James Silke: Prisoner of the Horned helmet

Gath shook his head. “I am not a king, and I have been too long among men.”

She trembled at the uncompromising tone of his voice, then, breathless, she gazed up into his eyes. “Let me go with you then?”

He shook his head, swung up onto his saddle.

“Please,” she begged.

He leaned down, took hold of her under the arms and lifted her to face him, holding her as easily as a flower. A rush of hope burst through her, and she smiled. He kissed her smile where it moved her cheek, then pressed her lips against his, and she melted, moaning blissfully.

He held her away. “I will come see you, in your village, but I can not take you with me. Stay with your friends where it’s safe.”

“But it’s you I feel safe with.” He set her down, but her eyes still begged. “Gath, please, don’t you still need me a little?”

His eyes turned towards the distant northwest. “Where I go, I must go alone.”

“Then I’ll be waiting! I don’t care if it’s a year or ten years. I’ll be waiting for you. I… I belong to you.”

He shook his head, saying quietly, “People do not own people, Robin.”

His eyes were warm and tender but resolute, and something hid behind them, a new wound that was deep and active. Her head dropped. It was a wound she could not heal, because, even though she could see it and fee! the terrible pain it brought him, she could not imagine its nature.

“If ever you are in danger,” he said softly, “look for me. I will come.”

Her face lifted, a beautiful mask hiding all that was inside. “And you, if you are ever hurt or in need, you will let me find you, and come to you. Promise me that, at least that.”

He looked away in silence.

“Then good-bye, Gath of Baal,” she whispered. “I won’t watch you go.”

She headed for the door of the temple. Gath watched her figure disappear, then he and the stallion moved across the yard and under the shadowed gate.

At the rear door of the temple, Robin met Brown John coming out and fell into his arms, sobbing, “He’s gone. He doesn’t want us.”

Brown John patted her head. “Now, now, child, we’ll see about that. You wait here.”

She slumped to the door stoop and sank back against the jamb as the old man hurried off.

Brown John found him riding slowly down the road that twisted along the western side of the mesa. In the distance was the northern gate, and beyond it, the desert: empty, silent and dark. The old man, wheezing from his short run, looked up accusingly. “This is not a very civilized way to bid good-bye!”

Gath smiled ruefully. “Have you been trying to civilize me, old man?”

“Never mind that. I told you they would make you king. Surely you’ll at least stay the night to consider it!” Getting no reply he sighed. “All right, all right. But tell me what it is that you think you’re up to?”

“The Master of Darkness hunted me. Now I hunt him.”

“That’s madness, and you know it!” Getting only silence he grunted. “I suppose then, you’re not going to give up that headpiece?”

“Never.” It was low and deep, from another world.

“But the Master of Darkness! It’s impossible to…” he stopped himself and sighed with resignation. “Oh, what’s the use. You’ll try this thing regardless of what I say.”

Gath smiled, and the old man laughed at his own defeat. “Well, I will tell you this, my friend, there has never been such a futile quest, never one of such size and nobility, and never one so reckless.” A familiar twinkle flashed across his eyes. “However, if you were to become king, even if only for a short while, you could build up your resources for the hunt. And there would be no chains to bind you to your throne. You might appoint me as your minister. I would attend to all the routine nonsense, and leave you to live however you wished to live. You’d be loved and respected. You could even return to your forest if you wished, come and go undisturbed and unchallenged!”

Brown John stopped short. Flushed with embarrassment, he confronted Gath’s stony countenance. “Built my own trap, didn’t I? And blundered right into it. Well, I’m me, I guess, and you surely are you. There’s no changing that. Go to your challenge, Gath. But whether you want it or not, the gratitude and respect of the forest tribes go with you.”

Gath didn’t appear to hear him. He said, “Look after her, bukko. We will meet again.”

“Yes,” Brown John’s voice cracked. He paused and cleared his throat. “But one moment, I have something for you. A gift.” He reached inside his pouch and brought out the small earthenware jar with the tiny air holes, handed it to Gath. “This may be a useful too! of barter, or a toy. That’s up to you. It houses the Serpent Queen.”

A rare look of surprise and delight lit up Gath of Baal’s solemn features. He put the jar to his cheek feeling the imprisoned reptile’s movement, and his eyes smiled at Brown John.

“You did this?”

Brown John, swelling with pride, nodded several times.

“Well now, I expected you to say and do many things, Brown, all of them quite out of the ordinary. But never this.”

Brown John laughed uproariously at the mimicry of his own dialogue. Gath put the jar in his saddlebag, squeezed the old man’s raised hand, and moved on down the road.

He trotted across the moonlit clearing just inside the northern gate, and galloped out into the waiting desert shadows. The moonlight gleamed on his broad shoulders for a long time, then he became part of the darkness.

Brown John found Robin sitting on a stone watching, and gathered her in his arms. “I’m sorry, little one,” he murmured. “I could not talk him out of it.”

She looked off at the spreading desert. The dark night sky was wearing one radiating white jewel, the midnight star. After a moment, she said softly, “Brown John, someday, somehow, I will find a way to be with him. I will, I swear it by the midnight star.”

“I think you might, Robin. I think you just might.” She gazed up at him, comforted, and saw the reflection of the star twinkling in his eyes.

The Barbarian tribes were angered by Gath of Baal’s refusal to be their king, but it did not blunt their resolve to become organized and possess a champion whose magic was contagious for times of emergency. To resolve the problem, the Council of Chiefs argued and consulted throughout the night.

The next day the council announced their decision. As the bukko, Brown John, with his foresight and possible magic, had compelled the Death Dealer to act as their champion during this last, great emergency, and as his Grillards had organized and supplied the Barbarian Army, they invited Brown John to sit permanently with the Council of Chiefs. In addition, for the duration of any emergency, the bukko would serve as their leader. It was assumed by all, of course, that the old stage master still had the power to compel Gath of Baal to serve as their champion, and Brown John did not offer to confuse them with the facts. As no one considered Robin Lakehair to be more than a momentary romantic distraction for Gath, her name was not brought up at all.

Brown John formally accepted the offer, and made no mention of her either.

After hearty congratulations all-around, the tribes packed up and moved out the northern gate heading for the Great Forest Basin. They left Bahaara in flames. It burned brilliantly for hours, then the flames died leaving a blackened, smoking skeleton city to be ravaged by the sands and time.

The Barbarians were no longer an army. They were tribes again, and traveled on separate trails. All, that is, except for the Grillards. They accompanied the Cytherians. They followed them across the desert, down through The Narrows and across Foot Bridge. There they said their sentimental good-byes, and Robin turned east for Weaver. The Grillards continued north on Amber Road back to the Valley of Miracles.