Rise of the Death Dealer by James Silke, Frank Frazetta Page B

all present raised their vessels, gave the required toast, then downed the Bwong in one gulp. They drank to murder.

Sixteen
    SPIDER’S WEB
     
    T he morning sun splashed over Calling Rock, flowed through its crevices and gullies, and spilled across the flat clearing at the crest to anoint Robin’s sleeping, tousled head with a cool gold light. She was not alone. A yellow-eyed, ten-foot python dangled out of the thorn tree. It was awake. Its tongue flickered inches from her face. She stirred, brushed a hand sleepily across her eyes and blinked at the warm touch of sunshine. She rolled up on an elbow. The python spread its jaws with a rasping hiss that did not exactly say good morning, and, to let her know what kind of day it was going to be, displayed glistening rows of sharp teeth and two cold, black eyes set in a green scaled head. Robin screamed.
    The python gathered to strike, and the leaf-shaped blade of a spear drove into its skull with a sharp crack, nailed it to the trunk of the tree.
    The body of the huge reptile dropped out of the tree and coiled violently around the offending spear, collapsed when the spear was pulled out. Its tangled weight hit Robin’s legs as she scrambled away and knocked her flat. She screamed again, kicking at the writhing, thrashing serpent, finally rolled free and sat up on her haunches still screaming.
    A shadow moved over her body. She stopped, looked up, screamed again, and buried her face under arms and elbows.
    A huge, dark Barbarian stood over her. The bloody, leaf-shaped spear dangled from his right hand. His face was flushed. His dark eyes gleamed intently under the threatening bulk of his forehead. His helmet, tied to his belt, bulged at his hip like an unnatural growth. His armor, glistening on his chest, rose and fell ominously. The movement made the black fur under the armor appear to be growing from his oak-brown flesh.
    Robin peeked from under an elbow and saw an arm reach for her. Its hand looked big enough to send to school. She gasped and scrambled back.
    He put a foot on the hem of her tunic and brought her to a sudden stop. Frantically, she hid behind her arms again as the hand advanced like a siege weapon. It hesitated, then parted her arms until it found her face. She watched its thumb hover in front of her mouth, a breath away from the trembling curve of her lower lip. Then it gently stroked the lip.
    Paralyzed, she closed her eyes, felt the thumb work her lip, then opened her eyes to see the veins cording along a thick metal-clad arm, moving each nick and hair, and surging with the taut muscles of his shoulder and thick neck. Her lids fluttered, then her head tilted back, and she looked into his shadowed face. Dark stubble of beard. Bright hard white teeth. Eyes that hid under a shaggy brow. Grey animal eyes of the predator ruled by the laws of claw and fang, yet black wounds opening on to a haunted past, to the child long buried within. Eyes proud of their mysteries. Eyes that had hidden his feelings too well and long, but which could not hide from her.
    A rush of empathy pulsed through her, bringing color to her cheeks. Her smile was not far behind.
    He touched her curved cheek, then studied her smile so intently it seemed he thought it had a life of its own.
    Boldly she asked, “Are… are you Gath of Baal?”
    His dark brow lifted as if he had never heard his name before.
    She tried again. “You are?”
    His eyes moved to her eyes and quickly withdrew. He turned to the tree, kicked the shuddering python aside, picked up her things and handed them to her. She took her belt with its dangling pouches, slid her knife into its sheath. She tied her cloak and blanket into a bundle and hung it on the end of her walking stick. She did all this with her eyes on Gath and speaking rapidly, in short breaths.
    “I… I’m sorry,” she said. “I was wrong to scream. I should have thanked you… and I do thank you. You saved my life.”
    “Go,” he said quietly. “You