Rise of the Death Dealer (55 page)

PIT OF DOOM

B
rown John led the now conscious Cobra down to the road as Robin and Jakar
emerged from the shadows on the opposite side, and Robin raced into the old
man’s arms.

“Thank the gods!” the
bukko
exclaimed. “I thought they’d carried you
off.”

Cobra, her face ashen in the moonlight against her charred black hair, stood
uncertainly looking up the road. The torches of the bat soldiers were pins of
light in the vast pervading darkness of the night, and growing fainter and
fainter. Then they vanished, and Cobra moved slowly alongside the dismembered
bodies, studying them. She had regained consciousness in time to overhear
Schraak’s decision to return to Pyram, but could find no explanation for it. She
put her puzzled eyes on Jakar and asked, “What happened? Why have they left?”

“We tricked them,” he said evenly. “They think they have Robin.”

“Tricked? How?”

“I put her blood on one of the dead girls.”

“Her blood?” Cobra’s voice lost strength as she spoke. She looked down at the
stains of fresh blood on the ground, then at Robin’s pale flesh, and staggered
in place, her face distending with such horror that it could have been the
mother of all nightmares.

The
bukko
moved to her quickly, supporting her with his arms and
asking, “What’s wrong?”

She had to gasp for breath before she could speak. “Your dream is dead,
Brown.” Her voice was cold and bitter, and her eyes fixed on Jakar. “That small
man leading them was one of my priests. His name is Schraak. Somehow,” she
gasped, “somehow Tiyy has given him the power to see Robin’s aura in her flesh
and blood.”

“That’s what I was counting on,” said Jakar. “And it worked,” added the
bukko
enthusiastically. “He thinks he has her.”

“He does have her,” Cobra said darkly. “Tiyy does not need Robin… all she
needs is her blood.” Their eyes widened in horror, and she added, “She’ll
extract the power of Robin’s Kaa from the blood and corrupt it with her magic,
then feed on it. Whatever powers she’s lost, she’ll regain immediately. But it
won’t stop there. Now she’ll have power over the helmet just as Robin had, power
enough to make Gath surrender to it. And when she controls him, she’ll send him
after Robin.”

“It won’t make any difference,” Robin protested weakly. “He won’t hurt me.”

“That’s right,” Brown John chimed in. “Gath won’t submit no matter what she
does. You’ve seen how he’s fought the helmet. He won’t quit now!” Cobra turned
her grey-gold eyes on the
bukko
and smiled. There was warmth in her
expression, but no hope. “Brown,” she said, “I know you love Gath, and believe
me, I know he is an extraordinary man. But he is now held by powers no man can
overcome.” Her smile sank tiredly. “It’s over, my friend. Finished. No amount of
words, no matter how filled with humor and hope, can help him now… or us.”

“I quite agree,” Brown John
said, “The next scene does not call for dialogue, but for action.”

Jakar nodded agreement, saying, “They didn’t have our horses with them, so
maybe they’re where we left them. I’ll go find out.” He winked at Robin. “You
stay here. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded. “Be careful.”

He darted into the shadows of the cliff and started up the gash toward the
crest.

Cobra watched him, shaking her head and asking, “Just what do you think you
can do, Brown?” She turned to him. “Go to Pyram? Storm the castle with four
people?”

“Yes,” he said evenly, “and you will lead the way.” He smiled knowingly. “You
still know it, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, I know the way. But it is useless. They would see us coming for
miles. And even if we got inside, we would stand no chance against Gath. The
helmet would sense our presence and hunt us down.”

“But if we could get to the jewels first, there would be a chance, correct?”

“Brown,” she said tiredly, “Pyram is not one of your stages. It’s real, and
dangerous. The jewels are held deep within its dungeons. We would have to have
the luck of the Good Goddess herself to even reach them.”

Brown John took hold of her shoulders and grinned. “Then you agree? There is
a chance we could reach them?”

“Yes, a chance, but…”

“And if this nymph bitch does control Gath, the jewels can free him from her,
right?”

She started to reply, and stopped herself, then said, “I don’t know.”

“You were sure before,” he said accusingly.

“I know, but, well… maybe I was dreaming, just filling my head with
wishful thinking.” She turned away, then glanced at Robin. “What about you? If
this crazy old man goes to Pyram, are you going with him?”

“Of course,” blurted Robin.

“Why?” asked Cobra, her voice flat and hard. “You don’t need the jewels.
You’ve already not only cured Jakar of his bitterness, but made him fall in love
with you! What do you need them for now?” Robin blushed. “I don’t know if what
you say about Jakar is true or not. But that doesn’t count, not now. Gath needs
us. And we’ve got to try and help him no matter how small the chance of
success.” Cobra moved face-to-face with Robin, studying her, then said bitterly,
“You’re lying. You want the jewels for yourself! That’s all you’ve ever wanted.”
Robin’s mouth fell open in shock, and she looked from Brown John to Cobra,
gasping, “That’s not true! I… I…”

“Never mind, Robin,” Brown John said calmly, “you don’t have to explain
anything.” He turned to Cobra. “There’s no need to take your frustrations out on
her. That won’t help anything.”

Cobra-stared at him, empty of expression, and sat down on the side of the
cliff staring at the dirt. Brown moved to her, but hesitated for a moment before
he spoke.

“One more question. Can the jewels free Gath from this Nymph Queen’s control
or not?”

“I can’t promise it, Brown,” Cobra replied without looking at him, “but yes,
if everything is as it appears to be, yes.”

“Then we do have a chance.”

“If we can reach the jewels, yes,” Cobra said, looking up. “But that’s
impossible!”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But if you will forgive me for saying it myself, I tend
to excel at times of extreme hopelessness.”

Cobra couldn’t repress a grin, and shook her head as Brown John squatted
facing her. “Don’t shake your lovely head, woman. We stand at the bottom of a
pit of doom, so our only recourse is to look up with soaring spirits. It is the
only thing that can lift us out.”

“You realize, of course,” she said, “that you’re quite mad.”

He nodded affirmatively. “It is a point of honor with me. If there is a
cliff, I must jump off it… just in case I should chance to fly.”

She smiled, and the sounds of horses were heard down the road. They rose, and
Jakar rode out of the darkness leading two horses. Robin sighed with relief and
raced to greet him as Cobra turned to Brown John.

“You see,” he said, “already our luck changes for the better.”

“Or for the worse,” she said soberly.

He shook his head. “Trust me. I see things coming, remember? And you and I,
woman, have only started down our trail, believe me. Our time has only begun.”

She hesitated, a madcap rush of girlish hope showing behind her eyes, then
her voice surrendered. “Brown, I think you’re becoming contagious.”

“Oh, yes,” he said with a profound grin. “That you can count on.”

THE BLACK LIGHT

C
lutching her leopard-skin wrap tightly, Tiyy looked over a spotted shoulder
with flaring nervous eyes. Thick mustard- and lemon-yellow fumes swirled around
her, filling the air in Pyram’s underground altar chamber, and her orchid cheeks
flamed behind them, blushing her face to the corners of her scarlet lips. She
was slick with sweat. Every nerve and sinew strung tight with sensual
expectation. A budding goddess in heat.

She pressed back against the shiny obsidian walls, her flat belly convulsing,
and spoke in a breathless voice.

“Careful! Careful!”

The high priest and his two acolytes could only nod in reply. They were
scurrying back and forth and around a black stone table from which the fumes
emanated, making precise adjustments in the apparatus. Their naked chests
glittered with sweat, and their bare feet splashed in puddles of it. They were
monitoring stills, flasks, tubes of green glass, furnaces and scorching pans
joined together in a bubbling maze on the table. Flame pots flickered under the
glass instruments, and vapors convulsed through them, spewing fumes from loosely
luted joints and elbows.

The high priest added a teardrop of vitriol to a beaker of boiling blood-red
liquid, as the acolytes, using spatula and scoop, added powder to a flask and
stirred the fires. Then they held still, waiting.

Inside the tubes, the vapors thickened to a yellowish mist and surged toward
the bizarre culmination of the apparatus, a bronze tube as thin as a straw. At
its tip, a drop of liquid gathered slowly, then fell into a clear-glass vial no
bigger than a baby’s cup. It was one-third full of a turgid vermilion elixir.

A joint in the tubing near the middle of the maze came loose. Mustard fumes
whooshed into the room, and drops of the precious elixir splashed on the table,
sizzling.

“Fix it!” Tiyy shrieked.

The three men pounced on the break. The acolytes picked up the hot tubes in
gloved hands and fitted the joint together. The high priest quickly coated it
with a mixture of clay and straw, then propped the tubing on a stand for added
support. They watched it for a moment, and the fumes swirled, continuing through
the joint without escaping.

Tiyy relaxed slightly, then turned sharply as a heavy wooden door swung open
beside her, and Schraak emerged. A low guttural growl followed the small man out
of the door, and Tiyy grinned with a surge of power, knowing the sound came from
the magnificent Barbarian she now held prisoner in the adjacent cell. Schraak
stopped, facing her, and bowed as he spoke.

“He won’t eat or drink, your magnificence. And I cannot remove the horned
helmet.”

“Leave it,” she said breathlessly. “The prospect of a masked lover pleases
me.”

“Lover?” The worm’s eyes were startled. “But… but he is not strong
enough! The heat of your sacred fire will bum his flesh. Kill him!”

“He will be made strong.” The wantonness in her eyes was gaudy.

Schraak was stunned. “You’re… you’re going to feed him the black wine?
Make him a Lord of Destruction?”

She nodded.

“But he’s only a man!”

“Yes, but a man like no other there has ever been before.”

“But he stole the master’s helmet! He must die!” She shook her head, and the
bristling spears of her yellow hair shivered. “The master did not mean him to
die, but to serve. And he will.”

“But… but if he wears the helmet while you embrace him, he’ll…he’ll…”

“Perhaps,” she said, and her voice trembled with a mix of fear and
anticipation. “I know the danger. It will be like embracing the master’s flame,
but soon now, very soon, I will be ready to take that risk.” Shuddering, Schraak
looked about the laboratory. The high priest was gently taping a tube where the
fumes inside appeared to be blocked, and they tumbled apart, flowed forward. One
of the acolytes was coaxing a syrupy glob of elixir along another tube by
passing a dish of fire under it, and the other one, having unraveled a parchment
yellow and flaking with age, was reading an ancient word formula aloud.

Tiyy said, “You should pray for their success, Schraak. Because if they
aren’t successful,” she put her scorching eyes on him, “you are going to crawl
back into the ground where you came from.”

He staggered back a step.

“You failed me a second time, worm. You brought me the carcass of an Ikarian
savage, not the girl!”

“But… but it was her blood! It had to be!” he
stammered. “I saw her aura!”

She nodded. “Yes, it was her blood. The carcass was clotted with it. But did
you look at her carefully? Was she the same young, finely made girl you once saw
in Bahaara?” He hesitated, and she knew he had not checked the body carefully.
“I thought not.”

“Forgive me,” he pleaded, “I was so anxious to…”

“Arrrrggg! If you had used your head, we could have saved hours. As it is
we’ve spent most of the day removing the dried flakes and dissolving them,
coaxing them back to life.” A flicker of fear passed behind her eyes, and her
breath quickened. “If her Kaa is as strong as the serpent queen claimed it was,
it will still be alive. But if it isn’t!”

The threat in her tone made him groan, and he drew a soft cloth from under
his belt, dabbed at the scum gathering on his eyebrows and lips. Then his
quavering voice asked, “Is… is there enough?”

“Nearly,” she said. “The vial
is almost full.”

He glanced at the clear-glass vial collecting the vermilion liquid, sighed
with some relief and turned to his queen. “I’ll order the hunt to begin again.
The girl will not escape a third time.”

“There is no need for that,” she said.

His eyes widened, not understanding.

A grin blossomed on her florid heart-shaped face. “Once the Barbarian is in
my control, I will send him to hunt her. That way her capture is assured. No one
who threatens the master can hide from the horned helmet.”

The small man nodded and again dabbed at his face with the soft cloth.

The high priest moved to the end of the table and stood beside the filling
vial.

“Hurry! Hurry!” Tiyy growled.

The high priest allowed three more drops to fall into the vial, then closed
the spigot. Using both hands, he lifted the tiny vessel and brought it to Tiyy.
She straightened regally and shrugged off her leopard-skin wrap, clasping the
vial with both hands to her nude body. Her only garments were a sheen of heat
and a narrow leopard-skin apron.

Taking a deep breath she followed the high priest to the black stone altar at
the deepest portion of the laboratory. They mounted its three circular steps to
a cube of shiny obsidian at the top. It measured three feet high, coming to
Tiyy’s waist, and supported a large ball of black stone which rested in a
perfectly matched depression in the top of the cube. Tiyy set her feet apart for
balance and held the vial out in front of her, her arms fully extended. The
priest wrapped his arms around the black stone ball, gathered his strength and
rolled it aside. A shaft of white light, no bigger around than the Nymph Queen’s
small finger, shot up out of a small hole at the center of the depression. It
speared straight up, splitting the darkness like a knife.

The high priest, holding the heavy stone ball against his chest, backed away
from the blinding light, averting his head.

Schraak and the acolytes cringed behind the laboratory table.

Tiyy held her place.

The muscles along her arms pulsed and rippled, and her clenched fingers
squeezed tightly around the vial, as if it were trying to escape. The shaft of
white light had ricocheted off a mirrorlike polished black rock set at an angle
in the ceiling and descended into the mouth of the vial. There it stirred and
heated the elixir, and whiffs of dark smoke emerged from the mouth like fingers
of the dead.

Moisture formed around Tiyy’s parted lips. Her temples dripped sweat. Her
breasts and belly heaved. Her legs corded with muscle, but she held still,
fighting to keep the vial in place. Then she wavered, weakening, but still held
the vial in the light’s path. It churned and rocked inside her grip. Vermilion
fumes spewed out of the mouth and flowed up the sides of the beam of white
light, coiling around it.

The savage nymph’s face flinched with a smile, and she stepped back, cradling
the vial against her breasts. The white light bounced off the stone steps,
caromed across the room and hit the far wall, exploding in a hundred tiny beams
that shot and spiraled through the chamber.

An acolyte was burnt on the cheek. Flasks and tubes were split and cracked.
Streaks of fire broke out on the shiny walls where the light passed over it.
Schraak took a blow on the hip and fell to the floor groaning and clutching the
wound, his grey flesh smoking beneath his thick fingers.

Tiyy ignored the streaking light. She drew the vial to her lips, and poured
the elixir into her mouth. She took it in gulps, feeling it bum her stomach.
Glowing with pleasure, she licked her lips as power spread like a contagion into
her soul.

Schraak, flinching and ducking bolts of light, cried to her, “Stop it! Stop
it!”

Tiyy glanced over a naked shoulder, watched a flask explode in a blaze of
light, then saw Schraak on the floor pleading with her. One of her acolytes was
sprawled unconscious across him, his tunic on fire. She glanced at the base of
the altar. There the high priest lay on his back still holding the stone ball in
his arms. The white light had hit the ball and driven the heavy stone into his
chest, crushing him.

With tyrannical casualness, Tiyy dropped the vial, and it clattered down the
steps as she turned and faced the altar. Hesitation flashed across her large
eyes as she watched the spear of white light streaking up in front of her, its
glow turning her orchid cheeks a pale pink. Then she took a breath and boldly
thrust a hand over the shaft of light, about a foot above the hole in the black
cube.

The white light came to an abrupt stop against her palm, and the shafts
bouncing about the room dissipated, vanished.

Schraak shoved the acolyte’s body off, and rose to his hands and knees,
staring at his queen with dumb awe.

Her hand had turned to white light, and the light was advancing up her arm.
It edged past her elbow and became diffused, mixing with the lustrous walnut of
her skin. Then it slowly retreated back down her arm. When it passed her palm,
it seemed to flash through her fingers, then departed from her body. For a long
moment her hand held steady against the shaft of light still spearing up out of
the hole, then trembled with effort, battling it. Her body rippled muscularly
under her dark flesh, and beads of sweat trailed down her glossy sheen. A shaft
of black light slowly emerged from her palm at precisely the point where the
white light hit it. The black light edged down into the white light, forcing it
down and down, until the white light vanished back inside the altar stone.

“The ball,” Tiyy whispered harshly. “Quickly!”

Schraak and the surviving acolyte came to their feet and hurried to the
altar. They hesitated at the sight of the dead high priest, then crouched over
him. They took the ball away from his clutching arms and heaved it onto the edge
of the altar. Tiyy removed her hand, and the ball rolled into place before the
white light could again show itself.

Grinning with giddy power, Tiyy moved to a shelf, almost trotting. She
plucked a vial of Nagraa off of it with each hand, glanced back at Schraak’s
exhausted body sitting on the step of the altar and shouted, “Get up, you
worthless lump. Bring the keys!”

She hurried through the open door by which the dwarf had entered, passed
through a narrow passage with earthen walls and stopped short in the open door
of a small stone cell facing the Barbarian.