Rise of the Death Dealer

by James Silke

  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.

  When she caught sight of him, a rush of excitement flushed her cheeks, and she hurried to catch up. After three strides, she slowed abruptly, shocked by her actions. She was acting like a slave, and enjoying it.

  EIGHT

  THE HUNTED

  Concealed by a boulder, Cobra stood knee-deep in the forest pool bathing. Moonlight filtered through the surrounding pines, dappling her creamy shoulders and back. The rest of her was as dark as the night, invisible against the forest shadows. Finishing, she waded quietly to the boulder and, bracing herself with her hands, raised up on her toes and peeked over the crest.

  A campfire flickered in a small clearing beyond the boulder. The remains of a roasted deer were spitted over it. Beyond the fire, Gath sat against a thick oak. His weapons and armor were piled beside him, and he was naked except for loincloth and helmet. The headpiece hung heavily between his massive shoulders, and his burnished chest heaved impatiently.

  Cobra stared in awe and wonder, marveling at the mere sight of him. Huge. Male. The most deadly force to walk the earth, and he needed her, was dependent on her. The knowledge made her senses wilt with unruly pleasure. It was almost girlish, not only enslaving her senses, but her mind and heart.

  Realizing that a decidedly unqueenly blush had risen to her cheeks, Cobra slipped back behind the rock. She dipped her hands in the cold water and held them to her hot cheeks, then did it again and again until they cooled. She splashed her body with water so that tiny droplets flickered on her flesh like moving moonlit jewels, then waded out of the pool into the firelight. There she stood drying herself with her back to Gath, wearing her nudity with the same audacious glitter with which midnight wears the shooting star.

  She could hear his helmet grate against its chain-mail cowl, then his dry, harsh voice growled, “Hurry it, bitch.”

  Stroking the drops of water off her body, she asked, “Is it growing too heavy for you?”

  “Just get over here.”

  “I’m coming,” she said, but it sounded like a long, time-consuming trip.

  Piled at her feet were ragged garments and a small dish of rose-tinted rouge she had made from talidda and tamal berries gathered from the forest. She applied the rouge to cheeks, lips and breasts using her little finger, then tied her hair back with a scarlet rag and dressed herself in silver loop earrings, indigo robe and cloak and rawhide boots. She tied the robe about her narrow waist with a scarlet rope, then moved toward Gath.

  The stallion, standing in the shadows of the oak, moved restlessly as she approached, and she glided to the animal, reached out a soft hand to its muzzle. “Do I disturb you, pet?” She glanced down at Gath and sidled toward him, deliberately stopping in front of the fire so that it cast a red-orange halo around her hair and shoulders, and her shadow over his body.

  The helmet’s eye slits glowed hot and menacing in the darkness. “What are you waiting for?” he snarled. “You’ve had what you asked for.”

  “Yes,” she said evenly, “and I am strong now. But first, I want to say something. I can help you, Gath of Baal, help you in ways that no one else can. And I will take risks for you… risks that you can’t even conceive of.” She moved beside him and slowly sat down, straddling his thighs. Sensual. In control. His hands took hold of her hip and armpit, drawing her close, and she came willingly. Her hands slid along his arms to his shoulders, caressing them as if she had sculpted them herself, and her voice purred heatedly. “You see, even now I am tempted to risk making love to you before removing the helmet, if that is your desire?”

  Flames spit from the eye slits, singeing her hair, and she ducked, but did not pull away.

  “Don’t hate me because you need me,” she whispered. “It’s not my fault… and I won’t betray you. It will be our secret.”

  The helmet’s flames licked her throat, and she flinched with pain, but still did not pull away. “Yes,” she murmured, her voice breathless, “I’d take that risk, and cherish it. But I can give you more than momentary pleasure, Gath of Baal. I can find the Lord of Death’s most powerful demon spawn for you, and my sorcery can help you conquer their kingdoms, take their wealth and power for yourself.” She hesitated, then her fingers and words stroked him. “Let me help you Gath, and you can build an empire… one that will rival the underworld itself.” His fingers bit into her flesh. “You’d use me to rebuild your kingdom, is that it?”

  “No,” she protested firmly. “I want nothing for myself… except to serve you and enjoy the game of death, the pleasures of victory.” She leaned forward within his grasp, daring the helmet’s flames. “I hunger for them, just as you do.”

  “Remove it.” A flat command.

  She nodded and took hold of the horns. Flames spit from the helmet, but she held on and called out in a howling hiss to the Master of Darkness. She dropped forward onto her knees and her back arched, throwing her head back. Her eyes closed, and she pulled. Pebbles bit painfully into her kneecaps. Perspiration moistened her palms, and she tightened her grip, knuckles turning white.

  The helmet abruptly inched up, exposing his neck, and Gath heaved beneath her, sensing impending relief. She strained against the horns, pushing now, and the helmet rose higher, the stubble of beard on his chin appearing. Suddenly a flash of fiery pain went through her neck, and the horns seemed to grow within her grasp. She tried to hold on, but her body suddenly emptied of strength, and her arms dropped away lifelessly. The helmet sank back in place, and she fell against his chest, sobbing.

  “I can’t… I can’t do it.”

  “Yes you can.” he growled, and pushed her erect, drawing her hands back to the horns. “I’ll help you.”

  His fingers crushed her hands against the horns and pushed, but she felt nothing, no pain, no strength, only numbness from fingertip to elbow.

  “Push!” he grunted.

  “It’s no use, I… I haven’t the strength anymore. I… I’m empty.”

  He dropped her hands and stared at her. The glow had fled from his eyes. They were white and cold with shock behind the eye slits, and she could see why. Her eyes, reflected on the helmet’s shimmering metallic surface, glittered wetly with tears that were all too human.

  “You’ve lost your powers.” An accusation.

  She nodded. “I’m sorry, I… I…” She stopped, not knowing what to say. Her nerves and emotions were jangled, and she suddenly had no appetite for blood, no hunger for the triumph of the clandestine kill, no queenly majesty, no carnal desire. All she felt was shame for
having failed her lover.

  The flat of his hand caught the side of her face and she hit the ground, rolled over on her back amid his weapons and glittering chain mail. When she looked up, he was on his hands and knees straddling her. “You lied,” he snarled.

  “No,” she pleaded. “I didn’t know. I… I thought my powers would return, but…”

  “You’re dying?”

  “No, no! I’ll be all right. But I’m no longer the queen. I’m powerless, returning to my normal nature.”

  His eyes questioned her. “Normal?”

  She nodded bitterly. “Soon I’ll be nothing again. Just as I was when I first entered his service. A penniless, helpless woman!”

  He hesitated, then asked, “Can you get your powers back?”

  She shook her head. “Only the Nymph Queen of Pyram can do that, and her castle is many days from here. The helmet would kill you before we could reach it. Besides, she serves the Master of Darkness. She’d do everything in her power to kill you.”

  “Then you’re useless.”

  “No,” she protested, “I can still help you.” Ignoring her, he picked up his axe and stood over her, placing the cutting edge against her throat. She caught hold of it, trying to force it away. “Don’t be a fool! You need me. Robin Lakehair is the only one who can remove the helmet now, but she’s in danger! You’ve got to go to her before it’s too late. Now!” He glared at her, unrelenting.

  “You’ve got to believe me!” she pleaded. “She’s in terrible danger.”

  He laughed at her.

  “Then trust the helmet. If I were trying to deceive you… if there were any threat to you in me at all, the metal would sense it. But it doesn’t. If it did, there would be fire in your eyes and the horns would be hot.” He relaxed the pressure, and she added, “Trust me, Gath. The Lakehair girl is your only hope, and I can help you save her.”