by James Silke
What did she know about the sacred jewels that she wasn’t telling them? And why was he allowing her to put Robin in danger? Did he truly believe the sacred jewels were worth risking her safety? Or were the jewels already enchanting him, filling his mind with wishful thinking and making him act like a foolish old man?
By the time he reached the roof, he was laughing quietly at himself. But when he saw a clearing up ahead amid tall pines, Upper Small where Robin would dance, he stopped short.
Twenty
UPPER SMALL
Cobra waited for her cue at the side of the wagon with Gath, spear in hand, standing beside her. Their bodies were enveloped in black cloaks and the blacker night, only the alert whites of their eyes showing as they watched Brown John start the performance.
The bukko stood between the wagon and a long, low campfire, juggling five flaming torches. Robin, covered by a long black cloak, and Jakar stood behind the bukko banging tambourines. He tossed one of the torches high into the air; it revolved brightly against the backdrop of towering trees surrounding the clearing, then lost force against the indigo sky and fell with a rush of light back into his hand, as nimbly as if it were attached with an elastic string.
The audience, gathered on the ground beyond the campfire, exhaled with pleasure, the orange firelight flickering on the booted legs, gnarled knees and brutish faces of those in the front rows. The bulk of the small crowd was lost in the receding darkness, except for an occasional glitter on the tip of spear or helmet. Not ten paces beyond the gathering, tall pines marked the edge of the clearing, and within the trees several small fires glowed, illuminating tethered horses and a pair of wagons.
Cobra, growing impatient, edged forward, sniffing the stench of male sweat, rank hair, leather, metal and horses coming from the audience. The scent of burning stone was mixed in them, and she whispered, “They’re here.”
“Where?” murmured Gath, and she lifted empty hands, not knowing.
When Brown John finished juggling, the crowd roared, and he took a long drink from a jar, making his cheeks balloon comically, then moved around the campfire to the audience. Suddenly he blew fluid from his mouth, simultaneously setting it on fire with a torch, and flames spewed over startled faces. Several men howled and cursed gruffly, much to the amusement of the others, and Brown John moved nimbly along the front of the audience blowing more flames at the laughing, cringing bodies, illuminating them.
They belonged to outlaw warriors and mercenaries, hardened roughs who were no doubt on their way to the endless civil wars that plagued the Atalan Outlands in the north. Many were young, with eager faces looking forward to their first battle and first foreign whore. Others had had plenty of both, and it showed. Cruel scars laced cheeks and shoulders, and eyes were drunk with wine and lust. Several camp followers could be seen among the men, big-boned, hardy women with small hope in their eyes and the stains of food and men on their tattered tunics. At the back, apart from the others, sat the five bald riders who had followed the wagon earlier in the day. When the bukko’s flames lighted their bodies, their rashes showed brightly on faces and arms.
Cobra and Gath shared a sober glance and watched Brown John set fire to three small stacks of logs which had been placed about five feet from one another. The wood quickly erupted with flames, casting light throughout the small audience, and it grunted with expectation, gathering around the fires.
When Brown John joined Robin and Jakar and the three began to play a new tune, Cobra turned to Gath and whispered, “Watch me closely.”
He nodded, and she strode slowly out of the shadows, drawing sounds of lewd expectations from the audience. With haughty, deliberate movements she took a position in front of the fire and withdrew a tambourine, began to beat it lightly against a thigh, her eyes holding her audience captive. Long black hair framed the cool oval of her face, and her body was an undefinable blackness against the firelight. Carnal. Mysterious.
The crowd leaned forward, lowering big, meaty faces toward her, and the sounds of scratching and guttural anticipation mixed with the sounds of cricket and hoot owl.
Cobra tossed her shoulders, and her robe puddled at her feet.
She wore a soldier’s leather jerkin and a skirt of leather thongs. The garments were black and rent with ragged holes made by arrow, spear and fire. Showing through the openings was creamy perfect flesh trying vainly to hide itself, and the mercenaries’ eyes widened.
With her hips grinding teasingly to the tune of tambourine and drum, she advanced into the audience, stepping through rawboned thighs, armored chests and rough hands. Her eyes boldly met their leering eyes and shamelessly explored their muscular necks, ears and shoulders, as if flirting, but actually hunting for scales, bits of unnatural fur or pointed ears.
A tremor of suspicion made her stomach churn as her smile came to rest on a squat, hairy freebooter, and she coyly lifted his lank hair away from his ear to see if it was pointed, and ran a finger inside his mouth to find if the tongue was forked. They were not. Nearing the first small fire, she pushed another soldier off balance to see if he sat on a tail, but he did not.
She twirled slowly around the first fire, and the bukko’s drum picked up the tempo. Faster she twirled, and her skirt lifted, exposing long curved legs. The men grunted with pleasure, and she spun wildly over the fire, lowering her dark crotch toward the flames in the cleansing ritual of the whore. The fire licked at her, and its light probed among the holes of her rent garment, illuminating the underside of a full breast, the curve of hip, arched throat and crooning lips.
Cobra danced over all three fires, inspecting each member of the audience, including the five bald riders. None of them showed any overt sign of being demon spawn, and her stomach churned nervously. There was only one way left for her to search deeper, and despite her shame, she decided to use it.
She picked out one of the largest louts, a big heavy-set brute missing one ear and wearing the cocky snarl of the braggart soldier. She extended her booted foot toward him, implying that he could undress it. The lout did not understand, but his friends quickly explained it to him. Profoundly flattered, he laughed with bravado and took hold of the boot lovingly. Hand over hand, he slowly forced it off and, with his leering eyes held captive by Cobra’s wicked smile, caressed her naked foot.
The men around him suddenly howled and cursed, drawing away and touching their totems and groins and stomachs with superstitious gestures. The big lout looked at them, again not understanding what was happening, and they pointed at the foot he held, shouting incoherently. He chuckled, and not looking at what he was doing, bent over and kissed the hideous emerald-green and ice-blue scales.
At their touch, he dropped her foot, pulled away howling and fled stumbling and staggering through the laughing, hooting men.
Cobra, beating wildly on her tambourine and flashing her leg invitingly, twirled among the laughing men, testing them to see who might be unafraid. But they all drew away, wanting no contact with her blighted foot. She laughed at them, bowing, then passed among them as they cheered and tossed coins into a helmet she removed from one of them. Then the music of tambourine and drum began again, and they turned toward it.
Robin now stood behind the main fire. A short twisted rope of dark kamala leaves dangled from the corner of her mouth, its tip glowing and emitting a trail of smoke that angled skyward across rouged cheek and buzzard feathers dangling from dark red oiled hair. Her legs were spread wide, with hips aggressively cocked. With a fist propped on hipbone, she tapped her tambourine against a snapping bottom.
The men chuckled hotly and, taking her cue, began to clap in time.
Robin’s skirt barely reached her thighs, faded black rags and strings and crow feathers, and a short-sleeved leopard-skin halter held her breasts snugly. She was barefoot and brown and oiled, and glowed in the flickering firelight, the smoke drifting across her face, the perfect cosmetic for her smile. Savage. Animal. Hot.
The audience hooted and whistle
d approval, and Cobra, now moving silently behind the back rows, watched it with hunting eyes.
The outlaws and freebooters chuckled and poked each other, but their eyes never left the girl. The five bald riders behaved no differently, but got up and moved closer, scratching their rashes nervously.
Cobra followed them, staying in the shadows, and her breathing quickened. Nausea spilled into her stomach. She looked at Gath, saw he had edged closer to Robin, and then spotted Jakar: he now squatted on the roof of the wagon and held something out of sight in his hands, his loaded crossbow. She put her eyes back on the girl.
Robin had discarded her twist of leaves, and was twirling over the long, low campfire with her legs spread and banging her tambourine wildly. The low flames stirred, and seemed to reach for her thighs and groin. She slowly lowered her hips, her bent legs driving, and threw back her head gasping at the heat.
Drawing her knife, Cobra stopped within reach of the backs of the bald riders. They were bouncing in place, scratching furiously and clapping all at once.
Robin spun faster and faster along the campfire, losing herself to the sensual stroking of the flames, then abandoned herself to them. Sweat broke out on her upper lip. Her red mouth parted; her breasts heaved. Her hips snapped and pumped, and the flames, unable to resist her invitation, shot up around her legs booming and crackling. She danced further along the low fire, and the flames followed, striking at the sky as she passed by.
Her thighs and buttocks were marked with lightning bolts, scarabs, claw marks and numerals, 3, 9 and 33. They were cruel on her soft, smooth flesh, and the hard-bitten outlaws and freebooters stared with open mouths, transfixed. The distance between their eyes and her body had become a sacred place. Inviolate. Magic.
Cobra shot a glance at Brown John. His smile was satanic with raw joy and power, and his hands were thumping his drum, raising a sensual racket. She glanced to the side of the wagon, and her stomach knotted, her body flinched.
A red glow now showed in Gath’s eyes. Did it come from the firelight, or from within?
Cobra, trembling with fear, abruptly lifted her nose, scenting a suddenly strong odor of burning stone on the night air. She sniffed about, found the odor did not come from the bald riders and, gasping in sudden panic, raced around the audience toward the wagon as the smell grew stronger and stronger.
Reaching Gath, she whispered harshly, “They’re close now, but I can’t see them. You’ve got to…” She cut herself off with a sharp gasp, and pointed up.
The dark silhouettes of the overhanging pines were swaying fitfully, thrashing as if weighted down with something. Suddenly a small, dark object fell out of the darkness and hit the side of the wagon with a wet smack. They both jumped back, startled. Gath wiped the black smudge off the wagon with fingertips and sniffed them. His eyes became confused, and he put his fingers under Cobra’s nose. She sniffed them and drew back abruptly.
“Bats!” she gasped, then screamed.
A huge black object soared out of the night into the firelight directly above Robin. A bat the size of a well-fed border dog, and wearing gold loop earrings. The audience howled, and the bat dove, hit Robin in the shoulder and knocked her staggering back through the flames. She screamed, fell and rolled away from the fire. Her flesh was singed, and her hair and rags were smoking. She covered her head with her bare arms, and the bat raked them with its claws as it swept over her again.
Gath bolted forward, a sweeping shadow.
Outlaws and freebooters rose as a body and scrambled for their horses and wagons, knocking each other down and cursing.
The giant bat caromed into the night, squealing.
Robin half rose, looking up, and screamed again.
Three dark shapes were falling through the firelight toward her. They had small, thick bodies with long arms, hairy shoulders and pointed ears protruding from dark leather armor and helmets. Their mouths were wide with lust-mad smiles, revealing needle-sharp fangs.
Gath planted a foot and threw his spear.
It caught the first bat soldier in mid-air, and the impact drove him back the way he had come. He squealed and windmilled in the air as if climbing an invisible wall.
Simultaneously, Jakar fired.
His bolt took a bat soldier in the shoulder, but did not stop him.
The two falling bodies hit Robin with thudding blows and drove her to the ground, facedown. For a moment they seemed confused, rolling her about, uncertain whether to maul her or savage her. She kicked and flailed, and they drew serrated knives, their snarling mixing with her screaming. Then Gath arrived.
His sword removed a furry arm just beneath the shoulder. The owner howled and rolled off Robin as his arm fell to the ground beside him, its hand dropping a knife. Simultaneously, the remaining bat soldier was removed by the crunching blow of Gath’s body. The pair hit the ground tangled together, and the Barbarian gathered the furry body in his hands, rolled upright and threw it down on its back. Straddling the cringing figure, he drew back a bent arm and lunged down with a howl. Gath’s elbow drove the bat soldier’s head three inches into the dirt and pulped its skull.
Robin screamed and rolled away, covering her face with her hands. The backs of her legs and arms were splattered with blood as if she had a pox. She screamed again as two more bat soldiers, swords in hand, landed beside her, small eyes lewd and violent above hollow cheeks. She shuddered helplessly, and Gath came off the ground, grabbed both men by a shoulder before they could react and slammed them together headfirst. They dropped their weapons, staggered dizzily, and Gath gathered them in his arms, lifting them off the ground. They screamed and flailed to no avail. Gath’s arms corded and bulged as he increased the pressure, and there was a series of dull snaps deep inside their meaty chests, then a splintering crack, and each let out a screech cut short because their mouths had filled with blood.
Gath threw them aside, his body cocked and eyes hunting for the large bat.
Jakar, still on the wagon’s roof, crouched with his crossbow aimed at the dark sky.
Brown John, sword in hand, stood in front of the wagon staring with dazed eyes at the carnage. Everything had happened so fast he had missed the fight entirely.
Only Cobra, shielding Robin with her body, saw the huge bat swoosh out from under the wagon. She screamed a warning, and it knocked her down, buried its claws in the leopard-skin halter covering Robin’s shoulder.
Screaming with pain, Robin twisted violently, and the bat’s slashing fangs missed her neck, got tangled in her hair. She flailed at it with her arms as its weight bore her down, then Cobra came off the ground and threw herself heedlessly against it. Her body collided with the bat’s chest and drove the creature off of Robin onto the ground. It thrashed and squealed, clawing and biting the woman’s hands, and quickly flew off.
Gath dove at it, but it escaped under the wagon.
Cobra jumped up screaming, “Kill it! Kill it!”
Gath, Jakar and Brown John spread out around the wagon, but there was no sign of the creature. It had vanished into the enveloping darkness.
Robin hid behind Gath, her hands braced against his shoulder. It pulsed and dripped blood, and she backed away from him, shuddering and whimpering, eyes wide with terror. The bat dove out of the sky into the firelight, its hurtling body aimed at her, and she screamed, turned and ran.
Gath broke for Robin as she tripped on one of the small fires and fell, twenty feet away.
Jakar, his eyes as cold as death, followed the bat’s flight with his crossbow and fired.
The bolt caught the bat in the gut. It squealed, flapped wildly off course for a brief moment, then dove again, fangs aimed at the back of Robin’s neck as she rose onto hands and knees.
Cobra turned as white as a glacier: the impact would break the girl’s neck.
Gath, his eyes now red fire, screamed a harsh guttural howl and launched his body into the air. Robin turned in terror at the sound, presenting her terrified face to the descending fangs of
the bat. They came within a foot of her shuddering cheeks, and Gath’s fingers tore into the creature, ripping it off course.
Gath and the huge bat hit the dirt and rolled into one of the fires. With his back squirming against the coals, Gath fought for a better grip on the screaming, clawing demon spawn. The fire spit sparks and embers, and smoke billowed up around him, concealing his actions.
Cobra raced up, shielding Robin behind her, and Jakar and Brown John joined them.
There was a long squeal from within the smoke, then it was cut short, and the bat’s head tumbled out, torn off the body at the neck. Its furry pointed ears still wore the large loop earrings, and they clanged together musically before the head came to rest, propped between them. The eyes were wide open, and told a tale of terror far greater than any the creature itself could have inspired.
Then the source of that terror emerged from the smoke, eyes hot, body singed and smoking, and wearing blood like a blanket.
Robin turned away, crushing herself into Jakar’s protective arms, pleading, “Hold me. Hold me.”
He held her close, speaking quietly and comfortingly. “It’s all right now, fluff, it’s all right.” His eyes were on Gath, and they were hard with respect.
Gath looked at Cobra, questioning her with his eyes, and she said breathlessly, “It’s over. There’re no more. I’m sure of it.”
Gath nodded, looked at Robin and saw blood trickling from a cut in her scalp, and the dark bruised slashes across the backs of her arms. He growled, whipped around like a wounded animal and struck Cobra across the face.
She went down on her back, and her body arched with pain, her mind went dark.
Brown John leapt between her and Gath, shouting, “No, Gath! Leave her alone! It’s my fault. I knew what the risks were, and I agreed to let Robin take them. And she wanted to, because she had to. It was the only way.”
The two men’s eyes locked, and held for a long moment, then Gath looked at Robin and she nodded, agreeing with the bukko.