“Perhaps,” said Teferi, “I should go with her. Two might learn more than one.”
Anok considered for a moment, then nodded. “I would like to speak with Sabé in private, anyway. Go, but come back for him later. He should have an escort home, and I don’t know that I’m yet equal to the task.”
Teferi quickly headed for the door, his mind and emotions a tangle. He was still reeling from Sabé’s revelations about his heritage. His concern was torn between Anok and Fallon, and he wasn’t sure how best to help either of them, much less both.
But one more thing bothered him as he left Anok and Sabé alone. He was disappointed that, after all they had been through, his adopted brother still felt it necessary to keep secrets from him.
ANOK TOOK A few minutes to wash the bed sweat off, using water from the basin. Then, feeling refreshed, he pushed himself off the bed to search for proper clothing.
He wobbled as he stood, his legs weak and uncertain. His stomach twinged with nausea, and his head pounded. He tried to ignore it all, taking a clean set of robes from a cabinet against the wall. As he did, he noticed his father’s medallion, which someone had removed and hung on a hook just inside the cabinet.
He started to put the medallion’s chain over his neck, then thought better of it. He pulled on the robe, tied it at the waist, and shuffled back over to sit on the edge of the bed. Sabé perched on a stool a few paces away, waiting patiently.
Anok looked at the plain, iron medallion in his hand. “It’s time,” he said to Sabé, “that we talked about this.” He held the medallion between his hands and, with practiced form, gave it a precise series of twists and turns, until it finally clicked open in the middle, like the shell of a clam. Inside, an ornate, golden object glittered.
Though he could not see, Sabé immediately reacted to the now-revealed Scale of Set. “What is that? What did you just do?”
As a former practitioner of sorcery, Sabé had senses keenly attuned to the supernatural. Though the cold iron of the medallion had kept it well hidden, Sabé could still detect the Scale.
Anok held out the Scale, and Sabé reached for it, taking the object in his hands, carefully examining it with his fingers. “You have not talked of the Scale of Set since just before you went to look for the Tomb of Neska, when you first revealed it to me.” He turned his face toward Anok and thrust the Scale back into Anok’s hands. “I should not even touch this. The temptation of power for one such as I is too great. You should not have it either. You should entrust it to Teferi.”
“It is my responsibility, not his. My father entrusted it to me moments before he died. It has something to do with my past. Something to do with my destiny. Yet I don’t really know what it is.” He looked at Sabé. “Help me.”
“It is good that you asked. I feared you had already been seduced by its power and jealously hoarded it for yourself. If so, you might have been beyond my help.”
“I, too, sense its power, yet it seems useful for little. It is not a weapon, in any sense that I can reason. Perhaps it could be used to drive serpents against one’s enemies. I think Ramsa Aál used his to command the cobra that bit me. But there are many magical ways to summon and command beasts, some far more effective and useful.”
Sabé leaned on his walking staff and nodded. “Indeed. That the Scales can be used to command cold-blooded creatures seems to be but an accident of their true power. Many objects of great power have secondary abilities that are incidental to their intended purpose. One does not fill a cup so full without spilling a little.”
“Then what is their intended purpose?”
“That is a mystery. There are many tales written, of how the Scales were made and what they can do, but who can say if any are true? For their true power to manifest, all three Scales would need to be brought together, linked by metal forged in a sacred fire, and that has not happened since before they were first separated. All the legends agree on that. At times, two have been brought together, but never three. Only with all three together will their true power and purpose be apparent. Some say it would be a portent of the end of the world.”
Anok thought back to the moment before the black cobra had struck him, and shuddered. “As I said, I think Ramsa Aál used the power of the Scale to command the cobra. Sensing that, I tried to repel it with the power of this Scale. I know I risked revealing it, but I was desperate. Ramsa Aál overwhelmed its power somehow. I fear he has two of the Scales already.”
Sabé frowned. “Perhaps this cold-iron shell you carry it in muted its power. Or perhaps the corruption in Ramsa Aál’s soul makes him better able to command the Scale’s power.”
“Perhaps, but I think not. And if so, in that moment, the three Scales were within an arm’s reach of each other. Ramsa Aál could have simply reached out and taken it, and that ancient power would have been his.”
“Perhaps it would have been just as well if he had. For the true power of the Golden Scales, the so-called Scales of Set, was never meant to be wielded by man. He could no more hold that power in his hands and live than ride the lightning. No, though men have sought the Scales through history in a misguided quest for power, they are the tools of gods, demigods, demons, and monsters.”
The old scholar leaned back, considering for a moment. “There are many tales of how the world came to be. Each land and people has its own, though many common themes show up again and again. There is one version that concerns the Golden Scales.
“In this story, it is said that a great, golden serpent circled the world, holding his tail in his mouth, guarding it so that nothing could grow there. It was a lifeless and empty place.”
“Set?”
“It is said this was long before Set or any of the other gods. An eternity passed, then a hero came.”
“If nothing lived, where did the hero come from?”
Sabé scowled at him. “You think like a rational man, and such tales are never rational. They are full of such contradictions. Simply accept that it is so.”
He paused for a moment, trying to remember his place. “So the hero came and challenged the snake for possession of the world. The serpent would not yield, and there was a great battle that filled the heavens with fire. Finally, the hero was mortally wounded by the snake, but with his last breath he struck a mighty blow. The snake was crushed, and the world was free to grow and become fertile.”
“What about the Golden Scales?”
“Patience! You are like a child sometimes! That is the next part.
“From the hero’s blood came the first creatures that would eventually become men. They were brave and strong, but forever tainted by the serpent’s venom, forever doomed by their own flaws.
“The snake’s shattered bones became the snakes and crawling things of the world, the small bones into natural snakes and lizards, his large bones into supernatural serpents, dragons, and other such monsters. The golden snake’s scales fell and became the gods, demons, and other supernatural monsters that torment men, all but three scales from where the hero’s blow struck.”
“The Golden Scales.”
Sabé smiled slightly. “Now you see! The Scales are the missing parts that bind man, gods, and the crawling things together. Some say that is why most gods require their followers to bow before them, to crawl on their belly like a cold-blooded creature.”
“You believe that this story is true?”
Sabé shrugged. “There is a touch of truth to many such stories even if much is also fancy. All are only things men tell to explain things that are truly beyond their understanding. Who can say what really happened? But we know the Scales are real, and their legendary power as well. They were not meant for men.”
“Is Ramsa Aál a fool, then, that I should sit back and allow him to destroy himself?”
Sabé grunted, sneered, and seemed to think for a while. “This is not all his doing. Kaman Awi, High Priest of Set in Kheshatta, guides his hand. For all his arrogance, Kaman Awi is a dangerously brilliant s
orcerer in his own way.”
Anok knew Kaman Awi well by now. He was unlike any priest of Set that Anok had ever encountered, and yet in his own way, he was even more corrupt than most. “He is obsessed with the study of what he called ‘natural law,’ the study of things in the natural world, and how they may be applied by men. I am not sure it is truly sorcery at all.”
“Nor am I, though he makes use of sorcery, alchemy, and the arts of the poisoners in his schemes. He seeks to blend the most powerful forces that man has dared to tamper with, and I fear that nothing but evil can come from it. And if he is involved, then they have a plan, though I cannot fathom it.”
Anok looked grimly at the golden trinket in his hand. It looked so harmless. How could such a small thing be so ancient, so evil, so full of potential dread?
At length, Sabé spoke. “Any plan that includes the power of the three Scales of Set could remake the world.”
6
TEFERI HAD TRIED to follow Fallon out into the street, but in such a large and busy city as Kheshatta, even a head start of a few minutes had been too much. She was nowhere to be seen when he left the villa, and he was forced to make the rounds of the various taverns and roadhouses where he thought she might be.
He started at those places frequented by camel drivers. They were easily identified simply by sniffing the front door. A camel’s odor was pungent and unmistakable, though few in Stygia considered it objectionable.
On his third stop, a tavern located under a brothel on the west side of the city, he found a drunken Shemite who remembered seeing her. “Big woman,” he said, “dark hair. Large”—he giggled—“humps! Owns the white camel that is kept boarded at the western station. Is that right?”
Teferi rolled his eyes but only nodded.
“She asked about a caravan the snake worshipers brought in, full of some kind of armor, all tied up in tight bundles, like they were afraid it would get away.”
“What did you tell her?”
The Shemite looked up at him and grinned, displaying gaps from half a dozen missing teeth. “A drink for a thirsty traveler, just in from the desert?”
Teferi briefly considered removing a few more teeth, then put a few coppers on the table. A blond bar wench brought over a fresh mug of beer, and smiled at Teferi in hopes of a better tip.
The Shemite took a deep swig, then looked up at Teferi in surprise, as though he had just materialized out of thin air.
“What did you tell the woman?”
“I told her they took the stuff somewhere along the road leading east along the lakeshore.” He took another swig.
“Is that all?”
The man didn’t answer and started to lift the mug again.
Teferi put his hand flat across the top and slammed it back to the table. “Is that all?”
“She asked about strangers coming to Kheshatta. I told her I just came in with a caravan full of tinkers and smiths, and that word is they’ve been coming in from all over Stygia for weeks.” He laughed. “Tinkers and smiths? What need has a city of wizards and poisoners for so many tinkers and smiths?”
Teferi left the man to his drink and departed the tavern. Kheshatta was not famed for tinkers and smiths; but like any large city, it had its share, and they had their districts. He thought about going to the jewelers’ district, but the armor, though golden in color, had not truly looked like gold, and it was armor. Instead, he went to the district frequented by blacksmiths, bladesmiths, and armorers.
Smiths, as a rule, were not generally talkative people, and in fact, quite suspicious of strangers asking questions. Many jealously guarded family metalworking secrets handed down through dozens of generations, and assumed anyone nosing around was either a potential competitor playing ignorant, or a hired spy.
Teferi spent several frustrating hours wandering from forge to tavern, tavern to smithy, smithy to forge, learning nothing. He even went so far as to put a down payment on a very expensive dagger with a seemingly knowledgeable bladesmith, but he refused to pass along any gossip or even discuss Fallon.
His search might have ended there, had he not stumbled onto a broken-down old blacksmith in a bar near the lakeshore who admitted having spoken with Fallon.
The old man wore a patch over one eye, and his hands and arms bore the scars of countless burns. His eyebrows were entirely missing. Yet there were still ropes of muscle under his thin, leathery skin, and his good eye twinkled as he looked at the hearthfire in the back of the tavern.
“Oh, I seen your Cimmerian lady, but she’s a friend of mine. Walked arm and arm with me over to my smithy, where my worthless sons are running the business into the ground, then made a big fuss over me and even gave me a kiss on the head while they was looking! That’ll put those little rat bastards in their place for a while, think their old sire is used up and worthless!” He chuckled. “Friend of mine, so I will not tell you nothing.”
It took Teferi at least an hour of talking and the buying of many drinks to convince the old smith he really was a friend of Fallon’s and just wanted to find her.
“I do not know where she went, for sure, but she was asking about all these smiths coming to town. I told her that the Cult of Set built themselves a fancy new forge out near their guardians’ east garrison and been bringing in folks from all over. Outlanders. Pay them big money, too. They will not have nothing to do with us local folk. Figure we would talk too much I guess.” He spat on the floor. “Cursed snake-lovers!” He lowered his gruff voice to a whisper and looked around suspiciously. “You did not hear that from me, of course.”
Teferi pressed some silver into the pretty tavern wench’s soft palm and left the tavern, walking northeast around the end of the lake. He could see the garrison there, far around the lakeshore beyond the edge of the city sprawl, a utilitarian square-cornered fortress of moderate size surrounded by a walled stockade.
Though Kheshatta was historically a city besieged by border raiders and bandits, it was well protected by private armies financed by the poisoners and sorcerers. Their hired troops manned the formidable southern wall, which protected the city against raiders from Kush, and the various approaches by trail and caravan road. There was even a small freshwater navy of fast, shallow-draft fighting ships, equipped with both sails and oars, that plied the lake and patrolled its extensive shoreline.
Though they were mercenaries, the ones Teferi had met were a proud and disciplined lot. Resignations were rare, and there were never many openings in the ranks unless a raid resulted in casualties. Most of the officers had served steadfastly for years, and some families had been in service of the city’s forces for generations.
The guardians of Set were more tolerated than welcomed within the city’s boundaries, and massed troops could never appear without provoking a confrontation with this private army. It had to be galling to the guardians, as their authority was near absolute throughout most of the rest of Stygia.
Still, if the cult had something of importance to guard, this was the one place, besides the Temple of Set itself, where they would logically keep it.
That he could see the garrison did not mean it was close. It was a considerable walk, and he was considering what to do when he spotted an old, and in this case useful, acquaintance. He stepped into the street in front of a mule-drawn carriage and waved.
The brown-skinned, bald-headed driver waved back, and Teferi stepped to the side as the colorfully painted wagon rolled up next to him and stopped. The driver, moving spryly for a man of his age, jumped down from his seat. “Teferi! A pleasure as always! I have not see you for a while.” He looked around. “Where is your friend, Anok Wati?”
Teferi found himself frowning slightly at the mention of the name. “He is otherwise engaged today, but I am in need of transport and perhaps the latest gossip.”
“Well then”—the man gestured at the bench seats in the back of the open carriage—“get in.” He climbed back up onto his driving bench and picked up the reins. But before moving o
n, he looked back, an apologetic look on his face. “I am afraid I was not sad that you were alone today. Master Anok, I must admit, I find his presence sometimes—unsettling.” He snapped the reins, and the two mules started moving at a stately pace.
“I’ve known him since we were boys, Barid, but I do understand. My old friend has changed much this last year or so, and I fear it is not for the better. My quest is to end his troubles and restore the friend I once knew. It is in this cause that I today seek information.”
“Of information, perhaps I can help. I talk to many and hear much. As for the rest, where do you wish to go?”
“Back the other way. I wish to go near the guardians’ fortress off around the lake.”
Barid glanced back, a look of puzzlement on his face. “What business can you have there?”
Teferi grinned. “Nosy business that the guardians would not approve of, which is why I only wish to go near. To get closer and see what I wish to see will require care and stealth.”
“You are interested in the forge?”
Teferi raised an eyebrow in surprise, but Barid was, through his passengers, his friends, and his seemingly never-ending supply of brothers, well connected in the city. “What do you know of a forge?”
“My third brother, Mesha, is one of the finest brickmasons in all of Kheshatta.” He seemed to consider this for a moment. “Well, he is at least one of the fastest masons in all of Kheshatta, which seems to be why the priests of Set hired him. They have been building a new compound next to their stockade, and at its center, a great forge for the smelting of metals. The forge is finished, but he still is working on the sheds and walls that surround it. He says they value speed over all things, and they seem to care little that the brickworks might collapse after a few monsoon seasons.”
“That is indeed useful information. I would like to get a look at this compound.”
Barid glanced back over his shoulder and grinned. “Well then, how would you like to go inside?”
The Venom of Luxur Page 8
