With one hand gripping the iron bar and the other flailing wildly, his body rolled around the corner, and his feet came to rest on a substantial ledge on the opposite side.
A smile swept into his pink cheeks as exhilaration rushed through him, then it made him feel sick to his stomach, and his vision blurred. He sank down onto all fours, pressing back against the rock. When his vision cleared, he crawled along the ledge, then stood and passed under the waterfall, and wound through a jagged gut into a dry stone chasm rising to the top of the cliffs. Flat-faced boulders, cut by deep cracks, formed an irregular stone floor and three walls. In a corner was a small cave. Robin Lakehair sat in it, holding Jakar’s cloak around her body and smiling with relief.
“Oh, Brown, it’s you!” she sighed, and jumped up, ran to the bukko, embracing him. “Thank goodness! I was so frightened.” She leaned back looking into his smiling eyes. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes,” he murmured tiredly, “much better… now that I see you’re safe.”
He held her soft brown shoulders in trembling hands and studied her, trying to convince himself she was real; her small perfect fist clenching the cloak together between her breasts, the green and gold jewels glittering on a nut-brown shoulder, the smile blossoming around small straight nose and narrow full lips.
“You have no idea, child,” he said weakly, “what a blessing it is for a man like myself, particularly on a mean day like this, to simply look at you.”
She flushed with embarrassment and scolded him with her big warm eyes. “Oh, Brown, you flatter me too much. It’s not right.”
“It’s not flattery today,” he said behind a profound scowl. “It is a holy conviction bound to my flesh with the blood of those I dearly love.”
She frowned with confusion, suddenly frightened by his tone. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “Are you quoting another play?”
He hesitated, looked up to see Jakar standing guard with his loaded crossbow on a shelf of rock fifteen feet above, then looked back at Robin. When he spoke, it was a whisper. “They’re dead, Robin… all your friends… Zail, Belle, all of them.”
“No!” she gasped, and staggered back. Brown John nodded, and she cried, “But why? Why?” then collapsed crying.
Jakar, ashen-faced, asked, “Are they still hunting Robin?”
Brown John, suddenly feeling older, sat down, dropping the saddlebags beside him, and shook his head. “For now they’ve been drawn off her trail.” He looked up at the young nobleman. “Apparently they knew Robin was a redhead. When they saw that the other girls also had red hair, it confused them, so they killed them all, thinking Robin was among them.” He lowered his eyes to Robin’s sobbing body. “She’s safe now… providing they don’t have some way of finding out they don’t have what they came for.”
“They’ll find out,” Jakar said fatalistically. He climbed down a root growing in a crack in the stone chasm, and sat down facing the bukko, his dark eyes demanding. “Now tell me what happened… everything.”
“There’s no need for that.”
“Oh yes there is,” Jakar said quietly, the glint of pain and hatred showing in his eyes.
Understanding showed in Brown John’s eyes. Then, in precise words lacking his normal color and drama, he told Jakar and Robin what had happened at Clear Pond, finishing with, “I was simply too late.”
A moment passed, and Robin, pale and tear-stained, rose slightly. Jakar, taking her gently by the elbow, helped her up, and spread her blanket on the ground for her to sit on.
“Thank you,” she said weakly, and leaned back against the wall of the chasm, looking up into his eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve been so much trouble for you.”
He shrugged it off, as if he would have done the same for any female, and squatted facing the bukko. “What now?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said Brown John. “I haven’t had time to think.”
“Then you’d better start, bukko.” The young nobleman’s voice was low and uncompromising. “I know this filth called Baskt. He’s a Lord of Destruction, the work of the Nymph Queen of Pyram, the high priestess of Black Veshta. And if she’s sent him all the way from Pyram, then she might have sent others. Serpents, lizards, you name it.”
“You think that’s what killed your sister… the others?”
“It’s a possibility.” He indicated Robin with the back of his head. “So she could still be in danger. Right now.”
Brown John nodded and glanced past Jakar’s shoulder at the tears welling in Robin’s eyes. “Don’t blame yourself, child. There’s nothing you could have done.”
“But why are they hunting me?” she whimpered. “I’m not sure.” He sensed Jakar’s hard eyes asking the same question, but did not look at him. “But you have enemies, you know that. It was not only the Kitzakks you helped defeat but the Queen of Serpents… and her master.”
“But she’s the only one who knew about me! And… and you captured her. She’s Gath’s prisoner now.”
“Yes, but it’s apparent others also knew.”
She flinched, looked down at her hands for no reason and said softly, “Maybe … so there won’t be anyone else hurt… I should give myself to them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jakar blurted, and stood, moved off into a shadow.
“I’m only trying to help.” She said it to his back. Without turning, he said, “You can help by staying alive. When they come back, and they will,” he made himself turn and look at her, “you can bait whatever trap the bukko here decides to set for them.”
She blanched at his hard tone and looked at Brown John in shock.
“That may not be necessary,” Brown John said quietly, calming her. “But there is also another reason why, at all costs, you must be kept hidden and safe.” His eyes met Jakar’s, then looked back at Robin. “Gath is the only one who can deal with these creatures, and when he does… he’s going to need you with him.”
Robin hesitated, and looked at Jakar. He was staring at her, his eyes soft now, suddenly kind and gentle. She shifted nervously, almost smiling, and he turned away, again faced Brown John.
“You’re going to contact the Dark One? Ask his help?”
The bukko nodded.
“Then perhaps, since we are working together, you had better tell me what her link is with him.”
“That, Lord Jakar, is between them.”
“Can she control him?”
Brown John smiled, just a little, and shook his head. “No one controls him.”
“Then who says he’ll help? Or that we can trust him? He’s half demon himself!”
“I do,” said Brown John. He opened the saddlebags and spread out the food, handing the wine jar to Jakar. “Here. Cool down and feed yourself. There is going to be much to do and you are going to have to do most of it.”
Jakar hesitated, then took the jar and drank. Brown John, with bread and cheese in hand, moved to Robin and sat facing her, placing the food in her hands.
“I’m really not hungry,” she said.
“You will be,” he replied. “Now listen to me. The worst is over. Ended. And we both know what we must do now… not let this calamity divert us from our chosen path.”
She nodded mindlessly, like a child who has heard her parents tell her this a thousand times before.
“You’re not listening,” he said sharply, and she looked up attentively. “That’s better. Now, understand this: we have the advantage now. We know the villain’s intentions, and your part is cast. You are now the virtuous heroine in flight, and it’s a splendid part, one on which the greatest artists of the stage have made their careers.”
“Brown John, don’t,” she pleaded. “Not now.”
“Yes, now,” he said. “Because everything depends on how you play the next scenes. If you play them with vigor and spirit, we have a chance. If you don’t… well, today has more than demonstrated the consequences.”
“Brown, please,” she begged.
“No! The remorse and grief and guilt must end here. Now! We’ve got to have our wits about us and concentrate on what we’re doing, not what’s happened. If we don’t, we’re all lost.”
He rose, moved back to the food and sat down, began to eat. Jakar did the same, facing him, and wearing a grimly amused smile. When he spoke, his voice held the same amusement.
“I presume, from your ridiculous speech, that in addition to your platitudes, you have some specific action in mind.”
Brown John nodded. “As soon as you finish eating, I want you to ride after these creatures. Your horse is waiting at the bottom of the falls. When you catch up with them…”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Jakar interrupted darkly.
“Listen to me,” snapped the bukko, sounding like a king. “You may be a nobleman, and I may be nothing but an outcast to you… but I see things others don’t. And if you are truly serious about avenging your sister, you would be well advised to listen.”
Jakar replied by staying silent and listening.
“Good,” added Brown John, “that shows sense. Now, when you find the scum, you will stay out of their sight and follow them until you find where they are headed. Then when it turns dark, ride back to Rag Camp. Robin and I will be waiting there… hopefully with Gath of Baal.”
“Is that all?” Jakar asked tersely.
“No!” the bukko said just as tersely. “You better get going now, before their trail turns cold.”
Jakar rose, and Robin pulled his cloak from around her, handed it to him, saying, “Here, it may get cold.”
He shook his head, moved to the narrow entry passage and smiled back at Robin. “I’ll see you tonight, Trouble.” Then he was gone.
Robin, unable to keep from smiling, gathered his cloak about her and began to eat. Brown John watched her a moment thoughtfully, then said, “Your timing is terrible, lass.” She looked at him, confused, and he added, “We’ve got enough problems without you falling in love.”
She took hold of her lip with her teeth, then said quietly, “I know.”
“Then finish eating. You’re going to need all your strength. We’ll spend tonight in Rag Camp, then tomorrow ride to Calling Rock and hope Gath answers the horn.”
She looked up between bites and asked, “Why wouldn’t he?”
“Because I’ve been going there and calling him for days, ever since the first murder… and he hasn’t showed up.” He smiled. “But I’ve got a feeling that’s going to change now.”
Fourteen
STRANGE ALLIES
Well past the midnight hour, two riders galloped through the Valley of Miracles. Reaching Rag Camp at the northeastern corner, they reined up short of the cool blue moonlight illuminating the clearing, and studied it from concealing shadows cast by surrounding apple trees. Their animals were flecked with sweat and snorting steam.
The camp appeared deserted, and was silent except for the sounds of the river, Whitewater, flowing under Stone Crossing, a massive rock at the far side of the village.
One of the riders urged its horse forward and walked the animal into the moonlight. Cobra, riding a small mare purchased from an outlaw band in The Shades, the rain forest to the west. She was gasping with exhaustion, and her face was torn with fear as she scanned the empty clearing. The Grillards were apparently on the road. All that remained were four battered house wagons, no longer fit for the road, scattered along the eastern edge of the clearing, and a large red wagon on the opposite side. It was parked behind the stage commanding the center of the clearing, and there was a faint glow of candlelight in the second-story window.
She moved back to the other horse, took hold of its reins and led it across the clearing. The horse was Gath of Baal’s black stallion, and he sat in the saddle. His huge body weaved unsteadily, and his helmeted head hung low between his shoulders, casting a red glow over his gnarled hands where they clutched the pommel.
Cobra guided the horses along the front of the stage and hesitated. Three horses were tethered to a railing at the side of the red wagon: a dappled grey stallion which appeared to have just returned from a long ride, another stallion, and a mare which had a brown saddle blanket with brown patches. Taking hope, she climbed lightly onto the stage and moved quickly to Gath, helping him out of his saddle.
“We’re here,” she whispered encouragingly. “Just a few more feet. I think the bukko’s here, and he’s sure to know where she is.”
Without replying, Gath raised his head, and the sharp-tipped horns of his black helmet glimmered in the moonlight as Cobra headed for the wagon.
Gath moved after her, took three heavy-footed strides and fell facedown on the wooden planks with a loud metallic clang. Cobra rushed back and kneeled over him, trying to help him up as he clawed back to his hands and knees. He half rose, then a knee gave and dropped him on his back in front of her with another clang.
Cobra gave a sharp gasp, and her hands trembled as they hovered helplessly above his unconscious body. In the glare of the helmet’s flames, the rose tint glowing on her creamy white cheeks was florid with fear. She looked around frantically.
There were sounds of activity in the wagons across the clearing, and the glimmer of candles being lit. Then the glow of orange candlelight in the second-story window of the red wagon above her grew bright, casting light on the horned helmet. She leapt up and stood over Gath, concealing him with her tattered cloak, and raised her arm so that the candlelight cast a shadow over her face.
The window opened, and a glowing lantern came out, followed by Brown John’s tousled silvery head. “Who’s there?” he demanded.
“Your friend, bukko,” she said clearly, “and he is in need of your help.”
“Friend? Help?” Brown John peered under the lamp suspiciously.
“Gath of Baal,” Cobra whispered behind her arm.
The bukko’s mouth dropped open, and he smiled with delight, then quickly drew back inside, leaving the window open. The lantern’s light cast wildly moving shadows across the interior of the second-story room, then faded to the accompaniment of hurried footsteps descending a staircase. A moment passed, the door of the red wagon burst open, and the lantern rushed out spilling light across the stage with Brown John striding behind it. He wore a bone-brown nightshirt which he held up above his slightly bowed legs.
He stopped short of Cobra, and she lowered her arm, allowing the lantern’s orange light to splash on her face.
“You?” Brown John gasped, taking a step back.
Cobra’s thin arched eyebrows drew down sharply, and her low resonant voice lashed at him. “This is no time for your theatricals, bukko. You’re in no danger from me.” She held up the mandrake root strung around her neck. “He set me free so I could help him. But I failed! I have no more powers.”
Brown John laughed at her. “You don’t seriously think I’ll believe that, do you? Where is he?”
She stepped back holding her robe aside to reveal Gath to the bukko, but still shielding him from a small group of elderly Grillards gathering across the clearing. “Would I bring him here… like this… if I was lying? Use your head, old man. He needs the Lakehair girl.”
Brown John, his face suddenly furrowed with fear, edged forward lowering the lantern to Gath, and winced as black smoke snarled from the eye slits amid sputtering flames.
“Holy Zard!” he gasped. “He put the helmet back on.”
“Of course. Its powers are addictive, and his pride is more so. Now hurry!” Cobra urged him. She nodded at the group across the clearing: it had found torches and was starting for the stage. “Order them off! There is no telling what he might do to them in this condition. And take us to the girl! Hurry! Hurry!”
The bukko looked up, shocked by the almost girlish fear riding through the Queen of Serpents’ black-rimmed almond eyes. He nodded and moved to the front of the stage. With one eye on Cobra, he shouted at the Grillards, telling them everything was all right. They came to a stop, lifting acknowledgi
ng hands, then turned and tiredly drifted apart, heading for different wagons.
Brown John rushed back to the door of his wagon and stopped short seeing someone move in the shadows by the tethered horses at the side of the stage. Pointing at Cobra, he shouted at the shadowed figure, “Watch her! Don’t let her get away.”
The bukko dashed inside, and Cobra peered into the shadows. Standing in the blackest part of the darkness, obviously by choice, was an unusually handsome young man holding a loaded crossbow. He wore soft leather clothing and stood with regal assurance.
Cobra watched him defiantly as he watched her, and Robin Lakehair rushed out of the red wagon, raced past without seeing her. A harvest-gold cloak billowed behind the young girl, and a flimsy white nightgown conformed to her nubile body as snugly as a slick of water. Cobra edged further back into the shadows, and her eyes narrowed malevolently as she watched the girl drop beside Gath. Robin moaned pitifully, and her hands trembled as they hovered uncertainly beside the flaming helmet.
The bukko came out of the wagon, now holding a sword as well as a lantern, and placed the weapon’s blade against Cobra’s ribs.
She took no notice. Her eyes devoured Robin: firm budding breasts, the turn of ear, toss of red-gold curls, slim round arms and fingers. Young. Vibrant. Each part perfection, nostril, earlobe and fingernail. The girl’s body radiated warmth and kindness, and Cobra knew her invisible glowing aura was still there. When she had possessed the powers of the Queen of Serpents, Cobra had been able to see the aura, but not now. Nevertheless, the knowledge of it, and the girl’s rare beauty, made her eyes snarl with jealousy. But then the girl turned, saw her and shrieked shrilly, and that made Cobra smile.
Flinging a finger at Cobra, Robin shouted in warning at Brown John, “It’s her! It’s her! She’s alive.”
“I know, Robin, I know,” Brown John said in a calming voice. “But she’ll be tame enough.” He showed her his sword. “Now get that ugly metal pot off his head.”
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