The Hunger’s Eye
by Wrestlr
3. The Garden
He touched down on the ground, bare feet light and silent, and rolled to the cover of nearby bushes. The labyrinth, once entered, would be more of a delay than an obstacle, not an impediment to a determined seeker like himself. But first he caught his breath and watched for dangers, signs he had been seen; and he thought of the Wizard, who was said to work strange magics of doom, leaving his jeweled tower of magic only rarely and always to bring evil down upon a man or nation that had committed some offense against him. The skin of the youth’s bare chest prickled as he remembered a tale told by an administrative clerk he had bedded in another lowlife tavern upon first arriving at the Keep two days before. The clerk had been looking for the thrill of a bed-partner chosen from among the dangerous criminals and low-castes, and the youth had allowed himself to be approached and courted by the clerk’s promise of a coin afterward. As they relaxed after uninventive sex in a cheaply rented room upstairs, with the youth letting his new friend think him a naive and ignorant refugee from the north, the clerk had been only too happy to tell stories of the Keep, including a tale about the Wizard confronting some invading minor prince of an adjoining province who thought to have an easy victory and end the Keep’s near-autonomy, and thus opposed the Wizard’s aims; how the Wizard laughed in faces of the prince and his army; how the Wizard held up the glowing Eye gem before him and called upon the names of demonic abominations men were not meant to know; how rays of blinding and evil light shot out of it to envelop the prince, who screamed and fell and shrank to a withered blackened lump the size of a dog, a lump that changed before everyone’s eyes into a large black spider that scurried about until the cackling Wizard brought forth intense fire from the Eye to burn the spider to ash.
The governor here at Harper’s Keep feared the Wizard, the clerk had said, more than he feared any earthly foe, the gods, or even Death Himself, and so stayed drunk nearly all the time because his fear was more than he could bear sober. The Wizard was very old, centuries old some said, and the clerk recounted another story wherein the Wizard declared that he would live forever because of the magic in the gem, which men called the Hunger’s Eye for no reason other than they had named the Wizard’s stronghold the Tower of Hungers.
The youth, lost in these thoughts, shrank quickly against the wall. Along this perimeter edge of the labyrinth a watchman passed with a measured stride. The youth heard him pause some number of steps away, the clink of steel, and then the sound of a bladder being relieved. So guards did pace within the walls after all—at least this outer rim? The youth waited, hand on his dagger-hilt, but the man finished and continued on, and silence again took over the dark garden.
At last the youth moved, crouching low, deeper into the labyrinth, a path leading indirectly toward the second, inner wall, this one just an arm’s length taller than a man. He almost tripped over a form lying crumpled at the edges of the bushes. A quick look around showed him no new enemy, none in sight at least, and he bent close to investigate. His keen eyes, even in the dim starlight, made out the body, a strongly built man in the silvered armor and crested helmet of the Harper’s Keep watchmen. A half-drawn sword lay near him, and in the man’s neck was the tiny dart that had felled him in silent seconds. The youth glanced about. This must have been the guard he had heard pass his hiding-place beside the wall. In the short time that had passed, unseen and unheard nameless hands had reached out of the dark and sent the soldier into the embrace of Death Himself. No, not death, for the soldier’s breathing chest still rose and fell slowly and shallowly, but a kind of sleep, an imitation of death from which he would not awaken for some hours.
The youth was unafraid. The drugged dart was his comrade’s work, and they were to meet inside the inner wall. The youth ran toward it. Leaping lightly, he grasped the wall and swung himself up to the top. He pressed himself flat on the broad coping and looked down into the inner garden. Inside were exotic trees and another labyrinth of carefully trimmed shrubbery, leaves turned gray-silver under the plainspoken moonlight, and in this inner garden would be his comrade—but also the real defenses and dangers. He cautiously lowered himself down on the inside and drew his dagger, staring about him. He moved softly around the curve of the wall, hugging its shadow, until he was hidden from anything that having seen him drop inside might be coming for him.
Straining his eyes through the shrubs and gloom, he glimpsed a hint of motion a few paces away. He glided toward it, hand on the pommel of his dagger. Like a panther stealing through the night, he made no noise, yet the man he was stalking heard. The youth had a dim glimpse of a larger body close to the wall, and he felt relief that the form was at least human, as the form wheeled quickly and they faced each other, daggers half-drawn. For a tense instant neither spoke, ready for anything.
“You’re no watchman,” whispered the other man at last in mock outrage. “You’re a common thief like my very self.”
“Very funny, Cousin Horsus,” the youth hissed back with a small smile, re-sheathing his blade.
Horsus took his hand off his dagger and cuffed the youth’s shoulder affectionately with his other. “About time you got here, Anthoc. Now that you’re finished skulking about in the shadows and playing Prince of All Thieves, did you learn anything useful in the taverns?”
A low laugh at the gentle taunting as the youth Anthoc shook his head and replied, “No, just the usual wives’ tales and fairy tales, worn threadbare from the tellings. And no one worth fucking, either.”
“Well, next time you can do your skulking in a whorehouse, where maybe you’ll learn something useful.” Horsus shook his head gently. “That dick of yours will be the harbinger of your doom, Anthoc, no mistake about it.” He looked around cautiously, searching for danger. “I told you the taverns were a fool’s errand. But not wasted time—for it gave me enough opportunity to surveil the Tower and its defenses without you being noisy and underfoot.
Horsus was taller than the slim youth, wider of shoulder and heavier with muscle, four summers older. As blond and as handsome in a more rugged and worldly way, enough of a facial resemblance that someone seeing them together would assume kinship or at least of the same village. Horsus’ chest was furred with blond hair where the youth Anthoc’s torso was all smooth skin. The elder, like the youth, wore only black trousers, bare of chest and of foot, with a small black pouch at his waist. “Now, by the gods, we’ll get to this matter of thieving, or me thieving and you trying to learn something in the process, if that damned cock of yours has no other bright ideas.”
Anthoc remembered when he was twelve and thirteen summers, the first flush of his manhood. Horsus, four summers older, had been more than willing to help his cousin Anthoc learn what his cock could do, how good it could make him feel, how to use it and his mouth and ass to bring pleasure to others too. They had spend many hours nearly working themselves raw as they pursued their satisfaction in each other’s body. Then Horsus had left their village to seek his fortune in the southern realms, and was away some six summers. Anthoc had missed with a soul’s true ache, until Horsus had finally returned a few months ago for a short visit, with a purse full of coins and tales of his successes. When Horsus spoke of turning south again, Anthoc had convinced his cousin to take him along, teach him the thieves’ craft Horsus had learned well, and reluctantly the elder man agreed. Alas, though Anthoc had tried often in their journey here to Harper’s Keep, rumored to hold great riches in its famous Tower, Horsus seemed to have lost any interest in sharing physical intimacies with him as they once had, replaced by gentle ribbings against Anthoc letting his cock do the thinking, and Anthoc had felt his soul ache anew.
But, snapping back to their circumstances, Anthoc put his memories aside. He nodded his head toward the way he had come. “What of the watchman? You left his body in the walkway?”
“What of him? I slid over the wall and hid in the bushes; perhaps he heard some small sound and came blundering over to investigate. Like most city-men, he was half-blind in the night. A good thief should have the eyes of a mountain jaguar. Putting a dart in his neck was no trouble at all. He will sleep for the better part of a day, and by then we will be long gone.”
Anthoc considered a moment. “But you made a mistake.”
“Oh?” Horsus’s eyes flashed as an eyebrow raised. “What mistake did I make?”
“You should have dragged his body into the bushes.”
“This is why you are the apprentice, cousin, and I the master thief. Should any of the watchmen come searching for their comrade now, they will stumble upon his body and flee at once to bellow the news to their fellows; we will hear them and have time to escape. But if they come searching and do not find him, they’ll go on searching and will catch us like mice in a trap.”
Anthoc thought on this, then nodded gravely. “You are right.”
“Now, listen. The inner garden has no watchmen, no human guards at all. Its guards are even more deadly, but I used my time tonight to take their measure and plan ways to circumvent them. The Tower itself has no gate or door or window in its base, none that I can discern at least, so the way must be concealed by magic. But earlier I saw someone other than the Wizard, one of his concubines perhaps, come to the edge of the Tower-top, so perhaps the top has an entry that can be used by those not possessing magic. That is our route in—and out, if we cannot find a better exit from the inside. We’ll climb the Tower to its top, then sneak down through the top and steal from the old Wizard before he can cast his spells upon us. If we are successful, we will have wealth and power. If not, we will be killed or turned into frogs or—”
“Spiders,” Anthoc said.
Horsus looked about with quick alarm. “What? Where?”
“No—I meant the Wizard turned that prince into a spider, not a frog.”
“What prince?” Horsus rolled his eyes, not for the first time. “You and your tavern-tales. Hush. As I was saying, all good thieves know how to take risks, if they have the courage.”
“Teach me what secrets of thieving you know,” groused Anthoc, also not for the first time, “and I’ll prove my courage again. You know I am braver than ten men.”
No sooner had he said this than he felt a sudden nervous prickle on his skin, as if stung by the glare of unseen eyes, and he caught a subtle scent that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise as a guard dog bristles at the smell of an intruder.
Horsus, also on alert, whispered, “Get behind me; stay close if you want to stay alive.”
Horsus pulled a small metal tube from the pouch at his waist. Anthoc stood close behind him, dagger ready, but Horsus pressed him back, close to the wall, and stood ready to confront whatever foe was coming their way. His poise spoke of tense expectancy; his gaze, like Anthoc’s, was trained on the shadowy clot of bushes a few paces away. The shrubs barely rustled in the still night air, and two golden eyes blazed from around their shadows. Something like an eagle’s beak, a human face, and a lion’s forepaws emerged, then a scorpion’s tail. “Manticores,” Horsus swore quietly. Behind the first, other sparks of glowing eyes appeared and burned in the darkness.
“Five of them!” muttered Anthoc, counting rapidly. “Perhaps more in the bushes.”
“Be silent, cousin,” hissed Horsus, and he crept a short, cautiously step toward the beasts, as if walking on knife-blades. He lifted the metal tube to his mouth. The first pair of blazing eyes moved a half-step forward too, while low growls rose from the shadows. Anthoc could see the great poisonous tail of the lead beast. He gripped his dagger, expecting the charge and the slashing of beak and lion-claws and tail-barbs.
A weak breeze rose at their back. Then Horsus blew powerfully. From the end of the metal tube, a long plume of yellow-green dust billowed out and rode the breeze forward and settled over the shrubbery and manticores, blotting out the glaring eyes.
Horsus jumped back hastily. Anthoc stared without understanding. No sound came from the thick cloud. “What is that? What did you do?” Anthoc whispered uneasily.
“Death!” hissed Horsus. “If a wind blows it back at us, climb over the wall as fast as you can. To breathe it is death. Wait until it dissipates.”
Soon enough the cloud began to disperse and settle. Anthoc gawked. Laying in the shadows were five great tawny shapes, the fire of their grim eyes dimmed forever. “They died without a sound!” he muttered in awe. “Horsus, wha—what magic was that?”
“No magic. Poison, made from the pollen of a flower that grows only in the swamps of Khar Tor far to the south. The flowers bring death to any who smell them. I stole the pollen from monks there who use it in their rituals to monstrous gods; the story of that theft, were it to be told, by itself would make me famous among thieves throughout the world. But come, in name of all the gods! Are we to waste this night in useless talk until something even worse stumbles upon us? That was all of the poison.”
They glided through the shrubbery to the gleaming foot of the tower. Anthoc laid his ear to the smooth wall and listened, but could hear nothing within. Still, a strange nervousness filled him.
Some instinct made Anthoc wheel suddenly, for again death was upon them upon them with no sound. He had a glimpse of a tawny manticore shape, rearing upright against the stars to deliver a death-blow. Anthoc’s dagger flashed like an ice-shard in the moonlight with every ounce of desperate strength, and youth and beast went down together.
Cursing beneath his breath, Horsus bent above the mass and pulled the dead manticore off of Anthoc, who thrust it aside and staggered to his feet, still gripping his bloody dagger.
“Are you hurt?” growled Horsus.
“No,” panted the youth, attempting to wipe the creature’s ichor from his hand and arm and blade on a nearby thick-leaved shrub.
“Then come—little sound was made in that, but other dangers surely will have heard. We must climb now. If we stay on the ground, we become their pray. Follow me.”
“The wall holds a fortune in gems, Horsus,” Anthoc whispered. “Why do we not just pry a few ...”
“The jewels are held in place by magic, like the silver ward-signs among them—they are surely part of some binding magic and cannot be removed by mortal men—waste of time and strength to try,” his cousin answered impatiently. “Now come; the entrance into the Tower is there. Once we steal the Eye, an even greater fortune will be ours.”
Turning, Horsus reached for the wall of the Tower itself—a perfect gleaming cylinder, smooth except for the many fist-sized jewels embedded in its surface—and he gripped one of the gems, tested its ability to hold his weight, and, began to haul himself up. The man’s supple progress, gripping with his fingers and toes, made his comely body seem to glide up the wall, because the northern tribesmen climb in the way of spiders or of crabs moving across the sea floor. Anthoc followed him, pressing his body tight against the wall as he reached for and found his next purchase, moving slowly, following his handsome cousin toward the distant top.
They spoke in wary whispers as they moved upward, ever upward, commenting on their progress, encouraging each other. The Tower seemed windowless, all of one piece except for its gems and silver decorations shaped like wards or magical signs. Both were skilled climbers from their childhoods, like all of their tribe, and had made more difficult climbs before. They climbed until the garden below was only shadows in the starlight. Anthoc’s wary soul felt the aura of waiting menace that brooded under them, where the feathery bushes and low spreading trees below hid invisible eyes waiting in case they might slip and fall.
Focus on the wall and the climb, he told himself, not what lurked beneath. The wall and its great fist-sized gems whose gleams dazzled his eyes—diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, rubies, moonstones. From a distance that afternoon, their different gleamings had merged into the Tower’s white glare; but now, at close range in the near-dark, they shimmered as if threatening to entrance him with their frosty rainbows and flecks of light.
Up and up they climbed, silently, the remaining lights of the Keep spreading out further and further to their sight as they climbed, the stars more and more sharp above them. Now Horsus in the lead reached up his hand to the rim itself, found a grip, and pulled himself up—and then over. As Anthoc reached the rim and lifted his hand for it, Horsus leaned down and took his wrist and helped pull him over the top.
They crouched, panting, to get their bearings. The thrill of confronting the unknown and the proximity of his comely cousin gave Anthoc a strange arousal, a stiffening in his manhood. Perhaps, he thought, Horsus was right and his cock would be the death of him, but not tonight. Anthoc forced himself to focus on their surroundings.
The Tower’s top was flat and recessed from the rim, covered in some sort of glossy dark material, like frozen pitch but not cold under their bare feet. Across from the point where they stood was a small sort of chamber built upon the roof, of the same silvery material as the Tower walls, worked in smaller gems. Its single door was of silver, crusted with jewels that gleamed like the first winter ice. They crept and halted at the sparkling door. No lock to it, at least not from the outside, just a simple loop of ancient rope for pulling the door open or closed. Unlocked? Perhaps the Wizard in his arrogance thought the garden and the Tower’s height to be defense enough? Or perhaps this was a trap for the unwary?
Horsus pulled. The rope creaked as though it might break, but the door stayed shut. “Let me try,” Anthoc said, for he could see a faint ... something, like a string of the dimmest red woven through the rope. A trick of the light, perhaps. Surely not a ward of some old lingering magic? The barely visible pattern suggested a direction. Anthoc gripped the rope. His hand tingled as if a dozen ants crawled in his grip, but he pulled the rope in that direction. The door swung easily.
“Excellent. Follow me, cousin,” said Horsus, “and have a care—the real danger begins now. We are in the Wizard’s lair, and we know not what threats await below.”