Rise of the Death Dealer (38 page)

“Then finish eating. You’re going to need all your strength. We’ll spend
tonight in Rag Camp, then tomorrow ride to Calling Rock and hope Gath answers
the horn.”

She looked up between bites and asked, “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because I’ve been going there and calling him for days, ever since the first
murder… and he hasn’t showed up.” He smiled. “But I’ve got a feeling that’s
going to change now.”

STRANGE ALLIES

W
ell past the midnight hour, two riders galloped through the Valley of
Miracles. Reaching Rag Camp at the northeastern corner, they reined up short of
the cool blue moonlight illuminating the clearing, and studied it from
concealing shadows cast by surrounding apple trees. Their animals were flecked
with sweat and snorting steam.

The camp appeared deserted, and was silent except for the sounds of the
river, Whitewater, flowing under Stone Crossing, a massive rock at the far side
of the village.

One of the riders urged its horse forward and walked the animal into the
moonlight. Cobra, riding a small mare purchased from an outlaw band in The
Shades, the rain forest to the west. She was gasping with exhaustion, and her
face was torn with fear as she scanned the empty clearing. The Grillards were
apparently on the road. All that remained were four battered house wagons, no
longer fit for the road, scattered along the eastern edge of the clearing, and a
large red wagon on the opposite side. It was parked behind the stage commanding
the center of the clearing, and there was a faint glow of candlelight in the
second-story window.

She moved back to the other horse, took hold of its reins and led it across
the clearing. The horse was Gath of Baal’s black stallion, and he sat in the
saddle. His huge body weaved unsteadily, and his helmeted head hung low between
his shoulders, casting a red glow over his gnarled hands where they clutched the
pommel.

Cobra guided the horses along the front of the stage and hesitated. Three
horses were tethered to a railing at the side of the red wagon: a dappled grey
stallion which appeared to have just returned from a long ride, another
stallion, and a mare which had a brown saddle blanket with brown patches. Taking
hope, she climbed lightly onto the stage and moved quickly to Gath, helping him
out of his saddle.

“We’re here,” she whispered encouragingly. “Just a few more feet. I think the
bukko’s here, and he’s sure to know where she is.”

Without replying, Gath raised his head, and the sharp-tipped horns of his
black helmet glimmered in the moonlight as Cobra headed for the wagon.

Gath moved after her, took three heavy-footed strides and fell facedown on
the wooden planks with a loud metallic clang. Cobra rushed back and kneeled over
him, trying to help him up as he clawed back to his hands and knees. He half
rose, then a knee gave and dropped him on his back in front of her with another
clang.

Cobra gave a sharp gasp, and her hands trembled as they hovered helplessly
above his unconscious body. In the glare of the helmet’s flames, the rose tint
glowing on her creamy white cheeks was florid with fear. She looked around
frantically.

There were sounds of activity in the wagons across the clearing, and the
glimmer of candles being lit. Then the glow of orange candlelight in the second-story window of the red wagon above her grew bright, casting light on the horned
helmet. She leapt up and stood over Gath, concealing him with her tattered
cloak, and raised her arm so that the candlelight cast a shadow over her face.

The window opened, and a glowing lantern came out, followed by Brown John’s
tousled silvery head. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

“Your friend, bukko,” she said clearly, “and he is in need of your help.”

“Friend? Help?” Brown John peered under the lamp suspiciously.

“Gath of Baal,” Cobra whispered behind her arm.

The
bukko
’s mouth dropped open, and he smiled with delight, then
quickly drew back inside, leaving the window open. The lantern’s light cast
wildly moving shadows across the interior of the second-story room, then faded
to the accompaniment of hurried footsteps descending a staircase. A moment
passed, the door of the red wagon burst open, and the lantern rushed out
spilling light across the stage with Brown John striding behind it. He wore a
bone-brown nightshirt which he held up above his slightly bowed legs.

He stopped short of Cobra, and she lowered her arm, allowing the lantern’s
orange light to splash on her face.

“You?” Brown John gasped, taking a step back.

Cobra’s thin arched eyebrows drew down sharply, and her low resonant voice
lashed at him. “This is no time for your theatricals, bukko. You’re in no danger
from me.” She held up the mandrake root strung around her neck. “He set me free
so I could help him. But I failed! I have no more powers.”

Brown John laughed at her. “You don’t seriously think I’ll believe that, do
you? Where is he?”

She stepped back holding her robe aside to reveal Gath to the
bukko,
but still shielding him from a small group of elderly Grillards gathering across
the clearing. “Would I bring him here… like this… if I was lying? Use
your head, old man. He needs the Lakehair girl.”

Brown John, his face suddenly furrowed with fear, edged forward lowering the
lantern to Gath, and winced as black smoke snarled from the eye slits amid
sputtering flames.

“Holy Zard!” he gasped. “He put the helmet back on.”

“Of course. Its powers are addictive, and his pride is more so. Now hurry!”
Cobra urged him. She nodded at the group across the clearing: it had found
torches and was starting for the stage. “Order them off! There is no telling
what he might do to them in this condition. And take us to the girl! Hurry!
Hurry!”

The
bukko
looked up, shocked by the almost girlish fear riding through
the Queen of Serpents’ black-rimmed almond eyes. He nodded and moved to the
front of the stage. With one eye on Cobra, he shouted at the Grillards, telling
them everything was all right. They came to a stop, lifting acknowledging hands,
then turned and tiredly drifted apart, heading for different wagons.

Brown John rushed back to the door of his wagon and stopped short seeing
someone move in the shadows by the tethered horses at the side of the stage.
Pointing at Cobra, he shouted at the shadowed figure, “Watch her! Don’t let her
get away.”

The
bukko
dashed inside, and Cobra peered into the shadows. Standing
in the blackest part of the darkness, obviously by choice, was an unusually
handsome young man holding a loaded crossbow. He wore soft leather clothing and
stood with regal assurance.

Cobra watched him defiantly as he watched her, and Robin Lakehair rushed out
of the red wagon, raced past without seeing her. A harvest-gold cloak billowed
behind the young girl, and a flimsy white nightgown conformed to her nubile body
as snugly as a slick of water. Cobra edged further back into the shadows, and
her eyes narrowed malevolently as she watched the girl drop beside Gath. Robin
moaned pitifully, and her hands trembled as they hovered uncertainly beside the
flaming helmet.

The
bukko
came out of the wagon, now holding a sword as well as a
lantern, and placed the weapon’s blade against Cobra’s ribs.

She took no notice. Her eyes devoured Robin: firm budding breasts, the turn
of ear, toss of red-gold curls, slim round arms and fingers. Young. Vibrant.
Each part perfection, nostril, earlobe and fingernail. The girl’s body radiated
warmth and kindness, and Cobra knew her invisible glowing aura was still there.
When she had possessed the powers of the Queen of Serpents, Cobra had been able
to see the aura, but not now. Nevertheless, the knowledge of it, and the girl’s
rare beauty, made her eyes snarl with jealousy. But then the girl turned, saw
her and shrieked shrilly, and that made Cobra smile.

Flinging a finger at Cobra, Robin shouted in warning at Brown John, “It’s
her! It’s her! She’s alive.”

“I know, Robin, I know,” Brown John said in a calming voice. “But she’ll be
tame enough.” He showed her his sword. “Now get that ugly metal pot off his
head.”

Robin nodded obediently. She glanced at Cobra warily, then scooted in close
to the horned helmet so that one knee nearly touched the hot metal. She reached
for its horns, hesitated and looked timidly at the
bukko,
mumbling with
fear, “What… what if I can’t do it anymore?”

“Are you afraid?” snarled Cobra accusingly.

“No! No!” Robin whimpered, “I’m not, but…”

“Then do it! Remove it! He’s dying.”

Brown John nodded agreement. “Do it, child. It’s the only way you’ll know if
you still have the power.” Robin nodded again, and kept on nodding as she drew
in a breath and leaned over Gath. She took hold of the horns, flinching at their
heat, and pulled. The helmet twisted, but did not budge. She lowered her grip,
this time using the weight of her body to help her. She tugged until she was
panting and sweat drained from her temples. Suddenly black smoke billowed from
the eye slits, swirling about her arms and startled face. She yanked her hands
away and sat back choking and shaking with terror.

“I can’t,” she whimpered, “I can’t do it anymore.”

“Nonsense,” snapped Cobra.
“It’s just wedged against the floor boards.” She turned imperiously on Brown
John and demanded, “Help her, you old mousebag. Lift his head.”

Brown John obediently lowered his sword, realized what he was doing and put
it back against her ribs. “Wait just a minute now, you’re not in command here!”

“Arrggg!” growled Cobra. She brushed the sword away and dropped next to Gath
on the opposite side from Robin. “Try again, girl! I’ll lift his head.”

Cobra forced her hands under the searing metal and flinched painfully, but
held on and lifted Gath’s helmeted head. Robin took hold of the horns, set
herself and yanked hard. The helmet whipped off, and both women fell back, with
the headpiece flying out of their blistered hands. Gath’s head dropped hard to
the stage, and the helmet rolled five feet off, came to rest with a horn stuck
in the stage.

Cobra and Robin quickly rose to their knees, blowing on their fingers. Brown
John, edging up behind them, lowered the lantern to Gath’s head, and they all
looked down uncertainly.

The flickering orange light still showed in his partially open eyes. It cast
deep black shadows on his savage, chiseled face. His wild black hair and the
thick eyebrows on the ridge of his blunt brow were singed and smoking, and the
scar running from the left corner of his mouth to his chin was all but burnt
away. His lips were parched and bleeding, and the dark sun-brown flesh was burnt
raw on his nose, cheeks, jaw and forehead. Black charcoal crust rimmed the
wounds. His eyes closed, and his head slowly fell sideways.

Whimpering with fear, Robin fell across his massive chest embracing him. “Oh,
Gath, don’t die. You can’t.”

Cobra, involuntarily nodding agreement, reached out a long-fingered hand and
gently stroked his tangled burnt hair.

Robin raised her head and looked into Gath’s eyes, her tears dropping on his
chest and her voice breaking. “Please, Gath, we need you.”

Cobra’s eyes shifted curiously as she watched the girl look up at the black
sky where a single white jewel, the midnight star, glimmered brightly.

Robin spoke to it, saying, “I’ll never leave you again. I swear it by
the…” She stopped short, looked off at the shadow of the handsome young man and
dropped back on Gath’s chest sobbing.

Cobra looked down in defeat at the charred bits of black hair clinging to her
fingers. She smiled with cold bitterness, then suddenly looked back at Gath.

His eyes flickered, then opened. He sat up and rolled over onto all fours in
one erupting movement. His hand, having instinctively caught hold of the body
lying across him by the shoulder, had thrown Robin down on her back beneath him,
and the impact made her gasp harshly. He took no notice and held her body
beneath his, straddling it with one great paw crushing her breast. He looked
around, growling, with his head lowered like a trapped wolf. Then he hesitated,
as if recognizing Brown John and Cobra, both of whom had jumped back, and looked
down at Robin.

The hot glow came back into his eyes.

Robin, gasping in shame, pulled his hand away from her breast and drew it to
her lips. “It’s all right, Gath. It’s me. Robin.”

He growled and leapt to his feet, hauling her up by the neck, and she
shrieked.

“It’s Robin, Gath!” Both Cobra and Brown John shouted it.

Gath did not hear them. His head was lowered, and his eyes were on fire above
his charred cheeks. He looked about the stage, grabbed up his helmet, shoved it
in Robin’s hands, then plucked her off her feet. Holding her under one arm, he
jumped on his stallion and galloped off.

Cobra staggered after him, wanting to cry out and stop him, but did not. She
knew it was too late for words. But Brown John, standing beside her, shouted,
“Wait, Gath! Come back! I’ve got to talk to you. Robin’s in grave danger!”

Gath did not look back, and rode off with Robin clinging helplessly to his
chest, vanished amid the apple trees.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Brown John. “It’s not him,” Cobra replied,
“it’s the helmet.” He looked at her with sudden fear as the handsome young man
galloped off on the dappled grey stallion in pursuit.

Brown John shouted after him, “Don’t, Jakar! Come back! You don’t know him.
He could kill you!”

The rider did not stop or look back.

Cobra and Brown John watched the forest until they could no longer hear
hoofbeats. Then Cobra looked off into the darkness as if it were her only
friend. After a moment, she composed herself and smiled at the
bukko,
speaking in a low, ironic purr.

“I think, old man,” she said, “the last time we met, you put me in a bottle.”

“I remember it well,” he said uneasily, then added, “I think I’ll use a rope
this time.”

“There is no need,” she said. “But if your manliness requires a rope to arouse
it, I will not fight you. On the contrary, I intend to cooperate with you in
every way I am able.” Her voice was solemn. “Whether we like it or not, we are
allies now.”