Rise of the Death Dealer

by James Silke

  When she tried the latch again, the door swung inward, and a faint glow of firelight emerged to illuminate the sculpted whiteness of her face. She stepped out of the recess, looked up into the shadowed branches overhead. There the large yellow eyes of the python watched her. On guard. She dipped her hooded head, glided across the recess and through the door.

  Thick roots formed the walls of a shallow entryway. The dark mouths of crawl holes opened among them. A larger hole in the floor opened onto a stairwell hand carved from a single root. An orange glow came from somewhere below.

  Leaving the door open, Cobra silently descended the stairs until she could see the lower room.

  It was hewn out of living roots. Irregular seams climbed the sides of uneven walls where the roots had grown together. The floor was hard dry earth, a deep red ochre. A stone fireplace and chimney had been built within the cavity of the roots. Beside the fireplace stood a woodpile, an anvil and assorted tools: hammers, tongs, a barrel of rainwater. The floor was cluttered with empty earthenware jugs, wooden cups, broken crockery, and bones recently chewed clean of meat.

  At the center of the room was a table. On it were several cups, a wine jar. The far wall supported a wide, deep shelf with a washbasin, a dirty cloth, a pitcher and barber’s knife. Beside the shelf wooden pegs held assorted black furs, a helmet, and armor and weapons stolen from Kitzakks.

  The helmet was strange: the bowl of a Kitzakk helmet, a mask of crude iron, and reinforcing belts of Kitzakk steel bent around both to attach them. The belts had been crudely bent by fire and hammer and fit badly. One had sprung loose and dangled awkwardly.

  Cobra smiled knowingly and edged down the stairs to the floor, hesitated. In the shadow beside the helmet was a huge axe with a new handle which belonged to the Dark One called Gath of Baal.

  She trembled slightly, and glanced about at the deep shadows of the many recessed areas, then at an alcove around a corner. It was heaped with furs covering a large mound. Her breath raced. Color flushed her face, throat. She drew a tiny dagger from a sheath strapped to her forearm.

  Its blue steel glistened like wet ice. The blade was needle sharp, just long enough to plunge into the heart of an onion. The cutting edge was finely honed, sharp enough to trim a baby’s lashes without the baby noticing.

  Moving like a melting shadow, Cobra crossed to the bed of furs, stood over it, her bosom heaving, dagger in hand.

  With reptilian grace, she sank silently beside the furs, lifted one gently and gasped audibly. Underneath were only more furs. She crouched over the furs, explored them with delicate fingers and recoiled. They were warm.

  She closed her eyes, gathered control, then spoke without moving, distinctly and carefully.

  “Do not kill me, Dark One. I come as a friend.”

  She opened her eyes, waited. From the shadows came a low growl, then a ragged grey timber wolf emerged. He was large for a wolf. Three feet tall at the shoulders, six feet long. His head and neck hair were erect. Yellow eyes were lethal. His teeth showed as another low growl moved past them.

  Cobra lowered her lids, held her place without moving.

  A low harsh command came from a shadow somewhere behind her. “The wood beside the fireplace! Put it on the fire.”

  Cobra rose carefully and walked slowly to the fireplace. She covertly returned the tiny dagger to its hidden sheath, then stoked the glowing embers into a flame with an iron poker, and placed four logs one by one on the fire. A moment passed before they burst into flames, filling the root cave with flickering orange light. She warmed her hands, then sighed, a faint whistling sound.

  “Be quiet and turn around,” said the voice.

  Turning slowly, she said, “Forgive me, I have traveled alone a great distance to see you. I am weary.”

  Gath of Baal’s head and part of his bare chest glowed in the firelight across the room. The rest of him was hidden in inky black shadow. His chiseled head, sculpted by moving shadows, had a harsh savage beauty. Wild, knife-cut, black hair fell to brawny neck. His lips were wide, flat, and sensually sculpted, while his nose was square. His eyes hid in the dark shadows of a blunt brow crusted with thick eyebrows. A thin smooth scar ran from the left corner of his mouth to his chin.

  The color in Cobra’s cheeks flamed. Her voice became a husky whisper. “Thank you… for sparing me.”

  His eyes seemed to look off at nothing, yet see everything. He listened, then shot Cobra a brutal glance. “You lie.”

  He strode out of his concealing shadow and moved, not toward Cobra, but to the stairwell. There he stopped short, and the firelight probed his muscular flesh. He was naked except for a loin cloth. A long thick dagger protruded from his left hand. His right was balled in a fist, Cobra gasped sharply with sudden fear.

  The head of the huge Sadoulette dropped down out of the stairwell and floated in the air with its yellow eyes level with Gath’s grey. It hissed, spread its jaws wide showing Gath fangs no longer than the blades of a pitchfork.

  Gath’s cocked body exploded with rippling muscle and his balled fist drove up at the snake’s head. Its hammer end caught the reptile’s left jaw flush, drove the head up at an angle, crushed its skull against the sharp edge formed by the end of the stairwell and the wall of the cave. There was a loud crack.

  Cobra winced.

  The head of the dazed python dropped onto the stairs, its body convulsing. Gath kicked it out of his way, moved up the stairwell to the landing. There he hauled the dying snake up and threw its tangled body through the doorway. It was too large and stuck in the doorjamb. Gath kicked it the rest of the way out, then closed the door, slamming the locking beam shut. He then picked a yellow stone off the ground, placed the stone in the open shaft which cradled the locking beam at a position between the end of the beam and a hole carved out of the bottom of the shaft. When he turned, Cobra was standing at the base of the stairwell watching him.

  She said, “You are a careful man.”

  He said, “You are careless.”

  He moved down the stairs, took her by the elbow, guided her roughly to the fireplace. There he took hold of her black velvet cape, ripped it open breaking the tie thongs and revealing a tunic of gold cloth. She did not protest or struggle. He stripped the cape off her, then shook it out. Finding nothing hidden within, he tossed it aside, looked at her. The jeweled handle of the tiny sheathed dagger glittered on her forearm. The whites of his eyes became cold within the shadows of his brow. Firelight danced there, as if it came from within rather than without.

  Cobra took a step back trembling and said accusingly, “He would not have hurt you. He was only for my protection on the trail. You had no need to kill him!”

  He muttered with a low, thick coarse voice that made words unnecessary.

  The metallic petals of her scaled skullcap and cape shimmered wetly with fear from her toes to her flushed cheeks. Her breasts heaved.

  “Take them off!” He spoke as he moved to the fire. He picked up a large stick, thrust it into the fire. She did not move. When he turned to face her, the stick burned like a torch.

  She smiled uncertainly, and unbuckled the clasp at her throat saying, “Whatever you wish. I have nothing to hide… not from you.” She pushed her skullcap back, let its cape drop off her arms, and her long hair cascaded down her back like black rain. She made no movement to remove her gown.

  He growled, “The gown.”

  She whispered, “The cloth is thin. You will have no trouble seeing what hides under it.” There was a teasing warmth in her tone.

  He passed the torch around and behind her. The gown glowed hotly, then the scales slowly dissolved and the cloth became a shimmering transparent amber. She was naked underneath. He grunted contemptuously.

  She stiffened sharply, insulted. Then, seeing that his cheeks had taken on a ruddy flush, a playfulness moved into her eyes.

  She asked, “Would you be happier if I had a tail? Or fangs?” She smiled widely, displaying perfect teeth.

  Scr
atching a naked hip, he studied her thoughtfully. The wolf rose, made his way toward Cobra sniffing the air, mane bristling and fangs bared. Growling, she said, “I do not please your pet.”

  “Sharn is not a pet. This was his home before it was mine.”

  His eyes stayed on Cobra as Sharn made his way across the room to the stairs. The wolf looked back once with cold eyes at Cobra, then bounded up the stairs into one of the crawl holes between the roots.

  Gath muttered, “He’ll see what other pets travel with you,” His nose twitched, and he pawed it with an open hand more in the manner of a cat than a man. Then he stared at her, naked of expression.

  She appraised him openly. As she did, her lips parted, her breathing quickened. The rose tint in her cheeks spread to her chin, and the scarlet of her lips brightened. Abruptly she turned away, moved to the fire and sat in front of it. She looked into the fire, hiding her face from Gath. Slowly her gown regained its scales and gold color.

  He shifted uncomfortably, moving sideways to see her face and suddenly stopped.

  Her body had altered slightly under the gown. Her curves, which had been supple and sensual, now only looked pleasingly comfortable. When she turned to Gath, there was no color on her face except that made by sunshine and good health. Her smile was still playful, but in a manner that made fun of herself, not him.

  She said, “I should have known better than to try and sneak up on you.”

  He ignored her moved to the table, leaned against it and drank from the wine jar.

  She started to say something, stopped herself. She turned back to the fire, then spoke in an even, modulated tone:

  “I know that it angers you to have me, a mere woman, find and enter your hidden lair as easily as if you had put up signs showing the way and given me a key. I know the pains you take to avoid the outside world. But I had no choice. I can change my appearance… but not my nature. I use the darkness and certain powers I have to enter where ever my desires lead me. Often,” she laughed, “with dark intent.” She turned to him, void of guile. “But I meant you no harm. You are far too valuable just as you are. Alive. Powerful. And so… so savage.” The color was back in her cheeks before she finished. Feeling it, she looked away.

  His voice was low. “What do you want?”

  “Please, allow me to finish,” she said to the fire. “You must understand, I have a thousand eyes. Ten thousand. And they have watched you for many months.” She turned to him. “But I had to see for myself, with my own eyes, that you came away from the battle with the Kitzakk scouts unhurt.”

  “You lie,” he said. His tone was harsh, wise. “If your thousand eyes can measure the man, they can measure his wounds.”

  Cobra flinched, looked away. A moment passed. Her shoulders lost strength, rounded. Her voice lost its music, became weak, shrill. She said, “I have been too long in human form. My natural skills have deserted me… at least with you.” She hesitated. “That… that is why I was afraid… and called for my friend. I… I shouldn’t have. It’s my fault you killed him.”

  Gath studied her back, took another swallow, studied her some more.

  She turned to him, looked him directly in the eye, said, “You are right, I lied. I knew you were hardly wounded. The entire forest knows it. The Grillard minstrels tell your tale at every road crossing, in every village square.” She hesitated, laughed quietly at herself. “Oh yes, I knew. The scouts were child’s play for you. They taught you nothing… were no test at all.” She turned back to the fire, softened her voice. “My true reason for coming is your strength. Because I… I need your help… your protection.”

  He took two swallows of wine. Between them he muttered, “More lies.”

  “I don’t blame you,” she said. “I have become so human, I now find it hard to trust a serpent myself.” She picked up her cloak, stood, smiled with self-mockery as she looked at him. “I’ll go now. I won’t bother you again.”

  She moved for the stairwell. He watched her, then stepped into a shadow, came away with his axe and flung it.

  The blade buried itself in the first step, brought her to an abrupt stop. She looked at him. There was a hot, challenging glint in her eyes.

  She said, “If you are asking me to stay, I accept.”

  “Who sent you here?” he demanded sharply. “Who is your master?”

  “I believe I have already told you that,” she said. There was a reckless abandon in her throaty whisper. “You are, Gath. You are my master.”

  Seven

  SERPENT’S KISS

  Cobra waited for Gath’s reaction, but he showed nothing in reply to her declaration of servitude. Taking a circuitous route, she paused to warm her hands at the fire and idly fondle a wine jar on the table, then sauntered toward him. She looked up into his eyes, and he looked away. After a moment she said softly, “They tell me that the forest women blush like little girls and giggle hotly when they say your name.”

  His jaw was clenched. He seemed no more interested than the underside of a rock.

  The playfulness left her. “I don’t blame you. You are different.” Her breath quickened. “All the others were afraid of me.”

  His dark mysterious eyes turned on her and blood suddenly gorged his cheeks. She lifted fingertips, touched one. His wide lips parted. His breathing became harsh, brutal. She moved close. Her breasts, stomach, thighs touched him.

  She whispered, “You will let me go… afterwards?”

  He put an arm around her, pulled her gently but firmly against him until her feet dangled above the floor. She coiled her arms around him, purred. He kissed her throat, the lobe of her ear.

  She moaned with pleasure, pleading, “Oh, yes.”

  He carried her to the alcove, spread her on his bed of furs with forceful but strangely gentle hands, like she had no more will than a blanket. She started to rise, feeling obliged to protest, and his lips met hers, forced her back down into the furs. His hands moved inside her garment, kneading her flesh, and the cloth surrendered, ripping away. He rolled her over slowly, fingers and lips invading naked swell and hollow. He could have broken her like a twig, but his tenderness was more powerful. It enslaved her, and she surrendered, gasping into the furs. His hands took hold of shoulder and hip, turning and lifting her body to his, then joining them. Her body arched back gasping, and her eyes came open with wonder and awe and love. Out of control, her body convulsed against him in serpentine passion, as if her bones were made of butter.

  When they had finished, he kissed her florid cheek, and returned to the main room. He opened another wine jar, sat back against the edge of the table, and drank, watching the firelight play on Cobra’s flushed, moist body.

  Slowly her breathing came back under control, and she stood. Arranging her tom garment about her, she moved to the table and poured water from the pitcher into a bowl. Dipping her hands in the cold water, she held them against her burning cheeks. Then she sat on a stool in front of the fire, opened her pouch, removed a mirror and arranged her mussed hair under her skullcap. Using a vial of red paste taken from her pouch, she applied fresh color to her lips with the tip of a little finger. Finished, she glanced over her shoulder and acknowledged Gath with a big dark eye saying, “I’d like some wine.”

  He removed a cup from the shelf behind the table, and filled it as she joined him. Lifting the cup to her lips with two hands, Cobra stared past the rim at his brutal male flesh. Moist. Curls of soft black hair glistening like a panther’s on his chest. She sipped the wine, then murmured, “You have surprised me once more, Dark One. You live and feed like an animal, but you do not make love like one.”

  “You are disappointed?” There was a subtle mockery in his tone.

  She chuckled throatily, and said, “Hardly.” She moved close, her body again touching him, and her eyes holding his. Color rushed into her cheeks, and the sound of her breathing filled the room. A soft, vulnerable woman, yet proud, demanding.

  “I want you again,” she whispered. “Now.�
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  Gath could not look away. She pressed against his chest, her lips slightly parted, her fragrant breath on his throat, cheeks. His lips lowered to meet hers. Without warning her eyes turned dead yellow, her cheeks ballooned like the cobra’s hood and venom spat past her wet red lips.

  The poison splashed across Gath’s open eyes, sizzled in his hair above his ear. Blinded him.

  He grabbed for Cobra. She was gone, had recoiled, or jumped away. He did not know which. He roared, lunged about, kicked the table over with his thigh splattering cups and wine jars in all directions.

  Cobra backed against the wall near the stairwell, watched. There was pain, fear in her wide-open eyes.

  Gath reeled, ran into a wall and it punched him to the floor. He lay dazed on his back for a brief moment, then rolled upright onto all fours, growling. He started to rise as the poison hit his spine, spread into his nerves. By the time he tottered to his feet, the best he could do was fall back down.

  Cobra watched him flounder on the floor for awhile, then said coolly, “Do not fight it, Dark One. There will be no permanent harm. You will not be able to move for a few hours… but then you will be fine.”

  He replied by rolling over on his back and twitching violently, then he lay still. His eyes were glazed. He could see nothing, feel nothing.

  Cobra removed a small empty turquoise jar from her pouch. She unplugged it, kneeled beside Gath, set the jar on the floor. Then, using her tiny dagger, she trimmed his fingernails and cut away a thick tuft of his pubic hair. These she placed in the jar. Using the edge of the blade, she gathered spittle from his lips, put it in the jar, then plugged the jar, put it in her pouch, and removed a brown earthenware vial. She uncorked it, lifted Gath’s head, poured the contents into his choking throat saying, “This will ease the pain while you recover.”