Sorcery in Shad Read online

  The great cave, one of many in a cavern honeycomb, was red with heat; from its bubbling lake of lava, grotesquely carved ‘islands’ stuck up here and there like fungi of some alien moon. Keeping their distance, red imps like great glowing insects danced nimbly from island to island; they somehow managed to avoid the reek and splash of liquid rock, while glowering at Teh Atht most menacingly. Then one of them tossed a mass of burning sulphur (which bounced of course from the surface of his cool, encompassing, invisible sphere) and made vilely threatening gestures.

  Annoyed, the wizard scowled and began to draw a pattern in the air with his forefinger, but when the thing was only half-shaped the imps took fright and raced off to safety, leaving him to his own devices. He grinned then, for his ‘spell’ had been a bluff, an intricate nonsense, by no means inimical. No, for he needed all of his sorcerous strength and most of his concentration just to maintain a cool, clean biosphere in this furnace place.

  And aware that his time was limited, again he turned to Orbiquita.

  Her island stood central and smouldering in the oozy, gurgling, flowing red rock of the place, and upon it she sat all hunched up, cradled or enthroned in ash of tephra, like a stalagmite of lava aglow with its own fiery internal light. Externally she was layered with rock-splash, which had hardened on her warty, leathery hide, so that an ignorant person might mistake her for the veriest fossil; but her blowhole nostrils smoked and her loathsome bosom rose and fell in ponderous measure, and when her hands twitched in her dreaming, then scythe-like fingers clashed and grated together.

  She was here as a penance, and here would stay for a five-year spell, at which time some similarly foolhardy sister would take her place. Thus the Sisterhood chose its guardians of this lair; but since there was little likelihood of anyone finding his way here – or even caring to – the Lamia in Residence usually weathered out her stay in stony slumbers.

  ‘Tarra Khash,’ Teh Atht repeated. ‘I must speak with you, Orbiquita! If you know this man, which I verily believe you do – if you have known him – now wake you up and tell me about him. It’s likely to his benefit as well as mine, I assure you …’ And he drifted closer, carpet and life-sustaining bubble and all. Perhaps she heard his voice, or felt the cold like a draft upon her, or merely sensed the presence of an outsider; whichever, now she came awake.

  Her face twitched, eyes cracked open and blinked, then glared sulphurously; great jaws gaped and lava layers scaled off in clattering scabs of stone; and finally, from a sudden eruption of steam and tainted reek came her rumbling, doomful voice:

  ‘Who is it disturbs my sleep? Who dares come here to seek me out? Who speaks to me of…of Tarra Khash?’ And here a strange, strange thing: for on speaking his name her voice broke and became more nearly human, more surely female, and now at last Teh Atht began to understand. He’d scarce deemed it possible before, but now he guessed the truth: Orbiquita, devourer of men, had finally found one to love!

  Now she stood up and stretched, bloating to the full form and monstrous mass of true lamia. As the smoke cleared, so Teh Atht floated face to face with his ‘cousin’, and wondered as he’d oft wondered aforetime how even the mighty Mylakhrion had cohabited with such as this. She sensed the thought, knew its author at once. And she nodded what were possibly a greeting, at least a sign of her recognition.

  ‘Teh Atht,’ she said then, her voice descending to sibilant, perhaps sarcastic whisper. ‘Most wondrous mage of Klühn, come a-visiting his cousin in her shame.’ More fully awake now, she shook her head in a seeming puzzlement, so that lava shards splintered and went clattering. ‘And did I hear you mention a certain name? And if so what is it to you? Or is it that you’re here simply to insult me?’

  ‘Insult?’ he peaked his thin grey eyebrows in a frown. ‘I uttered no—’

  ‘Uttered, no—’ she cut him off, ‘—but you thought an insult!’ And she stretched back her leathery wings, leaned forward, hunched to the rim of her island. Her scythe feet gouged the rock as lesser knives gouge clay, and her breath was a sulphurous musk. ‘How could Mylakhrion bring himself to mate with lamias, indeed!’

  ‘Ah!’ Teh Atht held up a finger, backed off a little. ‘But I meant no offence, Orbiquita. One might similarly ponder the fact that lamias consented to such immemorial, er, unions! And then there’s the sheer how of it, which were—’

  ‘Paint me no pictures, wizard!’ again she cut him off, her voice hissing like steam. Then she cocked her head on one side a little. ‘Oh, and are you so naive? Do you imagine he took my mother’s mothers to bed clad in their true forms? Never! As women, he took them, and under some foul spell so that they could not revert and devour him! And who are you that you should find this so unnatural?’ Here she smiled slyly, or at least did that with her face which Teh Atht supposed was a smile. ‘Why, haven’t I heard it rumoured that you yourself bed succubi?’

  Teh Atht grew warm despite his unbreakable bubble of cool, sweet air. ‘It is the nature of the succubus to come to men in the night!’ he quickly protested.

  ‘Huh!’ she snorted from flaring nostrils. ‘And is it also the nature of men to call them to their beds? Make no denials, cousin, for I have read it in your mind. Mylakhrion’s blood runs in your veins. He was an artful necromancer, aye, but he was also a lustful man – and all the men in his line after him …’

  Teh Atht must break the deadlock, and would definitely prefer to change the subject. ‘You’re in argumentative mood, Orbiquita,’ he said, ‘and time’s a-wasting. I’ve so much air in here, and then no more. And so I say again: I meant no insult or injury. And I implore you: what can you tell me of a certain Hrossak, a man called Tarra Khash?’

  Her turn to draw back, as if suddenly splashed in her eyes with acid. ‘I…I had forgotten,’ she said then, ‘how you have the power to read my mind as easily as I read yours. And so you’re a peeping Tom too, eh, Teh Atht? How much have you read?’

  He shook his head and waved his arm placatingly. ‘Only that you’ve known him. And that by accident. I stayed a while in your castle and would have spoken to you from there, but you were dreaming. And your dreams were filled with this Tarra Khash …’ And more hastily: ‘But I wasn’t prying, as you see for yourself. Oh, I might have stolen your dreams, Orbiquita, but instead I came to you openly. Of course I did, for as you yourself have pointed out, we’re of one blood.’

  She dwelled on that a moment. ‘And you want to know about…about Tarra Khash?’ Abruptly she turned away. ‘Then I can’t help you. I know nothing of him, except that he’s a man. In every sense, a man …’

  Teh Atht said nothing but waited, and eventually she turned his way again. ‘Well?’

  He shrugged, casually played his ace: ‘Then he’s likely done for, and my quest for immortality gone with him.’

  ‘Done for?’ she hissed, alarm plain in the rippling of her warty flesh. ‘I had dreamed he was in danger, and are you saying it were no dream but reality?’

  The wizard nodded. ‘Your lamia precognition, Orbiquita. There’s a bond between you and him, no matter how you may deny it. And so, wherever he wanders, when he faces danger you’ll sense it here in your lava cavern. Aye, and he faces it right now!’

  She was all ears now, her breathing erratic, claws clashing willy-nilly. ‘How done for?’ she demanded. ‘What, Tarra Khash, my Tarra, in danger most grave? You fear for his life? Even you, a mighty mage? Now tell me where he is, and the nature of this threat. Tell me at once, or flee this place while yet you may!’ She went to probe his mind, on which Teh Atht at once drew shutters.

  ‘We trade,’ he said. ‘A tale for a tale. You tell me what you know of him, and I’ll return the favour – though little good it will do, with you pledged to guard this place for a five-year!’

  She glared at him then and ground together teeth that could crunch granite. But eventually, and grudgingly, ‘So be it!’ she said. ‘Now listen and I’ll tell you all – or most …

  ‘It was some months agone, the ti
me of lamia renewal – of sisterhood vows and powers both. I was on my way here, to the Great Meeting of all my sisters, but I’d left it late and my magick had waned somewhat. Also, the moon approached its full, and as you’re doubtless aware, lamias are not at their best in Gleeth’s full glare. For my own reasons I travelled in human guise, a young girl mounted on a white yak, with a parasol to keep the moon from burning me. Then – skirting the Mountains of Lohmi en route for Nameless Desert – trouble!

  ‘Villains out of Chlangi ambushed me, made off with my beasts, my book of runes, a ring come down to me from our ancestor Mylakhrion. Aye, and they took much more than that. They…they made vile sport with me under the leering moon, of a sort I’ll not describe. Then they pegged me out naked in Gleeth’s glare and rode off laughing.

  ‘Tarra Khash found me, else I were not telling you this now. Injured, he was, for the same bunch of bandits had fallen on him, too. He’d taken an arrow in his back and seemed near all in. But I didn’t know that when first I saw him. He was just another man come to molest me; what with moon’s deadly ray and his ravishing, I’d surely be a goner come morning.

  ‘But I was wrong. When by right he should be caring for himself, instead he cared for me. I fancy he even suspected my true nature, but still he cared for me.

  ‘He cut me loose, covered me, put me on his camel and hurried me to a safe place. He sheltered me from the moon, built a fire, offered me food and drink. Indeed, he offered me whatever I needed for my comfort, all of what little he had. But that was how he viewed himself, not as I viewed him. Indeed, he had much to offer a moon-weakened, sorely depleted lamia. And so trusting was he that he put himself at my mercy, completely in my power.

  ‘I could have taken all, slaked my thirst in a moment, but…I chose merely to sip. I kissed his neck,’ (Teh Atht shuddered), ‘tasted his blood – only a taste, no more. And good blood it was: rich and strong, a trifle wild, even heady! ’Twere a battle with myself not to gorge on him there and then and be done with it. Aye, and better for me if I had.

  ‘But instead I balmed his wound, left him sleeping, used the strength he had given me to call up desert djinni who bore me here. I was late, without excuse, and so bound to do my stint in this brimstony place. Ah, but first I asked a boon of previous lava lamia: that she give me only sufficient time in which to avenge myself, regain my ring and runebook! To which she agreed.

  ‘My powers were returned to me in full and I sped me to Chlangi the Doomed, where once again Tarra Khash was of service. He knew the where of my ring and book; what’s more, he planned his own retribution on a certain Fregg, so-called “king” of that city of dogs and thieves. Fregg had stolen his sword – the merest stump of a blade, however ornate and scintillant its hilt – but no man steals from Tarra Khash. Not with impunity. Against all odds he’d take it back, and with my assist he did! And I got my revenge, my ring, my book. More than this, lava lamia got her breakfast, grilled alive on these searing rocks. And so Fregg’s no more …’

  Again the wizard shuddered. ‘And is that all?’

  She glared at him. ‘No, not the half of it!’ She glared again, then sighed, and her voice became a groan, almost a whimper. ‘For since then…he’s in my mind, in my dreams, in the very air I breathe. Even in this place, over sulphur reek and roar of vented steam, I smell his breath, hear his voice. I care for nothing save memories, all too brief, of him.’ She looked at Teh Atht almost in desperation. ‘The iron has gone out of me, my will deserted me. What say you, has he spelled me, cousin?’

  He nodded. ‘So it would seem, Orbiquita, aye. And a spell rarely broken, called the Lethargy of Love. More, I’d say the dosage were lethal!’

  His words sank home and she started up. ‘Love? Love? You are mad! I am a lamia, and Tarra Khash a man. Does a spider love a fly? Does a browsing beast in a field love the grass? Does a roaring fire love a log? Only to consume it!’

  ‘The symptoms of what ails you don’t lie, Orbiquita,’ he answered. ‘You were in the guise of a woman when you met him, and women have their weaknesses. Ten thousand other men might have found you that night, and done what Tarra Khash did, and died for their pains. But they didn’t find you, he did – and something stirred in your blood. The world itself is a cauldron, the mighty vat of some sorcerer god, and we are all ingredient to his works. That is all it was with you and Tarra Khash, that was all it took: chemistry!’

  ‘Begone!’ she groaned. ‘Go now, Teh Atht. Leave me to my thoughts, my miseries. For I think you may be right, and so I’ve a deal to ponder.’

  But as he caused his carpet to retreat from her and made to turn away: ‘No, wait!’ she cried. ‘First tell me where he is and the nature of his plight. We made a pact, remember?’

  Teh Atht turned back, told her all he knew as quickly as possible, for the air in his bubble was almost expended. ‘And now I must go,’ he breathlessly concluded, ‘or else stay here for good!’

  ‘Will you not help him?’ she cried as he turned away and made for furnace flue to the surface.

  ‘Methinks it may be in my interest so to do,’ he answered over a distance, ascending through smoke, steam and bellows’ belch. ‘But alas, it’s hard to find the means. A hazardous business, Orbiquita, interference in the schemes of a fellow sorcerer. This much I’ll promise you: I’ll follow his course as best I can. And if aught of evil befalls him, at least I’ll make report of it.’

  And bursting from the blowhole, dissolving his bubble and breathing clean air again, he heard in his mind her furious threat: ‘You’ll make report? Of harm befalling Tarra Khash? To me? Think well before you do, Teh Atht. For if he dies you’ll not need return here. I’ll hound you to hell, “cousin”, and gnaw on your ribs there!’

  And, because lamias aren’t much for idle threats, for a third time Teh Atht shuddered …

  Tarra’s backside and hips were bruised black and blue from his jolting ride; but they’d quickly harden to it, he knew. He was well out of practice, that was all; and anyway, better a few bruises than the torment of the slaves, now that they rested and their trembly limbs began protesting. Still and all, noon had come soon enough, when the slaver caravan groaned to a halt in its accustomed defensive circle. Then Tarra had climbed stiffly down, fed his beast the promised double ration, watered it, too, all the while casting cautiously about to see what he might see. Like perhaps a pony going spare, with saddle-bags, water and what all. But no such luck.

  What he did see was the sly grin on a certain frizzy’s face, and the way he kept his crossbow nocked and ever pointed just a little too close to Tarra Khash. Then came his summons to attend Cush Gemal in hastily erected, tasselled tent.

  He went, with his Yhemni guard close behind, and found a fire already prepared, meat steaming on a spit, and Gemal inside on heaped cushions, taking his ease with a weird wooden smoke-pipe and a silver jug of wine. ‘Come in out of the sun,’ said Gemal. ‘Sit down, take wine, and in a little while eat. And meanwhile tell me your thoughts.’

  The half-breed slaver’s voice was not unpleasant, Tarra decided. It was low, dark, should be warm but came out cold as snow on a mountain’s peak. And strange for a Yhemni (or at least for a man of Shad and the jungles around), it was not without culture; with echoes doubtless of Gemal’s mixed ancestry, and a hint of study and learning far above the accustomed level of lands beyond the Straits of Yhem. All of this from a few spoken words? Not entirely. Gemal’s bearing and the respect he mustered in the other blacks, aye, and the light in his black eyes, all of these things were contributary to Tarra’s analysis.

  His ancestry … The steppeman wondered about that. Black as ebony, Cush Gemal, and yet thin-lipped, slant-eyed like certain tribes of Northmen, tall and cold as a Khrissan, ornately crested as any sophisticate of Klühn or Thandopolis. Of polyglot parts, this slaver, but in no way mongrel; exuding power, it was almost as if he came from a tribe or even a land apart, from worlds unknown. Either that, or there were elements of all the Primal Land in him, with jungle
predominant.

  Tarra looked at him again, openly, even admiringly; he hadn’t forgotten how swift had come Gorlis Thad’s uppance. Why, that burly bellowing Northman hadn’t stood snowflake in hell’s chance against this cold, black, hollow-cheeked, close to cadaverous chieftain! Now there was a thought! A tribal chieftain! Even a Chief of Chiefs – and why not? For certainly the way he commanded respect, not only from his own people but also Hrossaks and Northmen alike, would seem to place him in some such station.

  All of this but a moment’s thought, and Gemal’s eyes dark on Tarra where the steppeman sat cross-legged on a large green cushion, with a small silver jug cool in his hand. And the sweet smoke of Gemal’s pipe circulating in tent and Hrossak lungs both; and his low, knowing voice offering no threat but yet quietly urging as he now repeated: ‘Your thoughts, Tarra?’

  The Hrossak’s thoughts, especially in respect of someone who could have his head in a moment, would normally be private, unspoken. And yet now: ‘I’m thinking you’re a strange one,’ said Tarra Khash, his tongue astonishing him with its frankness.

  Gemal hardly seemed offended. He gave a laugh. ‘My thoughts about you are much the same!’ he said. ‘I captured you, may kill you even now, and yet you don’t hold me in awe. You spoke of my strangeness, not of your own fear.’

  ‘I hold you in something of wonder, perhaps, and a deal of curiosity. But awe?’ Tarra shook his head. ‘I know you’re not ordinary, not in any way – that’s obvious to me as water’s wet! But I’m not awed by your power over me; for here and now that power’s a fact, and I can’t change it – not here and now. If you do kill me, then I’ll likely be awed, but only in the last second. Or perhaps in the second after that?’