Free Gog (Lost Civilizations: 4) by Vaughn Heppner

torment.

Chapter Six
    Yeb

    “Shall I spit in the wind, shout at a stalking lion or trust a thief?”
    -- Naram the Prophet

    Keros crept through the gloomy maze.
    Pink marks dotted his arms, his hands, and he was certain they marked his neck, face, torso and legs. The healing branded him. If anyone recognized him as the former leper, then the miracle became obvious. Elohim, through Lod, had healed him. Elohim was the great foe of Gog. He was uniquely marked, and therefore, he didn’t dare leave the alleyways.
    Should he gather castoff rags, muddy his face and limp through the city as a leper? Keros shook his head. People often pelted lepers with offal, or they beat them, drove them off.
    He needed a disguise.
    Keros crouched by a rain barrel, an old wooden drum set underneath a lead drainpipe.
    The taverns here had wooden additions. They were extra stories built one atop the other, a full six different levels. They blocked the sunlight. They turned the alleys into a dangerous, murky world. The tenants threw their garbage into the alleys. Thus, canal rats prowled here at night, dogs, drunks and the desperate during the day.
    A bleary-eyed, old man shuffled near. He squinted at Keros, groaned and slid down, gathering a stained blanket around him. The old man, mostly beard and wrinkles, pulled a leather flask from his rags, hunched over it, twisting away from Keros and guzzled. He smacked his lips and let out a bubbly sigh.
    Keros rose.
    The old drunk watched him carefully.
    With a scowl, Keros set out elsewhere. Even in the maze, he was an object of curiosity. He must hide or gain a disguise. The question was how.
    It was then Keros noticed the open window. It was on the fourth story, maybe fifty feet up.
    A grin stretched his lips. He flexed his chest. He exuded in this newfound strength, the energy of a healthy young man. He strode to an old barrel, and shoved it against a drainpipe. He knocked on the wood, testing it, and then he eased onto the barrel. He wrapped his fingers around the pipe, his strong fingers, and with Shurite ease, he shimmied up.
    City dwellers! These weak fools thought that fifty vertical feet was an insurmountable barrier. He grabbed the windowsill and hoisted himself to perch like some giant pigeon.
    A fat man snored in the room. He lay on a disheveled pallet, with two empty flagons beside him, and an odor of wine strong within. The room was littered with clothes and several wooden chests. A bar secured his door from intruders.
    In a single bound, Keros was upon the man. He shoved the fleshy face into the spit-stained pillow. The man bucked, and was bigger than Keros was, but Keros held down the head, until the man lost consciousness. Keros yanked the arms behind the man’s back, and tied the wrists with leather thongs ripped from his sandals. With a grunt, Keros rolled the man over and shoved a wadded cloth into his mouth, tying a cord around the lips. He unwound ropes from a chest and tied the man to his bed.
    Keros nodded. Grandfather would have been proud. Sudden, furious assault was the way to raid.
    The fat man shivered awake, and his eyes flew open. He stared at Keros in terror. The man had thinning hair, broken blood vessels around his thick nose, bloodshot eyes and heavy lips…. Thick lips that had often curved into the most ingenious smile that Keros had ever seen.
    “Yeb,” he said, as if spitting poison out of his mouth.
    The bound man made “mmmm” sounds.
    Keros squinted. He turned to the big chests. A lock padded each. He kicked a chest. It thumped as if full. “Where’s the key, Yeb?”
    “Mmmmm.”
    Keros grinned. “Just point it out with your eyes.”
    Yeb dared shake his head.
    Keros let his grin turn mean. This was Yeb the Fence, a dealer in stolen goods. As a beggar, Keros had often watched Yeb make his dirty exchanges.
    Keros drew his dagger.
    Yeb shook his head again, but this time with a new emphasis as his eyes popped up froglike. “Mmmmm.” Yeb stared at the