The Cult

My time as Anqaspuma Huazha's partner was a bright time in my exile. We were friends, lovers, and companions. I could never trust her with money, but I cared very little for such things. She was happy to pay for food and drink, and I was happy to take my reward in adventure and love.

Anqa was wary of Quiyahui, and I believe for good reason. For the first month Anqa and I were together, until the full moon, the coatl was tense, watching the thief with blue-white eyes. I did not quite detect menace, but neither did I sense affection. When Anqa and I lay together, which was as often as we could manage, Quiyahui turned away.

The first full moon into our partnership changed everything.

We had retrieved the object Ah-Tol had requested, and were on our way back to Michnamacac to deliver it. We were staying in a riverside inn that catered to the merchants who plied the Edda. As was our custom, Anqa and I savaged one another in the bed finding a sweet exhaustion to retire in, while Quiyahui brooded in a sullen coil. I had not even realized the significance of the time until I was awakened with a soft wetness enveloping my staff. I should have known it wasn't Anqa then, for she was hesitant about performing the knight's kiss and she certainly did not swallow me to the hilt the way I was feeling now.

That was when I finally made the realization that the mouth that held me, the tongue that flicked out to tickle my coin purse, was as cool as a breeze. I opened my eyes to find the feathered head of Quiyahui between my legs, industriously taking me into her throat. She must have sensed my waking, as right then she looked up, her lightning-blue eyes meeting mine.

Quiyahui is always beautiful, but her human form carries a different, more recognizable beauty. Petite and shapely, possessing smooth, white-blue skin, she fills me with desire. I already longed to feel the kiss of her feathered sex on mine, watch her face contort in bliss as I took her. I caressed the soft feathers on her head where a human woman would have hair. Her tongue spiraled over my length, pulling a groan out of me. The sound was deafening in the night-quiet room.

Anqa, who had been sleeping next to me after our most recent bout of love, stirred. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice thick. Her grogginess vanished as she looked over to the other side of the bed, beholding what was to her a mysterious woman enthusiastically polishing my spear. "What's this?"

"Anqa, meet Quiyahui," I gasped. The coatl had brought me along expertly. The bliss pushed against my belly, ready to spill from me.

"The snake?" Anqa leaned closer to watch Quiyahui's work. The coatl looked over at the thief, bringing her head up, her lips playing at my head, before plunging down again.

"She takes human form every full moon," I gasped. "I think she might be a bit jealous of the two of us."

"You weren't going to warn me?"

"It slipped my mind. We've been so..." My thoughts vanished in a scintillating wash of pleasure. I was so close. As though she could sense it and would not allow me to finish, Quiyahui lifted her head up, my length popping from her. She moved to Anqa, pushing the thief back on the bed and putting her head between Anqa's long legs.

"Oh!" Anqa squealed as Quiyahui pressed her mouth to the thief's sex. Then, a gasp, "Her tongue is long!" Anqa was already moving against the serpent's explorations, sweat springing over her body. "And cold!"

I stroked Quiyahui's back. As much as I needed release, I could not deny the beauty of Anqa and Quiyahui together. "One of her many fascinating traits."

"You know, when I take two lovers at once, I prefer they both be men." Anqa said, though the expression of bliss on her face, and her hand at the back of Quiyahui's head said she was enjoying this a great deal. The coatl did something, and Anqa squealed, thrusting her hips into Quiyahui's face.

"I'm sure you'll make do."

Anqa was beyond speech. She threw her head back in a joyful cry as Quiyahui found some wonderful place inside her. I was ready for myself, and Quiyahui had started me, so she might as well finish me. I got behind her, took her haunches in my hand, and slid myself home in the cool embrace of her sex. She made no sound, but the way she moved against me, this was what she wanted. I believe she merely needed to be reassured that she was still desired, and she was. I suppose Anqa and I, with our ostentatious need for the other and athletic lovemaking had stoked jealousy in the lovely beast. I would comfort her.

I felt her shivering about, me, a strange sensation when combined with her cool flesh. There was always something like coming home whenever she and I were together. I did not understand it then, but now it makes perfect sense. As much as she needed the comfort, I believe I did as well.

As I rocked against Quiyahui, I was treated to the sight of Anqa, her eyes closed, her fingers toying with her sensitive nipples, her body undulating in waves against Quiyahui's mouth. We found our rhythm for a single, blessed moment, but it was enough. The three of us broke, me flooding my serpent as she drank Anqa's juices.

Only then did we settle back down onto the bed, in a tangle of glistening limbs. Quiyahui lay over me, her head on my chest, Anqa on her side, stroking the serpent's back.

"Well, this certainly got more interesting," Anqa said thoughtfully.

"On the full moon," I said.

"You've never... when she's a serpent?"

"No. What do you take be for?"

"A man who lacks imagination."

I chuckled. What could I say to that?

I let the matter drop that night, but I did catch Anqa in an amorous embrace with Quiyahui on a different night. The serpent was wrapped around the thief, constricting with her muscled coils, but instead of devouring Anqa from the head, Quiyahui's mouth was latched onto the thief's sex. I was stunned for a moment, then I sat and watched the two of them finish. It sparked an idea in my mind that I would not act upon until much later.

We returned the item to Ah-Tol, and he had another object for us to retrieve. This was our life for a time, stealing some important thing, then returning to Ah-Tol for payment that Anqa always thought insufficient.

It was a pleasant existence, and one that I could have remained in. I had adventure and love in plenty. Sometimes Anqa spoke of leaving the Edda, but I saw its seductive power. The Emerald had its own hold upon any who felt its waters.

Over the following months, Anqa learned of my treasures. She asked me about the ring on my cold finger, and I told her it was a cursed object I had taken from a necromancer, though I did not explain its other powers. She was fascinated by the sheath on my back, the skin about the size of my forearm that when I tapped Ur-Anu against it, the leather closed around the spear's shaft She asked about my sweetwater goblet, one afternoon when I was using it to drink from the river. I showed her its power.

She learned of the treasure that fascinated her most a moment later. She haned the goblet back to me, licking her lips as the brackish water of the Edda had just become the delicious and rejuvenating water of the cup. Her eyes widened as I opened a fold in my loincloth and tucked the cop away. When I moved the fold back against my body, it lay flat.

"That was how you hid the naqamar?" she demanded.

I grinned. "That was the secret."

"You cheated!"

"I never said my clothes weren't magic."

She sighed. "You're lucky you fuck so well."

"It's a skill like any other."

We were many months into our collaboration when Ah-Tol gave us the target that would break our partnership. Yet unlike the sundering of the Mythseekers, I do not regret this one. Not that there was not misery afterwards but because when we ended, we still wanted one another. It's better to end there than with recriminations. My memories of Anqa are fond ones, and though she is certainly long dead, she lives in my heart.

Ah-Tol sent us after the Broken Panther Shield, located, he said, in the tower of Lord Kulla in the city Xoc-Nehar. I was thrilled at the chance to see the great city of the Edda, perhaps the greatest city on this side of the world. As mysterious as Uazica and Obai are considered to those of us from Chassudor, even we had heard the name Xoc-Nehar.

We took the boat farther west than we had ever journeyed before. When I finally saw the city itself, my breath fled my lungs, for it is like nothing on the face of Thür. The river looks to end, blocked by a colossal dam of wood and stone. Closer, and it becomes obvious that this was no dam, nor even a bridge. It was the city itself. This district, called The Shallows in the city itself, is supported by pilings of stone rising from the riverbed itself. The current flows between unimpeded. In the center, there is a great canal that moves aside for the biggest ship traffic. The Shallows spans the breadth of the Edda Aroyac, a monument of civilization unlike any other.

The belief is that, in this part of the Edda, which is perhaps a bit narrower than most, two cities rose on either side. Xoc was founded by the Yzhata, or perhaps those who came before, while Nehar was built by Kharsoomians. Like any cities built nearby, they were allies and rivals, partners and enemies. Eventually, the cities reached out into the river, touched, and became one. Xoc-Nehar holds no allegiance to any greater power, and all are welcome. It can be a dangerous place for the unwary, but its ancient beauty and vibrant culture is unmatched.

We pulled the boat onto a harbor on the southern shore. I stared at the wonder of the city. It had that unwieldy vitality that such incredible settlements always attain. People lived among buildings that had stood for over a thousand years, granting them continued life and new purpose.

As Anqa spoke to the harbormaster, I heard my first words in Lorkha, a creole that combines Nahlor and Kharish and is the preferred tongue of Xoc-Nehar. Despite the fact that I spoke passable Nahlor and would soon learn fluent Kharish, I would never manage Lorkha. The accent is far too strange, all stretched vowels and swallowed consonants. Much like the city that birthed it, Lorkha is both greater and stranger than the sum of its parts.

"Come," Anqa said. "Let's get some food and a room for the night."

We received a few looks, but Xoc-Nehar is cosmopolitan. As the place where two continents met, it was a gathering place for exotics. Adventurers flock to Xoc-Nehar meaning that unusual sights abound.

The people on the streets hailed from all over Uazica and Obai. I saw fashions from all along the Edda and places I had never been besides. Many also dressed, or perhaps more accurately undressed, in the Kharsoomian fashion, wearing only sandals, harnesses, and jewelry. In fact, the two of us, me in my kilt and boots, Anqa in her kilt, sandals, and vest, were two of the more clothed pedestrians. From time to time, I saw someone from farther away, covered in robes or armor. I pitied the poor fools and hoped for their sake such garments had an enchantment upon them. The heat was oppressive, hanging heavily in the humid air.

Nonhumans abounded as well. Orcs and half-orcs were common, as were dwarves and even the occasional elf and gnome. One figure struck me as bizarre, a member of a race I had never beheld. This individual was an iridescent purple, a handsome being whose features were a combination of human and insect. Fully two heads taller than me, he moved with a strange grace, carrying a strange, double-edged polearm. I recognized the creature from several lewd images I had seen many years ago while I still lived at Thunderhead.

"You've never seen a xerxyss," Anqa said.

"No. I've... seen images." I did not mention that the images I saw were in the Eroticum Kharsoomium, where they were apparently a common target of fetishization by the red Kharsoomians.

"They live in great nomadic tribes in the Red Wastes. Some leave their hordes, though they are considered mad by their people. That one? Looks to be an adventurer."

I watched the xerxyss make his way down the avenue, only disappearing when he turned a corner.

Anqa led me into the Shallows. Had I not known that it was over the river itself, I'd never know it. It was a maze of buildings, both stone and wood, and could have been any other area in town. Anqa brought me to an inn, and soon she and I were enjoying a bit of the local cuisine on a balcony overlooking the Emerald. The view was incredible, with both northern and southern shore in sight.

I ate fried dumplings stuffed with clams and drank the local beer, my mood brightening. Quiyahui slithered into the window and coiled by Anqa's feet. The thief petted the feathery head absently, and as Quiyahui's white-blue eyes met mine, I sensed a challenge in her gaze.

Anqa nodded to the north. "Lord Kulla's tower is there," she said.

"And the Broken Panther Shield is..."

"Somewhere within. I would guess either the top or the bottom for a treasure like that. I've seen the area before The serpent plan should suffice."

"A good plan," I said nodding. "When?"

"The first night with a decent fog," she said. "In Xoc-Nehar, you never have to wait long."

She was right. The very next evening brought a thick veil of fog. We left our inn in the cloying atmosphere, making for Lord Kulla's tower on the Kharsoomian shore.

The northern end of town grew more distinctive from the southern the farther one went. Each side had a central core, the site of the original settlement, where the buildings were their oldest and the purest representations of their culture. We were going to the area that had the most Kharsoomian flavor, with their brick ziggurats, looming towers, and angular statues. As the Nehar side of the city met the Xoc side, the styles bled into one another producing syncretic beauty that met in the Shallows. There is no place upon Thür like Xoc-Nehar, and I would return to it often.

The Kharsoomian old town was punctuated with towers in the style of that empire, each one a monument to an aristocrat's wealth. The tops of the towers featured floor-to-ceiling openings, originally developed as defensive sites for Kharsoom's famed archers, now a symbol of a lord's reach.

The guards were thicker on the streets, but none stopped us as we made our way through the thick fog. Perhaps they might have done something if Quiyahui was with us, but she trailed us high in the air, only occasionally visible as a slip of white through the pervasive gray.

"That is the estate of Lord Kulla," Anqa said, as we passed a gate in a high stone wall. "Don't look."

"Credit me with some discretion," I muttered. The tower emerged partly from the fog, looming like a giant in the haze. It extended upward from a gated compound, guarded by his personal sentries. As with any proper Kharsoomian lord, Kulla had an impressive force of enslaved warriors.

We walked another block, finding a tiered garden. Unlike Kulla's estate, this was unguarded, open for the denizens of the city to enjoy. We scaled the walls easily, the hanging vines making for convenient handholds. We made it to the top of the garden, and concealed among the palms we found there, I waved to Quiyahui.

The coatl danced down from the clouds, a coil of rope clutched in her jaws. I tied one end to one of the palms, Quiyahui holding the other. She carried it back up into the fog, vanishing from sight. Several moments later, a tug came on the rope.

"Her grip will hold?" Anqa asked.

"Only one way to find out." I climbed up on the rope, confident in my coatl's abilities. It held. I scaled it like a monkey. Halfway up, I looked down over the street far below. It was dim, bathed in fog. Someone passed below, but I couldn't identify if it was merely a pedestrian or a guard. I turned my attention back to climbing.

With little difficulty, I made it to the top of the tower. The rope was wrapped about the spire at the apex, Quiyahui continuing to clutch the end of the rope in her jaws. I stood atop the stone tower, next to the coatl. Cool air clung to me. I was powerful and alive. For the first time since I lost my power, I caught the edge of what it was to be a wizard. I felt the edge of the fog, where it fluttered out and became cloud. A faint crackle, like blood through veins, was the lightning that struggled to be born. For a moment, I was certain I could touch it.

Anqa emerged from the fog, scaling the rope, swiftly joining me atop the tower. Anqa touched Quiyahui's head affectionately, then looked to the lip of the roof. She took the end in her strong hands, lowering herself over the side. I followed her, and for a single dizzying moment, my feet dangled over nothing but air, the courtyard far below. Then I swung inward, joining Anqa on a narrow ledge. I followed her through one of the floor-to-ceiling openings that Kharsoomian lords favored. We were inside.

The upper chamber was open, furnished only by comfortable benches at the four directions. I imagined the lord taking his wives and concubines, for a proper Kharsoomian lord would have both in plenty, to this place to enjoy the view. On another night it would be something, but fingers of fog wove their way through the expansive windows, hiding the entire city in gray. Brass Braziers and candleholders stood about, all dark. I peered down, out of the window. The courtyard below, where the lord's people would be, was shrouded in foggy cobwebs. We had chosen the perfect night.

"This way," Anqa said, her eyes alight. Sneaking into some lord's home always excited her. Several times during our partnership we had interrupted our stealth to rut like animals in a wealthy home. I felt a stirring in my loins, but she turned away. Tonight would not be one of those nights.

We made our way to a spiral staircase that, if it followed the Kharsoomian style, would be the tower's spine. Just below the open room, we passed a level that had been laid with couches, and white robes were folded on several of them. As we began to descend, music slithered up to greet me. Other sounds, the rustling of cloth, some other, fleshier sounds, arrived as well. The sense was cloying, a call that I felt in my heart, shivering over my flesh, and stirring my loins.

The ring on my finger tugged at me.

I stopped in my tracks, staring at it in confusion. This ring, a skeletal serpent of silver, coiled about the base of my left index finger. Since the moment I slipped it on, the digit carried the chill of death. The ring had been the possession of Diotenah the Shadow's Daughter, a ghoul and a dark cleric devoted to the worship of the being she thought of as husband and father, Ughor the Shadow.

She forged the ring with her very soul, placing her power within and honing it to a razor's edge. When I still had my magic, the ring had made me into the Dreadstorm, a figure of nightmare for the Heacharid Empire. Any creature I slew with my magic would return as a wight, ready to slay at my command. It is an object of incomparable power, and cannot leave my finger while I still live.

A piece of Diotenah's foul soul is within, and though I do not think her conscious in a mortal way, the ring will express its desires as tendrils in my mind, seductive whispers that pull me to its end. It craves death and destruction, wants to be used to create its wights. I did not truly understand Diotenah's aims then, but I would, and they were more far-ranging than I could have imagined.

When my familiar Oddrin died on the Hollow of Storm's Rest, I lost my magic, rendering the ring useless. It had been semi-dormant since. Sometimes, when death was all around, it would rouse itself to express approval, but never in the truly hungry way it managed when the storm was at my beck and call. I had the impression that it brooded silently, waiting for me to be slain and for it to find a master who could properly utilize it.

Now, it had awakened. I felt it tugging at me, drawing me down. Whatever was in the chamber, it wanted. This summons was at least as strong as anything that had called to me during the Turquoise Conquest.

"Ashuz!" Anqa hissed.

I was partway down the stairs to the next level, and I had no memory of traversing that distance. I turned, and I found my partner holding the goal of our expedition. A piece of obsidian the size of a shield, of glorious clarity and ringed in gold, it was exquisite. We could make our way to the roof, signal Quiyahui, and be gone, back to Ah-Tol to collect our reward.

I came up the stairs, and relief showed on Anqa's lovely features. Then, without thinking, I pulled the spear from the sheath at my back and leaned it against the wall. Leaving Ur-Anu behind should have made me realize this was madness, but such was the hold of the ring, I did it without reflecting.

I ignored Anqa's repeated whispered entreaties and crept down the stairs, finding a small antechamber. A doorway in one wall spilled dancing golden candlelight into the room. I pressed myself against the jamb and peered inside. I could have not been prepared for what I saw.

The room opened up into an impressive chamber of tiers all rising to a single point at the far side of the room, as though this were a demonstration of the hierarchy of those within. On every level, white-robed cultists cavorted. Some looked to come from Kharsoom, others from Uazica, and others a mix between the two, their skins ranging from brown to bronze to crimson. Most sported shaved heads and filed teeth, though a few, mostly clustered on the lowest levels, had hair and their teeth were still in the earliest stages of filing.

Most looked to be in the beginning dance of loveplay, others had turned to more violent diversions. Blood dripped from more than one sharp-toothed mouth. Kharsoomian guards, vast men in harnesses, sandals, and nothing else, stood about the walls, lustfully watching what transpired.

At the apex of the room sat a Kharsoomian man. His belly was wide, but his limbs were bulky and strong. His head was shaved, and his square features held an ageless quality. Kohl surrounded his eyes, and his lips were covered in black paint. He wore an ornate Kharsoomian harness and jewelry at his wrists, throat, and on his brow. He grinned as he watched his followers cavort, displaying teeth filed to points. One thing chilled me to the bone. Wrapped about his shoulder was a bloodorm. This man was a wizard, and unlike me, his familiar was still alive. His name, I would learn, was Zaqhat.

That was not the only sight that filled me with dread. I barely managed to tear my eyes from the wizard, and about his throne, I saw symbols of Ughor the Shadow, symbols that spoke directly to my ring. It whispered with glee, demanding to be joined to the source of their power.

"Ashuz," Anqa said. She was suddenly just next to me, her steps completely silent. "We need to go. We have what we came for."

"Look," I said.

"A wizard," she breathed. "All the more reason to leave."

"Is that Lord Kulla?"

"I don't believe so. I would have heard if he was a wizard."

"Then who is this man? Why is he here?"

"It does not concern us. Come, we need to go!"

"You don't understand." I wanted Anqa to understand. We had grown close over the past months. She was dear to me, but to truly understand, I would have to throw open the door to my past, a place I had barred even from myself. "I've seen this cult before. They were..." I shook my head. "They are doing something... dangerous."

"They are about to have an orgy, you goat." She tried to keep her tone light and teasing, but I saw an edge of desperation. She must have seen a madness in my eyes and already knew I was lost to her.

"No!" I paused. "Well, yes. But it is something else. This cult, the last time I saw it was in the ruins of a dwarven city, amassing power. Now it is here, across the world? There is something sinister afoot and I will find it."

"Ashuz, we are thieves, not crusaders. We have what we came for. We need to go!"

"Go without me then. I will stay. Find out who that man is and what these people are up to."

"Quiyahui will--"

I went silent, retreating upstairs. Anqa followed on my heels. "Quiyahui will take you. I can find my own way out."

"Fight your way out? Down the tower? Through the courtyard? That's madness. You won't make it."

"Go, Anqa. I will find you." I believe even then I knew this to be a lie.

She stared at me, her eyes hardening. "Very well. You know how to find me."

The air between us was charged like a storm. I nearly leaned in and kissed her. I think if I had, I would have gone with her. But I could not with the call of the cult downstairs. The ring demanded an answer, and the man I had been agreed. Anqa disappeared into the top of the tower and that was the last time I ever saw her. I thought of her often after that night, and I cherish our time together.

I threw robes over myself and crept back downstairs. I waited until I was certain none were looking at the way in, and slipped in, joining the cultists on the lowest level. None of the guards noticed my arrival, or perhaps late arrivals were expected. The entire area surged like a restless sea, the cultists' attentions growing increasingly insistent.

I felt hands upon me. I turned to find a Kharsoomian woman, her crimson head shaved, her maroon eyes wanton. She bared her teeth and I found them filed to points. She did not seem troubled when she beheld my hair, beard, and blunt teeth. Perhaps she thought I was a new convert to the cult, one that she was going to sample. Her hand reached beneath my robes, her hand finding my stiffening length.

Her eyes widened as she found the extent of me, her lips peeling back over her sharp teeth. I have admitted many times that I have something of a penchant for such teeth on a woman. I always feel a bit of, not precisely shame, but trepidation when I admit this. I always attribute this to my love for Allegeth, but I think it began with my Thalalei. The feeling of such a mouth closing over my manhood is incomparable. A sense of danger that provides a delightful spice to the pleasure. She could unman me if she so wished, but she would rather suck the bliss from me.

Unfortunately, she did not seem to have spear-polishing on her mind. She pulled my robes and loincloth up, and took me in hand, teasing her sex. She was soaking already, sighing happily as she pulled the head of me along her lips and over her hardening pearl. I believe that the mood of the room, the carnality already unfolding about us was prelude enough, for she quickly slipped me inside. She knelt over me, taking me deep. Her robes fell open, revealing a body made reedy by privation, muscles writhing against her flesh. She looked down at me hungrily, but then she was eclipsed.

Hands gripped my face, pulling me to the side. I looked into the face of a woman with shining bronze skin and tattoos on her cheeks. She kissed me, her teeth opening a hurt on the inside of my lips. Her tongue went to the wound, licking the coppery taste.

I tore her robes open, finding tattoos running down her and over her soft breasts. I took them in my mouth, sucking her nipples. They were already swollen with need. I had gotten completely distracted from my original intent, my plan forgotten in the midst of this fresh seduction.

The new arrival crawled over me, pushing me down, revealing a sparsely-furred sex. Her scent was strong, a powerful musk that reminded me of the Edda itself. I had little time to contemplate it before she was pressed against my lips, rolling her hips with every lick. Her taste was sour, reminding me a bit of Diotenah.

The taste reminded me, I had a task to perform. Yes, I could be quite distractable, but I know my weaknesses. I needed to satisfy these two, ensure their suspicious were not raised. I took her warm flanks in my hand and ate for all I was worth. I slid my tongue inside her, then up to her apex, finding her pearl. I slid a finger, then two inside her, massaging the rough place just inside her sex. She cried out, and I felt her hands curling in my hair.

The other one rode me with delirious intent, shivering on the end of every stroke. She sat down hard, swirling her hips, then back up slowly. I let her set the pace, to use me as her plaything. She did not take long. She bucked and shuddered, and I felt her quaking. A moment later, the one over my face broke.

I fought my way free of the two of them. The second one's nectar clung to my beard, my staff greasy with the juices of the first. I got to my knees, and saw that all around me were nothing but writhing bodies. Men and women rutted in every conceivable arrangement, in twos, and threes, and fours. Even my own partners were already with another. The one that had been on my staff was now industriously polishing another man's spear. The one over my face was now on her back, a woman between her legs, but I could not tell if she was giving the knight's kiss or actually eating with those sharp teeth. The cries of my partner could have been pleasure or pain. In this place, there did not seem to be much of a difference. Here and there I saw the scarlet stripe of blood as all of the sharp teeth opened up wounds on others. An errant kiss, an overenthusiastic knight's kiss could open a wound.

Still sitting on his throne, Zaqhat watched all of us. His staff, short but stout, jutted between his legs, but he did not touch himself. His eyes were alight, though I could not tell if it was merely the allure of so many bodies in passion, or the power of knowing he was master of this place that did it.

I climbed up a tier, trying to draw closer to him. As powerful as his limbs appeared I had every confidence that if I got my hands on him, I could overpower him and find the purpose of this foul cult. If I got my hands on his familiar, he would have no choice but to tell me everything I wanted to know.

The wizard's attention fell on me, likely thanks to my movement, but in that moment, it felt as though he could read my mind. The four eyes of his bloodorm fixed on mine.

I had to resume my camouflage. I found a bronze-skinned woman, her shaven head between a man's legs, her hindquarters raised. I slipped myself into her sodden folds. She moaned, pausing her slurping only for a second. I noted that the man's staff was covered scratches, blood mixing with spit and his juices as she polished. I gripped her hips, thrusting deeply into her, and she pushed back against me. Though I was trying to hide, I swiftly felt myself growing carried away, needing to empty myself.

I should have been far along in finding my own bliss, but the strangeness of the surroundings, and the fear I had that the wizard would realize that I was not meant to be there distracted me. I think that this helped my partner, for she broke from her sucking, shutting her eyes and sighing happily as I thrust into her. Sporadically, she continued to work the staff of the man with her hands. This was enough for him, as he shut his eyes, and his seed spurted over her face, and at that moment, she shuddered against me, her own bliss tearing its way from her body.

I pulled out, throbbing with desperate need. Despite my trepidation, despite the periodic attention of the wizard, I wanted to finish. I climbed up another tier, now just below the throne. A frown creased Zaqhat's features. On impulse, I reached to the nearest woman. She was riding a woman's face below her. I moved her mouth over my staff. She began to suck lustily. She was only just beginning to get a rhythm when a woman kissed me. Her breath stank of meat and wine.

She was a lissome Kharsoomian, and filled with desire, I roughly turned her about. She bent over without much convincing. I spat on her rosebud, filling her first with my fingers before impaling her with my staff. She squealed at the sudden intrusion, cursing in Lorkha as I pushed to the hilt inside her. She cried out, though whether in pain or pleasure I did not know or care. She was nothing to me, a means to get closer to my quarry.

Finally, Zaqhat rose from his throne, his staff rampant. He stepped down onto the tier where I presently rutted, pushing his staff into the waiting mouth of one woman who was already being savaged from behind. The wizard was closer than ever, and now, distracted by his own pleasure, it was time to strike.

But I needed to find my bliss first. I pulled my partner to the base of me. She squealed again, and her struggles were blissful and panicked at turns. I hammered into her, trying to free the last vestiges of my bliss, but I could not. She was shivering, sobbing, her hands curled into fists as she braced.

Strong hands took me, and it was the woman who had so recently been polishing my spear. She pulled me free of the other woman, who collapsed in a quivering heap. The woman who grabbed me knelt, taking my spear, so recently buried in the rosebud of another woman, into her mouth. Heedless of whatever filth might have remained, she sucked me deeply. Her mouth, awash with saliva, sucked me to the back of her throat without hesitation. I thrust against her face, and she took it without hesitation, accepting me into her throat with the ease of one who knew how to do such.

Perhaps it was the decadence of the act, or perhaps it was her undeniable skill, but the bliss that I had been fighting came upon me suddenly and with renewed intensity. It grew in my belly as I thrust against the hungry mouth of the cultist. She acted as though she were starving, desperate for me to fill her mouth with my seed. She licked and sucked with the passion of one preparing to swallow her favorite meal. I would oblige her.

Abruptly, I looked up, and I found Zaqhat, the wizard, at the other end of the woman. I had been lost in my own pleasure so deeply I hadn't noticed his approach. He helped her haunches up, sliding his manhood into her.

I felt her trill against my staff as he took her. Zaqhat was as gentle as I. Soon, the two of us were pounding into this woman from either end, sharing her for our pleasure. I wondered if Zaqhat could have known I was his enemy. If he had known Diotenah, and that I had slain her in the midst of a carnal ritual. If he glimpsed the ring on my finger and knew what it meant.

His maroon eyes met mine, and he shot me a feral grin. "A fine one," he said in Lorkha, or some words to that effect.

I needed to empty myself and fast. The pleasure surged in me. I thrust into her violently, my spear entering her eager throat. The pleasure, built on my journey across the room could only find its full expression here. I was close now, losing control, and doing so in front of my enemy. The danger gave me the final spark, and boiled over. My staff pulsed with bliss. One went into her mouth, and I pulled out, painting her face with dripping pearl.

Zaqhat's eyes were shut and so were those of our partner. The two of them were consumed in their lovemaking. Everyone around me was in the midst of their third, fourth, or even sixth partners. Only the guards were paying attention, and they were staring at one couple or another performing some act they found especially alluring. I might as well have been invisible.

I dropped my loincloth back into place, sheathing the weapon that had taken me through this chamber. The ring beckoned me now, demanding action. As Zaqhat thrust into the woman, his bloodorm looked up from his shoulder, its four emerald eyes finding mine.

I crossed the distance in a few stepsand with a heavy swing of my fist, I connected with Zaqhat's jaw. He fell back, the suddenness and the power of the blow momentarily dazing him. The woman cried out in confusion. I poised for another strike, but he threw his hand out, and I recognized the language of magic tumbling from his lips.

In a moment of vertiginous fear, the room changed. The cultists, once writhing in their pleasures, were now a roiling field of magma. The walls fled, the darkness giving the impression of a vast cave. In front of me, the wizard lay on the floor, but had once been sandstone was now black basalt. The bloodorm uncoiled from his shoulders, slithering forth, its four-lobed jaw opening. With every step, the creature grew. In seconds, it was huge, opening its foul maw to devour me. Then it was no longer the orm but Mh'rohgg, the filthy god I had battled in the lost city.

I had been empowered with Izhapoma's blessing, the strength of the goddess Atauchi in my limbs, when I faced that abomination. And I had been armed with Ur-Anu, a weapon forged to slay gods. Had I one or the other, I would have stood and fought. I had neither.

I ran. The magma pulled at my legs, and my addled mind did not notice that I was not burned. A shape loomed from the dark. I ducked a swing and struck it hard. Then I was in the antechamber by the stairs, and I was back in the tower.

I knew then that the wizard was an enchanter. He played with minds the way I had once conducted the storm. I took the stairs two at a time. Whether it was wizard or god, I would need my spear. Ur-Anu, my beautiful Fate, waited for me at the top of the stairs. I took it in my hand, and the weapon instantly forged its connection to my mind. Ur-Anu was mine, taken from the city of the First People and gifted to me with their blessing. It was an extension of me, and perhaps I of it.

I spun about, bringing the spear up to parry a stroke from the first guard up the stairs. He carried a curved blade in the Toranite style, thick and heavy, designed to hew limbs. I knocked his blow aside, and twirled my weapon. He fell with a crash, tumbling into the guards beyond. His bulk sent them retreating.

I battled them back down the stairs. The guards were helpless against my wrath. Ur-Anu danced, its obsidian blade cutting through flesh and bone. I pushed them into the throne room, bracing myself for another assault on my senses.

The cultists, their senses regained, looked upon me with a mad rage, their sharpened teeth bared. The wizard was gone.

I slew those who charged. After the first wave was broken without effort, the next ones were hesitant to attack. Fanaticism, I suppose, had its limits. I ran for the stairs, descending. Zaqhat must have gone that way, for there were no others.

The tower was in chaos. Only occasionally did a guard try to stop me and he regretted it for the last moments of his life. I burst out of the tower and into the courtyard. The gate was open, the guards looking about in confusion.

"The wizard!" I shouted in Huyu. "Where is he?"

"You are one of his worshipers? He is gone!" The guard pointed to the gate.

I looked at the open gate, considering the swirling fog beyond. I could not know where he fled. I could not follow. "Where is your lord? Where is Kulla?"

The compound was a Kharsoomian style, the living quarters built as a miniature ziggurat standing apart from the other outbuildings. The guard's gaze went to it. Then it returned to me, and he must have realized I was carrying a bloody spear.

"Hold," the guard said, gripping his own spear in hand.

"Consider your next several heartbeats closely," I advised.

The guard took my meaning and backed away. I ran for the ziggurat. The guards there were not so easily dissuaded. I was forced the slay the two of them before slicing the lock in twain. I tore the doors open.

An opulent chamber was inside, with four guards waiting. The lord was on the other side of the room, lounging on a dais in a pile of furs with a group of women all clad in the slave collars of Kharsoom. Every inhabitant stared at me, silent terror stamped on their faces. I noted with disgust that the lord cowered behind his slaves.

"Kill him!" screeched Kulla.

Soon all four of his guards lay on the floor, three dead and the last choking his life out. I had not been touched. I pointed Ur-Anu at Kulla. "The wizard."

"Zaqhat?" he asked, trembling.

"Who is he?"

"No one! A friend! When he comes to Xoc-Nehar, he uses my home to host his parties!"

"That is all you know?"

"Yes! I swear it is, outlander! I beg you, mercy!"

"Where would he go?"

"Zaqhat has a motte in the Udath Swamp!"

"Show me."

He shook his head in terror. "I cannot! He will kill me!"

"What do you think I will do?"

One of the slaves stood tentatively. Her skin was the deep brown of Tabiyya, and her long and wavy hair stretched to her mid back. Her body was soft, with bountiful curves. Her eyes were wide and slanted, as dark as a chocolatl bean. As befitting a slave of Kharsoom, she wore a golden collar, belt, bracers, and anklets and nothing else. Tiny golden chains connected each of these items to one another, symbolizing her bondage to the lord and his clan. My eyes went to her brown nipples and the triangle of dark fleece at the apex of her fat thighs. Desire surged for her, but I had no time for that now.

"I have been there, my lord," she said tentatively. "The wizard used to own me. It was he who gifted me to Lord Kulla."

"You belong to me now," I said. "You will guide me to this motte. And you, lord. I will be taking your two finest qobad birds."

The lord shivered in terror, only capable of nodding. The slave picked up a pair of the furs from the pile where the group had reclined and ran to me. "I am Ujaala," she said.

"Ashuz." I looked to Kulla, and then loudly, "The Blackspear."

We quit Kulla's home, and Ujaala led me to the stables where the qobad, Kharsoom's famous riding birds, were kept. "That is the lord's own steed," Ujaala said, indicating a fine cock.

"Then that will be mine," I said. "Choose one for yourself."

She obeyed, choosing a hen, and helped me saddle the pair of them. I had never ridden a qobad, but I would learn swiftly. Soon we sped out of the gate and rode hard from the city.

I do not entirely understand the mania that consumed me, but I had to uncover the mystery of the cult. Two places that could not be farther from one another, and examples of the same cult had festered like an infection. It pointed to something sinister and I was the only one who knew.

As I rode, the ring on my finger whispered, spurring me north into the Red Wastes of Kharsoom.