James Silke: Prisoner of the Horned helmet

Moving like a melting shadow, Cobra crossed to the bed of furs, stood over it, her bosom heaving, dagger in hand.

With reptilian grace, she sank silently beside the furs, lifted one gently and gasped audibly. Underneath were only more furs. She crouched over the furs, explored them with delicate fingers and recoiled. They were warm.

She closed her eyes, gathered control, then spoke without moving, distinctly and carefully.

“Do not kill me, Dark One. I come as a friend.”

She opened her eyes, waited. From the shadows came a low growl, then a ragged grey timber wolf emerged. He was large for a wolf. Three feet tall at the shoulders, six feet long. His head and neck hair were erect. Yellow eyes were lethal. His teeth showed as another low growl moved past them.

Cobra lowered her lids, held her place without moving.

A low harsh command came from a shadow somewhere behind her. “The wood beside the fireplace! Put it on the fire.”

Cobra rose carefully and walked slowly to the fireplace. She covertly returned the tiny dagger to its hidden sheath, then stoked the glowing embers into a flame with an iron poker, and placed four logs one by one on the fire. A moment passed before they burst into flames, filling the root cave with flickering orange light. She warmed her hands, then sighed, a faint whistling sound.

“Be quiet and turn around,” said the voice.

Turning slowly, she said, “Forgive me, I have traveled alone a great distance to see you. I am weary.”

Gath of Baal’s head and part of his bare chest glowed in the firelight across the room. The rest of him was hidden in inky black shadow. His chiseled head, sculpted by moving shadows, had a harsh savage beauty. Wild, knife-cut, black hair fell to brawny neck. His lips were wide, flat, and sensually sculpted, while his nose was square. His eyes hid in the dark shadows of a blunt brow crusted with thick eyebrows. A thin smooth scar ran from the left corner of his mouth to his chin.

The color in Cobra’s cheeks flamed. Her voice became a husky whisper. “Thank you… for sparing me.”

His eyes seemed to look off at nothing, yet see everything. He listened, then shot Cobra a brutal glance. “You lie.”

He strode out of his concealing shadow and moved, not toward Cobra, but to the stairwell. There he stopped short, and the firelight probed his muscular flesh. He was naked except for a loin cloth. A long thick dagger protruded from his left hand. His right was balled in a fist, Cobra gasped sharply with sudden fear.

The head of the huge Sadoulette dropped down out of the stairwell and floated in the air with its yellow eyes level with Gath’s grey. It hissed, spread its jaws wide showing Gath fangs no longer than the blades of a pitchfork.

Gath’s cocked body exploded with rippling muscle and his balled fist drove up at the snake’s head. Its hammer end caught the reptile’s left jaw flush, drove the head up at an angle, crushed its skull against the sharp edge formed by the end of the stairwell and the wall of the cave. There was a loud crack.

Cobra winced.

The head of the dazed python dropped onto the stairs, its body convulsing. Gath kicked it out of his way, moved up the stairwell to the landing. There he hauled the dying snake up and threw its tangled body through the doorway. It was too large and stuck in the doorjamb. Gath kicked it the rest of the way out, then closed the door, slamming the locking beam shut. He then picked a yellow stone off the ground, placed the stone in the open shaft which cradled the locking beam at a position between the end of the beam and a hole carved out of the bottom of the shaft. When he turned, Cobra was standing at the base of the stairwell watching him.

She said, “You are a careful man.”

He said, “You are careless.”

He moved down the stairs, took her by the elbow, guided her roughly to the fireplace. There he took hold of her black velvet cape, ripped it open breaking the tie thongs and revealing a tunic of gold cloth. She did not protest or struggle. He stripped the cape off her, then shook it out. Finding nothing hidden within, he tossed it aside, looked at her. The jeweled handle of the tiny sheathed dagger glittered on her forearm. The whites of his eyes became cold within the shadows of his brow. Firelight danced there, as if it came from within rather than without.

Cobra took a step back trembling and said accusingly, “He would not have hurt you. He was only for my protection on the trail. You had no need to kill him!”

He muttered with a low, thick coarse voice that made words unnecessary.

The metallic petals of her scaled skullcap and cape shimmered wetly with fear from her toes to her flushed cheeks. Her breasts heaved.

“Take them off!” He spoke as he moved to the fire. He picked up a large stick, thrust it into the fire. She did not move. When he turned to face her, the stick burned like a torch.

She smiled uncertainly, and unbuckled the clasp at her throat saying, “Whatever you wish. I have nothing to hide… not from you.” She pushed her skullcap back, let its cape drop off her arms, and her long hair cascaded down her back like black rain. She made no movement to remove her gown.

He growled, “The gown.”

She whispered, “The cloth is thin. You will have no trouble seeing what hides under it.” There was a teasing warmth in her tone.

He passed the torch around and behind her. The gown glowed hotly, then the scales slowly dissolved and the cloth became a shimmering transparent amber. She was naked underneath. He grunted contemptuously.

She stiffened sharply, insulted. Then, seeing that his cheeks had taken on a ruddy flush, a playfulness moved into her eyes.

She asked, “Would you be happier if I had a tail? Or fangs?” She smiled widely, displaying perfect teeth.

Scratching a naked hip, he studied her thoughtfully. The wolf rose, made his way toward Cobra sniffing the air, mane bristling and fangs bared. Growling, she said, “I do not please your pet.”

“Sharn is not a pet. This was his home before it was mine.”

His eyes stayed on Cobra as Sharn made his way across the room to the stairs. The wolf looked back once with cold eyes at Cobra, then bounded up the stairs into one of the crawl holes between the roots.

Gath muttered, “He’ll see what other pets travel with you,” His nose twitched, and he pawed it with an open hand more in the manner of a cat than a man. Then he stared at her, naked of expression.

She appraised him openly. As she did, her lips parted, her breathing quickened. The rose tint in her cheeks spread to her chin, and the scarlet of her lips brightened. Abruptly she turned away, moved to the fire and sat in front of it. She looked into the fire, hiding her face from Gath. Slowly her gown regained its scales and gold color.

He shifted uncomfortably, moving sideways to see her face and suddenly stopped.

Her body had altered slightly under the gown. Her curves, which had been supple and sensual, now only looked pleasingly comfortable. When she turned to Gath, there was no color on her face except that made by sunshine and good health. Her smile was still playful, but in a manner that made fun of herself, not him.

She said, “I should have known better than to try and sneak up on you.”

He ignored her moved to the table, leaned against it and drank from the wine jar.

She started to say something, stopped herself. She turned back to the fire, then spoke in an even, modulated tone:

“I know that it angers you to have me, a mere woman, find and enter your hidden lair as easily as if you had put up signs showing the way and given me a key. I know the pains you take to avoid the outside world. But I had no choice. I can change my appearance… but not my nature. I use the darkness and certain powers I have to enter where ever my desires lead me. Often,” she laughed, “with dark intent.” She turned to him, void of guile. “But I meant you no harm. You are far too valuable just as you are. Alive. Powerful. And so… so savage.” The color was back in her cheeks before she finished. Feeling it, she looked away.