Prisoner of the Horned helmet dd-1

by James Silke

  In reply, the wolf drew his lips back behind bloody fangs and the cat’s meaty throat fell in the dirt.

  This only increased the bounty hunter’s volume, and there was only one thing on his mind. “Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!”

  The leopards hesitated, and Gazul sobbed knowing why. They loved the chase and hated the pit fight, while the wolf loved it. He charged the nearest cat, but it raised up, circling for the wolfs back with its claws slashing. The wolf let it slash, dove under it, found the soft underbelly, and his jaws snapped. His teeth went into the meat up to gums, and hung on as they whirled and rolled.

  A fountain of blood spurted from the fight, and Gazul whimpered and went limp, unable to do anything but watch.

  The wolf, with its teeth tearing cat flesh, had his muzzle drowned in hot blood, then his jaws came away leaving a hole in the cat’s belly. But his triumph was short as the third cat raked the wolf’s belly, then bore into the belly’s wound with its teeth.

  Howling, the wolf spun, whirled, and finally tore himself free. In the process his jaws found a cat’s foreleg, broke it, and the cat backed away from the fight limping. The bleeding wolf followed relentlessly. The cat tripped and the wolf charged, burying his teeth in its neck. Under him the cat had all three good legs working on his underbelly, but the wolf kept his jaws clamped and stayed on his feet. The two animals worked in this position until the cat finally went limp.

  Gazul, whimpering, watched the wolf back away from his third kill and turn on him. Transfixed with fear, Gazul looked around and discovered he was sitting on the ground with his back against a tree while his dagger was ten feet away. Cursing his luck, he watched the wolf advance slowly. All the middle of him was gone or hanging. The animal dropped just short of Gazul’s shaking boot, shuddered and died.

  When Gazul’s legs steadied, he got back in the wagon, and squatted over Robin. She was still unconscious.

  He whispered, “Well, pretty one, you have cost me my three treasures, but you will buy me six more.”

  He took henna and umber from his satchel, and mixed a dye with water. Then he colored the hair on her head, under her arms and at her groin a dark chestnut. Using a sticky substance, he made a scar over her left eye, then removed a plain tunic from a bundle of clothing in the wagon bed. As he put it on her, she began to revive. He played with her a little then. She tried to stop him, but was helpless. With one hand he forced her mouth open and poured the contents of a red vial down her throat. By the time he had finished dressing her she was unconscious again.

  He threw some straw over her, then climbed back into the driver’s box. There he picked up one of the black cylindrical pouches, removed the doll of Robin. He stroked it possessively, then glanced back at the sleeping form and grinned. “They’ll never know you, lass. Least not ’til you and I reach Bahaara and have a long hot bath.” He laughed, put the doll away, and drove off.

  Forty-five

  PASSION

  Toward noon, Gath found the she-wolf standing guard over Sharn’s body. The three dead leopards had been gutted by hyenas and jackals, but the she-wolf had made certain Sharn had not provided anyone with a meal.

  When Gath approached, the she-wolf backed off, and Gath squatted over his friend’s carcass, deliberately staring into the matted gore of death. But this time he did not allow the helmet to enjoy it; he raged so violently the she-wolf backed away in fear. Gath looked away from the dead animal to the living one and said, “Do not be afraid. He was my teacher and friend, and he will be avenged.”

  He removed the thin length of violet cloth from his wrist and tied it around Sharn’s foreleg, then made a grave in the ground under rocks.

  Gath searched the area, and found scrapes of red paint made by wagon wheels on the sides of trees, black dye on the grass, and Robin’s torn tunic. Then he moved off at a run following the wagon tracks leaving the she-wolf howling mournfully behind. The tracks led back onto Summer Trail, then south to Border Road. There they turned east and mingled with a thousand similar ones.

  Gath followed Border Road until he reached the rubble of Bone Camp. The leveled village was deserted. Five different trails led off the village square. All were marred with countless wagon, foot and horse tracks.

  Gath stood motionless over Bone Camp’s rubble for a long time, with the dying orange light of day gracing his metal-clad body, and helmeted head. He looked to the west, and watched the sun sink behind the cataracts. As a child of eight or nine or ten summers-he did not know for certain as he did not know his age-he had vowed never again to ask a human for help, and he had kept that vow. But now he needed help. Nevertheless, his mind refused to change. He stood in place until night descended and he became indistinguishable from the darkness, then his mind surrendered to his passion.

  Forty-six

  DRUM AND DRUMMER

  The small group of elderly men and women sat silently around a fire in Rag Camp listening to the sounds of a massive creature moving noisily through the night. Suddenly, realizing it was headed toward them, they grabbed their weapons and hurried into shadows watching the edge of the clearing.

  A massive shadow strode out of the darkness and across the clearing. Moonlight glanced off sharp horns growing out of its black helmet and the cutting edge of a steel battle-ax.

  The Grillards, trembling, scurried off, alerting the sleeping village.

  The creature ignored them. It leapt up onto the stage, marched across it, kicked open the door of the red wagon with a booted foot and strode inside.

  A crowd of chattering Grillards, carrying weapons and torches, quickly gathered in the clearing, and hurried toward the stage in fear and confusion. The prolonged scream of their bukko erupted from the red wagon and brought them to a stop. They stared in rising terror, then angrily surged onto the stage shouting threats at the horrifying stranger.

  Suddenly the menacing horned helmet appeared in the second story window. “Quiet,” it bellowed, and a hush promptly descended over the crowd as it stumbled to a stop.

  Within the red wagon, Brown John sat stiffly on the edge of his bed, a wooden shelf supported by chains bolted in the wall. A candle holder in his hand trembled. Its flickering light cast a glow over a surprisingly simple raw wood room that was as empty as his face. That face’s many wrinkles, like his bedclothes, were in disarray. As the horned figure closed the shutters and turned toward him, he lifted the candle, and its light flowed erratically over the metal-clad body.

  “Ah, it’s you,” Brown John sighed. “I thought I recognized the chain mail, but your new headpiece gave me a start. For a moment there, I was certain I was facing my long-awaited and so richly deserved doom.” He set the candle holder on a nightstand and took up his normal jaunty tone. “Where have you been? You look extremely well fed.”

  “Who do you serve?” Gath demanded. “Who is your master?”

  “Master? Why I have none but myself. No…” he stopped himself, “that’s not true. The pleasures of life still order me about, despite the fact that each year I serve them with less ardor.”

  “Take off your shirt!”

  “Undress!” Brown John’s voice choked. His mouth gathered primly, then he chuckled. “Well now, I expected you to say and do many things, all of them quite out of the ordinary. But ‘undress’? What possible value could you find in looking at my time-battered body? It is a bit paunchy, and…”

  Gath reached the old man in one stride and ripped the front of his loose homespun nightshirt away. He shoved the startled man back onto his bed, and yanked away the remnant of clothing, tossed it into a shadowed corner.

  Brown John struggled upright trying to draw a blanket over his nakedness, but Gath did not give him a chance. He lifted a gnarled leg, upended the bukko, then picked up the candle holder and used the light of the flame to inspect between his toes.

  Brown John, with his head half buried in bedclothes, protested in a dignified if muffled tone, “I assure you there is…”A mouthful of blanket cut him off as Gath
lifted him higher and inspected his legs. Brown John removed the blanket and blurted, “I am quite prepared to allow you to inspect me in a reasonable manner, but…”He dropped face first on the bed and groaned with shame as Gath spread his legs. Over a shoulder, he shouted, “Damn you, there’s no need for this. If there is anything on my person which might be of interest to you, just ask.” Gath replied by rolling him over and examining an armpit. Huffing and puffing, the old man mumbled, “You’ll find nothing there. My powers are quite mundane. I don’t even claim to have a tail.” Gath rolled him over to see for himself, then dropped the bukko and set the candle holder back on the night-table.

  Brown John, with his head dangling off the bed, gathered his breath, then reassembled himself. When he was properly covered and sitting spread legged on the edge of the bed, he placed his long-fingered hands over the tops of his spindly knees and faced Gath with lofty composure.

  “That, my man, was no way to treat the one person in all the forest who has befriended you. You seem to have forgotten that my sons and I have traded fairly with you for many years, and that I personally sent you that chain mail without asking one crogan in exchange! And it was my doing alone that Robin Lakehair was sent to heal you, and then, despite your lack of gratitude, sent a second time to warn you about the bounty hunters.” His fingertips drummed his kneecaps in righteous impatience. “She did reach you, I presume, and tell you about them? And that the chiefs have offered to accept you as their champion?”

  “She’s been carried off.”

  “Oh no! By animals?”

  Gath shook his head. “A man.”

  Brown John groaned and his head dropped, suddenly feeling beaten and frail. “Who?” he breathed.

  “I found her tunic and some scrapes on the sides of the trees made by tall red wagon wheels… and black dye on the grass.”

  Brown John looked up sharply. “A bounty hunter?”

  Gath nodded. “There were three dead leopards wearing collars. Sharn reached them before I did. He killed the cats, but the man got away.” There was no emotion in his voice, nor did it sound like there ever had been.

  “Ah,” Brown John whispered. “And the wolf?”

  “Dead.”

  The old man studied the eyes within the helmet in search of a clue to Gath’s feeling, but found nothing. “I am truly sorry,” he whispered.

  “Do not be. He is free!”

  “Of course… of course. Now he runs with the summer fire and the winter wind.” Brown John shook his head in disbelief. With his elbows braced on his knees, he pressed his long fingers to his brow in concentration saying, “A wild beast of the forest sacrifices his life for a beautiful village maiden.” He looked up at the stony figure. “Tell me, Gath, why?”

  “He did not share his reasons.”

  “Ah, yes, and shame on me for asking. The deed speaks more clearly than any words.” He sighed. “I would have liked to have known him.”

  The helmet studied the old man mysteriously, then its voice, rasping harshly with inner turmoil, demanded, “Help me find the girl.”

  Brown John, sensing the control of their relationship suddenly shifting in his direction, sat erect. “Gladly,” he said. “I am responsible. I sent her to you. I risked her life.” He flattened his lips ruefully. “But I can’t help you find her. Not immediately.”

  With one hand, Gath lifted blanket and man off the bed as if they were no weightier than a cream pitcher. The slits of the helmet began to glow. His breathing was harsh, audible.

  Brown John’s eyes widened, and he began to squirm. “Don’t misunderstand. I’ll help. But if it is one of the bounty hunters who has her-and I am certain of it-by now he has carried her high into the cataracts to the Kitzakks.”

  “Will he kill her?”

  “No! No! I am sure not.”

  Gath glared at the old man a moment, then shoved him back onto the bed. Bruised but relieved, Brown John looked warily at the dimming eye slits, but said nothing about them.

  Instead he said, “The Kitzakk priests will not kill her, either, as they apparently believe your power is linked to her. They will examine her until they discover the nature of this mysterious connection, then attempt to use it, and her, to destroy you.” He smiled with macabre reassurance. “You are their target, not her. Remember this, they are a people accustomed to success. So accustomed that at the slightest defeat they become confused and frightened, and lay all blame on their leader. That is why your destruction is crucial to Klang, their warlord. Entire continents and nations have not been able to delay him, and now one man has not only slaughtered his scouts, but defeated two of his commanders and made a shambles of one of his proudest regiments. That, I can safely say, is driving him mad.”

  With a sardonic laugh, he rose and fetched a clean tunic from a wooden hook. Balancing precariously on one foot, he stepped into it.

  “Where will he take her?”

  “Eventually, to Bahaara, the capital of the Desert Territory,” Brown John said, belting his tunic. He rolled his neck and stretched stiffly. “I’ll say this for you, sir, I have not been handled so roughly since I purchased my first whore. I was thirteen, and she outweighed me by sixty pounds.” The bukko laughed delightedly.

  His audience did not join in. “How far is this Bahaara?”

  “Many days away.”

  “Then we have time to catch them.”

  “Patience. Patience. There is an entire Kitzakk army between you and the girl now. If we are to succeed at all, we must have a plan, and a great deal of help.”

  Turning his back, he picked up the candle holder, carried it to a wooden chest. He rummaged through it and came away with two more totem dolls, one of Gath and one of Robin. He asked, “You know what these are?”

  Gath nodded.

  Darkly serious now, Brown John spoke with measured words. “The man-hunter who carried these was caught by the Wowells. Being of a curious nature, the Wowells encouraged him to talk before they butchered and cooked him.” He turned to Gath. “The Kitzakks have built a base camp at the heights of The Narrows. The bounty hunters were ordered to bring the girl and your head there.”

  Gath picked up his axe, moved to the stairs and stopped, looked back expectantly at the old man who had not moved.

  “You have grown remarkably since our last meeting, Gath. But this is war, not personal combat. You will need an army to take the fort.” He hesitated. “And you have one. The Kaven, the Wowells, the Barhacha, the Cytherians and many others have joined forces. They are camped in the forest near Pinwheel Crossing. Ours to command if you are ready to be their champion.”

  “I only want the girl.”

  “Then you must have this army.” Brown John closed the chest emphatically and crossed with slow deliberate steps to Gath. “The work ahead is far more difficult, and meaner than you can possibly imagine. There are many besides Robin Lakehair who need our best efforts. The Kitzakks have enslaved hundreds, mostly women and children.” He placed a long bony hand over the massive fist holding the axe and looked hard and direct into the slots of the helmet at the eyes he knew were there. “So let us begin.”

  “I will lead the army through the Narrows to the fort, and destroy those who hold her. But that is all I agree to.”

  “Excellent,” Brown John said, then said it again, certain now that he was gaining control.

  They started down the stairs, and Brown John began to chatter amicably.

  “Now, what precisely did you expect to find on my body? A hidden mark? A sign that I belonged to some secret cult of assassins? Or perhaps that I was a servant of the Master of Darkness?” He chuckled. “Come now, say it. For what reason did you maul me so shamelessly?”

  “It does not matter,” Gath said as he reached the first floor and moved for the door.

  “Come, come,” Brown John halted him, “everything matters. Particularly your confidence in me. I am aware that we face the Kitzakks, but what else? Tell me. If I am not aware of all the pieces o
f the puzzle confronting us, then I cannot juggle them to our advantage.”

  Gath’s eyes grew hot, but he said nothing.

  “So, we have another mystery. Well, if you wish to leave it like that, I will be content to play the fool, but only for the time being.” He looked up at Gath’s helmet admiringly. “Perhaps then you will at least tell me this: Where did you get that spectacular and extraordinary headpiece?”

  “You talk too much, bukko. Save your breath and use your feet.” He opened the door, and strode into the flickering light cast by the torches of the gasping Grillards.

  The old stage master chuckled to himself. “Well, this has not been the kind of opening scene I would wish for. But it was a scene, and played by candlelight at that.” He chuckled again. “And I do like its possibilities.” He hurried after Gath. “You and I, my friend of shadows, now share the same stage. Irrevocably and colorfully, one might even say. Like the drum and the drummer.”

  He laughed, stepped through the door into the torchlight, and was greeted by cheers.

  Forty-seven

  PINWHEEL CROSSING

  Brown John led Gath through the night to a small camp laid in a clearing to the west of Pin wheel Crossing. A dying fire lit the bodies of Grillard men and women sleeping beside their weapons. Bone and Dirken were on guard. As their father emerged from the trees, they greeted him but kept their wary eyes on his massive, metal-clad companion.

  The stage master, flushed by pride and the long walk, said, “Yes, it’s Gath, and he has agreed.”

  Dirken’s sharp lips curled at the corners, and Bone chuckled grandly. “By Bled, this is good news.”

  “There is no time for celebration,” Brown John said tersely. “Hurry. Tell the tribes and have them gather at the crossing.”

  The brothers, without delay and with a minimum of explanation, woke the others and sent them off into the forest to deliver the news.