Rise of the Death Dealer

by James Silke

  “Shhh, bukko,” she said quietly. “Optimism makes me nauseous, particularly in the morning.” He laughed. “If you’re afraid he won’t go along with our plans, don’t be. He knows little about maps or sorcery or castles, and he’ll listen to me… you can count on that.”

  “I am counting on it,” she said frankly, and suddenly smiled. “Here they come.”

  Gath and Robin had emerged from the forest riding the black stallion. She sat behind the huge Barbarian, hanging on to him with one hand and using the other to wipe smudges off her cheeks. His scabbed face was slightly more beastlike than his bloody chain mail, and her cloak was filthy, badly torn.

  Twenty paces behind them, Jakar followed on the dappled grey. He held the broken pieces of his crossbow, and there was a ragged bandage wrapped around his forehead, just above an expression of angry humiliation. But there was no surrender in his eyes, only bitter resolve, more than the bukko thought was healthy for one so young.

  “Holy Zard!” Brown John exclaimed. “Look at them! You’d think Robin was playing the ravaged bride in Up by Lamplight and that both Jakar and Gath had done the ravaging. Well, this is no time to worry about it. They’re safe, that’s what counts.” He turned to Cobra. “Leave it to me now.”

  “Of course,” she said. “It’s your plot.” Her smile was flattering enough to make a three-legged chair behave like it had four.

  Grinning as if he deserved such flattery, he moved to Robin as Gath reined up beside the water trough. “By Veshta, lass,” he sighed, helping her down, “I am glad to see you.” He glanced up at Gath. “And you too, friend.”

  Gath nodded behind an easy smile, and their eyes shared that silent trust and understanding which bonded them, both instantly seeing that each knew the gravity and size of the danger Robin now faced.

  “What’s the plot, old friend?” Gath asked from his saddle.

  “We’re going on the road again!” Brown John answered, his eyes becoming reckless. “But there will be no army to lead this time. It will just be the five of us.” He took Robin by the elbow, guiding her toward the wagon. “And you, lass, must get suitably dressed. We leave as soon as possible.”

  “But where are we going?”

  “That will all be explained later. All you have to understand is that from this moment on, we are no longer Grillards, but low, vulgar, outlawed traveling players. The very worst you could imagine! Whores and whoremasters.” The glint in his eyes danced at the prospect. “So you must dress like it. Rags would be preferable, and don’t wash. The filthier you are, the better.”

  She nodded, also liking the excitement of the idea. “And my hair?”

  “We’ll dye it once we’re under way.” He chuckled. “Butterfly, we’re going to take the stage away from these demons, and your part is essential. Now hurry! Hurry!”

  He opened the wagon door and pushed her stumbling up the iron rung steps and inside, closing it after her.

  The bukko sighed and glanced back at the trough. Gath and Jakar had dismounted and were watering their horses, as Cobra watched. Jakar’s ear was caked with blood, and it stained the water as he washed his face. Brown John moved to him and asked, “Are you all right, lad? Can you travel?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Jakar said.

  “I’m not,” Brown John said bluntly. “What I want to know is, are you able to drive a wagon? A big one?” Jakar glanced at the bukko’s huge house wagon and nodded. “Good!” the bukko exclaimed. “Then our cast is set.”

  Gath glanced at the large house wagon. Its red paint was nearly gone now, and the elderly Grillards were still loading it with provisions. “A long journey?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Brown John said flatly. “North to Small Tree, then directly west across the Barrier Mountains into the Forbidden Lands.” He smiled. “We’re going to hide Robin in the one place they will never think to look for her.” He paused dramatically. “And steal the means to destroy her enemies.”

  Gath thought about that, then looked at the surrounding forest. “And the spies watching us now?”

  “By the time we reach Small Tree,” he looked at Cobra, “she will have devised a way to draw them out so you can get rid of them. After that, with proper disguises, no one will have any idea who we truly are. There will be dangers, of course, there always are in the Forbidden Lands. But those hunting Robin will never think to look for her there.”

  “Our destination?” Gath asked.

  “The castle of the Nymph Queen… Pyram.” Gath’s eyes questioned him, and he added, “I know, nobody knows where Pyram is. Nobody, that is, except for the trusted agents of the Master of Darkness.”

  Gath and Jakar both turned to Cobra, and she nodded without expression.

  “Actually,” Brown John continued, “Cobra does not know the way herself. But she knows where we can obtain a map.” He smiled knowingly at Cobra. “It’s in a grotto, somewhere within the Barrier Mountains. More than that, she refuses to tell us… at least for now.” He turned back to Gath. “She will only guide us to the map if we give our word she will be allowed to accompany us all the way to Pyram.” Gath, his hard eyes on Cobra, chuckled accusingly. “Just what is there in Pyram that she wants so much?”

  “I’ll answer that, bukko,” Cobra said, her voice cold and flat. “Within Tiyy’s castle there is a treasure, one of extraordinary proportions. If we are able to steal even a portion of it, and with your help I think there is more than a reasonable chance of that, then my share would provide me the means with which to regain my wealth… and power.”

  Gath hesitated, his eyes boring into hers, then turned to the bukko. “Just what are we going to steal, Brown?”

  “The answer to all our problems, friend,” Brown John replied. The glint behind his eyes was suddenly as reckless as a bouncing rubber ball descending a flight of stairs. “Pyram’s is no ordinary treasure, but a fabled one. Gems not only worth a world’s ransom, but spilling over with magical powers. Diamonds, rubies and sapphires which have been hidden from the sight of ordinary men for a thousand years… the jewels of the holy White Veshta, the Goddess of Light.”

  Gath glanced suspiciously at Cobra and she nodded. “They are there, Dark One. They have been there since long, long ago when my former master subdued the White Veshta and gave them to his favored consort, the Black Veshta. And I know where they are kept… I grew up in Pyram.”

  Brown John chuckled with relish. “You see, Gath, it’s the perfect plot. We can’t fail. And once we steal them, all we have to give her is two or three stones as payment for her part.”

  “As I said before, bukko,” Cobra said flatly, “we will discuss my payment after we have seen the stones and measured their wealth and powers.”

  “Yes, of course,” agreed Brown John, his eyes on Gath. “But there is bound to be plenty for all.” Gath asked Cobra, “No one has seen the jewels?”

  “No one… except for Tiyy, the Nymph Queen.” Gath studied her erect figure as the morning sunlight sculpted her voluptuous body with brilliant white-gold light, hiding nothing, yet enhancing her mystery. Then, without looking at his friend, he said in a matter-of-fact tone, “She’s enchanted you, Brown. Made you believe her lies.”

  “No! No!” the bukko protested. “This entire scheme is my idea. I’ve known for years that the sacred jewels were held in Pyram, and it was only by chance that she mentioned she knew of a map leading there.”

  “She says nothing by chance,” Gath said, his eyes holding Cobra’s.

  Brown John looked at the serpent woman warily, then said, “Perhaps you’re right. But it makes no difference. If the map leads anyplace other than Pyram, Jakar will tell us. He’s seen it. From a great distance, it’s true, but there’s no mistaking it, is there, lad?” Jakar shook his head, and the bukko added, “Besides, an opportunity like this simply cannot be ignored, regardless of the risks. These jewels are a veritable cornucopia of magical wonders. They have the power to turn the entire world upside down, and then make it over i
n the manner it should have been made in the first place. And we… you and I, Gath of Baal,” he held out upturned hands, “we can hold them in our hands… set them free!”

  Gath eyed him skeptically.

  “I know it sounds mad,” the old man said, his tone deliberately mocking himself. “The road will be plagued with demons which only Black Veshta herself can imagine. But if you and I aren’t the ones to jump off cliffs and attempt the impossible, then no one will. Besides, isn’t this precisely what you want to do? Stealing the jewels would strike a blow at the Master of Darkness far greater than even you dreamed of. The jewels are the source of power with which the sorceress Tiyy, by corrupting their powers of light into those of darkness, creates her unholy demon spawn.” Gath’s eyes hardened, and the bukko added, “There’s also a very personal reason for you to steal them.”

  He turned to Cobra expectantly, and she said, “Tiyy used the powers of the jewels to fashion the horned helmet… and the power that gives the helmet control over you is the same power that can remove it.”

  Gath’s eyes smiled, and he said, “I suddenly like your plot, old friend.”

  “I thought you might,” said the bukko. “But there is one danger we should discuss before beginning. Once this Nymph Queen finds out she has the wrong girl, she will undoubtedly send this sharkman back to find her. And since we are entering her domain on the road by which he will be returning, there is the chance we may meet him. In that event we should avoid him… but Cobra fears the helmet may not let you. In fact, she fears if you put the helmet back on, there will be no need for these demons to come after Robin… that you’ll do their work for them.” He hesitated, then added, “I, for one, don’t think you’ll give in to that headpiece, not for a minute! But I promised I’d question you.”

  Gath smiled, and glanced at Cobra, saying, “Have no fear, woman. I will do whatever I have to do.” His tone carried the finality of a hammered nail.

  “Then it begins,” Brown John chortled, and Gath nodded.

  On cue, the door of the red wagon swung open, and Robin tripped lightly down the steps. Seeing everyone look at her, she came to an embarrassed stop and covered her breasts with her arms. Then, laughing at herself, she lowered her arms and presented herself, turning in the morning sunlight. She wore a skirt of bright yellow rags low on narrow hips, a band of fuchsia cloth that conformed to high, firm breasts the way the skin of the pear conforms to the pear, and sunlight in her red-gold hair. There was no make-up on her face, except for the rouge of excitement.

  Brown John murmured approvingly, “Well done, child, well done.”

  “Is… is it all right?” blurted Robin.

  “Nearly perfect, child,” extolled the bukko, “but bind your breasts in black. The fuchsia is too rich.” Robin, nodding, bounded back inside the wagon, closing the door behind her, and Brown John turned back to the others.

  Cobra’s eyes shimmered like becalmed molten gold, and her voice was low as she spoke to the stagemaster, “I don’t mean to insult your theatrical skills, bukko, but if the girl is to succeed in drawing out these spies, she is going to have to play her new role, not with an entertainer’s idea of the sins of the flesh, but with a sinner’s… and I know the part.”

  “I am sure you do,” agreed the bukko.

  “Exactly, so I suggest you allow me to prepare all elements of her performance, including her wardrobe… just as we discussed.”

  “So we did,” Brown John said reluctantly. “But you’d be smart to let her get involved. She’s clever.”

  “She’ll be involved, believe me.” Cobra turned to Gath. “I presume, Dark One, that you agree to these arrangements, and will allow me to use the girl to draw these spies out… without interfering?”

  Gath drank from the trough using his hands, then said, “If she’s hurt, in any way…”

  “Don’t threaten me,” Cobra interrupted, her voice a commanding purr. “It’s useless. We are joined now like links of a chain, and you cannot change it. You want the jewels now as much as you wanted the helmet… even more. Because only they can set you free. And without me… you will never see them.” She hesitated, then added, “Will you cooperate or not?”

  Gath nodded, but the threat remained in his eyes. “Don’t worry,” Cobra said lightly. “The trick she will perform is one any mountain girl can do. But she is not only going to have to dress the part of the whore… she’s going to have to play it.”

  Eighteen

  ON THE ROAD

  The wagon, two days out of Rag Camp, rumbled north on Hog-Scald Road in the territory called Small Tree. Earlier, it had passed through the lands of the Kaven and Dowat tribes, and three times had met parties of Barhacha woodsmen on the road. But not a single member of these tribes had recognized the vehicle as their king’s.

  The carriage’s wheels and shafts were now scraped clean, and fetishes rattled on the bloated body: bones, gourds, beads, flapping rabbit ears and the pelts of leopard, tiger and lynx. They were nailed to the driver’s box, the doorways, windows and sideboards, and mixed with them were bilious red and orange signs and numerals sacred to the deities of lechery, Zatt, Chuzz, Bajat and Yang.

  All together, the wagon’s appearance was not quite as civilized as a gorilla wearing a codpiece, and it moved with the grace of an armadillo making love to a fast duck.

  Jakar sat in the box, holding the reins, and the bukko snoozed beside him.

  Sounds of approaching horses joined the racket, and Jakar stood abruptly, glanced back across the flat roof.

  Five riders had emerged from a forest trail, and were following the wagon, drawing closer and closer. A mangy bunch of freebooters, they carried crude spears and naked swords, and wore soiled leather armor. Blistering rashes on their bare arms and bald heads were crimson in the sunshine, and they were drinking in their saddles from wine jars. Coming close, they waved at Jakar and shouted crude words of welcome, then fell back, avoiding the wagon’s dust.

  Jakar acknowledged them with a wave and smile, sat back down and stared thoughtfully ahead. The riders appeared to be following for no other reason than the obvious one, that the wagon’s occupants promised to provide a bawdy performance when it stopped for the night. On the other hand, the riders might be the demon spies the troupe had to destroy before it could leave the forest basin.

  Jakar two-handed the reins, pulling back and slowing the horses as they rounded a bend and headed down a long straight tree-lined lane. Forty paces ahead, the broad back of the huge Barbarian came into view, leading the way on his stallion.

  Gath of Baal now wore a black bearskin, a weapon belt, fur-trimmed boots and the shiny brass armbands of a macco, a strongman. Both he and his mount were stained with grease and trail dust, and their black hair was matted and tangled with burrs and bits of leaf. Jakar could not see Gath’s face, but he was certain that the large man’s expression was his normal one, about as tame as the bear who had provided his new clothing.

  The young nobleman glanced back at the following riders and nudged Brown John. The old man did not respond. With entwined hands resting on his paunch, he jiggled and tossed, lost to his dreams.

  Both the bukko and Jakar now wore dusty, stained tunics, sewn from rags, over their unwashed bodies. Their belts, pouches and weapons were embroidered with colored wooden beads, and loop earrings dangled amid greasy tangled hair. Coiled around Brown John’s neck was a coarse red whip, the scepter of the traveling whoremaster.

  Jakar nudged his king again, and shouted over the clattering wheels and creaking body of the wagon, “Time to wake up, bukko! Your plot just added a whole new set of characters.”

  Brown John came awake with a start, and sat up rubbing his eyes. “What’s that? What did you say?”

  “Take a look behind us.”

  The bukko yawned and stretched, then turned in his seat and looked back at the following riders.

  One of them howled wildly, pitched a wine jar against a tree for no apparent reason. It crashed loudly, d
rawing howls from the others. Not manlike howls, but a high-pitched squealing.

  Jakar put an eye on the startled bukko. “What do you think? Do we stop and let Gath murder them?” Brown John scowled and faced to the front, saying patiently, “We can’t go around killing people, lad, just because they look suspicious. We have to make sure we’ve got the right ones.”

  “I know,” said Jakar lightly, “I just thought he might be hungry.”

  Brown John scolded him with his brown eyes, and nodded with the back of his head at the riders. “How long have they been there?”

  “They just showed up.” He put a wary eye on the old man. “If that’s the bunch Robin is supposed to arouse, all she’s going to need is a coat of oil and a tambourine!”

  The bukko laughed easily and said, “There is more to it than that, lad, a great deal more. With the riffraff you find camped on the road, Robin’s kind of beauty can be a detriment if not presented properly. It is too far out of their reach, and that offends them. Shames them. Makes them aware of their own sorry lives. They wouldn’t pay and ’ave to look on Robin stark naked, and if they did, they’d only laugh with scorn at her inadequate breasts and buttocks, and demand their silver back.”

  “Is that right?” asked Jakar mockingly.

  “Yes,” the bukko said importantly. “The art, Jakar, is to make Robin appear as if she is one of them. The best of them, of course, and the most beautiful… but still one of them. Otherwise she is inaccessible, not only to their hands but to their minds and the secret passions in their hearts.”

  “I see, and you’re going to let this serpent woman who was, and may still be, in league with the Master of Darkness decide just how accessible?”

  “Precisely. She’s dressing her now.”

  “You’re taking quite a risk, aren’t you?”

  Brown John nodded firmly. “It’s what I do best.”

  “Oh?” said Jakar with an arched eyebrow. “Well, from where I sit, Robin’s the one taking the risk.” That removed Brown John’s proud expression, and Jakar added, “We’ll make Upper Small by nightfall. With an early start tomorrow, we could reach the Barrier Mountains by mid-day. So, if we’re going to kill anybody, we better do it tonight.”