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"THE NINE BEAST HELMETS I: Beasts of the South"
"THE NINE BEAST HELMETS I - BEASTS OF THE SOUTH
12/21/1988-12/24/1988
1.
Deep in the forest of Evaho, they found the old man lying in the dust. Blood was slowing to a trickle from the deep slash across his back. His clothing was simple homespun, coarse and undyed. Close to where he had fallen was a crude crutch made from the limb of an oak; his left leg ended above the knee.
Hagen signalled his league to halt their steeds, himself dismounting nimbly enough to crouch over the dying man. The leader of the Seven Swords was of average height, but wide-shouldered and narrow-waisted. He had dark brown hair cropped over a clean-shaven face, and his stern expression showed the force of will that made him leader of the Seven Swords. As a Melgar, even one in exile, he had both strength and resistance to harm greater to that enjoyed by Humans.
Riding through the this realm, the Seven Swords had left their plate armor at camp to be guarded by their squires. Hagen had on high boots, tight breeches and a white linen shirt covered by a vest of stiff brown leather. Of course, a baldric passing over his left shoulder supported the scabbard which held his Seeking Sword. None of his fellowship went anywhere without their specific ensorcelled sword.
Decades of questing had given the son of Ewan much knowledge of wounds. Nothing could be done for this poor soul. He dropped to one knee and gently laid a hand on that bony shoulder.
The old man's eyes darted about and widened. "Hagen? Is it you?"
"It is. Tell me who burned the village and mistreated such a greybeard as yourself."
"Nine men in black. They wore... helmets shaped like the heads of animals."
"Rest you well. Your village will be avenged," the Melgar said quietly. "By the White Horse, I swear it."
"Thank y.."
"Speed your soul to its source, grandfather," said Hagen even as he saw the light fade out in the old man's eyes. The Melgar rose smoothly to his feet and turned to face his comrades. "Barzun, you are our strongest. Dig this venerable one a grave and cover it well. I want no jackals to disturb his bones."
"It is a deed well worth doing," rumbled the Troll. He got down off the mighty plow horse which could bear his weight as lesser steeds could not. Barzun topped seven feet in height, massive and thick-limbed beyond proportions any Human could reach. He wore on a long tunic of heavy linen which reached to his knees, as well as his own Bludgeoning Blade. The tawny leathery skin marked his tunnel-dwelling Race, as did the conical skull and brow ledge which gave his features a misleadingly brutal cast.
Untying a spade from their pack horse, the Troll stepped over behind an ancient oak and commenced to digging, throwing huge amounts of earth behind him with ease. The others knew to simply stay out of his way when he tackled such tasks.
Remaining in their saddles, the other Seven Swords regarded their leader with expectation. It was Perendir the Eldar who broke the silence, "The Nine Beast Helmets have indeed surfaced after all these years, Hagen. Many hoped they had been lost and would never be seen again."
"Such good fortune is not given to us," Hagen replied. He stood with hand on hilt, gazing up at his teammates. "The rumors and whispers which led us here to Evaho were well-founded."
Astride his chestnut mount, Dorgo the red-skinned Danarmyl rasped, "Where you lead, we will follow, son of Ewan. Seven swords, nine helmets. Shall we not ride after these villains?"
"We will. The Nine Beast Helmets are not foes to be taken lightly, but then neither are we."
"When your people conquered this realm, they established fortresses at key points," Perendir continued. "Once their rule had been firmly established, the Melgarin stayed as farmers and miners but their strongholds were in time abandoned."
"All this is true," their leader replied. He saw that Barzon had already placed the pitiful corpse into the newly-dug grave and was filling it back. Hagen seized his saddlehorn and swung back up.
"I believe the nearest such castle is four days march from here," added Perendir. The tiny Eldar swept back her gleaming hair to reveal the pointed ears which marked her. "It will be harder to strike them down once they are behind stone walls."
"Much can happen in four days," growled Hagen.
2.
Standing at the head of the long oak table, Jeremy Bane gazed out over his friends and partners. Three generations of Tel Shai knights had assembled at that table, and he was proud he had been able to assemble so many worthy new knights. The seven who sat there offered a useful assortment of strengths and skills. The Dire Wolf felt confident about this mission.
"This council is open," he said, pulling back his chair to sit down. "He can't be here today, but Garrison Nebel informs me that he senses the presence of the Nine Beast Helmets active in the realm of Evaho. We've learned to trust his perception. For those who aren't familiar with them, these are a set of talismans from the Darthan Age that give gralic enhancements to anyone wearing them. When an person puts on one of the helmets, they're given extra strength and resistance to injury, but when a mystic wears one, the helmets endows them with special gralic abilities. The Eagle helmet gives flight, the Dragon helmet gives flame breath, or so the lore tell us. Our mission is to claim these helmets and turn them to our own purposes."
"Whoa, captain," interrupted Stephen Weaver, a tall lanky American black man. "I'm not the greatest expert on how these things work, but if they're Darthan, aren't they inherently destructive? Clear that up for me."
"I think they can be cleansed and repurposed," Bane said. "They were made by Humans, not by the Darthim, and they're made of iron instead of Gremthom. So, even if they use gralic magick from Darthan sources, I hope they can be salvaged."
"If you say so," Weaver responded with clear reservations. "I dunno. My instincts are that this could go awful wrong awful fast."
Sitting opposite the Black Angel, Kwali spoke up in his resonant baritone. "Perhaps not, Stephen. I myself wear the Cat's Claw of the great Wakimbe. Although its influence can draw one to sudden rages and rash actions, I have been able to bear it well through discipline. If we can channel the Nine Beast Helmets to a more noble use, I feel it is worth the attempt."
Bane nodded. "My hope is that we can find nine people we can trust to wear the Beast Helmets as a new team. I was thinking of some of our associate and reserve members stepping up. If not, in the Vault the helmets go. There at least they won't do any more harm."
Further down the table, the Melgar champion Sulak spoke up, "I say it is worth the try. If nothing else, we will at least be ridding the adjacent realms of a menace that has caused so much death and misery."
"A vote, then?" asked Tang Ming.
A simple show of hands decided the matter in favor. The negative votes were from Weaver and Jessica Frost, but both agreed they would go along with the majority decision.
As Bane rose again to end the meeting, he said, "Luckily, modern technology works well enough in Evaho. We found that out with the Ship of Skulls last year. Steve, help me do a rundown on the CORBY. Shiro, I'm afraid you get stuck here on standby duty this time. We need someone on base in case some of us come back wounded or if we need back-up and we all take our turn. Everyone else, you have forty-five minutes to get ready before we leave."
3.
By the steep banks of the River Elavyl, fourteen warriors faced each other in opposing line-ups. Overhead, a full moon in a cloudless star-blazing sky gave ample light to make out details. One hundred yards away, the black stealthcopter CORBY was tethered down beneath a camouflage tarp. Behind the Seven Swords were their horses, tied to a single line which ran to a tree overhanging the water.
Hagen's team were a striking variety of Races and sizes and shapes, counting a Troll, A Danarmyl, a Yugen and an Eldar among them Each bore their individual swords sheathed at their sides, and each had a symbol painted on the scabbard.. numbers ranging from one to seven.
The leaders of each team stepped forward to stand within arm's reach of each other.
"It's been a while," the Dire Wolf spoke first. "We haven't met since the Siege of Androval."
"...When you Tel Shai knights fought alongside we Melgarin against the hordes of Ulgor," Hagen responded. "Your knights' courage and sacrifice have not been forgotten, Dire Wolf. You dared everything for a fight you had no stake in. I take it your fellowship and mine are on the same quest tonight?"
"Yeah, we're definitely not here at the same time by chance. That would be stretching coincidence way too thin. It has to be the Nine Beast Helmets. My source indicates that the cult is using that abandoned castle downriver for the headquarters."
"There are other causes for you to embrace, Bane, other threats to bring down," Hagen said. "The Beast Helmets have been slaughtering and enslaving Melgarin in this realm. I take that personally. It shall be the Seven Swords who strike them down!"
Behind him, Bane sensed his team bristle. "We haven't come to this realm to leave without accomplishing our mission, Hagen. I want those helmets. They are a possible resource too valuable to pass up. I intend to have them cleansed and put to good use."
"Never shall that come to pass. Not that I doubt the strength and courage of your knights. That is mighty Sulak I see standing with you, and Kwali the Cat's-Claw and the Silver Skull. But the Nine Beast Helmets are powered by vile Darthan magick. They would corrupt the purest heart. No living being is noble enough to wear one and stay true."
"Only one way to find out. We're going after them," Bane announced, "Whether you get in the way or not."
The leader of the Seven Swords raised an open hand in conciliation. "Let no hasty words trap us into positions we will regret. Sulak! You are a loyal son of Androval, even as I. What say you?"
"Hagen, I have a thought," the Champion said. "We are both seven warriors. Why contend against each other when we share a common enemy? To quarrel is to do our cause an injustice. I say, let us pair up. One Tel Shai knight with one of the Seven Swords, invading that castle by twos. Let us work together for the greater good."
"You always bring good counsel," replied Hagen. "Dire Wolf, that would be an arrangement we both could honor, yes?"
For one long, unbearably tense moment Bane did not reply. "All right," he agreed at last. "It makes sense. We can figure out how to handle the helmets after we claim them."
"Both our Races share a wise saying," said Hagen. 'Before you begin to cook rabbit stew..'"
"'First catch the rabbit!'" finished the Dire Wolf with relief in his voice. "Let's do it. I guess random teams are as good an arrangement as any. Everyone, introduce yourselves to your opposite standing across of you right now. Our mystic Tang Ming here will perceive the best routes to sneak into the castle without being detected."
Hagen grunted in agreement. "As will my own Seeking Blade. It leads me to whatever I search for. Very well, Dire Wolf. Let justice be served."
In the moonlight, a thin wry smile could be glimpsed on Bane's face. "The Nine Beast Helmets will be sorry that our two teams met!"
1. Dire Wolf vs Crocodile
Once past the guards without being detected, the Dire Wolf stepped through an open circular-topped doorway into a gloomy chamber barely lit by two of the torches on opposite ends. A narrow stone bridge without rails crossed the chamber to where the opposite door dimly showed by a torch. Water lapped up against the slick surface of the bridge, the entire chamber was submerged.
Moving forward warily, Bane glared at the restless surface without finding anything suspicious. What was the purpose of building this room? Maybe if under attack, the Nine Beast Helmets could flood it entirely to keep enemies from getting any deeper into the fortress. The Dire Wolf strode across the wet bridge, every sense keyed up as much as possible. Which of the Helmets was he likely to encounter? There was no way to tell. How were his teammates doing, and how well were they working together with the Seven Swords? He would not find out until it was all over and they met up again.
He had almost reached the opposite end when a shadow could be seen on the wall behind the open doorway. In an instant, he could have one of his silver daggers spinning through the air, hopefully finishing the man off before an alarm could be shouted. But while the Dire Wolf's full attention was focused on the appearance of the guard, something grabbed his ankle to yank him bodily off the bridge and down into the icy black water.
Two hands were crushing his right leg and arm with a savage force that would have broken the bones of a normal Human. Bane's training had made him automatically take as deep a breath as he could in the instant before being submerged. Even with the protection of his field suit, sharp pain stabbed through him where those fingers dug in. The enemy was pulling him down, deeper into unknown depths. Bane tightened his fist and swung it with all his strength. Despite water resistance, he connected as hard as a boxer's punch in air. The enemy's grip loosened slightly. With each second, Bane's lungful of air came closer to being expended and they were going still deeper. The Dire Wolf reached up with his free hand and pressed the right ear pod on his helmet. Instantly, the face shield clicked down into place, the water was vented out and he was breathing through the oxygen membrane layer. It did not provide as much as air he would like, but it was better than nothing.
At the same time, the visor's sensors kicked in and he could see clearly, although everything had a greenish tint. His opponent was a short stocky man wearing the coarse burlap tunic and pants of the cult. This Beast Helmet was crafted to resemble that of a huge Crocodile... and abruptly the rigid metal jaws gaped open on their own to reveal rows of vicious teeth. Bane jerked his own head back and to the side barely in time to keep from having it decapitated as those jaws snapped shut with a clashing sound next to his neck.
The Dire Wolf hadn't expected that. His fingers sank deep into the Crocodile's throat and held him back, while he pounded away with his other fist at the man's ribs. The two of them continued sinking as they pitted their strength against each, Bane trying to choke his enemy and the Crocodile furiously attempting to bite his opponent's head off. The ancient helmet endowed its wearer with abnormal strength and resistance to harm. He was a fair match for the Dire Wolf.
Instead of apprehension, Bane felt only cold determination to win this struggle. He drew his right elbow back and slammed a hooking punch to the left side of the man's chest, directly over the heart. No matter how tough its recipient was, that blow could not be ignored. The Crocodile convulsed from the pain and went limp for a mere second.
With three powerful kicks, Bane shot up to the surface and swung his legs around to roll up onto the bridge, back near the open doorway. A thrashing behind him meant his enemy was also getting up out of the water. Bane thought that having footing,even uncertain footing, would be to his advantage.
One of the guards rushed into the doorway, raising a short stabbing spear in both hands. He never hand a chance. Bane sprang upon him, wrested the spear free and cracked its shaft against the man's head with skull-breaking impact. Even as the dying cultist dropped, the Dire Wolf whirled back to face the oncoming Crocodile.
Bane hefted the spear and drew it back by his ear. "Don't try to run. You saw me move. And I can run this through you before you could reach me. What I want is the answer to one question."
Shifting his weight uneasily, the Crocodile swung that heavy helmet from side to side. His voice was low with suppressed rage, "Ask me what you will."
"Could a man use the Beast Helmets without being made into a killer?"
The laughter which boomed out in response was unforced. "Is that your hope? Why you fool, the Nine Beast Helmets contain the Essence of Predator! They are not helmets of Sheep or Rabbits. Killing is the very reason we sought them."
Quick as the Crocodile's lunge was, he had no chance. Bane had already flung the spear full force at the last word of the man's answer. The barbed head of that weapon skewered the Crocodile right through the center of his chest to poke out from between his shoulder blades.
With three quick steps, the Dire Wolf seized the butt of the spear before the Crocodile from falling off the bridge. He lowered the dying man down and waited untiln he was sure that the last breath had been taken. Even in the gloom of that chamber, Bane's grey eyes were colder than ever. He knelt to unbuckle the strap of the red helmet and lift it up to gaze down at it. The metal felt warm to the touch despite the chill air.
Ripping apart the dead man's tunic, Bane wrapped the Beast Helmet in the material and tied it so he could carry the talisman without touching it with his skin. All he think of at the moment was the bad news from the wearer. Essence of Predator!
3. China Light and Chilling Blade vs Scorpion
The two women creeping through the freezing dim corridors were oddly mismatched. Elanda of Myrrwha was tall and regal, wearing a long white linen tunic and black leggings; Myrrwhans tended to disdain armor, relying more on agility and quick thinking. Her auburn hair was cropped straight across the nape of her neck, her fair face showed even features and bright green eyes. She strode with silent steps, eager for the confrontation.
In contrast, Tang Ming was a slight Chinese woman barely out of her teens and hardly an inch over five feet tall. She carried no visible weapons, wearing only low slippers, baggy black pants and an open brocade vest over a loose white blouse. Her contention was that the Trom armor and KDF dart gun ruined her sense of fine balance. Yet she was no less dangerous than the taller swordswoman beside her. Two years studying Kumundu under Teacher Chael combined with her uncanny perception enabled her to handle multiple opponents twice her size. Ming could unerringly spot any opening or weakness in an enemy, just as she could locate hidden objects or sense impending dangers.
And, while she could not see in the dark, somehow Ming could find her way through unlit surroundings without ever stumbling or bumping into any obstacles. She trotted more and more quickly down gloomy halls barely lit by torches at long intervals. Her easy gliding steps made her appear weightless.
Observing this, Elanda dropped back behind her new colleague and let her lead the way. A Myrrwhan from a realm of warrior women, Elanda was bemused by meeting one of the famous KDF. Who WERE they, really? The Kenneth Dred Foundation was made up by Tel Shai knights who were legends in the Midnight War, but Elanda realized she knew little that was definite about them. The silver man Khang, the Silver Skull, the holder of Cat's-Claw, even the Melgar champion Sulak... these were major figures in the history of the Midnight War. How had this mere Human called the Dire Wolf pulled them together? How could he command such idependent adventurers?
After this night was over, she had many questions to ask. The KDF was too powerful to be alllowed to remain so mysterious.
Tang Ming slowed to a halt. Ahead, the corridor ended in an open doorway with a rounf top arch. Beyond it showed a wider, more clearly lit chamber. The Tel Shai knight turned and motioned to indicate that Elanda should draw her sword and follow. The index finger to the lips was a universal gesture both understood. But Elanda rebelled. As Tang Ming swung back toward the doorway, she felt a heavy hand land on her shoulder.
The Seven Swords member had slid the Chilling Blade from its scabbard and held the four foot weapon easily in one hand. She squeezed past the smaller woman and strode forcefully into the chamber. Pride spurred her. Maybe this Tang Ming person did have impressive mystic perception but a Myrrwhan yielded to no one when the time came for combat.
Following the tall imperious figure, Ming was displeased but not surprised. The Seven Swords were hardened veterans of the Midnight War. She understood that Elanda would want to go first, instinctively wanting to protect a smaller and presumably more vulnerable person. Ming thought that this Myrrwhan swordswoman meant well. Ming remembered from her studies that the Chilling Blade radiated intense cold its length when in use, enough to make metal brittle and to freeze skin at a touch.
Through a tall narrow slit of a window, a brilliant firebolt could be seen rising high over treetop level. It exploded in a ball of lurid red light and the thunder of that detonation rang for long seconds afterward. This was an alarm. The intrusion had been detected. In that hellish illumination, the lithe form of the Scorpion lunged out of the shadows.
Fingers extended together into a point, that deadly hand whipped forward as fast as the tail of a real Scorpion, only to glance off the side of Elanda's head. The Myrrrwhan had swerved with experienced reflexes. Her sword whirled in a backhand stroke that the Scorpion in turn barely evaded with a backward leap. Elanda set herself, feet well apart, and thrust the point of her weapon forward for her enemy's torso. Quicker than any normal Human, the Beast Helmet cultist twisted his body so that blade barely scratched along his coarse red tunic. Even that glancing touch left a trail of ice crytals across the cloth but the Scorpion did not slow his attack. In an instant, he had lunged in close and his stiffened fingers darted in to jab against Elanda's exposed brow.
It was over as quickly as that. Deadly as any natural venom, the gralic charge tore through Elanda's body, shutting the nerves and stopping the heart. The Myrrwhan convulsed and fell straight back, her body thumping against the stone floor. Even in death, her fingers remained locked around the hilt of the Chilling Blade.
The fading light of the alarm bolt outside showed the grotesque shape of the Scorpion helmet. Its iron surface had a faint reddish tinge to it. Ming saw with distaste that the two hooked chelicerae in front of the mouth opening were clashing open and closed as if the helmet were alive.
Dropping into a low ready stance, the Tel Shai knight swirled her open hands in a figure eight pattern. With an effort, she put aside the horror of her new collague's death and focused all her awareness on her enemy, calmly determined to win. For the moment, the entire universe consisted only of herself and her opponent.
More clearly than an advanced MRI would reveal, Ming's perception took in every detail of the Scorpion's body. She perceived the extent and limits of his limbs, the sort of training and experience he had received, his attitude and outlook. In an instant, she knew this brutal killer as well as if she had studied him for years.
The Helmet cultist crouched slightly, right side turned toward the woman he ached to kill, his right hand held up before his own face. Ming knew that every living being contains the seeds of its own inevitable destruction. This Scorpion's flaw was that he did not remain balanced and versatile. He had come to rely too much on his greatest attack method. It was an error others had made before him and Ming intended to take advantage of it.
Springing in to the man's right side, seizing the wrist of that deadly hand within her own right hand, Tang Ming yanked his arm out straight. Her left fist blurred forward to strike the man's elbow and break it cleanly. Even as the Scorpion screamed at the unexpected agony, Ming tugged the man's ruined arm forward, kicking down at the back of his knee so that he fell painfully to the floor without having any way to break the impact.
Still in one unbroken sequence, Tang Ming planted a knee high between the Scorpion's shoulder blade. There was the exposed surface she sought, the gap beneath the base of the grotesque helmet and the collar of the tunic where bare skin showed. The Tel Shai knight tightened her fist into the leopard's-paw position and drove it downward with the same intensity she used to break practice bricks and tiles. The snap of vertebrae beneath her strike was decisive.
Being cautious, the Chinese woman hopped back up and out of any possible thrashing. It wasn't necessary. She could sense the life had gone out of his body. Ming took a second to check her own status, found she wasn't even breathing heavily, and allowed her state of mind to ease up to normal awareness. Throughout the past few minutes, her face had remained as calm and impassive as a mask carved of ivory.
Running over to where Elanda lay outstretched, Ming knew of course that her teammate had died instantly. Evidently the the Scorpion effect had been quick enough that little pain had had time enough to register. The Myrrwhan's eyes were closed of their own accord.
Grief hit Tang Ming with a sharp pang. She had normal Human feelings and her perception made her even more open to the injustice of death than normal people would know. But there was no time for that now. Duty called her. In this castle this night, both the Tel Shai knights and the Seven Swords were warring with a brutal ancient cult.
Ming regretfully straightened out Elanda's limbs, tore down a heavy wool tapestry and covered the body with it in an attempt at showing respect. She lifted the Chilling Sword, went over to unfasten the straps of the Scorpion helmet and rose holding one of the ancient talismans in each hand. Neither held any attraction to her. By the now, the firebolt outside had faded from the sky. Tang Mang sensed where she would be needed and she padded off quickly from the chamber.
III.
Sulak and Bludgeoning Blade vs Ape
Admitting to each other that stealth was not their forte, Sulak and Barzun held back for several minutes so their most skilled colleagues might penetrate the castle defenses without being exposed. Electronic devices functioned in this realm, but esoteric sects like the Nine Beast Helmets seldom relied on such things. Ordinary sentries would be their alarm system.
Standing in the shadows of gnarled trees almost within reach of the outer walls, Sulak folded his arms patiently. He was wearing the bright blue arena uniform of Androval, bodyshirt and leggings, with white leather gloves and boots. A single red strip on a white mantle across his shoulders marked his rank as undefeated Champion.
The tight material displayed an amazing hard musculature shaped not by weights but action. Sulak's face was angular rather than handsome, his shaggy black hair and dark blue eyes adding to the rugged effect. He was the one Melgar of each generation granted the Legacy of Malberon which reinforced his body with strength beyond what flesh and blood could naturally be endowed.
Gazing at the famous champion, Barzun felt an unfamiliar reticence to speak. He was made bashful by meeting this hero. Finally, he ventured to say, "I must say, you seem equal to your legend."
Sulak turned and smiled. He saw a typical Tawny Troll, the most widespread breed of that Race. Barzun towered up an inch over seven feet in height, four hundred pounds of dense bone and muscle under a leathery yellowish hide. He wore only a short kilt barely enough for decency and a pair of leather straps to support his scabbard. His conical skull was topped with a mane of coarse black hair thick as ropes, his brow ledge protruded out to shadow his yellow eyes. His protruding jaws showed impressive lower tusks when he spoke, yet his voice was startlingless meek.
"As do the Seven Swords," replied Sulak. "I knew Hagen long ago. He was a Melgar of good reputation and his being cast into exile is a disgrace to our people. Long have I been certain that he was innocent of the deeds of which Prince Mankur accused him. It was envy and jealousy that drove Lankur to those accusations but never have I been able to prove it."
"So many have said," agreed the Troll. "And yet. I think sometimes it was for the best. Hagen wandered into strange realms and recovered the Seven Swords in the hidden hoard of a Dragon long dead and forgotten. He revived our fellowship and we have fought the good fight ever since."
"Aye," Sulak said. "It is said many misfortunes lead to better ends. If I may say so, Barzun, your team has an interesting variety in its warriors. Was that not a Danarmyl among you? And a Zoku-Ya of Chyl? Seldom are they seen in other realms."
"Not to mention myself, eh?" the Troll snorted. "I was also an outcast when Hagen found me wandering hungry and forlorn as a youngling. My tribe had discarded me as unfit. He and the other Seven took me in without hesitation. At the age of Branching, I grew into a Fighting Troll rather than remaining a Digger. The Bludgeoning Blade was offered to me. My mistreatment by my tribe has led to my life finding greater purpose than I expected."
"You are well-spoken indeed, my friend," Sulak observed. "I must admit I have not ever given Trolls enough credit before---"
Before the converstion could continue, a firebolt shot upwards to explode high over the castle. Blinding red light crackled and sizzled in the sky as its thunder echoed. The Beast Helmets knew they were under attack, and the fighting had begun. "Now is our time to join the fray," Sulak shouted. He raced toward the castle and reaching the barred side gate, slapped a negligent palm that slammed the door off its hinges entirely and sent it flying inward.
Following, Barzun was more abashed than ever. He brought his own strength to the Seven Swords as his contribution, but after meeting this legendary Melgar, the Troll suddenly realized there were levels of power in the Midnight War he had never suspected. Was he unworthy?
They entered the open area between the outer and inner walls of the keep. Long-empty cages and stalls showed where chickens, pigs and goats had been kept decades earlier. Unraked leaves had piled where winds had driven them. Charging around the corner of the keep fifty yards away came a half dozen of the cult's guards. They were carrying short thick stabbing spears and wore long leather tabbards over their tunics.
Without taking a running start or even crouching, Sulak launched himself across the intervening distance. He was so overpowered for his weight that he could leap greater distances than that without effort. The Melgar crashed into the assembled guards and sent them sprawling in a confused tangle. He was immediately up on his feet again, literally steel-hard fists lashing out to send each guard down as soon as they had scrambled back up. Under those thumping blows, chests caved in and jaws flew away. Each punch killed a man with no need for a follow-up.
Yet, Sulak did not rely on crude brute force as he might have. A long career in the Androval arena had honed his boxing skills in matches where only the lightest contact was permitted. His blows were accurate and in good form. If he had only normal Human strength, he still would have defeated the guards, although it would have taken longer.
Barzun realized his mouth was hanging open. He was unable to conceal his stupefied expression. An unwanted thought crept across his mind. What might the Bludgeoning Blade accomplish in the hands of this Melgar champion? What if he sought to claim it? Barzun's spirits sank for the first time in years. He drew himself up and thumped over to where Sulak stood surrounded by dead men. This was no time for doubts, he had duty to fulfill.
The new colleagues hurried around the corner of the castle, past one darkened window after another. The only light came from the fireball now flickering down after having given its alarm. "One entrance is as good as another," Sulak said, smashing another door inward with its locks snapping cleanly.
"Where are the Beast Helmets? Or more guards?" wondered Barzun. "That explosion must have gotten the attention of anyone not blind and deaf."
"Mystic cults are always weird and eccentric," Sulak said. He turned right to stride down the first of a seemingly endless series of corridors that bent and twisted frequently. Only widely-spaced torches in wall sconces gave even feeble light. The halls were bare, without any furniture or decoration except for an occasional tattered tapestry barely hanging from its fastening.
Barzun tried to whisper, but his deep-chested voice was unsuited for it. "I don't understand, why is everything so winding? Is this a maze?"
"In a way. The Melgarin stationed here were concerned about rebellion from the Cojobes. Fortresses such as these were designed to be difficult for outsiders to navigate. While the Cojobes got lost, the Melgarin could maneuver around them and cut them down in groups."
"So much work went into this..." began the Troll but he froze as a plain door near the next turning slammed open. A short wide figure in coarse robes rushed out at them. He was wearing one of the Beast Helmets, crafted in the semblance of a snarling gorilla, swinging a thick wooden cudgel ringed with iron bands.
"Excuse me for one minute," scoffed Sulak but, before he could go toward the cultist, Barzun had interposed his own great bulk.
"Let me do this," the Troll asked and he stomped forward to meet the Beast Helmet wearer head-on. The Beast Helmet man was clearly not intimidated by this gigantic intruder. The club and the sword slammed into each other and rebounded, immediately crashed together again and began a frantic flurry of impacts as their wielders tried to strike the other down.
Barzun growled as no Human could, drawing on all his skill. He was pounding at the iron-banded club like a blacksmith flattening an ingot on an anvil but he could not drive the Ape Helmet backward a step. Between his own natural muscle and the added force given by the Bludgeoning Blade, the Troll had long since forgotten how it felt to face an equal opponent. He hated it.
For thirty endless seconds of furious effort, they traded blows. Then the Beast Helmet man struck downward and caught Barzun at the knee. Tough as he might be, that impact hurt. The Troll did not falter, though. He drew back his sword and thrust it forward with all his power in the instant that the cultist's defense had been lowered in order to strike down. The point of the Bludgeoning Blade was not often used for stabbing, but it slid neatly into the Helmet wearer's chest and stuck there.
"Oh." That was all the man managed to say, sounding more disbelieving than wounded. As his knees gave way, he let go of the club and grabbed the sword with both hands in an unthinking effort to support himself. Barzun slapped his chest with a hand nearly as wide as the man himself was, tugging his blade free. The Trom stood for a moment with his chest heaving. Too many of his fights had been against normal Humans who gave him no challenge, he thought glumly.
Sulak stood nearby with hands on his hips. "That did not take long. I believe it is your privilege then to claim the helmet until we meet our captains again."
The hulking Troll bent over to wipe his sword clean on the dead man's garments, then sheathed it before answering. "What do you think should be done with the Nine Beast Helmets?"
"Personally? I would rather see them destroyed than take the risk of their corrupting good men and women. But we have agreed to abide by the decision our leaders make. And I tell you in confidence, Barzun, that I have seldom known a man more stubborn than Jeremy Bane."
12/21/1988-12/24/1988
1.
Deep in the forest of Evaho, they found the old man lying in the dust. Blood was slowing to a trickle from the deep slash across his back. His clothing was simple homespun, coarse and undyed. Close to where he had fallen was a crude crutch made from the limb of an oak; his left leg ended above the knee.
Hagen signalled his league to halt their steeds, himself dismounting nimbly enough to crouch over the dying man. The leader of the Seven Swords was of average height, but wide-shouldered and narrow-waisted. He had dark brown hair cropped over a clean-shaven face, and his stern expression showed the force of will that made him leader of the Seven Swords. As a Melgar, even one in exile, he had both strength and resistance to harm greater to that enjoyed by Humans.
Riding through the this realm, the Seven Swords had left their plate armor at camp to be guarded by their squires. Hagen had on high boots, tight breeches and a white linen shirt covered by a vest of stiff brown leather. Of course, a baldric passing over his left shoulder supported the scabbard which held his Seeking Sword. None of his fellowship went anywhere without their specific ensorcelled sword.
Decades of questing had given the son of Ewan much knowledge of wounds. Nothing could be done for this poor soul. He dropped to one knee and gently laid a hand on that bony shoulder.
The old man's eyes darted about and widened. "Hagen? Is it you?"
"It is. Tell me who burned the village and mistreated such a greybeard as yourself."
"Nine men in black. They wore... helmets shaped like the heads of animals."
"Rest you well. Your village will be avenged," the Melgar said quietly. "By the White Horse, I swear it."
"Thank y.."
"Speed your soul to its source, grandfather," said Hagen even as he saw the light fade out in the old man's eyes. The Melgar rose smoothly to his feet and turned to face his comrades. "Barzun, you are our strongest. Dig this venerable one a grave and cover it well. I want no jackals to disturb his bones."
"It is a deed well worth doing," rumbled the Troll. He got down off the mighty plow horse which could bear his weight as lesser steeds could not. Barzun topped seven feet in height, massive and thick-limbed beyond proportions any Human could reach. He wore on a long tunic of heavy linen which reached to his knees, as well as his own Bludgeoning Blade. The tawny leathery skin marked his tunnel-dwelling Race, as did the conical skull and brow ledge which gave his features a misleadingly brutal cast.
Untying a spade from their pack horse, the Troll stepped over behind an ancient oak and commenced to digging, throwing huge amounts of earth behind him with ease. The others knew to simply stay out of his way when he tackled such tasks.
Remaining in their saddles, the other Seven Swords regarded their leader with expectation. It was Perendir the Eldar who broke the silence, "The Nine Beast Helmets have indeed surfaced after all these years, Hagen. Many hoped they had been lost and would never be seen again."
"Such good fortune is not given to us," Hagen replied. He stood with hand on hilt, gazing up at his teammates. "The rumors and whispers which led us here to Evaho were well-founded."
Astride his chestnut mount, Dorgo the red-skinned Danarmyl rasped, "Where you lead, we will follow, son of Ewan. Seven swords, nine helmets. Shall we not ride after these villains?"
"We will. The Nine Beast Helmets are not foes to be taken lightly, but then neither are we."
"When your people conquered this realm, they established fortresses at key points," Perendir continued. "Once their rule had been firmly established, the Melgarin stayed as farmers and miners but their strongholds were in time abandoned."
"All this is true," their leader replied. He saw that Barzon had already placed the pitiful corpse into the newly-dug grave and was filling it back. Hagen seized his saddlehorn and swung back up.
"I believe the nearest such castle is four days march from here," added Perendir. The tiny Eldar swept back her gleaming hair to reveal the pointed ears which marked her. "It will be harder to strike them down once they are behind stone walls."
"Much can happen in four days," growled Hagen.
2.
Standing at the head of the long oak table, Jeremy Bane gazed out over his friends and partners. Three generations of Tel Shai knights had assembled at that table, and he was proud he had been able to assemble so many worthy new knights. The seven who sat there offered a useful assortment of strengths and skills. The Dire Wolf felt confident about this mission.
"This council is open," he said, pulling back his chair to sit down. "He can't be here today, but Garrison Nebel informs me that he senses the presence of the Nine Beast Helmets active in the realm of Evaho. We've learned to trust his perception. For those who aren't familiar with them, these are a set of talismans from the Darthan Age that give gralic enhancements to anyone wearing them. When an person puts on one of the helmets, they're given extra strength and resistance to injury, but when a mystic wears one, the helmets endows them with special gralic abilities. The Eagle helmet gives flight, the Dragon helmet gives flame breath, or so the lore tell us. Our mission is to claim these helmets and turn them to our own purposes."
"Whoa, captain," interrupted Stephen Weaver, a tall lanky American black man. "I'm not the greatest expert on how these things work, but if they're Darthan, aren't they inherently destructive? Clear that up for me."
"I think they can be cleansed and repurposed," Bane said. "They were made by Humans, not by the Darthim, and they're made of iron instead of Gremthom. So, even if they use gralic magick from Darthan sources, I hope they can be salvaged."
"If you say so," Weaver responded with clear reservations. "I dunno. My instincts are that this could go awful wrong awful fast."
Sitting opposite the Black Angel, Kwali spoke up in his resonant baritone. "Perhaps not, Stephen. I myself wear the Cat's Claw of the great Wakimbe. Although its influence can draw one to sudden rages and rash actions, I have been able to bear it well through discipline. If we can channel the Nine Beast Helmets to a more noble use, I feel it is worth the attempt."
Bane nodded. "My hope is that we can find nine people we can trust to wear the Beast Helmets as a new team. I was thinking of some of our associate and reserve members stepping up. If not, in the Vault the helmets go. There at least they won't do any more harm."
Further down the table, the Melgar champion Sulak spoke up, "I say it is worth the try. If nothing else, we will at least be ridding the adjacent realms of a menace that has caused so much death and misery."
"A vote, then?" asked Tang Ming.
A simple show of hands decided the matter in favor. The negative votes were from Weaver and Jessica Frost, but both agreed they would go along with the majority decision.
As Bane rose again to end the meeting, he said, "Luckily, modern technology works well enough in Evaho. We found that out with the Ship of Skulls last year. Steve, help me do a rundown on the CORBY. Shiro, I'm afraid you get stuck here on standby duty this time. We need someone on base in case some of us come back wounded or if we need back-up and we all take our turn. Everyone else, you have forty-five minutes to get ready before we leave."
3.
By the steep banks of the River Elavyl, fourteen warriors faced each other in opposing line-ups. Overhead, a full moon in a cloudless star-blazing sky gave ample light to make out details. One hundred yards away, the black stealthcopter CORBY was tethered down beneath a camouflage tarp. Behind the Seven Swords were their horses, tied to a single line which ran to a tree overhanging the water.
Hagen's team were a striking variety of Races and sizes and shapes, counting a Troll, A Danarmyl, a Yugen and an Eldar among them Each bore their individual swords sheathed at their sides, and each had a symbol painted on the scabbard.. numbers ranging from one to seven.
The leaders of each team stepped forward to stand within arm's reach of each other.
"It's been a while," the Dire Wolf spoke first. "We haven't met since the Siege of Androval."
"...When you Tel Shai knights fought alongside we Melgarin against the hordes of Ulgor," Hagen responded. "Your knights' courage and sacrifice have not been forgotten, Dire Wolf. You dared everything for a fight you had no stake in. I take it your fellowship and mine are on the same quest tonight?"
"Yeah, we're definitely not here at the same time by chance. That would be stretching coincidence way too thin. It has to be the Nine Beast Helmets. My source indicates that the cult is using that abandoned castle downriver for the headquarters."
"There are other causes for you to embrace, Bane, other threats to bring down," Hagen said. "The Beast Helmets have been slaughtering and enslaving Melgarin in this realm. I take that personally. It shall be the Seven Swords who strike them down!"
Behind him, Bane sensed his team bristle. "We haven't come to this realm to leave without accomplishing our mission, Hagen. I want those helmets. They are a possible resource too valuable to pass up. I intend to have them cleansed and put to good use."
"Never shall that come to pass. Not that I doubt the strength and courage of your knights. That is mighty Sulak I see standing with you, and Kwali the Cat's-Claw and the Silver Skull. But the Nine Beast Helmets are powered by vile Darthan magick. They would corrupt the purest heart. No living being is noble enough to wear one and stay true."
"Only one way to find out. We're going after them," Bane announced, "Whether you get in the way or not."
The leader of the Seven Swords raised an open hand in conciliation. "Let no hasty words trap us into positions we will regret. Sulak! You are a loyal son of Androval, even as I. What say you?"
"Hagen, I have a thought," the Champion said. "We are both seven warriors. Why contend against each other when we share a common enemy? To quarrel is to do our cause an injustice. I say, let us pair up. One Tel Shai knight with one of the Seven Swords, invading that castle by twos. Let us work together for the greater good."
"You always bring good counsel," replied Hagen. "Dire Wolf, that would be an arrangement we both could honor, yes?"
For one long, unbearably tense moment Bane did not reply. "All right," he agreed at last. "It makes sense. We can figure out how to handle the helmets after we claim them."
"Both our Races share a wise saying," said Hagen. 'Before you begin to cook rabbit stew..'"
"'First catch the rabbit!'" finished the Dire Wolf with relief in his voice. "Let's do it. I guess random teams are as good an arrangement as any. Everyone, introduce yourselves to your opposite standing across of you right now. Our mystic Tang Ming here will perceive the best routes to sneak into the castle without being detected."
Hagen grunted in agreement. "As will my own Seeking Blade. It leads me to whatever I search for. Very well, Dire Wolf. Let justice be served."
In the moonlight, a thin wry smile could be glimpsed on Bane's face. "The Nine Beast Helmets will be sorry that our two teams met!"
1. Dire Wolf vs Crocodile
Once past the guards without being detected, the Dire Wolf stepped through an open circular-topped doorway into a gloomy chamber barely lit by two of the torches on opposite ends. A narrow stone bridge without rails crossed the chamber to where the opposite door dimly showed by a torch. Water lapped up against the slick surface of the bridge, the entire chamber was submerged.
Moving forward warily, Bane glared at the restless surface without finding anything suspicious. What was the purpose of building this room? Maybe if under attack, the Nine Beast Helmets could flood it entirely to keep enemies from getting any deeper into the fortress. The Dire Wolf strode across the wet bridge, every sense keyed up as much as possible. Which of the Helmets was he likely to encounter? There was no way to tell. How were his teammates doing, and how well were they working together with the Seven Swords? He would not find out until it was all over and they met up again.
He had almost reached the opposite end when a shadow could be seen on the wall behind the open doorway. In an instant, he could have one of his silver daggers spinning through the air, hopefully finishing the man off before an alarm could be shouted. But while the Dire Wolf's full attention was focused on the appearance of the guard, something grabbed his ankle to yank him bodily off the bridge and down into the icy black water.
Two hands were crushing his right leg and arm with a savage force that would have broken the bones of a normal Human. Bane's training had made him automatically take as deep a breath as he could in the instant before being submerged. Even with the protection of his field suit, sharp pain stabbed through him where those fingers dug in. The enemy was pulling him down, deeper into unknown depths. Bane tightened his fist and swung it with all his strength. Despite water resistance, he connected as hard as a boxer's punch in air. The enemy's grip loosened slightly. With each second, Bane's lungful of air came closer to being expended and they were going still deeper. The Dire Wolf reached up with his free hand and pressed the right ear pod on his helmet. Instantly, the face shield clicked down into place, the water was vented out and he was breathing through the oxygen membrane layer. It did not provide as much as air he would like, but it was better than nothing.
At the same time, the visor's sensors kicked in and he could see clearly, although everything had a greenish tint. His opponent was a short stocky man wearing the coarse burlap tunic and pants of the cult. This Beast Helmet was crafted to resemble that of a huge Crocodile... and abruptly the rigid metal jaws gaped open on their own to reveal rows of vicious teeth. Bane jerked his own head back and to the side barely in time to keep from having it decapitated as those jaws snapped shut with a clashing sound next to his neck.
The Dire Wolf hadn't expected that. His fingers sank deep into the Crocodile's throat and held him back, while he pounded away with his other fist at the man's ribs. The two of them continued sinking as they pitted their strength against each, Bane trying to choke his enemy and the Crocodile furiously attempting to bite his opponent's head off. The ancient helmet endowed its wearer with abnormal strength and resistance to harm. He was a fair match for the Dire Wolf.
Instead of apprehension, Bane felt only cold determination to win this struggle. He drew his right elbow back and slammed a hooking punch to the left side of the man's chest, directly over the heart. No matter how tough its recipient was, that blow could not be ignored. The Crocodile convulsed from the pain and went limp for a mere second.
With three powerful kicks, Bane shot up to the surface and swung his legs around to roll up onto the bridge, back near the open doorway. A thrashing behind him meant his enemy was also getting up out of the water. Bane thought that having footing,even uncertain footing, would be to his advantage.
One of the guards rushed into the doorway, raising a short stabbing spear in both hands. He never hand a chance. Bane sprang upon him, wrested the spear free and cracked its shaft against the man's head with skull-breaking impact. Even as the dying cultist dropped, the Dire Wolf whirled back to face the oncoming Crocodile.
Bane hefted the spear and drew it back by his ear. "Don't try to run. You saw me move. And I can run this through you before you could reach me. What I want is the answer to one question."
Shifting his weight uneasily, the Crocodile swung that heavy helmet from side to side. His voice was low with suppressed rage, "Ask me what you will."
"Could a man use the Beast Helmets without being made into a killer?"
The laughter which boomed out in response was unforced. "Is that your hope? Why you fool, the Nine Beast Helmets contain the Essence of Predator! They are not helmets of Sheep or Rabbits. Killing is the very reason we sought them."
Quick as the Crocodile's lunge was, he had no chance. Bane had already flung the spear full force at the last word of the man's answer. The barbed head of that weapon skewered the Crocodile right through the center of his chest to poke out from between his shoulder blades.
With three quick steps, the Dire Wolf seized the butt of the spear before the Crocodile from falling off the bridge. He lowered the dying man down and waited untiln he was sure that the last breath had been taken. Even in the gloom of that chamber, Bane's grey eyes were colder than ever. He knelt to unbuckle the strap of the red helmet and lift it up to gaze down at it. The metal felt warm to the touch despite the chill air.
Ripping apart the dead man's tunic, Bane wrapped the Beast Helmet in the material and tied it so he could carry the talisman without touching it with his skin. All he think of at the moment was the bad news from the wearer. Essence of Predator!
3. China Light and Chilling Blade vs Scorpion
The two women creeping through the freezing dim corridors were oddly mismatched. Elanda of Myrrwha was tall and regal, wearing a long white linen tunic and black leggings; Myrrwhans tended to disdain armor, relying more on agility and quick thinking. Her auburn hair was cropped straight across the nape of her neck, her fair face showed even features and bright green eyes. She strode with silent steps, eager for the confrontation.
In contrast, Tang Ming was a slight Chinese woman barely out of her teens and hardly an inch over five feet tall. She carried no visible weapons, wearing only low slippers, baggy black pants and an open brocade vest over a loose white blouse. Her contention was that the Trom armor and KDF dart gun ruined her sense of fine balance. Yet she was no less dangerous than the taller swordswoman beside her. Two years studying Kumundu under Teacher Chael combined with her uncanny perception enabled her to handle multiple opponents twice her size. Ming could unerringly spot any opening or weakness in an enemy, just as she could locate hidden objects or sense impending dangers.
And, while she could not see in the dark, somehow Ming could find her way through unlit surroundings without ever stumbling or bumping into any obstacles. She trotted more and more quickly down gloomy halls barely lit by torches at long intervals. Her easy gliding steps made her appear weightless.
Observing this, Elanda dropped back behind her new colleague and let her lead the way. A Myrrwhan from a realm of warrior women, Elanda was bemused by meeting one of the famous KDF. Who WERE they, really? The Kenneth Dred Foundation was made up by Tel Shai knights who were legends in the Midnight War, but Elanda realized she knew little that was definite about them. The silver man Khang, the Silver Skull, the holder of Cat's-Claw, even the Melgar champion Sulak... these were major figures in the history of the Midnight War. How had this mere Human called the Dire Wolf pulled them together? How could he command such idependent adventurers?
After this night was over, she had many questions to ask. The KDF was too powerful to be alllowed to remain so mysterious.
Tang Ming slowed to a halt. Ahead, the corridor ended in an open doorway with a rounf top arch. Beyond it showed a wider, more clearly lit chamber. The Tel Shai knight turned and motioned to indicate that Elanda should draw her sword and follow. The index finger to the lips was a universal gesture both understood. But Elanda rebelled. As Tang Ming swung back toward the doorway, she felt a heavy hand land on her shoulder.
The Seven Swords member had slid the Chilling Blade from its scabbard and held the four foot weapon easily in one hand. She squeezed past the smaller woman and strode forcefully into the chamber. Pride spurred her. Maybe this Tang Ming person did have impressive mystic perception but a Myrrwhan yielded to no one when the time came for combat.
Following the tall imperious figure, Ming was displeased but not surprised. The Seven Swords were hardened veterans of the Midnight War. She understood that Elanda would want to go first, instinctively wanting to protect a smaller and presumably more vulnerable person. Ming thought that this Myrrwhan swordswoman meant well. Ming remembered from her studies that the Chilling Blade radiated intense cold its length when in use, enough to make metal brittle and to freeze skin at a touch.
Through a tall narrow slit of a window, a brilliant firebolt could be seen rising high over treetop level. It exploded in a ball of lurid red light and the thunder of that detonation rang for long seconds afterward. This was an alarm. The intrusion had been detected. In that hellish illumination, the lithe form of the Scorpion lunged out of the shadows.
Fingers extended together into a point, that deadly hand whipped forward as fast as the tail of a real Scorpion, only to glance off the side of Elanda's head. The Myrrrwhan had swerved with experienced reflexes. Her sword whirled in a backhand stroke that the Scorpion in turn barely evaded with a backward leap. Elanda set herself, feet well apart, and thrust the point of her weapon forward for her enemy's torso. Quicker than any normal Human, the Beast Helmet cultist twisted his body so that blade barely scratched along his coarse red tunic. Even that glancing touch left a trail of ice crytals across the cloth but the Scorpion did not slow his attack. In an instant, he had lunged in close and his stiffened fingers darted in to jab against Elanda's exposed brow.
It was over as quickly as that. Deadly as any natural venom, the gralic charge tore through Elanda's body, shutting the nerves and stopping the heart. The Myrrwhan convulsed and fell straight back, her body thumping against the stone floor. Even in death, her fingers remained locked around the hilt of the Chilling Blade.
The fading light of the alarm bolt outside showed the grotesque shape of the Scorpion helmet. Its iron surface had a faint reddish tinge to it. Ming saw with distaste that the two hooked chelicerae in front of the mouth opening were clashing open and closed as if the helmet were alive.
Dropping into a low ready stance, the Tel Shai knight swirled her open hands in a figure eight pattern. With an effort, she put aside the horror of her new collague's death and focused all her awareness on her enemy, calmly determined to win. For the moment, the entire universe consisted only of herself and her opponent.
More clearly than an advanced MRI would reveal, Ming's perception took in every detail of the Scorpion's body. She perceived the extent and limits of his limbs, the sort of training and experience he had received, his attitude and outlook. In an instant, she knew this brutal killer as well as if she had studied him for years.
The Helmet cultist crouched slightly, right side turned toward the woman he ached to kill, his right hand held up before his own face. Ming knew that every living being contains the seeds of its own inevitable destruction. This Scorpion's flaw was that he did not remain balanced and versatile. He had come to rely too much on his greatest attack method. It was an error others had made before him and Ming intended to take advantage of it.
Springing in to the man's right side, seizing the wrist of that deadly hand within her own right hand, Tang Ming yanked his arm out straight. Her left fist blurred forward to strike the man's elbow and break it cleanly. Even as the Scorpion screamed at the unexpected agony, Ming tugged the man's ruined arm forward, kicking down at the back of his knee so that he fell painfully to the floor without having any way to break the impact.
Still in one unbroken sequence, Tang Ming planted a knee high between the Scorpion's shoulder blade. There was the exposed surface she sought, the gap beneath the base of the grotesque helmet and the collar of the tunic where bare skin showed. The Tel Shai knight tightened her fist into the leopard's-paw position and drove it downward with the same intensity she used to break practice bricks and tiles. The snap of vertebrae beneath her strike was decisive.
Being cautious, the Chinese woman hopped back up and out of any possible thrashing. It wasn't necessary. She could sense the life had gone out of his body. Ming took a second to check her own status, found she wasn't even breathing heavily, and allowed her state of mind to ease up to normal awareness. Throughout the past few minutes, her face had remained as calm and impassive as a mask carved of ivory.
Running over to where Elanda lay outstretched, Ming knew of course that her teammate had died instantly. Evidently the the Scorpion effect had been quick enough that little pain had had time enough to register. The Myrrwhan's eyes were closed of their own accord.
Grief hit Tang Ming with a sharp pang. She had normal Human feelings and her perception made her even more open to the injustice of death than normal people would know. But there was no time for that now. Duty called her. In this castle this night, both the Tel Shai knights and the Seven Swords were warring with a brutal ancient cult.
Ming regretfully straightened out Elanda's limbs, tore down a heavy wool tapestry and covered the body with it in an attempt at showing respect. She lifted the Chilling Sword, went over to unfasten the straps of the Scorpion helmet and rose holding one of the ancient talismans in each hand. Neither held any attraction to her. By the now, the firebolt outside had faded from the sky. Tang Mang sensed where she would be needed and she padded off quickly from the chamber.
III.
Sulak and Bludgeoning Blade vs Ape
Admitting to each other that stealth was not their forte, Sulak and Barzun held back for several minutes so their most skilled colleagues might penetrate the castle defenses without being exposed. Electronic devices functioned in this realm, but esoteric sects like the Nine Beast Helmets seldom relied on such things. Ordinary sentries would be their alarm system.
Standing in the shadows of gnarled trees almost within reach of the outer walls, Sulak folded his arms patiently. He was wearing the bright blue arena uniform of Androval, bodyshirt and leggings, with white leather gloves and boots. A single red strip on a white mantle across his shoulders marked his rank as undefeated Champion.
The tight material displayed an amazing hard musculature shaped not by weights but action. Sulak's face was angular rather than handsome, his shaggy black hair and dark blue eyes adding to the rugged effect. He was the one Melgar of each generation granted the Legacy of Malberon which reinforced his body with strength beyond what flesh and blood could naturally be endowed.
Gazing at the famous champion, Barzun felt an unfamiliar reticence to speak. He was made bashful by meeting this hero. Finally, he ventured to say, "I must say, you seem equal to your legend."
Sulak turned and smiled. He saw a typical Tawny Troll, the most widespread breed of that Race. Barzun towered up an inch over seven feet in height, four hundred pounds of dense bone and muscle under a leathery yellowish hide. He wore only a short kilt barely enough for decency and a pair of leather straps to support his scabbard. His conical skull was topped with a mane of coarse black hair thick as ropes, his brow ledge protruded out to shadow his yellow eyes. His protruding jaws showed impressive lower tusks when he spoke, yet his voice was startlingless meek.
"As do the Seven Swords," replied Sulak. "I knew Hagen long ago. He was a Melgar of good reputation and his being cast into exile is a disgrace to our people. Long have I been certain that he was innocent of the deeds of which Prince Mankur accused him. It was envy and jealousy that drove Lankur to those accusations but never have I been able to prove it."
"So many have said," agreed the Troll. "And yet. I think sometimes it was for the best. Hagen wandered into strange realms and recovered the Seven Swords in the hidden hoard of a Dragon long dead and forgotten. He revived our fellowship and we have fought the good fight ever since."
"Aye," Sulak said. "It is said many misfortunes lead to better ends. If I may say so, Barzun, your team has an interesting variety in its warriors. Was that not a Danarmyl among you? And a Zoku-Ya of Chyl? Seldom are they seen in other realms."
"Not to mention myself, eh?" the Troll snorted. "I was also an outcast when Hagen found me wandering hungry and forlorn as a youngling. My tribe had discarded me as unfit. He and the other Seven took me in without hesitation. At the age of Branching, I grew into a Fighting Troll rather than remaining a Digger. The Bludgeoning Blade was offered to me. My mistreatment by my tribe has led to my life finding greater purpose than I expected."
"You are well-spoken indeed, my friend," Sulak observed. "I must admit I have not ever given Trolls enough credit before---"
Before the converstion could continue, a firebolt shot upwards to explode high over the castle. Blinding red light crackled and sizzled in the sky as its thunder echoed. The Beast Helmets knew they were under attack, and the fighting had begun. "Now is our time to join the fray," Sulak shouted. He raced toward the castle and reaching the barred side gate, slapped a negligent palm that slammed the door off its hinges entirely and sent it flying inward.
Following, Barzun was more abashed than ever. He brought his own strength to the Seven Swords as his contribution, but after meeting this legendary Melgar, the Troll suddenly realized there were levels of power in the Midnight War he had never suspected. Was he unworthy?
They entered the open area between the outer and inner walls of the keep. Long-empty cages and stalls showed where chickens, pigs and goats had been kept decades earlier. Unraked leaves had piled where winds had driven them. Charging around the corner of the keep fifty yards away came a half dozen of the cult's guards. They were carrying short thick stabbing spears and wore long leather tabbards over their tunics.
Without taking a running start or even crouching, Sulak launched himself across the intervening distance. He was so overpowered for his weight that he could leap greater distances than that without effort. The Melgar crashed into the assembled guards and sent them sprawling in a confused tangle. He was immediately up on his feet again, literally steel-hard fists lashing out to send each guard down as soon as they had scrambled back up. Under those thumping blows, chests caved in and jaws flew away. Each punch killed a man with no need for a follow-up.
Yet, Sulak did not rely on crude brute force as he might have. A long career in the Androval arena had honed his boxing skills in matches where only the lightest contact was permitted. His blows were accurate and in good form. If he had only normal Human strength, he still would have defeated the guards, although it would have taken longer.
Barzun realized his mouth was hanging open. He was unable to conceal his stupefied expression. An unwanted thought crept across his mind. What might the Bludgeoning Blade accomplish in the hands of this Melgar champion? What if he sought to claim it? Barzun's spirits sank for the first time in years. He drew himself up and thumped over to where Sulak stood surrounded by dead men. This was no time for doubts, he had duty to fulfill.
The new colleagues hurried around the corner of the castle, past one darkened window after another. The only light came from the fireball now flickering down after having given its alarm. "One entrance is as good as another," Sulak said, smashing another door inward with its locks snapping cleanly.
"Where are the Beast Helmets? Or more guards?" wondered Barzun. "That explosion must have gotten the attention of anyone not blind and deaf."
"Mystic cults are always weird and eccentric," Sulak said. He turned right to stride down the first of a seemingly endless series of corridors that bent and twisted frequently. Only widely-spaced torches in wall sconces gave even feeble light. The halls were bare, without any furniture or decoration except for an occasional tattered tapestry barely hanging from its fastening.
Barzun tried to whisper, but his deep-chested voice was unsuited for it. "I don't understand, why is everything so winding? Is this a maze?"
"In a way. The Melgarin stationed here were concerned about rebellion from the Cojobes. Fortresses such as these were designed to be difficult for outsiders to navigate. While the Cojobes got lost, the Melgarin could maneuver around them and cut them down in groups."
"So much work went into this..." began the Troll but he froze as a plain door near the next turning slammed open. A short wide figure in coarse robes rushed out at them. He was wearing one of the Beast Helmets, crafted in the semblance of a snarling gorilla, swinging a thick wooden cudgel ringed with iron bands.
"Excuse me for one minute," scoffed Sulak but, before he could go toward the cultist, Barzun had interposed his own great bulk.
"Let me do this," the Troll asked and he stomped forward to meet the Beast Helmet wearer head-on. The Beast Helmet man was clearly not intimidated by this gigantic intruder. The club and the sword slammed into each other and rebounded, immediately crashed together again and began a frantic flurry of impacts as their wielders tried to strike the other down.
Barzun growled as no Human could, drawing on all his skill. He was pounding at the iron-banded club like a blacksmith flattening an ingot on an anvil but he could not drive the Ape Helmet backward a step. Between his own natural muscle and the added force given by the Bludgeoning Blade, the Troll had long since forgotten how it felt to face an equal opponent. He hated it.
For thirty endless seconds of furious effort, they traded blows. Then the Beast Helmet man struck downward and caught Barzun at the knee. Tough as he might be, that impact hurt. The Troll did not falter, though. He drew back his sword and thrust it forward with all his power in the instant that the cultist's defense had been lowered in order to strike down. The point of the Bludgeoning Blade was not often used for stabbing, but it slid neatly into the Helmet wearer's chest and stuck there.
"Oh." That was all the man managed to say, sounding more disbelieving than wounded. As his knees gave way, he let go of the club and grabbed the sword with both hands in an unthinking effort to support himself. Barzun slapped his chest with a hand nearly as wide as the man himself was, tugging his blade free. The Trom stood for a moment with his chest heaving. Too many of his fights had been against normal Humans who gave him no challenge, he thought glumly.
Sulak stood nearby with hands on his hips. "That did not take long. I believe it is your privilege then to claim the helmet until we meet our captains again."
The hulking Troll bent over to wipe his sword clean on the dead man's garments, then sheathed it before answering. "What do you think should be done with the Nine Beast Helmets?"
"Personally? I would rather see them destroyed than take the risk of their corrupting good men and women. But we have agreed to abide by the decision our leaders make. And I tell you in confidence, Barzun, that I have seldom known a man more stubborn than Jeremy Bane."