The Venom of Luxur

by J. Steven York

  Seeing Teferi’s discomfort, Barid answered in Stygian so that he could understand. “This is Teferi, a friend and regular customer. He wished to see the cult’s mysterious forge with his own eyes, for reasons of his own, and I offered to oblige him. I hope I have not caused you trouble.”

  “Of course not, brother. In a day, we will be done and free of this foul place. Though I cannot say what there is to see, other than shoddy workmanship. The priests of Set assure me this forge will only be used for the span of a month or so, then left to crumble.”

  Teferi observed the curious mechanism used to operate a large bellows. It was driven through a series of peg-gears, which were turned by a pair of mules lashed to a pole that rotated on a fixed post. As the mules marched endlessly around their circular path, the leather bellows pumped up and down.

  With each blast of air, the fire grew brighter, and sparks shot from the top of the chimney. He looked at the thatched roofs, and wondered how long it would be before one of them caught fire.

  In the center of the fire sat a tall crucible, a glowing red mass of liquid metal visible in the top. There was a curious quality to the metal. It did not boil, and the crucible itself was quite steadily placed. Yet the metal seemed to be in constant motion, little waves and ripples appearing in the surface, moving upward with curious slowness, then falling back.

  “They seem,” said Teferi, “to have been anxious to begin their work.”

  “They have been at it for a day now,” said Mesha. “Now and then, two of them will go into that shed with hammers and chisels. They will pound for a time, then come out with a bit of gold-colored metal that they add to their pot.”

  Teferi nodded. “Gold-colored, but not gold, yes?”

  Mesha looked at him with some surprise, and nodded.

  Barid threw back the tarp and picked up a brick. “We had best unload these before our friend at the gate becomes suspicious.”

  Mesha pointed out a spot near the wall to stack them, and the three men made quick work of the load. When they were finished, Barid threw the tarp over the back of the wagon, then led the two of them on a contrived errand that took them nearer to the forge.

  Teferi noticed a strange, slack-faced expression on the men who tended the fire. They moved slowly, as though sleepwalking. There were other, more-alert men as well, but they kept back from the forge and worked with long-handled tools that allowed them to work from a distance.

  Once they were out of earshot and headed back toward the carriage, Teferi asked about this curious arrangement.

  “I do not understand it,” said Mesha, “but we have strict orders that no man is to come within twenty paces of the forge in any direction. A priest comes here once each day, and I believe he places a hypnotic spell on the fire-tenders to dull their minds. It is a very curious thing.”

  They walked past a smaller building, a smithy, from which a smaller chimney emerged, also belching smoke. From inside, they could hear constant hammering, but the windows were too high to see in, and the door was kept shut.

  Having seen all they were likely to see, Teferi and Barid climbed back into the front seat of the carriage. After giving thanks to Mesha, they headed for the gate.

  The same guard awaited them, watching as they approached. Once again, he stepped out and put up his hand. He walked around the carriage, looking inside, and stopped at the rear, looking at the tarp.

  Barid frowned at him. “You searched us going in. What is the point of this? My brother needs more brick, and I must hurry about my business.”

  The guardian ignored him and lifted the edge of the tarp. His eyes widened, and he looked up at them, and quickly drew his sword. “You’ll be going nowhere,” he tossed back the tarp and jumped back as he did, “until you explain how this barbarian woman got in your carriage!”

  Teferi looked down, and saw Fallon crouched behind the carriage’s rear seat, one hand uncertainly on the hilt of her sword, a look of supreme annoyance on her face.

  ANOK LEANED IMPATIENTLY on the wall surrounding his villa. A gray cloud passed in front of the sun, threatening rain and casting a chill across the busy street.

  Twenty minutes before, he had sent a boy to fetch Barid and his carriage. There had been plenty of time for the boy to find Barid at his livery and return, and he was becoming annoyed.

  An empty carriage rolled by. He considered flagging it down. But he did not recognize the driver, a disreputable-looking Shemite with a jagged scar that ran from forehead to jawbone down the right side of his face. Riding alone with an unknown driver could be just as dangerous to the likes of Anok as walking unguarded to the temple by himself.

  He watched the carriage disappearing as it traveled west down the street, when a flash of motion caught his eye. Someone was running toward him. He recognized the ragged orange kilt, the tanned skin, and the unruly mop of black hair. It was the boy he had send for Barid.

  The boy ran up and slid to a stop, his threadbare sandals offering little purchase on the slick paving stones. He bent over, leaning hands on knees, gasping for breath. “Master Anok Wati! I did not find Barid. He was not home. His carriage was gone. I beg pardon!”

  Anok snorted in disgust. The cursed Vendhyan was never around when needed. “Go then. I’ve no more time to wait.”

  The boy stood, hesitating, his eyes nervously on Anok.

  “What do you want?”

  The boy bowed his head apologetically. “When Master Teferi sends me on such an errand and Barid is not to be found, he usually gives me a few coppers for my trouble.”

  Anok sneered. “Do I look like a Kushite? I am not Teferi, boy! You’ll get my coppers when you bring me what I sent you for. Better luck next time.” He swung the back of his hand toward the boy as though swatting at an invisible fly. “Now away with you!”

  The boy frowned and took a few hesitant steps.

  Anok drew his dagger, and as he did, whispered the simplest of spells.

  The boy’s eyes went wide with fear, as the blade seemed to transform into an angry serpent that hissed and struck at him. He shrieked and ran away down the street as fast as he could.

  Anok laughed, shaking the dagger so as to break the spell of illusion. The curved blade of the dagger returned to its original appearance, and Anok slid it into its scabbard on his belt.

  The cloud moved past, and the sun again shown on Anok’s face. Perhaps it would not rain after all. That decided it for him. With Teferi and Fallon both out spying for him, he would simply have to walk, no matter the risk.

  He headed down the street at a brisk pace, dodging street vendors, scholars on errands, and assorted street rabble, low-level followers of one cult or another.

  Some of these latter gave him contemptuous looks as he passed, but they were not the kind to trifle with even the middling sort of wizardry most acolytes of Set could easily wield.

  He was many blocks from the villa before he realized that he’d forgotten to put on his swords. That caused him to break his pace briefly, more out of confusion than concern.

  How had he forgotten his swords? For half his life they had been his constant companions, almost as much a part of him as his fingers and toes. Those early weeks as an acolyte, when he’d been unable to wear them, had been torture.

  How could he simply walk out without them and not even notice?

  He smiled. Because I do not need them. I fear nothing!

  His sorcerous abilities more than compensated for the lack of weapons. He had his dagger, if blood needed to be spilled in the old way, but he could barely imagine how that could possibly be necessary.

  He turned south, headed toward the Temple of Set, becoming bolder by the step. Now, as people spotted his acolyte robes and sneered at him, he sneered back. If they brushed against him, or even bumped him, he did not hesitate to bump back.

  If there was to be trouble, let there be trouble. He welcomed it!

  No, he wanted it. He remembered his first encounter with the followers of the Jade Spide
r Cult. Now, they had been worthy adversaries!

  He fantasized about a new encounter. When last they had met, he had gained the respect of Dao-Shuang, a local master of the cult, by saving the life of his student, Bailing. But the circumstances had been humiliating for Bailing, and he might blame Anok. Perhaps he would seek Anok, hoping for revenge.

  There would be a battle. Oh, yes, my victory would be sweet!

  But there was no sign of the Jade Spider followers, or any other adversary worth mentioning. Nothing but street scum, who quickly looked away when they caught the anger and determination in his eyes.

  He could see the Temple of Set over the tops of nearer buildings, and was losing hope that this journey would offer any excitement, any challenge, at all.

  Then he stopped in front of the entrance to a dark and narrow alley.

  The passage was cluttered, dirty, and anything but straight. He could see no more than a dozen yards before an offset in the alley hid the rest of its considerable length from sight. He could see no one along this length, but echoing in the distance he could hear voices in some unknown language, the barking of dogs, and the ominous beat of large drums he felt as much as heard.

  There was a stench, not just of rotted garbage, but of death, from the alley’s mouth. Human death.

  This, Barid had cautioned him once while passing, was home to the Zamboulan Cult of Hanuman. Hanuman was a beast god with a reputation for bloodlust and corruption that equaled that of Set, seemingly without the theatrics and fakery sometimes employed by the followers of Set to frighten the masses.

  It was a small but feared cult, and they had no love at all for Set and his worshipers.

  Anok took a step toward the alley. For him, in his acolyte robes, to enter would almost guarantee he would be attacked, and the followers were known for their savagery and mastery of dark spells.

  He hesitated only a moment more before marching into the narrow confines of the alley.

  “Have at me,” he said quietly, “if you dare!”

  9

  TEFERI LOOKED FIRST at Fallon, then at the guardian. He was only a lone soldier, but just over the stockade wall was the largest concentration of guardian troops that side of Khemi, and they could be upon them in a minute.

  He blinked. Then he looked at the guardian, and smiled reassuringly. “The woman? Oh! The woman! Well!” He looked again at Fallon, who seemed to be as interested in what he had to say as anyone. Still, her hand remained wrapped around the hilt of her sword, and he knew it would take but a moment for the situation to turn bloody and doom them all.

  “Oh,” he said, “you mean the whore!”

  Fallon glared at him but said nothing.

  “Yes, well,” Teferi continued, “you haven’t lived until you’ve felt the powerful thighs of a barbarian woman wrapped around your middle!”

  Fallon tilted her head, looking at Teferi in a most threatening fashion, but again she remained silent.

  The guardian’s manner relaxed only a little. “Then explain to me what this whore is doing in the back of your wagon?”

  Teferi looked desperately at Barid, who shrugged.

  “She was—a present! Yes, a present, for the anniversary of Barid’s brother’s birth! That was it!”

  Now the guardian looked confused. “But I searched your carriage going in. There was no woman hidden here!”

  “She was—” Again he looked at Barid, who again just shrugged. He continued. “She was enchanted! Yes! Enchanted into the form of a brick! You looked right at her and did not know!”

  The guardian looked at him, eyes narrow with suspicion. “A barbarian brick woman?”

  “Yes! Why, it’s the latest thing for smuggling slaves, all the rage in Black Kingdoms! Turn them into a brick, take them where you will, say the magic incantation and return them to living human form!”

  “A brick?”

  “Ingenious, is it not?”

  He looked at her again. “If you brought him a whore, why was she only here but only a few minutes?”

  Teferi chuckled nervously. “Mesha, he is not as young as he used to be. That’s why we brought him a whore. We knew it would be a cheap present!”

  The guardian opened his mouth to say something, when a shriek of terror from behind him made him turn.

  They all looked back toward the forge, where workmen with long poles jabbed at the crucible, which had become unbalanced and was threatening to fall over. The ends of the wooden poles flared into flame where they touched the red-hot crucible.

  A quantity of molten metal splashed out of the container and began to flow in a burning red rivulet along the ground.

  Men ran back and forth frantically, fetching more poles, babbling and yelling in languages Teferi could not understand. Then the tiny river of molten metal seemed to shudder, and rose from the ground like a snake.

  The nearest man cried out at the sight of it, then screamed as it struck forward. It wrapped a flaming tentacle around his middle, quickly budding off a dozen smaller tendrils that whipped around the man’s neck, body, and limbs. His clothing sizzled and burst into flame. The stink of charred flesh filled the air.

  A number of men appeared carrying buckets of water that they tossed on the screaming man. There was a loud hiss. The water flashed into a cloud of steam that rolled into the gray sky.

  When it dispersed, the screaming had stopped.

  The charred and blackened corpse hung limply, suspended in a framework of cooled metal twisted around his disfigured body like some ghastly sculpture.

  The guardian turned away. “That is the second time this week,” he said. Then he blinked in surprise as he looked at the back of the carriage. It was empty.

  He looked at Teferi and shook his sword in the air. “Where is the woman?”

  Teferi looked at him innocently. “What woman?”

  “The barbarian whore!”

  “Well,” he said, “she was definitely a barbarian, but I am not certain about the whore part.”

  “You hired her!”

  “I made that up. Actually, I have never seen her before in my life. But you didn’t seem willing to take that for an answer, so I tried to think of something.”

  He pointed his sword at Teferi’s face. “You are in serious trouble! I’m taking you to my commanding officer!”

  Teferi looked toward the stockade. “Well, if we must. Certainly, he will want to know how the woman slipped past you and got into the compound. We’ll tell him everything we know.” He looked at the guard. “Of course, he may have questions for you as well. She was trying to get out of the stockade, not in, meaning she already slipped past someone. Perhaps you.”

  The guardian scowled, chewing his lip, considering.

  Teferi had been dealing with guardians all his life. He knew that common soldiers such as this one often had limits to their loyalty, especially when no one of authority was watching, and preferred to avoid the scrutiny of their superiors whenever possible. Doubtless, he had other minor misdeeds he wished to keep hidden.

  The guardian grunted, then sheathed his sword. “Speak of this to no one. You never saw the woman. She was never here. Now leave!” he said. “And don’t come back!”

  They rolled quickly out of the gate, around the back of the stockade, and back along the lakeshore. Teferi kept looking back for pursuit, but none came.

  They had just moved out of sight of the stockade when they passed under the low-hanging branches of a tree. Fallon dropped out of the foliage into the rear passenger area of the carriage, crouched, looking carefully over the back of the rear seat until she was satisfied that no one was coming after them.

  Then, still keeping low, she duck-walked forward and sat on the floor of the carriage, keeping her head down. She looked up at Teferi, her lips in a tight frown, her eyes narrowed with annoyance. “Whore? I’ll give you a taste of my barbarian thighs when I use them to snap your neck!”

  THE ALLEY STANK of death. Human death. He rounded the projecting end of a b
uilding, stepped around a stack of empty baskets, and looked into a row of faces.

  Dead faces.

  The heads hung from a window overhang, twisting in the cold wind, like one might see chickens hung in a marketplace. They were bodiless, but not severed. From each hung an artfully extracted spine, each glistening with bits of gore, grotesque tadpoles hung by the neck.

  He studied them, anger rising in his chest. On each face an expression of horror, mouths wide as though in a scream, gagged by a swollen, black tongue. Several were women, one, smaller, a child. Girl or boy he could no longer tell.

  Butchers!

  At least most victims of Set died quickly, watching with fading eyes as their lifeblood spurted out, or their hearts were cut out. Death by torture was a fate reserved for special victims, and special ceremonies.

  Even the priests of Set would never visit it on a mere child.

  He heard them moving in the shadows, stirring from their hiding places, the cursed followers of Hanuman. Some were Zamboulan, others Shemite Kush, and even a few Hyborians, yet they all looked the same—dirty, clothing ragged, eyes sunken and bestial.

  They had sold their souls in the name of power, and their humanity was all but gone.

  They were two dozen strong. They faced Anok with no fear. Some drew swords. Some crouched and growled, baring sharp teeth filed to point.

  Anok flexed his fingers, cracking his knuckles as he turned them and balled them into fists. His left sleeve fell back, revealing the Mark of Set. He looked at it, letting his anger flow into it.

  They do not know fear.

  Then I will show them fear!

  ON THE WAY back into the city, Teferi and Fallon sat in the back of Barid’s carriage. Teferi sprawled in the rearward-facing front seat, Fallon facing him, arms crossed over her chest.

  For a time, they did not speak, simply staring at each other. The carriage bounced roughly along the lake road, but the sun had broken through the clouds, making the trip back more pleasant than the trip out. Still, there was a chill in the air, the kind that had more to do with personal discord than the weather.