Brown John rose into a crouch, his hand clutching the whip coiled around his neck, and listened intently. The women’s voices were closer together now.
“You see correctly, butterfly,” the sorceress said calmly, “but it is only a surface emotion. Come, stand next to me. Look deep, and tell me what you see.”
“What am I supposed to see?”
“Just look!”
The sound of scuffling sandals, then the girl’s voice came again. “I don’t see…”
“Closer, put your face to mine.” Cobra’s voice was so close to Robin’s it sounded as if their lips were touching.
Brown John descended three more steps, and turned an ear toward the bottom of the stairwell. Motionless. Intent.
“Now what do you see?” Cobra’s voice asked.
“Fear!” The girl’s voice was startled. Then she lost control, and her words tossed like leaves on a wind. “Fear! A… a terrible fear!”
“For what?” Two words as weighted with portent as the entire prologue of Thirteen Knives at Hog-Scald.
“For yourself, and…” Robin’s voice gasped in confusion. “But I don’t understand!”
“You see it now, don’t you?” the woman’s voice purred. “Here, I will remove the mandrake root.” Her voice paused, then added, “And still you see it, don’t you? I fear for you as much as I fear for myself.”
“But… but why?”
Brown John’s eyes asked the same question, and he felt suddenly out of control. Things were going too fast. He moved halfway down the stairwell until he could hear clearly as Cobra spoke.
“There is no mystery to it, girl. You are the one the Nymph Queen hunts, and if anything happens to you, all is lost! For me as well as your friends.”
“I know that, but that’s what confuses me. Why does she want to… to murder me instead of Gath?”
“Well, primarily, I would think, because you keep the helmet from overpowering Gath. But there are undoubtedly other reasons as well.”
“What reasons?”
“They would only confuse you further if I tried to explain. Besides, there is no time. All you must understand is that I wish you no harm, and that you must trust me. Completely. Just as Brown John trusts me.”
Brown John scowled. Cobra was taking him for granted.
“But why does he trust you?” Robin’s voice asked tentatively.
“Because he knows, or rather senses, that I know more about you than you know yourself.”
Brown John’s mouth dropped open.
“But… but that’s not possible.”
“If you doubt me, look again into my eyes and see if I lie.”
The sounds of pounding hooves and rattling wheels filled the void left by the momentarily silent voices, and the bukko slid down another step, his ear turned. He waited, and a whimpering gasp of recognition rose above the sounds. It was Robin’s.
“You see,” Cobra’s voice said quietly, “I am not playing false with you. I know you, butterfly, and I can help you do what must be done. Do you understand now?”
The bukko sat rigidly still, waiting. Why was the serpent woman trying to gain Robin’s trust? What was she up to? When Robin’s voice came again, it startled him. It was weak and timid, as if drawn out of her by sorcery.
She said, “Yes.”
“You’ll let me draw the signs, instruct you?”
“Yes.” Weaker still.
“Then get undressed!” Cobra’s voice no longer coaxed: it was in control.
“Yes,” Robin’s voice said obediently, then said it again. There was the sound of a cloak dropping to the floor, and sandals being kicked off, then her voice came a third time, startled now. “Why… why are you undressing?”
The old man’s brown eyes widened until the whites showed all around, and sweat drained off his forehead. When Cobra’s voice replied, it was cool and calming.
“Do not be alarmed. We are going to perform a routine transfer of knowledge, something every hill girl can do. All that is required is a belief in one’s natural powers, and a strong Kaa. You have these, your gift of healing has proven it, and you have an exceptionally vulnerable and absorbing nature. When my flesh touches yours, it will instruct you, teach your senses how to arouse carnal pleasure in the men you dance for… and in yourself.”
“Myself?” Robin’s voice protested weakly.
“Yes.” Cobra’s voice was low and flat. Robin whimpered, and the woman continued with cold candor, “You must understand, butterfly. When you dance, you are going to have to perform in a way that is vile and repellent to you. You must allow feelings and sensations that you have suppressed to blossom, or you will not arouse these demon spawn and make them show themselves.”
“But what if I can’t?”
“You must!” Desperation had entered Cobra’s voice, faint but shaking.
There was a moment of hesitation, and Brown John’s breathing raced uncertainly. The serpent woman was up to something, and he was not sure he wanted to know what it was. Then Robin’s trembling voice asked, “What’s going to happen to me? How… how will these… these creatures show themselves? What kind of monsters are they? They’re going to hurt me, aren’t they?”
“I do not know their natures,” Cobra’s voice answered candidly. “Hopefully they will just circle you, like moths stupefied by torchlight. But I cannot promise it. Understand, I’ll dance first and try to draw them out. If I can, you will not need to dance, but don’t count on that.”
“That’s all I have to do, dance?”
“Yes, but this above all, Robin, you must understand.” Her voice had quieted, and become deadly sober. “Whatever danger comes your way, tonight, tomorrow or next week, you must risk it. You must be willing to sacrifice yourself… at any moment… or the quest will fail.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I cannot explain why, not to you or anyone else. The knowledge could tarnish you. You must simply understand that the risk and efforts you take to steal the sacred jewels must not be for your own gain, but for your friends. And you must take the risks and expend the effort silently, seeking no pity, no glory, no reward.”
“But I don’t want any. I only thought that their powers could not only free Gath but maybe cure Jakar of his grief and bitterness.”
“Good,” replied Cobra’s voice, and Brown John thought he could hear her smile.
A moment passed, then Robin’s voice asked, “Brown John doesn’t know I’m in danger, does he?”
“No. He knows you take some risk, but he is confused as to its nature. He is a dreamer: he only sees things as he wishes to see them. I am sure he thinks that the only things at stake tonight are your theatrical scruples, and you must not let him, or Gath or the handsome young nobleman, think anything different. If they knew the risk, they would try to stop you.”
Brown John held his breath, and visions of Jakar’s threatening eyes and Gath’s deadly axe coming at him passed across his mind. But he remained where he was. Motionless. Silent.
“I understand,” Robin’s voice replied. “Brown seems much older now, and somehow softer. I think he needs a woman.”
Cobra’s chuckle rang in the bukko’s ears, then her voice. “You are wiser, butterfly, than your years admit to. Now hurry, get those things off.”
Brown John sagged back against the stairs. He was sweating, and his face was florid with humiliation. He pushed himself erect and started down the stairs. He came within two steps of the opening at the bottom of the stairwell and once more stopped short. He could hear the sounds of more clothing falling on the floor. He frowned in confusion and leaned forward listening. The wheels squealed again outside, and the boards heaved and groaned as the wagon bounced and tossed. Amid the noise there was a tinkle of warm laughter, then Cobra spoke.
“Child, you are indeed a wonder. Even more beautiful than when I saw you imprisoned in the Kitzakk priest’s huge flask with the milk spilling over you. You’ve grown, filled out, and it becomes
you. I wish I were not so jealous, so I could enjoy it more.” She laughed again, with restrained warmth, then her voice purred invitingly. “Now stand close, let our bodies touch.”
Brown John hesitated, a sudden rush of scruples making him think twice about what he was about to do. Then the rubber ball began to bounce again in his eyes, and he mischievously peered around the corner.
The two figures stood naked face-to-face in the dark shuttered room, flesh pressed against flesh. One body as carnal as the other was wholesome. One as white as warm cream, and the other the color of nutmeg and oiled, glistening in the smoky yellow light rising from the candles on the floor.
A rush of hot breath escaped the bukko’s lips, and fearing detection, he sank back out of sight into the stairwell. He was panting, and shaking his head, not in shame, but in wonder. The vision was chaotic. It confounded love and desire, and simultaneously unleashed disorder and order, and virtue and vice. It humbled him, and made him feel suddenly impotent, not as a man, but as a bukko. Never in all his days could his imagination have set two such extraordinary players on a stage. So, telling himself it was his professional duty to examine the vision in detail in order to instruct himself for further use, he again peered around the corner.
Robin stood perfectly still as the sorceress’ voluptuous white body pressed against hers, and waves of heat appeared to unfold within the girl’s flesh, like a flowering bud with petals a dozen shades of red.
Cobra slid her red-nailed hands over the girl’s shoulders and down her back, pressing their breasts together.
Robin’s hair had been dyed a reddish black, and oiled ringlets trembled about her flushed face, clinging wetly to cheeks and neck. Two buzzard feathers, tied with a thong to her hair, dangled rakishly beside one ear. A thick line of black kohl rimmed her large eyes, giving them a harsh, brazen quality the girl could not have managed on her own, and a scarlet arrow was painted on her forehead. It pointed down at her small nose, and its angularity had a touch of cruelty.
Brown John, using the cuff of his sleeve, dabbed at the sweat dripping off his face, and his eyes marveled at the sorceress’ skill. Robin already seemed more accessible than he had ever seen her before, and the access was not to her heart, but to her flesh. It stirred him shamefully, but he did not turn away, and his eyes took in the whole room.
His chests were all open, and costumes of all description littered the floor. Some had been tom apart, others had obviously been discarded and were piled in the corners. A small firepot burned under a flask on the table which was littered with pastes, berries, herbs, the cadaver of a large featherless bird, jars of animal fat and a small leaden vial with a lead stopper which he did not recall seeing before.
Suddenly the girl pushed away from Cobra and stepped back, gasping for breath and trembling. Her body was flushed from ankle to forehead, and her eyes smoked with inner heat.
“Good,” Cobra purred, “you begin to feel it.”
Brown John unconsciously nodded agreement. He also felt it, and his eyes wandered over Cobra’s naked curves. There was an ease and luxury to the serpent woman. Her breasts were pillowy, her belly a soft bed, and her hips luxurious divans. Every part of her suggested a place to lie down, but not to sleep. A little bit more of that kind of thinking, and again he had to look away.
When he looked back, Cobra had put her cloak back on and squatted in front of Robin. She held a jar of rouge in one hand. Dipping the tip of a small finger in the paste, she used it as a brush and carefully began to draw on the girl’s inner thigh.
Brown John, suddenly ashamed and sweating profusely, withdrew his head. He took a deep breath and started back up the stairs, moving silently. Behind him, the voices came again, Robin’s first.
“What dance will I perform?”
“One of the oldest, butterfly. The dance the whores use to ward off the poxes and plagues of lust common to their profession. It is called the Fire Ceremony. I can teach it to you in no time.”
“But will Brown John know it? He’ll have to play the drums.”
The bukko, exhausted and wet and scowling, stopped at the top of the stairs. Cobra’s sarcastic chuckle came first, then her voice.
“The bukko, child, knows a great deal more than he chooses to tell innocent young girls like yourself. I have no doubt that he knows the Fire Ceremony as well as if he had invented it himself.”
The pair laughed together at that, and Brown John nodded agreement, crossing to the ladder. He put a foot on the first rung and hesitated, listening to the compelling rattle and shake of the wagon and the thundering hooves. They all sang the same song, the song of the open road. He was once again plunging into the unknown, and realizing it, he grinned, asking himself questions. What secrets was Cobra withholding? Why was she so desperate to make certain Robin’s motives were so pure and virtuous?
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 s
ober 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.
[Death Dealer 02] - Lords of Destruction Page 11