Читать книгу Serpent's Tooth - James Axler - Страница 12

The crystal-clear water of the underground pool slid off the shimmering blue-green scales of the naked serpent woman as she walked up the slope of the beach. She climbed past the water’s edge on long, sinewy legs. The serpentess ran slender, deceptively delicate fingers down her body, wiping away droplets that clung to her curvaceous form. A sarong of flowered blue silk lay in a puddle on a flat rock that she used as a table, and she picked it up once she had assured herself that her scaled flesh had been brushed clean, no dewy droplets remaining to mar the simple wrap. The cloth snugged around her sleek, full hips, covering her from her vestigal navel down to just above her knees. With a deft fold, she looped a ribbon-like strap around her neck, covering her breasts, a throwback to her mammalian hybrid heritage. The wrap obscured her nearly invisible nipples in the center of each glimmering orb. The women of the Nagah, entitled Nagani, betrayed their half-human heritage, possessing the curves reminiscent of human female anatomy, and as such, had developed a need for concealing those differences from their male counterparts.

“Hannah, my queen, my apologies,” the voice of her bodyguard echoed to her. The echo of his words bounced from the cavernous tunnel to the subterranean lagoon. “May this unworthy servant enter thy glorious presence?”

Naji Hannah finished tucking her sarong down. “Come in, Manticor. There is nothing unworthy about you. And I am not queen yet.”

The bodyguard strode into view. He was six and a half feet tall, lithe limbs resembling thick cords of steel cable, having a silvery burnish as they ran down from copper-brown shoulders. Manticor, like all Nagah men, was naked from the waist up, clad only in pants from his hips to his knees. The tough chest plates that rolled down his torso were the same hard, sandy shells that protected the soles of his feet, surer protection and traction than any hand-cobbled footwear. Like many of the Nagah, his toes had fused together, giving him the illusion of shoes. Those who had been gifted with the “change” and whose lower bodies had become truly serpentine were considered the children of their creator. Such instances were rare, resulting in beings who had to drag themselves along by their arms, resting on a long, undulating monolimb that was not designed for supporting the weight of a human torso.

“Naja Durga has returned from his recent expedition,” Manticor stated. “He requests the company of his promised bride.”

Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “In other words, ‘I’m home. Where’s my fuck?’”

Manticor winced at the harshness of his charge’s language. Hannah knew that Manticor was also pained by the thought of Hannah being pressed into a loveless marriage. “I am sorry, Excellence.”

Hannah ran her delicate fingertips across the tough chest plates on the snake man’s pectoral muscles. Her hazel eyes sought his, penetrating deep into their brown, smoldering depths. “I am sorry, as well, my loyal protector. I meant no crudeness for your ears. Tell my cousin that if he wishes to see me, he can find me in my chambers.”

Manticor’s scaled lips tightened into a bloodless line. “He won’t be pleased.”

“If Durga deems it necessary to punish you, he will never know my touch again,” Hannah promised, rage giving edge to her voice. “No. He’ll know the touch of my feet once I’ve finished kicking him to death.”

Manticor stepped away from her touch. Shame had smothered whatever joy had been awakened by Hannah’s caress. Manticor’s duty was to the Nagah Protectorate, the elite who defended the royal family. That duty meant that he would give his life for the precious Princess Hannah. In the larger scheme of things, it meant that he had to ensure that the crown prince’s bride would bear him the means to carry on his family dynasty. His life, influenced by an affection and attraction to Hannah, was commanded by an oath to see the thing he loved most in the world hauled off to an embittered being who saw her only as a means to extend his genetic viability.

Hannah regretted being so familiar with Manticor, speaking the thoughts that flashed behind dark eyes. She regretted that his devotion to her had sparked a kindred love. Manticor was the shining knight every girl wanted, be they human or Nagah. Tall, strong and selflessly committed to her, Manticor was Hannah’s body and soul. All she had to do was ask, and he’d be hers forever. Were there a place for the two Nagah to flee in the human world, she would abandon her crown and leave with him. Instead, she was trapped. Serpents were not welcome aboveground, and the humans who interacted with the Nagah were rare outside of the underground realm. Hannah and Manticor would be hunted by snake and shunned by man.

“I will tell Naja Durga of your intentions,” Manticor said. After a pause, he chuckled nervously. “Intention to wait for him in your chambers, not the kicking thing.”

Hannah gave him a weak smile, then the official gesture of dismissal. Released, the bodyguard left the lagoon chamber, and his discomfort. She watched him bow as he left the private swimming area. Hannah made her way slowly to her chambers.

The dread-filled wait for Durga’s arrival began.

DURGA ROLLED OVER, spent in his carnal energies. His member retreated back into its protective sheath of armored scales, smearing his and Hannah’s mixed love juices on the flat plates of his groin. He licked at Hannah’s hood, tongue trailing to the crook of her neck before kissing her. “Be a dear and clean our mess off me.”

Hannah, panting and sore, glared at him. Her eyes flicked down to the glistening cocktail in his lap. “I am a princess of the blood, not some bathing maid. Get a washcloth.”

She rolled on the mattress, pulling away from his grasp, staring at the tapestry on her chamber wall. Hannah hunched her shoulders, trying to create a wall between Durga and herself. Powerful fingers dug into her shoulder, and Hannah grimaced as he whipped her around so that they were face-to-face. She looked at the damaged scales over his right eye. The scar was a livid, jagged slash carved into his armored skin. His once golden iris was muted as it swam in a bloodshot orb. It was a memento of his encounter with the humans of the Millennial Consortium. The eye that peered at her looked harsh, unhealthy.

“Your king demands your service,” Durga snarled threateningly.

Hannah’s upper lip curled back, her fangs flexing into position. “You’ll regret it.”

Durga pushed her away, sitting up. “We are of the same royal blood. Your venom would not harm me.”

“No, but my teeth are still sharp enough to tear your dick to shreds,” Hannah returned, exiting the bed to get away from him.

Durga watched her move. Even angry, she had the grace of a dancer. “You would end the trueblood? For what? Dignity? Even sucking me off, you’re still a queen.”

Hannah tugged her wrap around her naked form, stepping closer to the chamber entrance. “Then why act as if I’m just a whore?”

“Take one more step, and it will be you who will harbor regrets,” Durga promised. His hood flexed, flaring as the muscle stretched his neck in anger.

“If your touch leaves a mark, the Nagah will forget about your pure blood and let you know how they feel about your bigotry,” Hannah warned. “When the bulk of your people are newbloods, you don’t have much room to alienate them.”

Durga smirked, his orange eye flashing like a fire in a pit. “Manticor.”

“You wouldn’t,” Hannah stated.

“He would follow my orders. He’d assault the gates of hell armed with a toothpick if I told him to,” Durga replied, sneering at her. “He will do his duty, and his duty, ultimately, is my will.”

“I would damn you to hell,” Hannah said, sighing, “but you’d be in charge inside of ten minutes.”

Durga smiled. “Come here, lover. On your knees.”

Hannah clenched her golden eyes shut, tear ducts burning like acid.

“Your dignity or my majesty,” Durga taunted. “Make your choice.”

Hannah’s eyes snapped open in a glare, but in her heart she knew the true choice didn’t involve either of the royal Nagahs’ pride. The life of a good, upstanding, selfless being was at stake. Even if Hannah hadn’t harbored affection for the loyal Manticor, she couldn’t allow harm to come to one of her people, especially when she had a say in the matter. It was her duty as ruler to sacrifice for her people, she told herself.

Not completely, she corrected. Self-service did play a role in her decision. As long as Manticor lived, there was a chance that they would have an opportunity to become lovers, to grow old together.

She stepped to Durga, knelt, closed her eyes and thought of Manticor.

WHENEVER HANNAH WAS CALLED to bed with the trueblood prince, Manticor always found it easier to be elsewhere in the ancient caverns of the Nagah. He wasn’t blind to the affection that she showed him, but also knew that such love was a leash that Durga wielded to control his chosen bride. Hannah only alluded to her dealings with Durga, but the hints formed an ugly picture, that made Manticor regret the strength of his fealty to the royal family.

Durga’s father, Garuda, had died defending their underworld realm, fallen as he battled against armored invaders from across the Pacific Ocean. The humans had called themselves Magistrates, and they sought the technology of the Nagah, most especially the ancient genetic-manipulation devices left behind by their creator, one of the dragon gods of the stars. The capacity for cloning and human alteration was too important to the hybrid barons who ruled America. Though they had their own genetics program and production facility, the thought of others possessing such advancements was anathema to them. Garuda, the fallen king, had offered to share with the barons, but greed had proved too much to allow such compromise.

The shooting war was brief and savage. Garuda led the Nagah warriors in a conflict against the baronial expeditionary force. The Magistrates had been exterminated, but at enormous cost, with Garuda dying as he destroyed the last of the Deathbird helicopters. Mortally wounded by the gunship’s machine gun, Garuda struck the craft from the sky with a shoulder-fired rocket. The destruction of the human marauders became known as the Battle of Sky Spear, one of the greatest victories, and tragedies, in the history of the cobra people.

That was where Durga’s spite for the mammals had been born. Durga was only in his teen years, a young warrior who fought alongside his father as a gunner on a jeep. He watched as the humans’ bullets tore into his father’s flesh, and his vengeful thirst had not been slaked in thirty years of bloodshed.

That was decades ago, and since then, Durga had spread the influence of the Nagah dynasty throughout the region. Raids against human settlements produced results that impressed the queen, Matron Yun. Converts among the imprisoned slaves were passed through the cobra baths, solutions of nanomachines in saline that stripped the majority of their mammalian nature, all save a warm-blooded metabolism, and replaced it with the serpentine perfection that had been a gift from the dragon god Enki. Human cultists were readily accepted into the ranks, provided they survived the harrowing trek to the Kashmir across the radioactive wastelands, bandit-controlled territories and the ferocious predators of the wilderness. Unfortunately, few of these believers, now called pilgrims, even knew of the hidden Nagah empire. Even fewer had the endurance to survive such a murderous journey.

Manticor’s father had been one such man. His mother was a convert from the enslaved humans captured by the grim Prince Durga, in the time before the prince’s rage consumed every waking moment. Technically, Manticor’s birth by two newbloods, or converts to Nagah form, and the fact that he was born a serpent, not needing the cobra baths, made him a trueblood. Unfortunately, Durga had long ago decreed that only the royal family could call themselves truebloods, as they could trace their lineage back to the age of the dragon kings. Manticor didn’t have the right to that title. The best that he could hope for was the mantle of pilgrim’s son.

A cordon of guards entered the cavernous hall that Manticor had wandered into. A dozen pistol-equipped cobra men moved in unison, like a single entity. Manticor immediately recognized them as the ring of living armor that surrounded the queen matron as she moved among her citizens. The snake man dropped to one knee, lowering his head in deference to the grand matriarch. The phalanx of bodyguards halted in front of Manticor.

“Manny, child, rise and gaze upon your queen,” Yun said.

Had she been human, her age might have proved more readily apparent. Still, six decades had done little to dull the copper-and-black leopard pattern of her scales, and her golden eyes were as bright and fiery as freshly lit bonfires. The only sign of her advanced years was a looseness of her skin and a softening of the firmness of her once tight, perfect musculature. Her lips turned up in a smile matched by the warmth in her gaze as she extended a delicate hand to Manticor.

“Matron,” Manticor announced, nodding as he bent and kissed the scaled wrist offered.

“Manny, it’s good to see you in health. How does my daughter-to-be fare?” Yun asked.

“She fares well,” Manticor replied, kicking himself for not being looser, more genial with the Nagah queen. The response stuck uncomfortably in his throat.

“Ah, I take it my son is sampling the wine before he pays for the vinyard,” Matron Yun suggested. Sarcasm dripped from her lips.

Manticor couldn’t suppress a flash of a grin at the queen’s crack. While Prince Durga’s decades of warfare had expanded the safe zone around the Nagah’s subterranean homelands, and had been responsible for tripling the population of the cobra folk, Yun had little patience for her son’s recent, violent activities. She was troubled by the wanton murder of travelers, as well as the growth of Durga’s increasingly militaristic personal guard. The rumors of his disrespectful relations with Hannah were particularly distressing. Hannah had survived far longer than her preceding suitors, young women who had died in accidents or quietly withdrew themselves from public life after a few meetings with the prince.

It had become an increasing concern that the matron would never have a grandchild to carry on her bloodline.

“I apologize, Matron Yun,” Manticor said, catching himself. He knew the queen’s feelings in the matter of her sole surviving child, but he didn’t want word passing through the ranks that he had been amused at Yun’s sharp criticism of Durga’s behavior.

“My fault entirely,” Matron Yun replied, releasing Manticor from his guilt. She winked at him, indicating that her cadre of defenders would not betray any indiscretion between the two of them. “My son has just returned from an expedition along the old Pakistani border and he claimed that he has found several items of interest. Since you seem weighted by your thoughts, I wonder if you would enjoy a distraction with an old, wrinkled serpent hag.”

“If there were a wrinkled hag present, I’d do so,” Manticor answered. “But for now, I am overjoyed to accompany a resplendent goddess of the blood.”

Matron Yun laughed, resting her hand on Manticor’s shoulder. “If I were a few decades younger, Manticor, I’d believe you.”

She offered her hand and the cobra warrior crooked his arm for her. Yun smiled appreciatively. “It might even be that you carry some of the spark of Garuda in you. You resemble my husband, and his genetic code runs through every pilgrim.”

“I’m flattered, my queen,” Manticor replied. “But your son has likened the process to adding two drops of wine to sewage. It still remains vile waste, while adding two drops of sewage to a gallon of wine turns the whole to sewage.”

“The Nagah, however, are neither waste runoff nor beverage,” Matron Yun responded. “My son, in his advancing years, seeks to overturn the teachings of both great Nagah and humans, including the lessons of those who despised the institutional bigotry of caste systems.”

“And yet, we are still a monarchy,” Manticor countered.

“With safeguards and the ability to impeach those of royal blood. A human said once that the tree of liberty, at times, must be watered with the blood of tyrants and free men alike.”

“Thomas Jefferson,” Manticor said. “Words from nearly five hundred years ago.”

“Truth does not cease to become truth because of age, my boy,” Yun chided him.

The pair and the silent cordon of cobra escorts entered the alcove where Durga had deposited his discoveries. Off to one side of the underground hangar, the Nagah fleet of twentieth-century Black Hawk and Deathbird helicopters rested, a hundred aircraft only minutes from life should the children of Enki need them.

The airfleet had been recovered thanks to raids on Indian government installations. The Battle of Sky Spear taught the Nagah the need for air power as they had suffered terrible losses, aside from Garuda himself, to the Magistrates’ assault helicopters. The Deathbirds and their utility transport counterparts were the backbone of a secure homeland, now.

Quarantined and protected by Durga’s expeditionary troopers sat a strange and impressive object. It was sleek and silver, the size of the Black Hawk, and covered in burns and scars, as if it had been engulfed in lava.

Matron Yun gasped in horrified recognition.

“What is it?” Manticor asked.

The queen’s lips drew into a tight line of concern. “The dragon kings. That is one of their craft, and if they have returned…”

“Returned?” Manticor asked. “But Tiamat was struck from the skies.”

Yun’s golden eyes flashed as she looked at the skimmer. “Death is no impediment to a god.”