Moontide 02 - The Scarlet Tides (22 page)

Below him the land skimmed by, featureless at this height. He flew swiftly, thrilling to the sheer speed of his beast. He could sense his fellow Acolytes converging, and their excitement as they anticipated the end of the hunt.

Never thought I’d be pleased to see you again, Mercer. But it won’t be a long reunion.

*

As Alaron stared along Seldon’s blade, watching gnosis-energy crackle along the steel, a dark shape rose behind the Inquisitor.

At the last instant, Seldon felt it coming, half-turning as his shields were touched, but the attack came like a striking snake. The figure had arisen from the rivulet, holding a forked trident, and it propelled itself across ten yards like a released spring. Seldon hacked the trident in half with his gnosis-limned blade, but the other hand lashed out, carving a gouge of light in the Inquisitor’s shield before a huge snake-like tube of flesh encased in mottled scales whipped around and encircled him. The Inquisitor shouted as coils of snake-flesh engulfed him and the human-like upper torso of the attacker stabbed down again with a knife. At first Alaron thought that the attacker was riding a serpent, but then he realised in utter disbelief that he
was
the snake. The creature was naked to the waist, with a muscular pale green torso and a hairless skull with a leathery comb. Its face combined savagery with cold intelligence. But it was below the waist that this thing was truly alien: its hips flowed directly into a massive snake body, at least two foot in diameter and two dozen feet long, which was currently wrapped around Acolyte Seldon’s upper torso, pinning his sword arm. The Inquisitor tried to break out, roaring out a blast of mage-fire from his mouth, but the creature swayed aside even as it twisted the Inquisitor in its grip, causing the blast to shoot harmlessly into the air. Then it pushed its knife through Seldon’s shields and buried it in his right eye. The Inquisitor went rigid, then limp, while Alaron gasped and tried to back away.

A coil of snake skin encircled him from behind and he was forcibly spun around until he found himself facing a female. She was towering over him, her mouth open and filled with barb-like teeth. Her torso was also bare, with pale breasts tipped with black nipples. Unlike the male she had two thinner snake limbs, and her crest was multiple hairs as thick as fingers, black and waving as if they were blind serpents.

He was dimly aware that the venator was trying to lift off, but at least half a dozen more of these creatures were wrapped about it, pulling it down, their weapons rising and falling. He almost fainted
in shock when the female opened her mouth and said in perfectly understandable Rondian, ‘You will come with us.’

‘Wha—?’

She silenced him by jerking him towards her with her horribly powerful snake limbs and kissing him on the mouth.

He was too stunned to react at all; could only gape helplessly as his mouth filled with water. He coughed, choked, then began to black out as she dragged him rapidly back to the channel and pulled him under.

*

They all heard Seldon’s death-scream. It wasn’t a warrior’s cry, more the shriek of a terrified child, and it confirmed Malevorn’s impression of him as weak and unworthy.
But how the hell had Mercer killed him?

Brother Filius got to the scene first, just as the tides raced in. He’d seen the venator initially, splayed out on the rocks, its blood drenching the stone. Great chunks of it had been hacked off, almost as if the creature had been butchered. Seldon was lying not far from it, and Filius had recovered his body – or what was left of it. The young Acolyte had been butchered too. Though it was impossible to be certain, it looked like he’d been killed by being stabbed through the eye socket. Then the rest of his flesh from the chest, thighs and shoulders – the choicest cuts, as Dranid had muttered – had been carefully cut away. What was left looked horribly like the waste after butchery.

There was a dead horse there, too, with no saddle, only a rope halter, and that had been butchered too. But whoever had done it was gone, leaving no clue as to
where
. There was no sign at all of Alaron Mercer.

The tide had turned before all the Fist arrived; they took Seldon’s corpse to the top of the cliff before it was engulfed and gathered about the remains, which were covered by a cloak to spare their eyes. Vordan was chanting in old Yothic, the runic tongue. Malevorn, watching impatiently, found his eyes straying to the Crozier. Adamus looked more curious than shocked. His curly hair fluttered in the sea breeze and Malevorn found himself wondering if the bishop’s wide
lips and olive skin hinted at Rimoni blood. Pure-bloods descended from the Blessed Three Hundred were mostly Rondian, but not all of them; there had been men and women of many races in Corineus’ flock. The Crozier met Malevorn’s eyes and he bowed his head. He wasn’t permitted to return such familiarity and he wasn’t sure just what Adamus might want of him – but really, if it helped his career, who gave a shit?

Beside him Dominic looked shocked; in his world, Inquisitors were indestructible. For three to die in as many days was in truth alarming. They were all beginning to wonder what they were up against. Something was clearly going on. Malevorn recalled that Alaron Mercer’s exam thesis had been about the Scytale of Corineus being lost. He’d thought it ridiculous then; now he was beginning to wonder.

His eyes went round the depleted circle: Vordan looked grim, and why not? Fist Commandants were not supposed to lose men. Vordan and Adamus were the only people (apart from himself) who knew what they were seeking – unless Raine did? She was sleeping with Vordan and men did talk to their women sometimes. But the sullen, ugly girl looked as confused as anyone. Jonas and Seldon had been her friends so she was isolated now, though of course she still had Vordan to look out for her.

Brother Dranid looked stolidly uncaring, and Filius was bursting with anger at the desecration of Seldon’s body, loudly vowing revenge. Malevorn had always thought that those who ranted loudest were hiding their weakness. Filius didn’t frighten him.

Finally he let his eyes go to Virgina, the golden girl, standing aloof, praying devoutly with her mouth while her eyes strayed, watching the circle just as he did. Their eyes met and just like always, she closed up and looked away with a toss of her hair.
What a good Daughter of Kore. And a child-killer, lest we forget
.

Finally the chanting was done and cold winds whipped in. Vordan had not been praying for Seldon’s soul; he’d been summoning it. The Acolyte’s misty form came as commanded, wailing at his predicament.

‘Who killed you?’ Vordan demanded in a voice that resonated with the gnosis.

Seldon’s ghost’s answer stunned them all.

*

Alaron huddled naked in the cave-mouth, high above the thunder of the ocean below. Racing waters boiled and roared like a thousand serpents as they engulfed the flats and battered the cliffs. It was high tide, and the armies of the ocean were launching a mighty assault upon the land.

He heard a loud sliding sound, his face whipped about and he saw the male creature coming towards him, a stick of barbequed meat in his hand.

Horse meat? Venator? Or human—

For a moment he thought he would be sick. Then the smell hit him: roasted meat, tangy and rich with blood and heat. His mouth filled with drool.

Kore forgive me, but I need to eat.

It tasted like spit-roasted chicken, and he hoped that meant it was venator flesh.

The creature stayed with him, regarding him cautiously, and Alaron studied him in turn.

First the female had dragged him along the channel, then they plunged over the lip of the tidal-shelf and into the depths – by then he’d realised that her kiss had bestowed a water-breathing spell on him – how or why, he had no idea. Snakemen existed in Lantric legends, not in reality.

They’d swum – he had no idea for how long as he’d blocked out the nightmare by fainting – until at last the snake-creature had brought him ashore at a narrow part of the tidelands. She’d kissed him again, returning his air-breathing, then with a snake-man carrying him like a child in his arms, they’d made their way up an impossible cliff to a cave near the top.

There were nine adults, horrific enough, with their human–snake bodies, but then two of the females had disgorged smaller versions of themselves from distended bellies and Alaron had stared until he
realised that they had not just given birth but had been carrying their offspring in belly-pouches.
Incredible.

He stared at the male who’d fed him. He was typical of these creatures: apart from his colouring and comb, his upper torso was almost human –
almost
, but not. His eyes were fishlike, and there were no earlobes. His nose had a membrane that covered the nostrils when beneath the water, but they were open now. His neck was thick, bull-like. His chest muscles were massive, and clearly visible beneath his almost transparent skin, which only darkened about his waist as it merged with the snake skin. Alaron risked a glance lower and noted there was no penis or scrotum, though there was a bulge that suggested it might house such appendages. He’d glimpsed a similar mound covered by a membrane between the female’s two snake-limbs. They could obviously breed – and they could speak. Their voices were low and melodious, a fluid, almost hypnotic sound, far more cultured than their wild appearance suggested.

‘You wish for more?’ the male enquired. His tongue was thick and purple, his teeth rows of hooks. Up close, one could never mistake him for human, especially not when you saw the thin, slitted black pupils of his amber-coloured, reptilian eyes.

‘No, thank you,’ he replied tentatively. He tried to clear his thoughts. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘I, or my people?’ the creature responded. Then it made a wet gurgling sound that it took Alaron a few seconds to realise was soft laughter. ‘My name is Kekropius, my mate’s name is Kessa, and we are lamiae.’

‘I never knew you were real,’ he exclaimed weakly. A lamia was one of the mythic creatures of Lantric tales – to think they actually existed …

‘It is good that we are not known. We must be secret to evade the hunters.’

‘What hunters?’

Kekropius scowled, a fearsome sight. ‘Those who hunt you also. The Inquisition.’

Alaron gaped. ‘Is that why … you saved me?’ He stopped abruptly.
‘I haven’t thanked you. They would have …’ He trailed away, feeling ill at the thought.

‘We know what they do,’ Kekropius replied darkly. He glanced back at his people, coiling about each other before the roasting fire, never getting too close to the flames. ‘I could not stand aside and let them take you.’

They fell silent while Alaron plucked up his courage. ‘How is it you even exist?’ he finally dared to ask.

Kekropius slithered closer. ‘Ah, now that is a tale. But not one we tell outsiders.’ He looked Alaron over with piercing eyes. ‘You wear a periapt. You are a mage?’ The question seemed to have dangerous overtones.

‘Yes,’ Alaron replied carefully, ‘but I hate the Inquisition.’

‘And they you, it seems. He was arresting you, that one I slew?’

‘They’ve been chasing me for days.’

Kekropius leant in closer until his face was inches from Alaron’s. ‘Why?’

Alaron had his answer prepared. ‘I am a failed mage and they wouldn’t let me practise my skills, so I ran away to Silacia. I thought I’d be safe.’ It made more sense than the truth.

‘We have heard of failed magi before,’ Kekropius said, apparently accepting his story. He cocked his head. ‘This is too large a matter for me alone. It must go before our council. Until then, you must remain with us, as our guest.’ His tones were conciliatory, almost apologetic, but there was a threat there too.

*

Alaron thought of running, but he didn’t. For one thing, he was still weak. Any attempt to run and he’d be easily hunted down. Secondly, if these strange creatures didn’t find him, the Inquisition would. In truth, he was intrigued, and not a little afraid, but they treated him well, neither binding him with ropes nor spells, though he was sure they could if they wished to.

He had thought they would return to the sea, but the next night they went inland, following a river flowing between thickly wooded slopes. The lamiae slithered on their massive snake limbs faster than
he could walk, but Kekropius and Kessa stayed with Alaron. Though they didn’t tell him much about themselves, he soon worked out they were air-breathers, with a rudimentary, instinctual version of Water-gnosis; all the water-based affinities appeared to be at their disposal, in a limited way. Healing came easily to them, cuts and scratches vanishing in minutes, and some lamiae could heal others; he saw that when one of the young gouged an arm on a broken tree-branch. And he could detect mental communication constantly flickering among them, hinting at Mysticism, but they projected emotions and images rather than words. Whether any could Divine, the other water-based Study, he couldn’t say.

Beyond the gnosis and the ability to speak, they were as much beast as man. It looked like they were driven by appetite and little more. They ate meat both raw and cooked, and roughly thrice what a man would eat – they could stuff themselves enough to last for days at a time. Close up they had an animal smell. Rescuers or not, Alaron was quite simply terrified of them.

Kekropius told him they would reach their destination in three days. They watched the skies warily, but saw no sign of pursuit. There was always someone watching over Alaron, even during the day when they slept, the meat cooking in cunning food pits that emitted no telltale smoke until opened at dusk.

On the third night, just before dawn, they reached the top of the small river they’d been following. They stopped before the cave-mouth from which the water issued and Kekropius turned to Alaron. ‘This is our home. We call it Sanctum Lucator.’

The Haven of Lizards,
Alaron translated. The words were old Runic, which he’d learned at the Arcanum, and seemed to confirm that the lamiae were more reptile than mammal; he’d noticed it in the way they moved, the way they were sluggish at night; it was in their alien eyes and the way their skin changed in different lights.