi was giving Anok that “I told you so” look.

  “You said that you’d aid me. I thought you hated Set!”

  “I hate the Cult of Set as much as anyone,” Sabé fired back. “How do you think I ended up like this?” He pointed to the rags tied over his eyes. “But you are paying me to advise you, and I would be remiss if I did not try to talk you out of your obsession.”

  “And you have done so. Now that you’ve failed, can we move on?”

  “Teferi, can you not talk sense into your friend?”

  Teferi smiled slightly. “I have tried, elder.”

  “And you, Fallon? Can you not use your feminine wiles, or simply club him over the head, as barbarians are fond of doing?”

  She smiled as well. “I have tried both. They provide amusement, but little result.”

  Sabé sighed. “So be it then. We will do what we can.”

  “Then you still think my quest is without hope?”

  “Nothing is truly without hope for those who do not recognize the impossible, be they heroes—or fools.”

  15

  WEEKS PASSED, AND Anok took up his studies. Yet Sabé soon complained about Anok’s lack of focus. Anok’s mind often wandered, and some days it seemed Teferi learned more than he did. Teferi had struck up a friendship with Sabé, and while he helped the old scholar with physical labors around his house, Sabé would repay him by teaching him to read, using the old texts. At least some were written in a form not unlike modern Stygian, but he taught him some of the old languages as well.

  Anok occasionally found himself jealous. He had promised to teach Teferi to read, but little had come of it after they’d bought those scrolls in the Great Marketplace in Odji.

  He also wished that Sabé was as forthcoming in sharing his knowledge with Anok. But the old scholar only read to him things that seemed more like riddles and pointless stories than instruction in sorcery. Anok had one day suggested that Sabé teach him how to read the texts directly, but Sabé had rebuffed him. “You are not ready for that. Power must not come too easily to a young sorcerer such as you. Terrible things come of it.”