Prisoner of the Horned Helmet (14 page)

THE JOURNEY

A
t first light, four days later, Gath left his root house wearing the mended suit of chain mail. It was now blackened except for scattered glitters of raw metal. Two jars of wine, a blanket roll, sword, two daggers, a satchel and a leather fire pouch rode his back and belt, and he carried Red Helmet’s axe in his right hand. His clean-shaven face wore the color of good health, and he was bareheaded, moving west with a hurried stride.

By the time he reached Trail’s End, at the farthest edge of the Shades, he slowed to a reasonable pace. His face was flushed, and the wounds on his shoulder and thighs were hot and chafed under the chain mail.

A crowd of bleached skulls mounted on sticks marked Trail’s End. Beyond it was Toofar, and beyond that the Land of Smoking Skies.

Gath picked his way through the skulls, weaved through the tangled vines beyond, and found a dusty path apparently formed by big-footed, wide-shouldered beasts. It took him to Noga Swamp, a seemingly endless spread of mangroves whose mammoth roots rose out of murky green slime to form house-sized structures roofed by leafy trees. Amid the shadows, a scarlet dragon-lizard sunned itself in a scrap of sunlight.

It was sprawled on a bald rock about a foot from the spot where Gath’s boot landed with a crunch. The lizard popped an eye open, spread its toothy jaws in a silent scream, and fled leaping and dashing over a highway of branches into the swamp.

Gath grinned at this show of comical flattery, then splashed to a stop. The cacophony of insect sounds that swarmed over the swamps was swelling in volume. Then all about him there was a multitude of slithering movements, as if the enormous swamp were a single living creature. A pandemonium of splashing and bubbling followed, then silence. The sudden void of sound gave the wet land a strange compelling aspect, and a thrill shot through Gath, as if he were a boy again feeling that first hunger to see the other side of the mountain.

He high stepped his way along the edge of the swamp, and as Cobra had said he would, came to an ancient, raised dirt road that wound its way through the mangroves. At irregular intervals along its battered broken body, vine-covered bridges rose above the water to pass over deep ponds and the tallest roots. He followed it and moved west deep into the swamp.

As he passed over the murky ponds the sounds and movements slowly returned. They started behind him, then came rolling around him, waves of tiny, clacking voices washing him forward.

Large, slime-coated eyes watched him from the root shadows. He felt a thousand others on his back. But the road in front of him seemed strangely lifeless. He shortened his grip on his axe.

At a bridge spanning a wide canal that linked two lake-sized ponds, Gath stopped warily. At the center of the ponds the green slime dissipated and feathered out in webs of yellowish foam, then gave way to patches of blue-green water. Splashes of sunlight, finding passage through the thinning tree cover, made them glitter, and graced the skeleton of a man dangling from a high tree branch. He hung by his own chain neckpiece. His legs were missing, but he still looked as tall as Gath. An ancient giant who had had his stature severely reduced by some enterprising swamp creature.

Gath’s eyes hunted through the murky wetness, stopped and turned cold. A mammoth crocodile floated on its belly in the shade below the skeleton. Its scaly hide was the color of the swamp and crusted with warts, scars, sores. Its blinking eyes, dense with thick yellowish cataracts, had obviously seen centuries of the primordial world’s suffering. The creature’s teeth, rotted to sharp jagged stumps, had no doubt contributed a large portion to that agony. Its best days were long gone, but with jaws big enough for three men to wrestle in, it was still Lord of the Swamp.

Gath rolled his shoulders and moved arrogantly across the bridge giving the mammoth reptile his back.

At the western side of the swamp the road consisted of rotting wooden planks mounted on wooden stilts as tall as trees. A floating bridge that passed narrowly over giant Tubb plants, spined cannibal flowers shaped like pitchers with rounded lids that poured forth beckoning tongues.

Beyond the swamp was more forest, then Panga Pass, a narrow dirt trail through brown foothills of stacked boulders of uncanny sizes and shapes. It was as barren of plant life as the swamp was dense. Beyond the boulders the pass twisted between two mountains. The yellow-orange ball of the sun dipped below their rugged horizon in glowing invitation.

Gath traveled west until the light was gone, then made camp under an overhanging rock and ate. When night came threats came with it; the vicious roars of strange, prowling demons, the hiss of everything that slithered. He did not try to sleep.

The next day he was on the march again.

Deep within the rising pass he found a swinging bridge, another landmark. It was built of ropes as thick as tree trunks with wooden planks serving as the roadbed. A few hundred feet beneath the bridge, the turbulent Nualna River crashed over the huge, blunt boulders of the gorge. Here the trail turned north while the river cascaded down steep waterfalls flowing east. Beyond the falls to the west he could see only blue sky.

He left the trail and moved west to a cool shaded area near a waterfall. He had heard, but not seen any living creature for a day and a night, no bird, insect or beast. Here the river water was no haven for fish, frog or dragonfly, and the sky looked as if it had never served as a highway for bird or butterfly.

He peered into a still pond at the base of the waterfall, expecting to see his own reflection. But refractions of sunlight distorted his image so he could not tell who or what he saw. He started to kneel and drink the water, but stood instead and urinated on his rippling reflection.

It was dusk when he reached the top of the falls. Rain started drizzling down through thick mists. It was impossible to tell direction. Mists lay low, enveloping the ground. All he could see were thick, grey places of moving mysteries.

Gath found a dry perch under a shelf of overhanging rock. When night came clouds of moving blackness swirled over him. Moon and star were invisible. He could not see the axe in his own hand. The sounds of the unseen crashing water blotted out all other sounds and dominated his senses. Again he did not sleep.

Morning arrived as a pale grey glow behind swirling fog. But the rain had stopped.

With burning red-rimmed eyes, Gath stalked out from under his shelf wearing an expression as temperate as a flung spear. He could not see trail or landmark. He growled, groped for his belongings and started off into the mists blindly. Ten feet of this, and he stopped short. An emerald and gold lizard poised on a black rock was staring at him audaciously.

Gath took a stride toward it and his eyes widened with curiosity. The arrogant lizard was wearing a thin gold collar. He grabbed for it, but it scooted off and vanished among the rocks, only to reappear on a flat bare area a short way off. An escort? Why not? He, more politely, moved after the lizard and it turned, led the way skittering forward.

Gradually the mists burnt off, and the midday sun spilled light down through blue sky to grace distant black clouds with crowns of dusty gold. The clouds clustered over the flaming mouths of several volcanic craters, the largest of which rose directly in front of him. The Land of Smoking Skies.

As he advanced, Gath spotted guards standing at the mouths of caves on the sides of the volcano. Coming closer, he saw a small troop of soldiers carrying game into one cave as another troop moved out. They saw Gath and seemed to hesitate and consult each other. But then they went on about their business.

He reached a rock staircase leading up to the two enormous golden doors Cobra had described. Upon arriving at the landing he found the golden doors slightly open and two soldiers in green leather waiting for him. Music and the scents of jasmine and strong, sweet liquor drifted out of the dark corridor behind them. The soldiers were heavy boned, with jewels on their fingers and in their ears. They welcomed Gath using the common language of barter, and told him that the Queen of Serpents awaited him in her quarters. Their tone was one of hardy warmth, but Gath found it difficult to trust. Their tongues were forked.

THE HORNED HELMET

T
he two escorts led Gath slowly down a corridor of polished black rock. As they passed the open barracks door, Gath glimpsed men coiled with serpents, heard hissing sounds and pleasurable groans, and disgust crawled down his back.

Reaching the long tavernlike room, the escorts hesitated and soldiers, both male and female, stopped their drinking and conversations to look at Gath. They all had blackened, lewd eyes as cold-blooded as last year’s dead. By contrast, their faces were vivid and hot. Glittering scales showed on the backs of their hands. In a corner a young naked girl, a Dowat, was chained to the wall playing a flute. Seeing Gath, she stopped and a flicker of hope touched her eyes. A soldier stood abruptly, kicked her, and she resumed playing.

The two escorts asked Gath if he wished to eat and clean up before being presented to their queen. Without looking at them, he snapped, “No.”

He tossed his backpack in a corner, then, with axe still in hand, strode past the tables and preceded his startled escorts through a blood-red door. Before the door shut a burst of bawdy laughter followed them out.

The guards led Gath down the tunnel of volcanic rock, through a corridor of polished obsidian and into a wide staircase. He noticed a large hole in the ceiling and paused, scrutinizing it intently, before proceeding up the opposite stairs. The two escorts had hurried ahead to part heavy silver drapes revealing a room spilling with gold and silver light. Gath entered alone, and the drapes fell closed behind him.

Cobra stood at the center of the silver floor, a figure of cascading diamonds and glittering light in silver scales. Regal. Magnificent. She stood perfectly still yet seemed to be constantly moving, like a liquid jewel being poured from a goblet. For a breath of time she softened and radiated rosy light from a voluptuous body of powdery rose-pink flesh, then the gown returned to behaving like the formal tunic of ornamental majesty which it was.

“Greetings, Dark One,” she said with throaty emotion. “You are a welcome sight indeed. But you look exhausted. Your new armor must be very heavy.”

He hardly heard her. Everything about her and the room emanated a discomforting elegance and heady sensuality that made his flesh crawl, yet brought color to his cheeks. Regaining his composure, he admitted, “It was a long trip.”

“You didn’t sleep, did you? I was afraid of that.”

“That is my business.”

“But it’s my fault, and I am truly sorry. The creatures of the swamp and mountains did their best to ease your trip, but it is difficult for them to be quiet at night.”

Gath’s eyes impatiently searched the bed of black furs, the ebony cabinets, and the silver drapes which circled the room. “Where is it?” he demanded.

“There is no hurry, if you would like to eat and sleep first, you are welcome to.” She indicated her bed.

“I have no need of sleep.”

The corners of her full mouth drew down slightly, but then, with a subtle show of confidence, she nodded graciously and said, “Then come with me.”

Cobra’s glittering form glided to an internal stairway and down into it. Gath followed, taking note that it did not have a hole in the ceiling but was decorated artfully with ancient spears, swords, shields and pieces of armor.

The stairs descended in a steep circular fashion through a rough-hewn tunnel of basalt. Gath could feel himself approaching the center of the mountain. Black smoke hovered at its ceiling. As they descended, it gathered around their heads and the walls became hot.

Gath’s face reddened, and he began to sweat. Cobra’s movements showed no change, but the gleam of excitement in her eyes was not completely sane.

The base of the tunnel clouded with a smokey red glow. Gath squinted under the glare, his pupils retreating to inky points, then followed her blindly into a searing, enveloping light.

When his vision cleared he saw they stood in the cone of a living volcano. Its hard basalt floor was penetrated by holes bubbling and flaming with molten lava. The flames cast moving red light over the smoke-filled room, and crackled and bubbled with sounds of eerie aspiration. Then, as if the mountain itself were drawing its breath, the smoke was sucked away to reveal an altar over the large central hole of bubbling lava, a huge reptilian skull mounted on a rock. Flames filled the massive brain cavity. They alternately hid and revealed a glistening dark object, fondling it in their torrid embrace.

Gath, his eyes fixed on the altar, muttered, “What place is this?”

“A sacred place,” Cobra answered reverently. “The only living altar of my master, the Lord of Death, whom we also call the Master of Darkness.”

He turned to her sharply, amazement and disbelief flashing behind the reflections of fire in his eyes.

“Do you doubt me?” she asked without concern.

Without warning the room shook. Thunder cracked. Pieces of rock fell from the ceiling beside Gath, and tongues of flame roared out of the nearby lava pits to lick his shins and drive him back against the wall.

Gath’s boots were smoking. His chain mail was smeared with black smoking soot. When he looked at Cobra his expression was a long way from doubt, and showed signs of total conversion. The room grew quiet again.

Cobra’s exquisite eyes shone with pride. “My master resides far below in the world of fire within the bowels of the earth, but sees… understands what we feel… what we think.”

Gath did not argue.

She studied his face with satisfaction and continued, “The Lord of Death designed the helmet I spoke of. It is he himself who has selected me to make the choice of who shall wear it.”

Gracefully she wound her way through several small flaming pits and stood before the stone bridge. Its tonguelike body arched through the flames of the large central fire pit, passed over the lower teeth of the monstrous outspread jaws and into the flame-filled brain. She beckoned Gath who had not moved. “Come, you can see it from here.”

He moved cautiously through the fire pits to her side. She arched her long neck proudly and looked up reverently into the cavity. Gath, his head slightly averted, did the same.

The flames within the brain cavity lowered fitfully to reveal the dark metal of a magnificent horned helmet outlined sharply against billowing grey and yellow smoke. A tongue of flame held it erect at the center of the brain cavity. Its masked eyes glowed directly at Gath.

The Barbarian swelled as the thrill of anticipation surged through him. A reckless glint flickered across his eyes.

Cobra caught his glint and smiled. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“You can feel its power even from here.”

He nodded again.

She turned to the helmet. Her voice came from a distant place, as if disembodied. “It is made with magic. From the spirit of a thousand tyrants and warriors, and from metal which has drunk so deeply of conquest it has assumed its own spirit, its own nature.”

She turned to him, and her voice became intimate again. “Its steel is like no other, Dark One. Go look at it, see for yourself. It’s alive.”

Warily he glanced at her, then at the flames crackling around the bridge. Suddenly they lowered, as if in obedience to her silent command, and the bridge, smoking and spattered with small remnants of fire, lay open to the prize.

“Take your time,” she murmured. “Stand close, look into its eyes and you will know that all I say is true. Meanwhile, I will be in my chambers… waiting for you… to conclude our contract.”

He shook his head. “I will test it first.” He slung his axe on his back. ›

“Wait!” she gasped. “What are you going to do?”

He pushed past her and started over the bridge. The bubbling lava boiled and a flame shot up, licked his legs in warning. He jumped forward, dashed for the brain cavity.

Cobra shrieked, “No! Don’t!”

The room shook. Thundered. Parts of the bridge broke away under his feet. Rocks fell from the ceiling, crashed through the skull, knocking Gath to his knees. The hot rocks burnt his hands. The flames were again enclosing the helmet. It was only a vague dark object within crackling red fire. He jumped up and plunged both hands into the flames, growling at the searing pain, and came away with the horned prize. The hair on his arms was curled and smoking.

Cobra, screaming hysterically, retreated to the tunnel.

Gath, hobbling the hot steel, started down the bridge. More rocks fell. They crushed the center of the bridge, and it fell away, hit the lava and exploded. He ducked back into the protection of the brain cavity, avoiding the spewing lava, then leaped forward and sprang across the wide opening in the bridge.

The floor of the cone greeted him by splitting apart in large jagged cracks and spewing sheets of flame to wall him in. He charged through them. The room was quaking, lurching. Thunderclaps roared up out of the bowels of the earth. The entire floor of the cone buckled and threw him down. When he rolled upright he was isolated on an island of rock with lava bubbling in wide trenches surrounding him. Twenty feet away Cobra stood with her back to the entrance tunnel, arms spread, pressing against the sides of the tunnel. Defending it. Her voice was brutal, desperate, hoarse.

“You’re mad! It will destroy you!”

Gath gloated at her in wild defiance. He unslung his axe from his back and rested it against his knee. Raising the helmet in both hands, he brought it to his face, held it there as he glared past its horns with savage reckless fury.

Cobra reeled. “You fool!”

He lifted the horned helmet above his head, then lowered it carefully, engulfing his head in its brutal blackness.

Cobra, shuddering, blocked the tunnel with her shimmering, hypnotic body. Her eyes were wet and vivid.

Gath watched her through the eye slits of the helmet. His blood coursed through him like thick hot ropes. His chest, neck and thighs heaved against the chain mail, stretching it. He crouched warily, gripping his axe in two hands. The hunger in his eyes was ravenous.

Cobra had advanced into the cone and was smiling at him. But her teeth extruded strangely and there was a queer, sickly tint to her face and eyes. The whites turned dead yellow, and fangs appeared at the corners of her hot red lips.

She hissed, “You will not escape. The helmet won’t let you. But if you honor your contract… you will deal in death like no other man has ever dealt before. You will become the champion of the Master of Darkness… the Lord of Death’s executioner.”

Gath growled and leapt off his island. Flames shot up at him. The room again shook and thundered. Rocks came hurtling down, and knocked him to the floor.

Cobra, writhing in a whiplike fashion, screamed, “Go then! Go and learn! You will never know rest again! The Master owns you now! You’re mine!”

Gath rolled up, raced for the tunnel, and the floor split apart under him. He leaped to the side, crashed against the wall.

Cobra spread her jaws and spit at him. Her venom sizzled against his chain mail as she plunged into the tunnel.

Gath rose with his back against the wall as the ground started to collapse under him. He swung his axe high, buried the blade in a shelf of earth overhead, then climbed the handle as the ground gave way under him.

He clambered onto the shelf of rock and headed for the tunnel. Flames tongued him and scorched his metal. Ahead a huge protrusion of earth and stone blocked his passage. He ate into it with his axe desperately to cleave a crevice. Then he turned his shoulder to the rock and drove it into it. A dusty rubble dribbled through the slim fissure and fell into the bubbling lava below. He drove his shoulder into the rock again, and it sagged with a loud wrenching crunch, hung motionless with dirt and pebbles trickling loose, and dropped in one lump to the floor of the cone, smothering the nearby fires and filling the cone with dust.

Gath picked his way across the ridge until he was above the tunnel, jumped down, and raced into it.

Thick black smoke engulfed him as he raced up through the passage. Thunder from below shook it. Reaching the stairway, he plucked a heavy spear off the wall, and advanced up the stairs with axe in one hand, spear in the other.

Convulsions of smoke and flames and thunder boiled up out of the stairwell into Cobra’s chambers, then out of the demonic breath appeared a black horror. A spiked, horned helmet with its eye slits spitting flames of fury.