02 - Lords of Destruction

by James Silke - (ebook by Undead)

  Lurking darkness filled with the sounds of horses snorting and stomping loomed beyond the lip of the rock. The sounds were growing louder, advancing on the wagon.

  “Nooo!” Cobra groaned, and dropped back off the wagon beside the bukko. He put an arm around her trembling shoulders and held her close. His sword ready in the other hand.

  Where the indigo sky rose above black rimrock, the shape of the horned helmet appeared out of the looming darkness, its eye slits spitting flames. They hissed and grew brighter and brighter as Gath advanced to the edge and looked down at Robin. He was glistening with sweat, bloody from foot to chest, and the wounds he had received from Baskt were charred scabs surrounded by white ash. His huge axe dangled from one hand, caked with drying blood. The other held a lead rope guiding a string of five horses. Small, sturdy animals with fur blankets and black saddles.

  Moaning, Robin sank into a puddle behind Jakar, and her loveliness sprawled helplessly, gathering moonlight with bare arms and thighs.

  The homed helmet growled and roared at the sight, the axe trembling with impatience inside Gath’s bloody grip. His body was hunched low, animal-like, and heaving with hunger. Suddenly tongues of flame spit from the face of the helmet, striking at Jakar, and he staggered back ducking and covering Robin.

  Cobra sank against Brown John, her strength gone and her moans inarticulate. “He won’t hurt her,” Brown John said weakly. “He…” The bukko stopped short, and his cheeks became white.

  Gath’s body had begun to shudder. Flames and smoke were sputtering from the helmet, and behind him the string of terrified horses whinnied and bolted, trying vainly to escape his grasp. But the Barbarian held on. He threw back his head and howled, and the ground shook beneath his feet. Chunks of rock fell away from the ridge and crashed against the side of the wagon below.

  Robin hid her face behind Jakar, and he fired wildly.

  The crossbow bolt clanged against the helmet, sheared off into the sky, and the metal roared, spitting shards of white lightning.

  Brown John turned Cobra away, not wanting her to see what would happen next. But she resisted, watching over his shoulder with her hands gripping his arm.

  Fissures opened in the ground under Gath’s heaving weight, ripped down into the hard lava, and huge rocks fell away, crashing against the side of the wagon. Then slowly, like red-hot steel being twisted in an anvil, his body turned away.

  Color rushed back into Brown John’s cheeks, and his voice whispered encouragement. “That’s it, my friend. Just walk away. Whip that filthy headpiece.”

  Gath remained in place, his back heaving with convulsions, and the ground shook again. Then he walked away, rejoining the darkness beyond.

  Cobra, her body still shuddering against the bukko, looked up at him. Her face was childish with relief and joy, unable to believe what she had just seen.

  Brown John sighed. “Now, I’ll bet you’re as glad as I am that you didn’t stick that dagger in your heart. Just think of all the excitement you would have missed!”

  She smiled weakly and kissed his cheek, saying, “I’ll go find him. You make sure Robin’s out of sight. We don’t dare let this happen again.”

  He nodded, and she hurried off, found a way up the ridge and vanished through a gut.

  She found Gath under an overhanging shelf of rock well away from the ravine. He was on his hands and knees, heaving with flaming convulsions within the dark shadowed recess. The earth and rock beneath the helmet were scorched and smoking. To the side of the rocky shelf, the horses were tethered to a shrub and snorting and stomping with fear.

  Gasping with relief, and with her emotions running chaotically through her heart and mind and body, Cobra knelt beside him. Knowing it was useless to speak, she touched his bare shoulder, thrilling at his heat, and the helmet turned slowly in her direction. She ducked away from the flames, felt his hands take hold of her neck and hip, and moaned, “Yes, yes! It’s all right. It will cool it.”

  He drew her roughly under him, and she groaned with pain, the scorched earth searing her clothing and the backs of her bare shoulders. He hesitated, heaving like a smoking mountain above, massive and powerful. Her hands took his, drawing them to her breasts. Her voice had no will but his will. “It’s all right. It’s all right.”

  He took her then, quickly but with instinctive tenderness, the force of his weight and searing heat penetrating her flesh and heart. Flames ignited stray strands of her hair, but she did not notice. Her arms went around him, and she held on like the cloud holds the thunderstorm, tears welling from her eyes.

  The fury of his passion, the hot metal and the flames took their toll of her clothing and body, but if there was pain she did not feel it. Nor would she recall it. There was only pleasure. But not the heady erotic rapture she had known so often before. This time it had impossible dimensions, was of a size and softness and rapture and contentment only dreamed of by young girls. Never before had a man as powerful and proud and deadly as Gath of Baal walked the earth, nor would there ever be such a man made again, and she held him in her arms.

  Tonight he belonged to her.

  Thirty-One

  NIGHT RIDERS

  The string of five riders headed west by north on the Way of the Scorpion. Their bodies were covered with dark robes, and they kept to the low ground, galloping through the concealing gloom of defile and canyon, only crossing moonlit mesa and hogback when the route demanded it.

  Three hours had passed since they had packed their provisions on the stolen horses, heaved the wagon into the chasm and ridden into the night. But the string had never lost shape or strength. They rode together, with one destination, one purpose.

  Gath galloped well ahead, picking his way through the midnight darkness with his metal head still sputtering flames like a volcanic avalanche. He wore his black chain mail now, and the musical clinks of the metal played lightly among the drumming of hooves on soft earth. Somehow he had mysteriously regained control of the helmet, but he had paid a price. The flames continued to sputter and smoke, and he had lost all ability to speak.

  The bukko king was second in line, sitting his saddle like a nineteen-year-old braggart soldier in love. Since they had set forth, he had been deliberately displaying his horsemanship by guiding his horse over the most difficult passages, always being careful to suck in his paunch, and never failing to throw spicy glances back at Cobra, a woman young enough to be his daughter, and seductive enough to make a fool out of any nineteen-year-old, particularly one in his middle fifties.

  Cobra followed diligently, being careful to acknowledge the bukko’s performance. She kept her hood over her head and held her robe tightly about her. Every so often, when the bukko was not looking, she would bend forward in the saddle and gasp, as if in pain. But when someone would take notice, she immediately sat erect, and rode on with determination and spirit.

  Robin stayed as close to the serpent woman as she could, watching her carefully and with concern. The girl was now so wrapped in black robes that she looked like a billowing bag of felt.

  Jakar rode at the tail of the string, with his eyes on the billowing bag. He could not see one soft inch of Robin. Nevertheless he was enjoying the sight of her, and the lighthearted glint in his eyes was now rooted in something more substantial than skepticism.

  When the riders broke free of the lava beds, they left the Way of the Scorpion and plunged directly west through thickets of tamarisk and low-lying carob trees. They veered and slashed, tearing their cloaks and scratching faces and thighs, but did not slacken their pace. They continued in this manner for nearly an hour, hiding their movements in every available chink and cranny, and always guided by a distant star Cobra called Veshta’s Light. Then the thickets thinned, and they reined up abruptly, still within the concealing growth.

  Spreading in front of them were expansive mud flats, dry and hard, as white and smooth as ice in the moonlight, and shattered like a clay plate. In the distance, torch-bearing riders were headed
in their direction. The small group watched the torches until they passed by several hundred feet to the north and vanished into the thickets. Spear-bearing soldiers or outlaws. It was impossible to identify them further in the dark. When the sound of their horses faded, Gath led the small group across the flats, using the trail torn out of the dry mud by the night riders.

  The first light of dawn was edging into the black sky when they reined up in the bed of a narrow, intermittent stream. Behind them was a shadowy world, a gutted landscape of tabletop mesas, canyons, rifts and fractures. In front of them, a rolling plain rose gently through hazy darkness toward the foothills of a mountain range. The hills were even more gently curved and appeared soft in the dim light. They rose to fully rounded mountains that thrust voluptuously up into the embrace of the indigo sky. They seemed endless, each rising higher and higher. The Breasts of Veshta.

  “There they are!” Cobra’s breathless voice broke as she spoke, and her smile was weak. Nevertheless it spoke eloquently of her soaring expectations. “All… all we have to do is cross those mountains.”

  They sat exhausted and worn in their saddles, staring at the mountains, more sensing than seeing the faint morning light eat into the darkness around them. If they started into the plain, the sun would be beating down on them before they were halfway across. A moment passed, and Brown John asked the question they were all thinking.

  “What do you figure, one more night? Two?” Except for Gath, they all turned to Cobra. She was breathing heavily. Sensing their eyes, she calmed herself. “If we leave as soon as it’s dark, we…” She hesitated, wavering weakly in her saddle, then drew herself erect and continued, “We should make Pyram before sunrise tomorrow.”

  They smiled at that, then held still, watching the plain.

  In the distance, a troop of spear-carrying riders, strung out like a writhing black rope, had appeared heading away from them. One of the lead riders held a banner that flapped lazily on the air. It was black with three bright red circles on it, the mark of the Nymph Queen of Pyram.

  When the soldiers vanished beyond a hill, Gath dismounted. Brown John, Robin and Jakar did the same, then Cobra tried and fell off her horse. Brown John, Robin and Jakar rushed to her, and the bukko held her in his arms, loosening her robes as Robin pushed back the hood. Cobra’s hair was charred and burnt short in places on one side of her head, and her neck, shoulder and cheek were red and blistered. “Holy Bled!” exclaimed Brown John.

  “What happened?” Robin asked.

  “It’s all right,” Cobra said weakly.

  “No, it’s not!” growled the bukko.

  “Please, Brown,” Cobra pleaded, “don’t say anything. It’s not his fault. And I can rest all day now. I’ll be fine by dark.”

  “But you’re badly hurt,” the bukko said. “You should have said something.”

  She shook her head. “We couldn’t have stopped to rest, and I really will be fine.” She pushed the bukko’s hands aside gently. “So keep your hands to yourself, you shameless old goat. Robin will take care of me, won’t you, lass?”

  “Of course,” Robin said. “Can you walk? There’s a hidden spot just a little ways back that looked like it might be comfortable.”

  Cobra said she could walk, and they helped her to the spot Robin had spoken of. Then, as Robin privately saw to Cobra’s wounds, the men tethered the horses in a depression, watered them and distributed equal portions of water and food for the group, with the exception of Cobra, who was given all her needs required. When Robin finished with Cobra, and the serpent woman fell asleep from the herbs the girl had given her, Brown John asked Robin how Cobra had been hurt.

  “I can’t tell you, Brown,” she said firmly. “Before she would let me attend to her wounds, she made me promise not to speak to anyone about their nature.”

  “But how badly is she hurt?”

  “She’s in pain, but she’ll be all right.”

  Not satisfied, he demanded, “Robin, this is the wrong time for you to be keeping your vows. Tell me what happened.”

  “I can’t,” she said, “but I will tell you this. Whatever she did, she did it for us.”

  The bukko, seeing he was going to get nowhere, joined Cobra to watch over his bright cloth as she slept.

  Jakar and Robin sat together under a concealing shelf of rock, and Gath sat facing the plain behind a rock that looked a little less dangerous than he did. He sat apart from the others in the manner of his dream, by himself.

  After Jakar and Robin finished their meal, he casually asked her, “What you said, about Cobra doing whatever she did for all of us… you made that up, right? To make Brown John feel better?” She shook her bushy black-red hair. “That’s what she told me to tell him. She didn’t want him to worry, you know, just in case he would blame Gath instead of the helmet for what happened.”

  “What did happen?”

  “I can’t discuss it,” Robin said, ending that topic. He nodded and asked carefully, “While you were with her, did she look at the map?”

  “No. She’s exhausted.”

  Another nod, and he asked, “When did she last look at it?”

  Robin hesitated, frowning as best her smooth forehead allowed, and said, “I guess it was early last night, when she gave me this robe to wear. But it was only a glance. She hasn’t really examined it since she drew it on me.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Jakar said, and leaned back against the rock. “I think she’s been lying. I think she knows the way to Pyram.”

  Robin started to protest, but gave up and bunched her cheeks frumpishly under worried eyes. “I was thinking the same thing. But why did she draw the map then?”

  “Maybe it’s not just a map.”

  “You mean magic signs? Like… like before?” He nodded, once.

  “Maybe I should wash it off.”

  “Maybe,” he said, leaving the decision to her.

  She thought about it and said, “I don’t know. She’s hurt. Hurt bad. And she won’t complain about it. She’s very brave, and I don’t know why, but I trust her. And if it is a map, and she does need it, I don’t think…”

  “I agree,” he said, interrupting. “But she’s hiding something, isn’t she? You can sense it, can’t you?” She nodded. “I didn’t notice at first. I was, well, thinking about you and me, I guess, and wasn’t concentrating. But I can feel it now, and the closer we get to Pyram, the harder it is for her to hide it.”

  “But you still trust her, don’t you?” She smiled weakly in reply, and he added, “Well, if you trust her, I trust her.”

  She smiled at that, then frowned again. “But maybe we should tell Brown John and Gath.”

  He shrugged. “I’m sure they noticed long before we did.”

  “But they didn’t say anything!”

  “Wouldn’t be any point. We’re going to need her when and if we get to Pyram, and even if she’s up to something, well, we still have a chance.”

  Robin nodded lamely and sat looking off at the mountains with worried eyes.

  “Frightened?” he asked.

  She nodded without looking at him.

  “Good, you should be,” he said. She looked at him, suddenly more frightened, and he added, “Whatever he did to her, he can do to you.”

  She took hold of her lower lip with her teeth, held it briefly, then let go and said evenly, “I know that. I’ve known it since we started. But he won’t. He’ll never hurt me, Jakar, believe me.”

  Jakar smiled at her for a long appreciative moment, then said gently, “Fluff, be careful. Things don’t always turn out the way you want them to.”

  “Are you afraid I couldn’t take it if they didn’t? Afraid I’d be too hurt?”

  “Yes,” he said, “I am.”

  That made her smile, and instinctively she touched his cheek. She started to pull her hand away, but he caught it, stroking her fingers with his. They looked at each other for a long time before she spoke.

  “You’ve chan
ged.”

  “Yes,” he said, “I just noticed that myself.”

  She grinned. “I guess I’m not going to need any jewels to cure you after all.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” he warned with a skeptical smile, then his dark eyes sobered and his voice became intense with passion. “All I can see, all I’ve ever seen when I look at you, is an incredibly rare jewel.”

  That melted her, and they gathered each other in their arms, kissing and kissing, like young lovers in the privacy of their hearts, and all around them the world was new.

  When the sun was high in the sky, the group still sat in their hiding places, looking across the plain at the Breasts of Veshta. Waiting. They knew they could not move until the light had again died. Then they would cross the open ground, keeping to the shadow-filled valleys and guts between the hills, and ride into the mountains with their movements concealed by night’s bountiful darkness. So they waited, silent and patient, each with their separate, yet single, dream.

  Thirty-Two

  NEW RECRUIT

  Tiyy galloped up the mountain road, her dust billowing in the morning sunshine. Impatient. Dirty from a long trail. Leading a detachment of her household guards, a surly bunch wearing leather, steel, dust and violence the way their queen wore her power. Naturally.

  The nymph rode bareback, a frothing black and white horse, and was as naked as the animal except for rawhide boots, leather breechclout and sheathed dagger strapped to her forearm. Savage. Regal. Her spiked blond hair flagged wildly and her dark walnut legs wore the trail dust as if it were sprinkled gold.

  Reaching her recruiting depot at the heights of the Breasts of Veshta, she reined up hard and dismounted facing Schraak as he prostrated himself in the dirt before her. All around the compound, the border guards manning the depot did the same: at the stables, at the mouths of the many caves pockmarking the mountainside, and on the small parade ground fronting the caves. She looked down at the small man’s shuddering body as if he were a hole in the ground.