James Silke - Prisoner of the Horned helmet

Gath picked up his axe, slung it over his back and mounted carefully. The stallion shifted sideways, adjusting to the heavy weight. Gath rested an arm on the animal’s mane and looked down at Brown John expectantly.

“Oh yes,” Brown John said. “I will accompany you and point out the trail. By all means. There are dangers in the sands a forester like yourself will not even see. But first you must understand what has happened here.” He pointed at the horsetail standard over Yat-Feng’s grave. “The man buried here was not merely a general, but the commander of the Kitzakk Desert Army. The man second in command only to their warlord, Klang. He was no doubt executed because he had been irredeemably disgraced by today’s defeat. To avoid a similar fate, Klang will now have to send not only regiments against you, but magicians as well. You will need my skills.”

“Just find me their trail.”

“Oh no,” Brown John protested, “I can be of far more assistance than that. If we find they have already carried Robin to Bahaara, then I will be as invaluable to you as that spectacular helmet. I am familiar with the ways of the cult of the Butterfly Goddess. And I know Bahaara’s shadows.”

The helmet was silent, but the stallion’s hooves pattered restlessly.

“Good,” said Brown John. “I am glad to know there is some room within that headpiece for reasonable thought. Because I must also know why you are so desperate to rescue this girl. If they are already devising some method of turning her magic against you, I can not help you unless I know what it is.”

“We have no time for that now.”

“Come, come, my old friend,” the old man coaxed. “It is far past the season for mysteries and shadows.”

Gath turned and trotted toward the desert gate. Without looking back, he muttered brusquely, “If you are coming, come.”

Brown John tossed his hands up helplessly, then hurried off and found a saddle. With Bone’s help he unhitched and saddled his strongest horse, then ordered Bone to wait for Dirken and the army, telling him that, after the army had watered and eaten, he and his brother were to supply every tenth man with a torch and proceed into the desert following the trail he would mark. Brown John then mounted nimbly and galloped swiftly out the desert gate to join Gath. In the night shadows he looked twenty years younger.

Dang-Ling glided across the floor through the dense steam, opened the hall door and smiled effervescently under his glossy pink lids. His voice swooshed, “Come in. Thank you for coming. We are bathing her now.”

Klang stood impatiently outside the door in the polished black corridor of Bahaara’s Temple of Dreams. The commanders of the Guards and Executioners stood behind him. All three wore combat armor. The warlord glanced at the high priest with disgust, as if he were an overly sweet desert, and entered.

Dang-Ling closed the door firmly in the faces of the two commanders, and plucked a large bamboo fan from a hook in the stone wall. Waving the steam aside, he proceeded into it. “This way. She is in the bath now. But watch your step. Before we drugged her she had a terrible fit, splashed water about everywhere.”

He guided Klang through the steam to a large, circular, vaporous pool set in the center of the stone floor.

A huge black mute, Baak, stood waist deep in the water holding Robin’s limp body under one hairless arm as he lathered her dyed hair with soapy bubbles. A dark stain swirled in the water around her head.

Klang looked intently at the young, unblemished girl.

Robin’s lips were parted. She was breathing in rapid erratic gasps. Her eyelids trembled, sometimes fluttering open to reveal glazed unfocused eyes.

“An absolutely exquisite subject, don’t you think?” Dang-Ling asked. “Gazul brought her, and was paid quite we’ll. He is a true professional, that man. He had dyed her hair and dressed her in rags. But I, of course, recognized her immediately.”

Dang-Ling motioned with a limp hand, and Baak lifted Robin out of the water with his huge hands. He turned her slowly so that her glistening smooth body could be seen from every angle: slender arrowlike legs, flat brown tummy, high firm breasts with their nipples pinkened by the heat, and luxuriously dripping red-gold hair. As submissive as a glove. Klang was visibly impressed.

Noticing this, Dang-Ling’s milky face turned florid, and a tremor ran through his voice. “Have you ever seen such a fabulous creation?”

“She’s still a child.” Klang snapped turning on the high priest. “What possible power can a child have over this savage killer?”

Contempt curled Dang-Ling’s lips, but he disguised it with unctuous words. “My lord, it is a puzzle to me as well, but I am certain she has some magic which will be the key to his destruction.”

“Then find its nature, priest. Quickly!”

Dang-Ling bowed stiffly, unable to conceal his bruised feelings. “If you will permit me to proceed, I will take her to my laboratory and begin the examination now.”

“Not yet, I am not finished.” Klang’s suspicious eyes riveted on the black man.

Dang-Ling bowed, saying petulantly, “He can not hear you. Baak is deaf and mute.”

Silence was between them, then the warlord said, “I have ordered the army to maintain a position between the Barbarian Army and this city, and delay its advance, but not engage it.”

A strained tenseness entered the high priest’s eyes.

“I am going to delay the battle until you, Dang-Ling, place in my hands the magic that will destroy their leader. Do you understand? The Fangko spear is not going to rip my heart out. I am going to kill him in personal combat.”

The high priest sputtered, “Whatever my lord commands, but… but personal combat! There are such risks! Unaccountable risks. An accidental fall, a spill of blood in the wrong place! There are just no guarantees, and your safety is the safety of us all.”

Klang placed a hand on the high priest’s shoulder, and squeezed it painfully as he drew the soft albino closer. “There will be guarantees, priest. You will see to them. In addition to whatever this child has to offer, you are going to find me an invincible weapon. Do you understand?” There were a hundred nefarious, even sacrilegious, meanings in his tone.

Dang-Ling, understanding the one he meant, suddenly relaxed, but was careful not to make it apparent. “I understand, my Lord,” he said evenly. “And fortunately your demand comes at an opportune time. My informants tell me that the unholy Master of Darkness himself wants this demon destroyed.”

“Informants?”

“Acquaintances, professional magicians. One in particular, a sorceress, is sometimes able to arrange for his help.”

“Then deal with her. Get me the strongest weapon he has.”

“Everything will have to be done in total secrecy.”

“Of course.”

Dang-Ling bowed slightly. “I will inquire as soon as she arrives, which should be shortly. I am sure she will be eager to help, as will he. The Lord of Death will be honored to assist a great and powerful leader such as yourself. But his price can be terribly high.”

“Do not instruct me, priest,” Klang snapped. “I am fully aware of the nature of his transactions.”

Dang-Ling bowed, and Klang strode through the steam, went out slamming the door behind him.

Dang-Ling grinned, rushed to the side of the pool and clapped his hands. The huge mute carried Robin’s dripping body up the sunken steps and through the steam to the far corner of the room. Dang-Ling pulled a lever hidden in the wall, and a huge stone lifted up off the floor. Flame-tinted clouds of smoke billowed up, encircling them, and they descended into it. Firelight ran riot in Robin’s wet, red-gold hair, then they were gone, and the stone lowered back into place.