Rise of the Death Dealer (59 page)

TWADDLE

T
he blood-red barge was halfway across the Inland Sea when the fog began to
burn off, and the huge grey rock supporting Pyram appeared behind the thinning
mists. It was rumbling and shaking, and the vibrations churned up the surface of
the sea, causing the awkward craft to dip and bob. Then the black castle
shuddered at the heights of the rock, and its three central towers began to
sway.

On the command deck of the barge, Brown John held Cobra’s unconscious body
close as he looked back at the impending spectacle. Robin had removed the
crossbow bolts from the woman’s body and closed the wounds in hip and thigh with
fire. But the wound in her chest could not be closed and continued to bleed.

Robin, shamed and frightened by this failure, now squatted beside the
bukko,
her big eyes also on the shuddering castle. Her arms were stained
with blood and ash up to her elbows.

Gath stood motionless beside the banked oars on the aft deck, and Jakar stood
beside him, holding the rudder steady, as they also watched.

The castle’s black towers weaved, then suddenly collapsed inward, and clouds
of dust erupted under them. The walls of the castle shook and also fell inward,
sucked down by the towers, and vanished behind billowing banks of grey dust that
rose toward the overhanging cloud.

Pyram was dead.

Brown John nodded with approval, but it was imperceptible. In less than a
month, the Master of Darkness had been driven back into the underworld and
silenced, and now the source of his demon spawn was destroyed, and the sacred
jewels of White Veshta, which had provided the magical powers to create his
demons, had been taken from the dark sorceress. But the
bukko
felt no
joy.

Despite his and Robin’s efforts, Cobra had not revived and he could feel her
growing cold in his arms.

He held her close, warming her with his own heat, until the barge ran ashore
on the southern coast of the Inland Sea. There he carried her to the edge of a
forest with trees taller than any he had ever seen before, and laid her in the
shade at the foot of one. Its bark was soft and red, and its needles were thick
on the ground.

While Gath and Jakar unloaded the weapons, armor, clothing and provisions,
the
bukko
and Robin made a bed of needles and laid Cobra on it, covering
her with blankets. Robin raced into the forest, with Jakar following to guard
her, and moments later returned with herb leaves clutched in her hands, and a
full waterskin slung over Jakar’s shoulder. They sat beside Cobra, and Robin
slowly fed her sips of water, then bits of herbs, first chewing them slightly to
soften and moisten them.

Brown John watched the girl do this for a long time, his brown eyes heavy, no
longer wearing a trace of vitality or optimism. He felt Cobra stir, and a smile
lifted his cheeks. Robin shared a hopeful glance with the
bukko,
fed
Cobra some more herbs, and she stirred again, opening her eyes. They blinked
with a vague expression, then hardened with fear.

“It’s all right,” Brown John reassured her. “We’re safe. Pyram
is destroyed… and Robin wears the jewels.”

Cobra glanced at Robin, and the girl pushed back the collar of her wrap, her
fingers lightly touching her neck. A glow rose from her nut-brown flesh, and
sparkling diamonds briefly appeared around her slender throat, then faded back
into her body.

A smile flickered at the corners of Cobra’s mouth, and she whispered, “I…
I had no idea. I only thought you might be able to hold them.” Panic suddenly
creased her face, and she turned to Brown John, her voice cold with fear. “Gath?
Where’s Gath?”

“He’s here,” Brown John said comfortingly. “He’s all right now. He’s himself
again, and he controls the helmet.”

She smiled buoyantly, gasping with relief, and tears formed in her eyes.
“Show me,” she begged. “Hold me up.”

Brown John lifted her slightly, and the tears fell from her eyes, streamed
over her swelling cheeks.

Gath stood twenty paces off amidst the loot taken from the barge. He had
found and put on a ragged leather tunic, a belted sword and a pouch and dagger
belt. The homed helmet was tied to his hip, and he was sorting among a
collection of spears. Sensing their eyes on him, he looked up. Seeing Cobra
awake, he straightened and a smile moved his burnt cheeks. He selected a spear,
dropped the others and moved toward his comrades.

Reaching them, he stopped, facing Cobra, and she asked, “You’re… you’re
free? Truly free?”

He nodded, and she sank back against Brown John whispering, her voice too
weak to make her words intelligible, but her tone overflowing with euphoric joy.

Gath asked her, “What would you like to eat? Venison? Rabbit? Turkey?”

She smiled up at him, and her purr came back into her voice, stroking him.
“I’ll eat whatever you kill, Dark One.”

He nodded and started off, then stopped and looked back at her. His
slate-grey eyes clouded as a confusion of emotions passed behind them. Memories.
Suspicions and sensual pleasure. Deceit. Violence. Hate. Then trust and
gratitude filled them unlike any the
bukko
had seen there before. Sober
with regret and guilt. A moment passed before he could speak, and when he did,
the words did not come easily to his lips. Nevertheless, they came.

“Forgive me,” he said. “You are a true and honorable and brave friend. I owe
you my life.”

Then he turned and strode into the forest.

Cobra watched the shadowed foliage where he had disappeared until she had no
more tears of joy to cry. Then she laid her head back, with her cheek against
Brown John’s palm, and closed her eyes. Some time passed before she spoke.

“Brown,” she asked timidly, “can… can you forgive me? For all the lies?”

“Of course,” he assured her. “It was my fault. I knew you loved him. It was
foolish of me to think you might have, you know, changed your mind. I’m old
enough, I should have known better.”

Her eyes opened and said, “I’m glad you didn’t.” She shuddered with a chill
and sank back against him, her eyes closing again as she whispered, “Hold me,
Brown. Hold me.”

“I’m right here,” he said, pressing her close. For a long moment he sat
stroking her burnt hair and cheek, then he continued, “You knew from the
beginning, didn’t you? About Robin?”

She nodded. “I saw how strong her Kaa was when she was a prisoner of the
Kitzakks.”

Brown John, Robin and Jakar shared a thoughtful glance, and the
bukko
asked, “And you planned everything, didn’t you? You knew just what you were
doing every step of the trail. You knew the way to Pyram all the time, but you
wanted the map so you could copy the signs on Robin.”

“No,” she whispered emphatically, and looked up into his eyes. “I knew the
way, and I knew the legend said that the signs were somehow involved, but I
didn’t know how. I… I was just hoping that somehow things would work out. It
was crazy of me. Stupid and reckless. And I would have given up a dozen times,
but you wouldn’t let me.” She smiled warmly. “It wasn’t me, Brown. It was you.
You were my bukko. You picked the stage, and you set the plot, not me. And with
your flattering eyes and magical twaddle you compelled all of us to play it as
it deserved to be played.” Her voice weakened, and her whisper barely had
breath. “No, Brown… it was you.”

She reached to touch his cheek, and her arm lost strength, dropped lifelessly
beside her.

Robin moaned, hiding her face against Jakar’s chest, and he held her as she
heaved with sobs.

The
bukko
closed Cobra’s eyes, then kissed her softly on her lips,
lingering there.

She was still in his arms when Gath returned carrying a dead buck over his
shoulders. It was dusk, and Robin and Jakar had found clothing and weapons, and
built a fire in the open beside the tree. They stood beside it now, silent,
watching Gath. He noted the firelight glistening on Robin’s tear-stained cheeks,
then set the buck beside the fire and joined Brown John. He did not speak until
the
bukko
looked up.

“I will dig her grave,” he said. “You will tell me where.”

The
bukko
nodded in reply.

They buried Cobra where she died, under the tall tree with the red bark. The
grave was deep, and she was laid on a thick bed of needles so her passage to the
other world would be made in comfort. Earth covered her, and then heavy stones,
so that the animals would not dig up her bones and carry off her Kaa.

When this was done, Brown John stood alone beside the grave until night came.
Then Robin joined him, took hold of one of his hands in both of hers, and they
stood silently together. After a long moment, the
bukko
hugged Robin,
then turned to move back to the fire. Robin gently stopped him.

“Brown,” she said, her tone curious but respectful, “there’s something I
don’t understand. Why, if she knew, didn’t she tell us?”

“Because she knew what that savage nymph knew. Only a woman with a strong and
virtuous Kaa, who only wants the jewels so they could help someone else, can
touch them. And she was afraid to tell, fearing, if you knew you had that
strength, that the knowledge might corrupt you and ruin everything.”

“Oh,” said
Robin. “But she could have told you!”

“No,” he said. “She had been the Queen of Serpents too long… she could
trust no one.” Robin nodded uncertainly.

“I know,” he said thoughtfully, “that it seems strange that a woman of such
deadly cunning could believe in the legend, and trust it. But she was desperate
to save Gath, and she had nothing to believe in, except what she had believed in
as a child.”

“She wasn’t born a serpent?”

“No. She had a childhood just as you did, at least until she was fourteen,
but she never had a chance to grow up. In fact, for the last few weeks, deep
inside, in her heart… she was that child again. Wildly and helplessly in
love.”

“I don’t understand,” Robin said.

“You don’t have to,” the
bukko
replied, his tone kind but firm.
“Someday, perhaps, I’ll explain it to you. Not now.”

Robin smiled. “I shouldn’t be making you think about it, should I? But
there’s just one thing, then I won’t talk anymore. What am I going to do with
the jewels? I mean, it’s wonderful and all that, and very flattering. But I’m
not a goddess! You know that. I’m a dancing girl.”

“I know,” he said casually. “That does present a problem, but we’ll work it
out.”

“You’ll help me?” she asked, excited by the prospect.

“Of course,” he said, “I’m your bukko! That’s what I do.”

She smiled as only she could smile, and raised up on her toes, kissing him on
the cheek. Then, with sober gratitude, she said firmly, “She was right about
you, Brown. You talked us through the hard times, all of us, even Gath. We would
have failed, wouldn’t even have tried, if you hadn’t helped us all. And I won’t
have you thinking different.”

He chuckled at that, and the boyish glint came back into his eyes. “You may
be right,” he said firmly, “and it’s proud of it, I am. I admit it.” Then he
felt his voice change, and he asked himself as much as he asked Robin, “But can
those that help others, help themselves? Answer me that.”

WALK AWAY

J
akar led them south through the forest of red trees. He had traveled in this
land, and was searching for a trade road which he remembered headed east. By
following it, they hoped to reach the vast desert which lay to the south of the
Great Forest Basin.

After a day on foot, they came across a village built among the branches of
the trees, one of the many belonging to a tribe of savages Jakar believed were
called Ikarians. They traded meat Gath had killed in the forest for a cart and a
mule, obtained vague directions and continued on their journey.

On the second day, they reached a savanna and found the road Jakar searched
for. The Way of All Coins. It was a merchants’ road that stretched all the way
from the Endless Sea in the west to the Kitzakk Empire in the east.

Following the road southeast, they crossed the savanna in one day, came to
the northern edge of the great desert and turned east. After five days they
reached the massive dry cataracts that marked the border between the desert and
the forest. They headed along the cataracts for the better part of a day, and
came to Wowell Pass, the first trail heading north into the forest basin.

It was dusk when they arrived. The orange light of the sun was spilling
across the flat desert to the southeast in long radiant bars, and striking
through the drifting clouds that hovered over the heights of the deep stone
chasms, turning them to glowing golds and oranges and pinks. Through the
openings in the clouds, they could see the huge shelves of rock that descended
to the basin, the stepping-stones of the gods.

They stared at the vista long and hard, with weary relief on their
trail-darkened faces. They all knew that at the base of Wowell Pass, only two
days away, was the Valley of Miracles and Rag Camp. Home.

They made a night camp behind sheltering rocks, and Robin set about preparing
a feast to celebrate. In their travels, she had secured a skin of desert wine,
various herbs and a vial of olive oil, and Gath had speared several plump desert
hens. Insisting that, since the men had done the work of hunting, she would
prepare the feast by herself.

By the time she was applying the last garnishes to the meal, the sunset was
only a glow in the western sky, and Brown John, Jakar and Gath were waiting
obediently, sitting together on the ground a good twenty feet from her fire.
Gath rested against a rock beside his helmet. Jakar, the bandages now removed
from his healed arm, sat facing him, massaging the weakened muscles. Brown John
sat to one side between them, with his legs drawn up under him.

They were travel-filthy but relaxed. Silent. Amused as they watched Robin
scurry about basting her roast and setting out the foods on large dry leaves
which served as plates. When the
bukko
spoke, it was in a tone
exclusively for their ears.

“She doesn’t look much like a goddess from here, does she? Bustling about and
sweating like a tavern wench.”

Jakar and Gath grinned, and Jakar said, “You’ve got your work cut out for
you, old man. She’s going to need the very best now. Rich robes. Acolytes.
Rituals. A golden temple. A priesthood! To say nothing of a whole damn
theology.”

“Who says that’s my job?” Brown John said behind a mild scowl.

“She does,” Jakar said casually. “She’s already decided you’re going to be
her high priest.”

“Arrrghhh!” said the
bukko,
accepting the fact but
hating it. “I always hated priests. Nothing but a bunch of nasty old men taking
advantage of pretty little virgins. Pompous, arrogant, vile beasts every one of
them. I never met one that wasn’t a poseur and a snob.” He grunted with
distaste. “Well, that’s not the way it’s going to be with us.”

“Us?” Jakar lifted a wary eyebrow.

“Yes,” insisted Brown John. “You’re in this up to your neck, young man. If
I’m a priest, you’re a priest! And since you’re so educated and experienced with
the ways of this world, you’re going to see to it that we don’t get carried away
with ourselves… and get too fancy.”

“No more holy quests?” Jakar asked sardonically. “No,” the old man said
emphatically. “I’ve had enough of grand schemes to last a lifetime. We’re going
to keep it simple now, so ordinary folks can appreciate her.”

Jakar chuckled. “I see, we’re back to baubles and beads, and tambourines and
drums.”

“Exactly!” said the Grillard, ignoring Jakar’s sarcasm. “Nothing nasty,
there’s no call for that. But she’s going to have to put on some weight! And
you’re going to see she does. You can’t have a skinny goddess, not these days.”

“Is that a personal or theological observation?” inquired Jakar.

“It’s a practical one. She’s just too damned beautiful. She’ll frighten folks
off.”

“You mean… she has to be made more accessible.”

“That’s right!” Brown John said emphatically. “So the little boys’ eyes will
go wide, and so the little girls will dream they can grow up to be just like
her.” Jakar chuckled warmly, shook his head in dismay and stood. “I think I have
heard this plot before,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see if she’ll allow
me to help now.”

Jakar joined Robin at the fire and she smiled, sighing with exhaustion, then
handed him her knife so he could cut the meat, giving him a quick kiss in the
process.

Brown John chuckled and turned to Gath. “He’s all right. He never faltered on
the trail. Never once lost his humor. In fact he gained a good deal.” Gath
nodded. “And he’s right. You’re going to be busy, old man. Religion is hard
work.”

The
bukko
thought about that and sighed. “I’m sure I will be, and
thank the gods for it. I want no time to think… or remember.” He sat silent,
looking at the ground, then looked Gath in the eyes and smiled with one cheek.
“But we have had some times, haven’t we?”

Gath smiled.

Brown John did the same, then lowered his voice and said carefully, “You
really are free, Gath. You have no more obligations to anyone here, and the road
from here to Rag Camp is safe. There’s no need for you to go any further… if
you don’t want to.”

Gath nodded, but said nothing.

“The way I see it,” Brown John continued, “with that helmet, you can go just
about anyplace you want to now. And be just what you’ve always wanted to be, the
lord of wherever you choose to stand.”

Gath again made no reply, but their eyes held each other, and understanding
passed between them. They knew they were linked by a friendship, the sum of
which was greater than either of them. It was strong, bound together like mind
and muscle. But the time had come for separate trails. Both had wounds to heal,
and the younger man had to prove himself without his mentor to guide him.

Brown John said, “Don’t misunderstand me, friend. I’m not trying to talk you
into anything, but I’ve got to say this, because I’ve never been certain just
what there ,was between you and Robin. And I’m not suggesting there should be.
But if you leave again, the chances are Robin won’t be there waiting for you
when you get back. She may be a goddess, but she’s a woman first, and she’s
ready to make life.”

Gath glanced at Robin and Jakar, watching as they smiled and touched each
other at each chance, and said, “I know.”

He turned to the
bukko,
and his eyes said he had made his decision.

Brown John said, “All right, I’m the last man to try and stop you from going.
But there is something I do know, and it’s something you should know. Somehow,
in a way far beyond my understanding, the two of you, despite what happens
between her and Jakar, even if they have a dozen children, are bound together.
Maybe it will only be in legends told around campfires, but it’s a fact. I can
sense it. The feeling’s been there since I first saw the two of you together.
And it wasn’t just the power she had over the helmet. It’s much deeper than that.”

Gath hesitated, then again said quietly, “I know.”

The
bukko
smiled in surrender. “But not even knowing that changes
anything, does it? At least not now. You just won’t be tied to anyone… not
even me?”

The Barbarian shook his head.

“I understand,” Brown John said quietly. “But let me give you one last word
of advice.” He glanced at Robin, saw she wasn’t listening and continued in a
whisper, “Don’t say goodbye. Just walk away. It will be easier on her…
because she’s still torn inside between you and Jakar, even though she may not
act it.”

Gath nodded agreement, not bothering to say he had come to the same decision
several days earlier.

The next day, when the first light of morning touched the distant horizon
with its cool grey light, Gath was up before the others. He belted his plain
sword around his simple homespun tunic and tied the helmet at his hip. Then he
walked quietly through their camp to the corner of its sheltering rock, and
looked back one last time.

Brown John slept fitfully beside the fire, his breathing unsteady and his
face torn with frowns born of sad dreams. Robin slept nearby in Jakar’s arms,
for the moment at peace with herself and the world.

Gath backed around the rock, then turned and walked away.

When the sun had reached the middle of the sky, he was well into the desert,
striding down Amber Road heading south toward the ruins of Bahaara, the former
desert capital of the Kitzakk Horde. There was no glory in his stride, no
triumph, and his face was hard, bitten with determination.

On the road ahead new worlds awaited him, and within them would be that wild
place which was his home. Perhaps there he would find the land in which he had
been born, his tribe, his family. Contentment. Then again, perhaps it lay behind,
in the smile beneath a crop of red-gold hair, just as his heart said it did. But
his trail was set. It was written in the sands of time, and he had done the
writing. He now traveled the Endless Trail of chance and adventure, and he was
walking it in the only manner his pride allowed.

Alone.