Free Vin of Venus by David Cranmer, Paul D. Brazill, Garnett Elliott

bone hooks, which they used to snare the web and haul me to the surface.
    That's when I got a good look at them.
    They were pale skinned and hairless, like myself. But they were also covered with patches of brown mold. The bristling growths even clung to their faces, obscuring an eye or a mouth.
    Their bodies gave off the sour reek I had smelled the evening before.
    They wrestled me upright, leaving the binding webs in place. One of them cut the Sword of the Sea Clans free and thrust it through the straps of his harness, made from strips of warty-looking hide. They gestured at the box secured to my thigh, but made no move to open it.
    I counted six. A hunting party, judging from their obsidian-tipped spears. The weapon's shafts were double their own height. At their sides they also carried a number of barbed javelins, and a bone spear-thrower of a type I'd seen used by Mainlander tribes. I could not tell who among them acted as leader. They spoke very little, relying mostly on hand gestures and nods.
    "Who are you?" I asked repeatedly, using all the regional dialects I knew.
    The creatures ignored my questions. The same one who'd taken my sword slashed the webbing between my legs, allowing me to walk while keeping my upper body bound. I felt a spear-tip prod my back, followed by an imperative grunt.
    The implication was clear enough. I started walking. The rest of the group fanned out to either side, and we marched for the water-filled clearing I'd glimpsed the night before. Any desires I might have had to slake my hunger or thirst were allayed by that horrible smell.
    After several more minutes I could see the clearing was not something as wholesome as a freshwater lake, but a swamp. Reeds jutted from the emerald-pale surface. My captors skirted around the edge, until we came to a stretch of sand lowering into the shallow water. There I saw my first signs of real habitation; circular huts, made from lashed reeds, arranged in a ring around a common area. Fungus-dotted women and children milled. Some dragged nets farther out into the swamp, while others skinned eel-like creatures hanging from wooden racks. Not a single cook-fire or column of smoke rose from any of the huts, and for good reason. Instead of being built atop poles to keep them dry, they were partially submerged. The settlement was
in
the swamp, not above or around it.
    A spear-prick told me that I, too, was supposed to join the inhabitants wading around in the scummy water. I took a hesitant step forward.
    The ruby bracelet burned red-hot.
    Ululating cries sounded behind us. I turned and saw something go blurring by my head, making a buzzing noise. The fist-sized object struck a nearby captor. He went down, flailing. A second missile came winging in to strike the creature who had taken my sword. He dropped as well. This time I could see why. A fanged beetle had alighted on his chest, its scarlet carapace split and wings thrumming.
    Just beyond the reeds appeared a group of warriors dressed in gaudily enameled armor: red, yellow, and green hues, flashing in the sun. They were mounted on giant striders. I recognized the war-spiders from by battles with Tarqual Vaz, the despot who had once kidnapped Rhadma. These creatures bore no fur, but were thicker and squatter around the thorax.
    The Mold Men fitted javelins to their bone throwers, but another volley of poison beetles struck before they could cast. I threw myself to the sand, unsure whether I was a target or not.
    A strider tensed its legs and leapt in a single tremendous hop, to land not five yards from where I lay. I got a good look at the mounted warrior. His armor had not been formed from hammered metal, but large pieces of chitin, arranged in plates and connected by braided cords. He glanced down at me, a frown visible between the cheek-guards of his carapace helmet. On each forearm one of the large scarlet beetles had been lashed. A silken hood covered its head, not unlike the hooded hunting-birds of