James Silke: Prisoner of the Horned helmet

The girl hugged her as her words spilled out. “They were taking us somewhere. They didn’t tell us why. They thought we were all drugged, like you were. But two of us woke up, and when the soldiers guarding us fell behind, that gave us our chance. We killed the driver and ran.” She uncovered the stack of hay revealing the large body of a man crumpled under it. His neck was slit.

Robin recoiled in horror.

“We used his own knife.” The girl picked a knife out of the hay. It was wet and red.

Robin, still wobbly, turned to the other girls. They nodded happily. The chubby girl, pressing close to Robin, placed her lips next to her ear. “Don’t worry. We’ll make it. The Death Dealer will save us.”

Realization, then hope, nourished Robin’s shaken body. She smiled tentatively, and the girl, staying close, said, “It’s true! He’s in those rocks.”

She pointed ahead at Chela Kong. Robin, fighting for balance, shuffled to the front of the wagon, and stood there holding onto the driver’s shoulders. The wind whipped her hair like a red-gold flag. Feeling the pressure of Robin’s hands, the girl’s lips parted slightly, enough to expose the tips of her tiny fangs.

A raven-haired girl at the rear of the wagon took hold of an iron bar hidden under the hay, and fed it out a hole in the side board. She gathered her weight behind it, and shoved hard.

The iron bar plunged between the spokes of the rear wheel. Spokes snapped with rapid cracks, and the wheel caved in. The wagon banged on the ground and spun, girls screaming and floundering. The horses reared and halted, throwing the driver back into the wagon bed among the other girls. The living pile thrashed about hysterically as its pursuers descended fast.

Terrified, Robin fought free and looked ahead at the dark rocks. A startled joy shone on her tear-stained face.

A horse and rider were charging down Chela Kong toward them. The rider was big and powerful, and wore a horned helmet.

Robin and the girls tumbled out of the crippled wagon, and raced toward him.

The Skulls thundered up to the wagon, and, finding it empty, plunged after the girls. But, when it was clear that the Barbarian would reach them first, they slowed down and held their distance, watching the girls scatter toward the Death Dealer.

He reined up and dropped to the ground lightly, strode toward Robin. Robin, her face glowing, stumbled and raced ahead of the other girls. Undaunted, as if she were unaware of the dark massive figure of brutal destruction which was the Death Dealer, and could see only Gath. She leapt into his arms. His pawlike hands clasped her like a small soft ball and held her against his chest.

A wagon load of jubilant Grillards arrived with Bone driving and Brown John sitting beside him. Dirken and ten Grillard strongmen were crowded in the bed. They scrambled out as Brown John hollered joyously, “My dear child, you’ll never know… there are simply no words…” He was laughing before he finished.

The maidens hesitated five feet short of their target, realizing it was covered with metal except for its arms and lower legs.

Robin lifted her head off Gath’s shoulder, and gazed into his eyes. “I’m all right,” she whispered. “It’s all right now.”

A glint of light showed behind his eyes, a gentle warmth. She smiled and slid to the ground, still within his embrace. Turning to the maidens, she beckoned them forward. “Come on. Don’t be afraid.”

They giggled, and, as they approached Gath smiling, their mouths came open slightly.

Brown John and his group were still ten feet off when the old man saw their fangs and bolted forward. “Look out, Gath!”

Too late. The freshly fashioned servants of the Lord of Death crowded around Gath and Robin, lunging at his arms and legs. His axe came up. It caught the chubby one in the chest, stopping her fangs inches short of his arm. The impact lifted her three feet off the ground, and she screamed, spitting blood, as the others buried their fangs in his forearms and ankles.

Robin shrieked. Gath jerked around toward her, ignoring the girls. They still had their fangs in him when Bone and Dirken arrived. They ripped them off, threw them on the ground, cut their throats, then stepped back in revulsion.

The girls were hissing, coiling and writhing on the bloody sand as if their bodies had only spines, their legs and arms no bones.

With a gasp, Robin folded up and dropped unconscious into Gath’s arms. He touched her hair gently, then he and the Grillards looked up.

A half circle of eighteen Skulls, two squads, were forty feet off and closing on them slowly.

Gath placed Robin in Brown John’s arms, “Take care of her.”

He swung up into his saddle and bolted toward the Skulls’ line.

Brown John shouted, “No! It’s a trap!”

Gath kept riding, and Brown John, groaning, turned on Bone. “Hurry! Get the army!”

Bone started running, waving his arms and shouting, toward the rocks, as Brown John carried Robin onto the wagon. Dirken and the Grillards, already moving to aid their leader, suddenly stopped.

Gath of Baal sat on his horse strangely motionless in the their leader, suddenly stopped.

Gath of Baal sat on his horse strangely motionless in the middle of the circling Skulls. They made no move to attack.

Brown John, holding the unconscious Robin in his arms, watched uncertainly, then glanced down at the fangs on the dead girls and slumped, groaning with dismay. Slowly his eyes lifted and reluctantly watched.

Gath sank wearily in his saddle, then looked down at his hand holding his axe. His fingers trembled, involuntarily released the handle, and it fell to the ground.

Brown John and the Grillards shuddered.

Gath looked down at his weapon as if it were a long, long distance away. He leaned slowly out of his saddle until he fell and joined it on the ground.

The light of a standing torch flickered over the silhouettes of two figures on the heights of Chela Kong. Below them, on the southern slope, the Barbarian Army was gathered in small groups staring south. In the distance, tiny specks of light grew fainter and fainter as the Kitzakk Army withdrew, then vanished and were replaced by the star-filled night.

“Are they retreating?” Robin whispered to Brown John.

“No,” he answered tiredly, “I’m afraid they’re just moving back to a far more favorable position, Bahaara. There they will ignore our badly equipped army and celebrate their success. Public execution is their favorite amusement.”

“Oh, Brown John, what have I done?”

Brown John patted her shoulder and whispered firmly, “Do not despair, small one. Look around you. Not a single man has fled. See!” He lifted her chin with a finger. “The army is more determined than ever now and so am I.”

A rush of hope lifted her eyes and voice. “What are you going to do?”

“We are going to do precisely what we Grillards do best. Pit our particular skills against theirs, and change our costumes.”

“You’re going to Bahaara!” she gasped.

“Of course! Bahaara is now the stage, so we are duty bound to use it.” He turned towards two figures moving up towards them and chuckled. “Here is our wardrobe now.”

The bukko gestured with dancing fingers, and Bone and Dirken stepped into the glow of torchlight. In their arms were heaps of filthy tattered clothes. They tossed them in front of their father with a flourish surpassing his own.

Bone, holding his nose, pronounced, “There has never been, nor will there ever be, a filthier bunch of rags. You can count on it.”

“Whew!” Robin wrinkled her tiny nose. “How can you call them costumes. They’re disgusting!”