02 - Lords of Destruction

by James Silke - (ebook by Undead)

  “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, caressin
g 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.”

  “How?”

  “I lied to you. I didn’t tell you everything the soldier told me.” She took a breath. “The Master of Darkness, before destroying his altar, commanded my servants to go to the Great Forest Basin and hunt her down… kill her.” Another breath. “Some of those who survived hunt her now, and they are three, four days’ ride ahead of you.”.

  A glow showed behind the helmet’s eye slits, and its horns pulsed with life, growing hot. He stepped away from her.

  She gathered slowly, feeling faint and weak, then rose, bringing his chain mail with her. Offering it to him, she said, “Apparently he thought it would be the surest way of destroying you.” Taking the chain mail, Gath began to dress, and she added, “There’s no time to lose. The helmet is like a screaming infant. The longer you feed it, the more it will demand, and the stronger it will become.” He thrust his arms into the suit of mail and picked up his sword belt, began to buckle it hurriedly. She watched him a moment, then said, “Take me with you.”

  Continuing to dress, he said, “The helmet’s hungers have entered my blood and bones and are drawing me to a new place… a land, or a country… it’s not clear.” His eyes met hers. “Do you know where it is?”

  “No,” she said openly, “but I can help you find it, if anyone can.”

  In reply, he pulled on a boot.

  “Damn you,” she snarled, “you can’t leave me here!”

  He put on the second boot.

  “You fool,” she growled. “You’re still a clumsy forest lout, aren’t you? Still too proud to breathe air from the sky because it doesn’t come from your own magnificent self.” Her eyes turned molten, and she shrieked recklessly, “You won’t survive without help, can’t you understand that? Nobody can. And I have the cunning that can hide your precious virgin. I can keep her safe and teach her to use her powers instead of squandering them! In time, I could even show her how to tame the helmet enough for you to remove it by yourself.”

  He looked at her, and a smile leapt onto her cheeks, unsteady, immature, but honest. “Think of that, Gath. Then you wouldn’t need her… or me. You’d be free. That’s what you really want… isn’t it?”

  A short time later, as the stallion galloped through the dark night, Cobra sat behind Gath clinging to his metal-clad chest and smiling with satisfaction. She felt strangely like a young girl again, one moment sublimely content, the next desperate and confused. Realizing this, she resolved not to let her feelings show, but to keep the cool composure which had come naturally to her when she was a queen. Consequently, she put her smile away and closed her eyes, resting her cheek against the Barbarian’s back. After a while she believed she could feel his heat through the metal, and the smile, without her noticing, returned.

  They were headed east, in the direction of the Valley of Miracles.

  Nine

  GUESSWORK

  The two riders thundered through the morning sunlight at Pinwheel Crossing, veered onto Weaver Road and raced un
der the overhanging oaks and willows. Robes billowing, whips lashing and faces as sober as grave markers.

  They had been on a dead run since leaving Rag Camp in the Valley of Miracles. At dawn, a traveling tinker had wheeled excitedly into the village and awakened them, telling them that he had seen a wagonload of suspicious-looking foreign mercenaries riding through the night toward the village of Weaver. The pair now headed for that village, eager to investigate the strangers and possibly prevent another murder. In the last seven days there had been five.

  Each of the victims had been a young girl, well known for her beauty, who belonged to one of the Barbarian tribes occupying the western end of the Great Forest Basin. Each had disappeared, then been found deep in uninhabited parts of the forest with their bodies crushed and bitten by snakes and lizards. The behavior of the reptiles was easily explained. Weeks earlier there had been a series of volcanic explosions in the distant heart of the forbidden lands. Ever since, hordes of animals and creatures had been migrating into the basin in search of food. But the fact that reptiles did not selectively abduct pretty young girls added an unholy atmosphere to the growing mystery which, until this morning, had provided no clues or suspects.

  Old Brown John led the two riders.

  He was the bukko, the stagemaster and leader of the Grillards, a tribe of traveling performers whose home base was Rag Camp. In the spring he had convinced Gath of Baal to defend the Barbarian tribes, and together they had raised an army and defeated the marauding Kitzakk Horde. As a reward, the Council of Chiefs had confirmed upon him the kingship, at least in times of crisis, and now there was one.

  The king was short, wiry, bandy-legged, and did not look like a king. He wore a bone-brown cloak with dark brown patches, the mark of his clan, brown boots and a belted short sword without decoration. His white hair fluttered in silky ringlets around his large ears, and his tangled white eyebrows arched low over alert brown eyes. He was a genial man who much preferred ordering about large-hipped, big-breasted dancing girls to solving crimes, and he would have much rather been traveling with the Grillard wagons which were now on the road, providing music and laughter to the forest tribes. But he was also a man of responsibility with the gift of foresight. He could see things coming, and within the murders he could sense a great and terrible impending tragedy. Consequently, he urged his already lathered horse on and, the performer showing, did so with gusto, noise and excessive gestures.