"The Collars of Rimnor Kje"
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dochermes"The Collars of Rimnor Kje"
9/22/1981
I.
In a silenced chamber deep beneath busy city streets, two huge beefy men watched their master with naked fear in their eyes. The Darthan sorcerer took one sip of the amber-colored wine from his cut crystal goblet, then regarded his distorted reflection on its surface with smug satisfaction. Rimnor Kje was tall and spidery thin, frail-boned with narrow shoulders and long-fingered hands. Like all his Race, his unpigmented skin was white as milk, as was his fine-textured hair which hung straight to his shoulder blades. The only trace of color showing on his body was found in the green irises of his oblique eyes.. eyes which held even more refined cruelty than was required of a Kje. His ears rose to distinct points.
All the luxuries he desired had been brought here to this real world. The throne he lounged upon was carved of ivory inlaid with veins of green jade but it had soft cushions to make him comfortable. Ornate silk tapestries hung on the walls, an ebony figure of the Dread Draldros stood on a pillar, delicate bronze chimes rang even with no wind present. At his right hand stood a pedestal bearing shallow bowls of dried fruits and seasoned nuts, as well as his decanter and goblet. Kneeling by his feet was an exquisite Eldar damsel whose resistance had been broken so that she would pleasure him at once on command, no matter who was present. She bowed her head, letting the golden hair fall down to cover her face.
Rimnor was in good spirits because he had spent an enjoyable afternoon in the torture chambers below them. For days now, he had been teasing and taunting the captive from Androval. By nature, the Melgarin were brawny, good-natured creatures who made excellent subjects for abuse. Lately, Rimnor had been experimenting with a salve of his own devising, the antithesis of an anesthetic... Rimonr's lotion made its subject more sensitive to pain, to the extent that a light breath on bare skin was as agonizing as a white-hot blade being applied. When the Melgar collapsed into pleading and begging with no pretense of pride left, the Kje had ended the session. Best to give the guest a day to recover his nerve before beginning again.
But he had left Maroch for a purpose. Rimnor could not return to the sacred isle yet. He glanced sternly behind him at his bodyguards. They were Chujiran slaves raised from infancy for their task, skilled with many weapons, kept muscular and fit to a fanatical level. Both wore soft leather boots, cloth leggings and tight-sleeved tunics over which two halberds crossed in an X to support the scabbards of long-bladed knives. He had renamed them Blossom and Petals with typical Darthan humor. Responding to his gaze, the guards knew that their alertness was being checked and they stood up taller, gripping the hilts of their weapons.
In the wall facing him, a door panel slid aside and an old man leaning on a staff walked in with the precision of someone who has fallen a few times and is wary of falling again. He was not a Dartha, but a Human like the guards. His hair was white and thinning, his back bent inside his coarse dark robes. Approaching the throne, he sank awkwardly to one knee and bowed his head.
"Shantul, you may speak without being granted leave," Rimnor said in his silky tones. "Your years of service as my steward have earned you that much."
"Thank you, my lord," the old man responded. He rose with great care, using his staff as a lever. "The prisoners have been prepared."
"Very well," the Dartha said. "Have Grum bring them before me. Emira, depart." Obeying his words, the Eldar woman rose to her feet and hastened through a doorway hidden by a tapestry.
"As you command," said the old steward. Tucking the staff under one arm, Shantul clapped his hands twice. Stepping through the doorway were three captives who had been stripped of their clothing and dressed in ragged tunics which reached to the knee. Around the neck of each was a flat band of the red metal Gremthom. As the prisoners entered the chamber, an immense bulk loomed up behind them. Grum was a Fighting Troll, seven feet high and wide enough that a Human could stand behind him and not be seen. Two tusks jutted up from a prognathous jaw, his conical skull was hidden by a coarse black mane and his eyes glowered under a protruding brow ledge. The Tunnel-Dweller carried an iron cudgel in one thick-fingered paw and his massive muscular form wore only a red kilt suspended from a leather belt. The huge brute stood behind the captives, slapping the heavy head of his club into the palm of his other hand with a repeated thumping.
One of the prisoners was a young woman, not much over five feet tall, with dark blonde hair hanging loose to the middle of her back. A man standing beside her was about sixty years old with shaggy grizzled hair and a weathered face, but still in good athletic shape. It was the other man who held Rimnor Kje's attention. Only a few years over the age of twenty, he was lean and intense with pale grey eyes under feral black brows. Those eyes met the Dartha's venomous gaze without flinching.
"Knights of Tel Shai," Rimnor Kje said with barely repressed glee. "You come here not as warriors nor as champions, but as mere bait to lure one of your fellows to his destruction."
II.
Lurching up behind the prisoners, Grum pressed down on the tops of their heads in turn. His hand was fully as big as those heads. Not resisting, the three sank to their knees and remained there. Studying their faces, Rimnor was not satisfied. He saw in their expressions a quiet defiance and lack of fear. This was something unexpected.
"Know that your lives rest in the hollow of my hand," the inhuman sorcerer went on. "Your weapons and armor have been taken from you. A Fighting Troll stands by to crack your bones if you resist. You, the woman... I know of your telepathic gift but it has been damped by my arts. Most compelling of all, you all wear the collars which demand obedience." Raising one delicate hand, Rimnor snapped it shut. Instantly, lurid red sparks crackled around those collars and the prisoners all gasped at sudden pain which made them convulse and fall on their faces. The sting of ozone filled the air.
"You understand now how helpless you are?" asked Rimnor as his captives forced themselves back up to a kneeling position. "That was the mildest gralic jolt possible. I can send enough transcendental energy through your nervous systems that you will scream in chorus. Ah, I remember you Tel Shai fools. Not three months ago, you led an army of Melgar brutes to invade the sacred isle itself. Repairs and reconstruction are still underway. As Maroch burned, as our nobles were slaughtered, the foulest deed yet was done."
Seeing that the captives were still not noticeably cowed but stared at him as calmly as if they were in no danger, Rimnor Kje went on. "On the steps of the Burning Pyramid, your silver man slew Angdros. No one had thought this was possible but Khang threw the spear Shai Tazam which pierced Angdros through the heart and sent his spirit howling into the outer darkness. Know that the Dread One will not suffer this affront. I have been charged to avenge all the wrongs done."
Still no response from the prisoners. Bane fixed his grey eyes on the Dartha with the steady gaze of a cat watching a mouse near at hand. Next to him, Michael Hawk and Cindy Brunner also stared at their captor as if the pain from those sorcerous collars did not enter their thoughts at all. "Know this," Rimnor went on. "You will bear the responsibility for Khang's destruction. The silver man is as nearly indestructible as the gralic force from which he is made, yet I will use you three to lure Khang into the realm of Fanedral. There, Draldros himself can disperse the silver man into nothing but an echo and a shadow. Guilt and self-reproach will crush you and I will relish your suffering."
Getting up on one knee, the petite blonde actually smiled. She turned her head toward the Dire Wolf and said, "I think it's time to tell him, Jeremy."
"I did not give you leave to speak!" the Dartha sputtered in rage so great a pink flush rose in his albinoistic cheeks.
"You don't have to," Bane retorted. "You're probably hundreds of years old and yet you've been suckered. Don't you get it? We let ourselves be captured. We left our defenses down and basically offered ourselves to be taken prisoner. Listen, you confiscated all our belongings. Each of us was carrying a Link set to transmit a signal."
Losing all self-control, Rimnor Kje sprang to his feet. He clutched at empty air with his bony fingers. "What nonsense do you speak? Be still or I shall burn your head off your neck with the slave collar."
The Dire Wolf casually rose and his two teammates did the same. "There were reports that a Dartha was in the New York City area," he explained. "But we couldn't find out where. It was Mike here who suggested we allow you to bring us to where you were hiding. It's a risky tactic but it seems to have worked."
From far too close, thunder exploded deafeningly. There were screams and crashing and the boom of gralic bolts. Hearing this, Rimnor sagged and faltered. "No....."
"Oh, yes," Bane said. "You yourself led your worst enemy directly to you."
As the last word was spoken, a flash of white light filled that chamber with unbearable brilliance. The confused Troll was struck by that blast and flew apart into charred fragments. The two guards fell dead from shock. Rimnor's last sight in life was of a gleaming silver giant striding toward him from the open doorway.
11/23/1971 - Rev. 5/16/2019
9/22/1981
I.
In a silenced chamber deep beneath busy city streets, two huge beefy men watched their master with naked fear in their eyes. The Darthan sorcerer took one sip of the amber-colored wine from his cut crystal goblet, then regarded his distorted reflection on its surface with smug satisfaction. Rimnor Kje was tall and spidery thin, frail-boned with narrow shoulders and long-fingered hands. Like all his Race, his unpigmented skin was white as milk, as was his fine-textured hair which hung straight to his shoulder blades. The only trace of color showing on his body was found in the green irises of his oblique eyes.. eyes which held even more refined cruelty than was required of a Kje. His ears rose to distinct points.
All the luxuries he desired had been brought here to this real world. The throne he lounged upon was carved of ivory inlaid with veins of green jade but it had soft cushions to make him comfortable. Ornate silk tapestries hung on the walls, an ebony figure of the Dread Draldros stood on a pillar, delicate bronze chimes rang even with no wind present. At his right hand stood a pedestal bearing shallow bowls of dried fruits and seasoned nuts, as well as his decanter and goblet. Kneeling by his feet was an exquisite Eldar damsel whose resistance had been broken so that she would pleasure him at once on command, no matter who was present. She bowed her head, letting the golden hair fall down to cover her face.
Rimnor was in good spirits because he had spent an enjoyable afternoon in the torture chambers below them. For days now, he had been teasing and taunting the captive from Androval. By nature, the Melgarin were brawny, good-natured creatures who made excellent subjects for abuse. Lately, Rimnor had been experimenting with a salve of his own devising, the antithesis of an anesthetic... Rimonr's lotion made its subject more sensitive to pain, to the extent that a light breath on bare skin was as agonizing as a white-hot blade being applied. When the Melgar collapsed into pleading and begging with no pretense of pride left, the Kje had ended the session. Best to give the guest a day to recover his nerve before beginning again.
But he had left Maroch for a purpose. Rimnor could not return to the sacred isle yet. He glanced sternly behind him at his bodyguards. They were Chujiran slaves raised from infancy for their task, skilled with many weapons, kept muscular and fit to a fanatical level. Both wore soft leather boots, cloth leggings and tight-sleeved tunics over which two halberds crossed in an X to support the scabbards of long-bladed knives. He had renamed them Blossom and Petals with typical Darthan humor. Responding to his gaze, the guards knew that their alertness was being checked and they stood up taller, gripping the hilts of their weapons.
In the wall facing him, a door panel slid aside and an old man leaning on a staff walked in with the precision of someone who has fallen a few times and is wary of falling again. He was not a Dartha, but a Human like the guards. His hair was white and thinning, his back bent inside his coarse dark robes. Approaching the throne, he sank awkwardly to one knee and bowed his head.
"Shantul, you may speak without being granted leave," Rimnor said in his silky tones. "Your years of service as my steward have earned you that much."
"Thank you, my lord," the old man responded. He rose with great care, using his staff as a lever. "The prisoners have been prepared."
"Very well," the Dartha said. "Have Grum bring them before me. Emira, depart." Obeying his words, the Eldar woman rose to her feet and hastened through a doorway hidden by a tapestry.
"As you command," said the old steward. Tucking the staff under one arm, Shantul clapped his hands twice. Stepping through the doorway were three captives who had been stripped of their clothing and dressed in ragged tunics which reached to the knee. Around the neck of each was a flat band of the red metal Gremthom. As the prisoners entered the chamber, an immense bulk loomed up behind them. Grum was a Fighting Troll, seven feet high and wide enough that a Human could stand behind him and not be seen. Two tusks jutted up from a prognathous jaw, his conical skull was hidden by a coarse black mane and his eyes glowered under a protruding brow ledge. The Tunnel-Dweller carried an iron cudgel in one thick-fingered paw and his massive muscular form wore only a red kilt suspended from a leather belt. The huge brute stood behind the captives, slapping the heavy head of his club into the palm of his other hand with a repeated thumping.
One of the prisoners was a young woman, not much over five feet tall, with dark blonde hair hanging loose to the middle of her back. A man standing beside her was about sixty years old with shaggy grizzled hair and a weathered face, but still in good athletic shape. It was the other man who held Rimnor Kje's attention. Only a few years over the age of twenty, he was lean and intense with pale grey eyes under feral black brows. Those eyes met the Dartha's venomous gaze without flinching.
"Knights of Tel Shai," Rimnor Kje said with barely repressed glee. "You come here not as warriors nor as champions, but as mere bait to lure one of your fellows to his destruction."
II.
Lurching up behind the prisoners, Grum pressed down on the tops of their heads in turn. His hand was fully as big as those heads. Not resisting, the three sank to their knees and remained there. Studying their faces, Rimnor was not satisfied. He saw in their expressions a quiet defiance and lack of fear. This was something unexpected.
"Know that your lives rest in the hollow of my hand," the inhuman sorcerer went on. "Your weapons and armor have been taken from you. A Fighting Troll stands by to crack your bones if you resist. You, the woman... I know of your telepathic gift but it has been damped by my arts. Most compelling of all, you all wear the collars which demand obedience." Raising one delicate hand, Rimnor snapped it shut. Instantly, lurid red sparks crackled around those collars and the prisoners all gasped at sudden pain which made them convulse and fall on their faces. The sting of ozone filled the air.
"You understand now how helpless you are?" asked Rimnor as his captives forced themselves back up to a kneeling position. "That was the mildest gralic jolt possible. I can send enough transcendental energy through your nervous systems that you will scream in chorus. Ah, I remember you Tel Shai fools. Not three months ago, you led an army of Melgar brutes to invade the sacred isle itself. Repairs and reconstruction are still underway. As Maroch burned, as our nobles were slaughtered, the foulest deed yet was done."
Seeing that the captives were still not noticeably cowed but stared at him as calmly as if they were in no danger, Rimnor Kje went on. "On the steps of the Burning Pyramid, your silver man slew Angdros. No one had thought this was possible but Khang threw the spear Shai Tazam which pierced Angdros through the heart and sent his spirit howling into the outer darkness. Know that the Dread One will not suffer this affront. I have been charged to avenge all the wrongs done."
Still no response from the prisoners. Bane fixed his grey eyes on the Dartha with the steady gaze of a cat watching a mouse near at hand. Next to him, Michael Hawk and Cindy Brunner also stared at their captor as if the pain from those sorcerous collars did not enter their thoughts at all. "Know this," Rimnor went on. "You will bear the responsibility for Khang's destruction. The silver man is as nearly indestructible as the gralic force from which he is made, yet I will use you three to lure Khang into the realm of Fanedral. There, Draldros himself can disperse the silver man into nothing but an echo and a shadow. Guilt and self-reproach will crush you and I will relish your suffering."
Getting up on one knee, the petite blonde actually smiled. She turned her head toward the Dire Wolf and said, "I think it's time to tell him, Jeremy."
"I did not give you leave to speak!" the Dartha sputtered in rage so great a pink flush rose in his albinoistic cheeks.
"You don't have to," Bane retorted. "You're probably hundreds of years old and yet you've been suckered. Don't you get it? We let ourselves be captured. We left our defenses down and basically offered ourselves to be taken prisoner. Listen, you confiscated all our belongings. Each of us was carrying a Link set to transmit a signal."
Losing all self-control, Rimnor Kje sprang to his feet. He clutched at empty air with his bony fingers. "What nonsense do you speak? Be still or I shall burn your head off your neck with the slave collar."
The Dire Wolf casually rose and his two teammates did the same. "There were reports that a Dartha was in the New York City area," he explained. "But we couldn't find out where. It was Mike here who suggested we allow you to bring us to where you were hiding. It's a risky tactic but it seems to have worked."
From far too close, thunder exploded deafeningly. There were screams and crashing and the boom of gralic bolts. Hearing this, Rimnor sagged and faltered. "No....."
"Oh, yes," Bane said. "You yourself led your worst enemy directly to you."
As the last word was spoken, a flash of white light filled that chamber with unbearable brilliance. The confused Troll was struck by that blast and flew apart into charred fragments. The two guards fell dead from shock. Rimnor's last sight in life was of a gleaming silver giant striding toward him from the open doorway.
11/23/1971 - Rev. 5/16/2019
