Rise of the Death Dealer (34 page)

THE SKINK

T
he jar spun around like a chubby dancer and rolled to a stop in the deepest
depression. A moment passed, and a thick-scaled, shovel-like head peeked out of
the open neck. Its heavy-lidded eyes blinked against the glare of daylight.

Gath, axe held across his thighs with both hands, rose into a crouch, as if
facing a dragon instead of a tiny Skink snake.

The small creature probed the air with its tongue and wiggled partway out.
Its brown wedge-like body had four tiny legs, no more than wrinkled memories
degenerated from its primordial past. A short struggle and its puffy body popped
free, fell on its smooth white chin.

The Skink gathered, and staggered about uncertainly, trying to burrow into
the ground and hide. The lava was too hard. With a swimming motion, it hurried
up the shallow incline, saw the axe and the man holding it and retreated. It
tried to climb the steep sides of the bowl several times, but each time slid
back to the bottom. Exhausted, it looked directly at Gath. The heavy lids
lowered and the head tilted slightly. Waiting.

Gath took a step back.

The Skink spread its jaws wide, as if laughing silently, and yellow fumes
issued forth, like a long vaporous tongue. They billowed and rolled, filling the
bowl until the reptile was only a vague shadow within the yellow mist. Almost
languorously, the creature rolled over, and its belly opened up like a lipless
mouth. Hissing issued forth, faint and gentle, and a sharp wailing shriek. Then
all sound and movement stopped, and the vapors hung heavy and thick, hiding
whatever lay within.

The horns of Gath’s helmet grew hot and slightly erect. A glow reappeared
behind the eye slits. Excitement was spilling through him. He rolled his
shoulders and advanced defiantly into the bowl, dispersing the smoke with the
flat of his swinging blade until he reached the bottom.

Within the thinning vapors, a woman sprawled beside the jar, heaving with
exhaustion. Her colorless tunic and faded brown cloak were ragged and rent with
holes. She reclined on one hip and elbows, torso twisted away from Gath and face
hidden between her arms. They were bare, an ivory white, and her legs were drawn
up under her in artful disarray. Lush curves of breast, hip and thigh pressed
through the torn openings in her garments, their poverty only enhancing the
wealth of her voluptuous beauty.

Gath’s eyes cast a hot light over the lovely sprawl, here and there invading
its secret places.

When the smoke cleared, she lifted her head. Long straight black hair fell
over face and shoulders. She parted it with three red-tipped fingers and looked
up at Gath. Her face was the crowning jewel of her beauty. Bright red lips,
creamy cheeks tinted with rose madder, grey-gold eyes set in thick black almond
outlines flaring under arched brows. Regal. Deadly. Cobra, the Queen of
Serpents.

She looked about furtively, then back at Gath, and asked breathlessly, “Where
are we? What are you going to do with me?”

He did not reply.

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” he said, as if it would take no more effort than folding a saddle blanket.

She hesitated, then spoke in a slow, precise voice. “That would be a mistake,
Dark One. I can help you. And I won’t give you any trouble. I’ve learned that
lesson. I’ll be whatever you want me to be, slave… cook… whore…anything.”

“We’ll see.”

A careful smile lifted the corners of her lips, cold and bitter, and she drew
her body into a sitting position, self-consciously arranging her rags about her.
Just above her left ankle, the pale flesh of her calf had a greenish cast that
grew darker at the anklebones, then became thick and crusted, and turned into
scales covering her entire foot. Not the plain brown workmanlike scales of the
Skink, but the glittering ice-blues and emerald-greens of the cobra. Seeing it,
she gasped shrilly, and quickly drew the offending appendage under her,
arranging her tattered cloak over it. Shame blotted her flushed cheeks.

There was no contempt or pity in Gath’s harsh low voice. “Your cage has not
been kind to you.”

She dipped her head, more in surrender than agreement, and said submissively,
“I regret that my appearance offends my new lord and master.” A familiar
stroking caress echoed in her tone, barely veiling the also familiar challenge.
“Your prison was so small and cramped, and my strength has been diminished by a
diet of dirt and beetles. But when it returns, the scales will go away, and you
will no longer be reminded of my unnatural lineage. Until that time… if you
will allow me… I will bathe and adjust my toilet to be as pleasing to your
sight as possible.”

She started to rise.

“Sit still!” he barked.

She sank back, eyes white with alarm.

He threw a leather thong to her. “Pick up the jar.” She did as she was told
and sat obediently holding the jar in her lap.

He nodded at it. “Remove the mandrake root and tie it around your neck.”

She smiled ironically. “Haven’t lost your charm, have you, Dark One? Here I
am, powerless and at your mercy, and wearing nothing but rags and shame, and
still you would have me believe you fear me. I am flattered.”

“Now!” A cold command.

She smashed the jar against the hard ground, and a piece of mandrake rolled
free. She picked it up and, turning her head to hide her revulsion at its
ugliness, used the thong to tie it in place. Finished, she took a deep breath
and smiled suggestively over a naked shoulder, saying, “Now that my demonic
nature is tamed by the root, perhaps you’ll tell me what is it you want of me?”

He nodded at the crest of the bowl. “I just ran into a pack of your servants.
They were dying, decaying and falling apart. Why aren’t you?”

“Because their natures and strength are sustained by a far weaker sorcery
than that which sustains me.” Her voice was flat and precise. “They must have
regular dosages of a black wine called Nagraa, and have undoubtedly run out of
it.”

“You don’t need this wine?”

She shook her head. “The chosen few who are the consorts of the Master of
Darkness are made of a sorcery that is strong and durable. For us the black wine
is only a beverage, a pleasing stimulant.”

He grunted impatiently, walked slowly around her studying her and said,
“Follow me.”

He moved up the incline, and she rose fluidly, followed obediently.

When the stallion saw them coming over the crest of the bowl, the horse
reared excitedly, throwing the bound snakeman to the ground with a pained grunt.
The impact loosened his ropes, and he wiggled free, rolled onto his knees,
making obeisance to his queen.

Cobra stared in pity at his fuming joints, then surveyed the surrounding
landscape with puzzled eyes. “What is this place?”

“The Land of Smoking Skies.”

She looked at Gath in disbelief.

“You’re not a hundred strides from your home,” he added, his tone
discouraging all argument.

She looked up at the cloudless sky. “But there’s no smoke?”

“Your sacred volcanoes are dead.” He nodded at the snakeman. “Now talk to him,
find out what’s happened.”

She didn’t move. Fear cut deep into her smooth forehead, and she shuddered,
looked off at the devastation. “Impossible,” she whispered. “It’s all gone.
Everything… my people, my treasures, my whole kingdom!”

“Yes,” he said. “Now talk to him. And find out where the entrance to your
chambers is buried.” Her eyes questioned him, then understanding showed in them, and she said, “So that’s it. You’re not satisfied with
defeating my demons… with driving the Kitzakks from the desert and
enslaving me. You still want revenge.”

There was no reply.

She murmured softly, “You’ve grown reckless, Dark One.”

“Ask him!”

“Of course,” she said, her tone mockingly servile, “whatever my lord wishes.”

Speaking in the snakeman’s tongue, she questioned him at length, and he,
trembling and stammering weakly, replied to each query. Finally, babbling in
desperation and again pressing his cheek to the ground, he offered her the small
leaden vial. She shook it, measuring the contents, and held it up to Gath.

“Black wine. It’s his last bottle, and it’s nearly empty. Apparently there
have been no deliveries since the volcanoes erupted.”

“Bah!” Gath grunted. “What did he say about the entrance?” He slapped the
vial out of her hand. It hit the ground with a clang, popping out the lead
stopper, and rolled off spewing a faint shaft of black light from the mouth.

The reptilian stared in horror, whimpering. Suddenly, with a whiplike motion,
he came off the ground with his mouth spread wide, striking at the Barbarian’s
leg. Gath turned his axe blade, and the snakeman, blind with fury, drove his
chest against it. It brought him to a sudden crunching halt, his jaws snapping
short of his target. Hissing and writhing, he tried to pry himself off of the
blade, but could not, and Gath kicked him free. Flailing and hissing, he rolled
across the ground, came to a stop and died with a shudder.

Her almond eyes narrow, Cobra glared at Gath.

His thick hand flew at her, caught her shoulder and drove her to the ground.
“Now where is the entrance?”

Her arm parted the blanket of black hair that had fallen over her face, and
she looked up at him. Her chin was smudged, and malevolent humor glittered on
her grey-gold eyes. “So that’s how it is,” she purred. “You’ve worn it too long
… the helmet’s taking control.”

“Don’t worry about the helmet.” His voice was low, coarse. “What did he say?”

“All right, I’ll tell you,” she said, drawing herself up to sit on a boulder.
“But call in your little virgin to remove the helmet first.” She looked off at
the shadowed boulders, then back at the metal face of the helmet. “What you are
about to hear requires a cool head.”

“Talk!”

“All right,” she said again, “but you are not going to like what you hear.
Apparently, when my former lord was informed that you had defeated me and
successfully stolen the helmet, he became enraged and began to roar and shake
the mountain.”. She nodded at the dying snakeman. “According to this poor
soldier, it continued to get worse, then all the volcanoes started spitting
flames and smoke, even those thought to be dead. Then they exploded…
repeatedly… burning the forests and destroying everyone as they fled. When
that stopped, a series of earthquakes began, tearing down the mountains and
changing the courses of the streams and rivers. Only a scattered few survived.
When the lava cooled, they returned to seek out the entrance and enter the altar
room to ask what he wished of them. But as they entered the tunnels, the earth
shook again and the crater collapsed, killing most of them in the tunnels…
and burying the entrance. There were only a handful of survivors who you
apparently have disposed of. Now there is no way to enter the mountain, or even
to tell which mountain was mine. Not even I could find it.”

“You lie.”

She smiled bitterly. “I only wish that were true… but it isn’t. The
mountain is sealed. Everything I possessed is buried. Gone. And I am deserted,
with no one to protect me… except the one who has ruined me… you.”

He shook his head, once. “If your master is dead, the helmet’s powers would
have died with him.” She smiled briefly and said, “Now, Gath of Baal, you
flatter yourself. You did not kill him. He has only temporarily retreated to the
bowels of the earth, and when he returns, you will be in more danger than ever.”

The eye slits glowed briefly in reply, and Gath said, “Come here.” She rose,
moved to him, and he added, “Remove the helmet.”

The corners of her eyes smiled. “I thought that was a privilege reserved for
your simpering virgin.”

“She’s not here.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock. “You’re not serious, you’re… you’re
just testing my powers?” He took hold of her wrists, lifting her hands to the
helmet. She resisted, and a slightly mocking smile coiled in her cheeks as she
purred, “So that’s why you released me?” A faint echo of her old power rang in
her voice. “You’ve left her, and now you need me. The helmet’s killing you.”

“You talk too much.” He placed her hands on the horns of the helmet, but she
stroked them instead of taking hold of them, and laughed lightly.

His blunt fingers crushed her hands around the horns, making her wince with
pain. “Remove it, bitch!”

“No!” she said, her voice laden with defiant power.

He took hold of her throat, yanking her to him. But still she grinned,
shaking her head. “It’s no use threatening me. I can’t remove it now.”

“You’ve lost your powers?”

“It’s not that. I used all my strength to restore myself, and I’m weak now,
unstable. I must rest first, and eat.” He held her slightly away, and she added,
“I need bread, wine, berries, whatever you can find… and meat… fresh
meat.” He let go of her, and she smiled. “And since I now have something to
bargain with, I want some proper clothing… and a bath.”

Grumbling, he pushed her aside and mounted his stallion, slipping his axe
into its scabbard. Looking down at her, he said, “There are some stacks of armor
and weapons in a nearby culvert.” He pointed it out. “There should be clothes
among them, but they won’t be what you’re used to.”

“I’ll make them do,” she said. “And the food?” He nodded over a shoulder,
saying, “There’s a patch of forest over there… my guess is it’s full of
game.”

She smiled. “Then by tonight… we should both be free of our prisons.”

Without replying, he turned his horse away and walked it toward the black
ridge.

Cobra watched him, holding her smile in place until he rode down into a
depression and was out of sight. Then she let it drop, and raced to the fallen
leaden vial. Snapping up both stopper and vial, she held them away so the beam
of black light could not touch her, and inserted the stopper. She slipped the
vial inside her cloak and breathed a sigh of relief. The black wine’s magic had
many uses and might help her prove her worth to her new lord if and when he
needed her help. She rose and started after Gath.