The Venom of Luxur

by J. Steven York

  TEFERI SAT BACKWARD in the white camel’s oversized saddle, his long, dark legs contrasting with the pale hair on the big animal’s flank. He toyed idly with his bow, pulling back the string, sighting on imaginary targets in the landscape that slid away into the distance behind them, and the occasional lizard scurrying between hiding places.

  He could feel the naked skin of the woman’s muscular back pressed against his, but he found the sensation more annoying than erotic. He tried to catch some whiff of her scent, but the camel’s stench overpowered everything else. He squirmed, trying to put a little distance between them.

  Fallon brushed back her long, black hair and glanced back over her shoulder. “You have something to say, Teferi?”

  He considered a dozen alternatives, abandoning each in the name of diplomacy. “I was just looking for a more comfortable position. I do not like riding on the back of this camel like a child.”

  “White camels are large, Teferi, born to carry heavy loads. Fenola does not mind.”

  “I mind. We should have hired a second camel.”

  “Why waste silver when the camel I already own will suffice?”

  He grunted.

  “You don’t care for me, Teferi?”

  “You are adequate company.”

  She smirked at him. “Flattery! Do all men from the plains of Kush have this gift?”

  Her remark made him twitch, and he almost didn’t reply at all. “I was born in a city. I remember the plains of my ancestral land only in my dreams.”

  She was quiet for a moment, and he felt her shift nervously. When she did speak, her voice was apologetic. “I meant no offense, Teferi. It’s been a long ride, and you’ve hardly spoken. If you do not care for me, I would like to know why.”

  He chuckled incredulously. “You’ve made it clear you don’t care for me as a man.” The words sounded surprisingly bitter, even to his own ears. “Why do you care at all? I am entrusted with my friend’s, my brother’s, safety as a matter of honor. It’s but a job to you. Can you not do it in silence?”

  “Anok doesn’t pay me enough for silence, Teferi, and he pays you as well as a matter of his own honor, though I know you would be here anyway. But perhaps you don’t understand me nearly as well as you think.”

  “Are you saying you would still be here if there were not silver to be made?”

  “I’m a Cimmerian, Teferi. We live as Crom made us to live: to struggle, to fight, to club life over the head, throw it to the ground, and steal its purse. But a purseful of silver is worth nothing. A purse emptied well is another matter, and a purse filled well is better yet. In these past weeks I have battled ancient monsters, survived supernatural evil, and untold treachery. I have seen things to make hard men tremble, and have tales to tell my grandchildren, if by some accident I should live long enough to have any.” She looked off at the horizon and nodded, seemingly more to herself than to him. “That is better than silver.”

  He sighed. “For silver or glory, there’s little difference.”

  “You think so poorly of me? Anok is your friend, but he has been more to me than that.”

  Teferi laughed. “You shared his bed! And how much does that mean to you?”

  “You think that because I’m a forward woman I lie with a man the way a dog scratches an itch? It’s a man’s way to think with his loins, and I’ll wager you’ve let yours think for you more than once.”

  Teferi winced at the truth of it, but said nothing.

  “For what it matters, Teferi, you are a fine figure of a man, and were that my only concern, I would happily test your skill in the darkness. But I am not the woman you think I am, and my heart and mind are much confused these days.”

  He licked his dry lips. “Then perhaps if you did not add to that confusion with wine—”

  She spun her head around and glared at him, those dark Cimmerian eyes filled with blood and fire. “Is that what this is about?”

  “When Anok needed you, when he faced the devil Thoth-Amon alone, you were holed up in a bar.”

  “And you were holed up in a library with Sabé! Neither of us was there for him, Teferi. We must both live with our failure. Yet much as we might try, we can’t always protect Anok from the danger of the path he has chosen for himself. He has put himself against the Cult of Set itself.”

  He sighed. “Then why are you here shadowing Anok? Why even bother to answer his summons?”

  She was silent for a time. “There was no summons. I overheard Anok talk of this journey and thought of following him myself. Then I lied to you about his instructions. I did not want to hire another camel because Anok did not give me the silver to hire one with.”

  Teferi blinked in surprise. Then he laughed. “You tricked me, woman! I have wronged you greatly, doubting your goodwill and courage. I humble myself before you.”

  She grinned. “I won’t forget it.”

  “A fine figure of a man?”

  Her smile vanished. She pushed his head down and quietly ordered the big camel to kush. It dropped quickly to its knees, then belly down in the dirt.

  Following Fallon’s lead, Teferi rolled off the camel and crawled along the ground to peer over the top of a reddish-orange boulder. They watched a pair of lightly armored soldiers on horseback ride along a path below. Teferi instantly recognized the scarlet sash and the scarlet ruffles on the reins.

  He slid down, his back against the rock, and listened as the hoofbeats faded into the distance. Then he glanced over at Fallon. “Guardians of Set. Are we close to this shrine you told me about?”

  “Without doubt. From what I learned on the streets back in Kheshatta, the cult keeps an entire garrison of troops here to guard the shrine and its treasures.”

  “You could have warned me.”

  “I did not know there would be patrols. I thought they would stay close to the treasure.”

  Teferi peered over the rock again. Off to the west, he could see a caravan of pilgrims cresting a ridge. The riders were richly dressed, and there were many pack camels, all heavily burdened with something.

  He slid back behind the rock. “Perhaps,” he said, “the treasure is not where we think it is.”

  2

  ANOK HAD EXPECTED the shrine to be little more than the ruins of an ancient tomb alone in this desolate desert. But as their caravan wound its way down the hillside, he saw something quite different.

  The tomb itself, a large, flat-roofed stone building topped with a low, central dome, was in excellent repair, its many columns cleaned, polished, and decorated with freshly painted pictograms in the ancient style.

  Nor did it stand alone. It was surrounded by what amounted to a small village of buildings, some restored from ruins, others more recently built. There were small cottages where pilgrims could stay, apartments for workers, a large and elaborate building that probably housed the resident priesthood, kitchens surrounded by smoking ovens that smelled of bread, a long communal dining hall, warehouses for supplies, corrals for camels and horses, a large well and a covered cistern for water, and barracks for a very visible contingent of guardian troops.

  It all spoke of the great wealth the cult was able to collect here from its followers.

  All this for an empty tomb!

  The caravan made its way along streets of packed stone to the corrals. Servants waited to help the riders from their mounts and unload the pack camels. A priest of high rank waited just outside the stone fence, watching them intently.

  Anok watched the other riders dismount, several acolytes from the temple at Kheshatta, all loyal to Ramsa Aál, and several of Kaman Awi’s “scholars of natural law.” They were only passing familiar to Anok, but he believed that they were alchemists by specialty.

  What business can alchemists have in a place like this?

  “Anok!” Ramsa Aál gestured him over. “Come with me!”

  They went to greet the waiting priest, an elderly man, thin, his dark skin made leathery by long exposure to the desert. The man
bowed his head as they approached. Though his rank was considerable, Ramsa Aál’s title as Priest of Needs still exceeded it.

  “Lord Ramsa Aál, I presume. I am Suten Rasui, Priest of the Shrine, at your service.” He raised his head and smiled insincerely. “How is our Lord-master Thoth-Amon? Well, I hope.”

  “Well enough to turn you inside out with a wave of his hand!”

  Suten Rasui’s smile faded. “Lord?”

  “I’ve heard you opposed my mission here, that you appealed to Thoth-Amon himself to stop it.”

  Rasui made an expression like that of a stubborn child caught stealing a fig. “Very well then.” He kept his voice low and looked from side to side to see who might be nearby. “I did oppose it, yes. You know the wealth that this shrine generates for the cult. You would endanger that for some foolish quest? The tomb is empty!”

  “Not totally empty, and you know it. It has guardians, still, and it is they that I seek, that our master seeks.”

  Suten Rasui scowled. “You bring nothing but trouble on yourselves. Never have the mystic guards of this temple been felled.”

  Ramsa Aál smiled slightly. “They will fall today!” He looked toward the barracks. “Is the garrison at the ready, as you were instructed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then have them form up by the back of the tomb, ready to fight. As for your gold, keep the pilgrims away from the tomb for a few hours, and they will never know what transpires inside.”

  Suten Rasui looked confused. “What shall I tell them?”

  Ramsa Aál looked annoyed. “You are a priest! Tell them some lie!”

  He walked back toward the camels, and Anok followed. “I don’t understand, master. Why would an empty tomb have guardians, and if the guardians have never been bested, how can you be sure the tomb is empty?”

  Ramsa Aál smiled. “The cult long ago drilled a tunnel through the rock into the rear of the tomb and found it empty. The guardians wait at the entrance of the tomb, and do not trouble those who remain within its depths. As for the purpose of the guardians, they were created by the Lost King before his murder. Learning of his family’s treachery, he set them to their timeless task before he could be killed. If he was not to be buried in his tomb, then he was determined that no man would be, most especially his turncoat brother. In that, his guardians have ever been successful.”

  “Then we will enter the temple through the secret tunnel?”

  “Indeed, and we will go through the temple almost to its entrance, where the guardians wait. We will go with soldiers enough to engage them while I work my magics.”

  “But why, master? Of what value can these guardians be to you, especially if you have already defeated them?”

  The priest was momentarily distracted as two servants clumsily unloaded a large pottery cask and nearly dropped it. “Careful! That contains the blood of virgins, treated with holy herbs and the rare Elixir of Orkideh. Break it, and I will have to try my spell using your blood instead! It likely won’t work, but you’ll be dead anyway!”

  Anok’s ears perked at the mention of the Elixir of Orkideh. Anok had, at great peril to himself, helped Kaman Awi obtain the rare potion from Lord Poisoner Sattar back in Kheshatta. He had won the elixir in a trial of combat against an acolyte of the Cult of the Jade Spider, an enemy of Set.

  Anok realized now that his efforts had been driven by pride rather than reason, and in obtaining the elixir, he had, to his regret, aided the very people he had sworn to destroy. Whatever their mission today, it would clearly have been impossible. It was also clear that Kaman Awi had wanted the stuff quite badly.

  But why? It made no sense. What could Ramsa Aál want from an empty tomb?

  WHILE FALLON REMAINED behind to hold the camel, Teferi crawled to the edge of the cliff on his belly and peered over. He watched the scene below for several minutes, then crawled away from the edge before trotting back to her side, a frown of concern on his face.

  “What did you see?”

  “They are mustering the soldiers. They are armored and prepared for a foot battle, though I see no one for them to fight.”

  She smiled. “Perhaps they have heard that a Cimmerian warrior and her fearsome Kush companion are nearby.”

  “Do not joke. There is danger about, though I cannot tell you from which way it comes. From whatever direction, our friend Anok is in the heart of it. But that I could stand by his side. This secrecy torments me!”

  “I have little love of skulking about either, Teferi, yet we would do no good rushing in there. We must be patient.”

  “You be patient. I will gnash my teeth.”

  She chuckled. “As you would have it.”

  He glanced at her with annoyance. “You make fun of me.”

  “You fuss like a nanny goat. Anok is a man. He does not need you as his nursemaid.”

  “You don’t know him as I do. We were boys together, fought side by side a hundred battles in the alleys of the Odji slums. He is a good man, a strong man, but a troubled man, with secrets that, even after all these years, I suspect he does not share with me. He has dabbled in dark magic and thinks now he has beaten it. I do not think it is done with him yet.”

  Fallon frowned. “There are some devils you cannot fight for another. They can ask for aid, but it cannot be given.”

  “Devils like drink?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps.”

  He considered for a moment. “Then perhaps my greatest devil is that I do not know my place. I have no wish to be a nursemaid, and this is not the way I would have taken my life, but for my concern for my friend. I feel there is some reason for me to be here, if I can but find it.”

  She raised her eyebrow. “What, then, is my purpose?”

  He chuckled. “If you care, you are the hired help, and perhaps not the best available.”

  But she frowned, as though she didn’t appreciate the joke.

  THREE DOZEN SOLDIERS lined up in front of a small building behind the tomb. The building was windowless, and a substantial wooden door protected by heavy locks blocked the entrance. It could easily be mistaken for a storehouse, but Anok was sure it hid the tunnel entrance to the tomb.

  The soldiers were uniformly equipped with polished steel helmets, chain mail, light plate armor, and armed with swords and painted rectangular shields bearing the seal of Set. Ten men at the head of the formation also carried short pikes with points of fine steel.

  One of the soldiers was older than the other, and his helmet was topped by a red horsehair crest marking him as an officer. Anok watched as Ramsa Aál approached him.

  “You are the officer in charge of this garrison?”

  The man’s face was expressionless, seemingly chiseled from stone. “Yes, my lord!”

  “Then for the next hour you are demoted.”

  That got the officer to blink, but nothing more. “May I ask why, my lord?”

  “If we are to survive, these men must follow my every order, directly and without hesitation.”

  The officer frowned ever so slightly.

  “Forgive me, my lord, no disrespect intended, but I do not believe the men will follow you as you wish. Such loyalty must be won through hardship and blood.”

  “You have won this loyalty?”

  The officer looked just slightly smug at having made his point. “Yes, my lord, I believe I have.”

  Ramsa Aál considered for but a moment. “Then you will order your men to follow me as they would you, on pain of your death.”

  The officer’s rigid facade finally cracked. “My lord? Even for one of your station, this is outrageous!”

  “I will not be the one who kills you. It will be what awaits us,” he pointed at the door, “in there.”

  The officer looked at the door nervously.

  Anok wondered if the officer knew what awaited them. The keepers of this place would have no reason to go inside, and the temple had been entered centuries before.

  Ramsa Aál continued. “But you wi
ll not die alone, for your men will die, too, as will I, and”—he pointed at Anok—“my student as well. If they follow me, you will have your command back in an hour and a promotion as well. If they fail me, we will die as one.”

  The officer regained his composure, clenching his jaw, puffing his chest, holding his chin high. “We will not fail you, my lord.” He turned sharply to face his men.

  “Hear me, guardians! We face today an enemy unlike any we have ever faced before, unlike any we have ever trained to fight. As such, I temporarily hand my authority to this High Priest of Set, whose knowledge of our foe exceeds my own. He and his acolyte have committed to stand by us in battle and share our danger as their own. Are you with us?”

  The men shouted as one, “Yes, my lord!”

  Ramsa Aál stepped in front of the men, standing tall before them, as Anok had often seen him do before his acolytes. The priest was not unfamiliar with command.

  “Make no mistake,” he said. “This is war. It will be brief, but it will be fierce, and deadly. Each man who stands with us today will earn five pieces of gold in combat pay. To the family of each who falls, seven pieces.” He watched the men’s reaction to his last comment closely, seeking, Anok imagined, some weak member who needed to be culled. He found none, through there were some unhappy murmurs when he mentioned the survivor’s payment.

  That, Ramsa Aál seemed to be expecting. He smiled. “It does not sound like much for your families, but I do not believe in bribing a man to fall on the enemy’s sword! Live to collect your five pieces, and we will all be happy!”

  That brought chuckles from the troops.

  Anok had to admire the smooth way the priest had won them over. If Ramsa Aál was ultimately his enemy, there was still much to be learned from the man.

  Behind them, a workman carrying a lighted torch unlocked the door and swung it open. “There are torches inside the door,” he said.

  “Every sixth man take a torch and light it from this man’s,” announced the officer. Then he looked sheepishly at Ramsa Aál. “If it suits my lord, of course.”