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"THE NINE BEAST HELMETS II: Beasts of the East"
fTHE NINE BEAST HELMETS II - BEASTS OF THE EAST
1. Frost and Burning Blade vs. Dragon
The oak door which blocked them was massive and intimidating, its thick planks reinforced with iron bands. The hinges and locks were not complex or modern, merely daunting. Two reluctant allies broke their uneasy silence as their progress was halted.
Slightly above average height, slender in her tight black field suit, Jessica Frost was strikingly attractive in a way she completely disregarded. Since the traumatic curse which had changed her appearance and given her the cryogenic power, nearly all of her emotions had been lost as well. The sole remaining tinge of feeling she retained was deep loyalty to the man who had kept her alive during that hellish ordeal, Jeremy Bane. It was to repay him that she had joined the KDF and become a knight of Tel Shai. Nothing else mattered to her. All attempts by her teammates to draw her out and to loosen her up with humor had fallen flat.
With her helmet held in the crook of her arm, Frost was revealed to have long fine-textured hair more silver than platinum blonde. If not for her eyes being saphire blue instead of pink, her flat white skin might have marked her as albino. When she turned those disinterested eyes on Dorgo, the Danarmyl felt an unreasonable irritation. Human eyes should show SOMETHING, they should not be as remote and frigid as doll's eye.
In contrast, the Seven Swords fighter wore only a loose mantle woven of stiff asbesto-like fibers, reaching to his knees and sashed at the waist. In the freezing hall, steam rose visibly from his hide. For Dorgo was a Danarmyl, one of the rare and little-known Cousins of Men who had been sorcerously modified to thrive deep underground. Dorgo's body was meant for high pressure and intense heat. His thick rugose hide was bright red, coarse-textured and thick as leather. His Race had neither hair nor external ears, the crimson-irised eyes were deepset and his mouth a wide toothy trap. It could not be seen easily in the dim light, but Dorgo had no fingernails and no separate toes.
This woman had done nothing overt to offend him, Dorgo admitted to himself. It was just her manner which infuriated him. He had wished to pair up with the Silver Skull, about whom he had heard many wild tales, but no such luck. With great effort, the Danarmyl focused on the challenge at hand and slid his sword from its sheath.
"In even normal hands, the Burning Blade can start fires and boil water," he rasped in a voice that sounded like rocks scraping together. "But in my grip, the sword can melt through steel walls. I will have this door down in a trice."
But Jessica Frost gave him a mere passing glance that stopped him short. She reached up, closed her hand on the lock and siphoned away every bit of heat in the metal. It cracked and fell into fragments without her even applying pressure. Frost swiped the broken apieces away and undid the hasp to open the door.
"Hear me!" he unexpectedly hissed. "I know your power has killed a Danarmyl like myself."
Frost turned her eyes toward him. "Hasak was a criminal mercenary working for Wu Lung. He had commited many murders."
"Even so. I understand you cracked him open with your gift as if pouring ice water on red hot iron. But do not think you could do the same to me. I am Dorgo of the Seven Swords. My core burns more intensely than that of my brethren. And I bear the ancient Burning Blade as well."
Jessica Frost lifted her helmet and brought it down over her shining head, fastening its lower rim to the high collar of her field suit. She had no reply to his comments.
"By Margoth, woman, you task my patience. Hagen has declared that the Nine Beast Helmets are an affront which must be destroyed. Shall such novices as you and your Dire Wolf, not even past a score and ten of years be taken more weightily?"
Without seeming to have heard him, Frost moved through the open door into the gloom beyond as if she were entirely alone. Dorgo shivered with repressed rage. So be it then. While he could with effort lower his skin temperature enough to contact Humans without harm, at the moment he had lost all control of that. His hide would have burned any bare skin touching it.
Following through the doorway, he saw the Tel Shai knight striding past a pair of narrow alcoves, not looking back to see if he was following. Dorgo fumed, physically and mentally. When this night's work was done, he meant to demand a reckoning. So worked up was he nursing his grievances that the thundering blow from that darkened alcove caught him completely unaware. A tight fist crashed against the side of his head and sent him reeling drunkenly. In an instant, he had regained his balance and the Burning Blade was ready in his grip. The Danarmyl rushed through the doorway and was ignominously thrown to the stone floor by a spinning kick that thumped violently across his back.
If Dorgo had been in a foul temper before, now he was on the edge of running amok. Nimble despite his peculiar traits, he sprang back up onto his feet and whirled his two-handled sword in a glittering circle that would have gutted anyone in its path. But the Dragon Helmet stood well out of reach.
He sensed Jessica Frost coming in close behind him, but at this point he hated her as much as he did the Nine Beast Helmets. Dorgo twirled the sword and assumed an on guard stance with its pointed half extended. He found himself facing an stout man whose coarse tunic was stretched uncomfortably over a round belly.
The man's helmet was crafted to resemble a Hurimi beast, one of the more familiar Breeds in the Midnight War. The horselike head showed a higher brow than such an equine must display. Two twisted horns stretched back from the brow, and a pair of short barbels hung from the chin. From within the eyeholes, nothing showed. Those openings were as black as if the helmet were unoccupied.
"Lay down your weapon, fool!" shouted the cultist. "There is still a bare hope that you and the colorless woman might live to see the dawn in your surrender."
"Empty words! It is know that NO other sect in the Midnight War has been humbled so often and so throughly as the Nine Beast Helmets." Dorgo extended his sword in front of him with a two-handed grip. "You have been beaten into laughingstocks."
"No! Wrong! We are a new sect, not the weak old witchmen who wore these helms. Atrumo has gathered the greatest warriors and assassins in the adjacent realms, now we are masters."
Dorgo laughed out loud, twirled his sword and lunged forward with the point extended. His attack was halted in mid-step by a roaring stream of white-hot force which shot from the Beast Helmet's open muzzle. That dragonflame rushed out fast and hard. The Danarmyl was flipped over backwards and slid ten feet across the stone floor.
"Do you sing different words to your little song now?" asked the Beast Helmet man.
Dazed and gasping, Dorgo rolled over and got up onto his knees. His hide sizzled in the cold night air and his sword glowed like a coal. In truth, he was pleasantly surprised to find himself alive. Any true Human would have been incinerated at once by that blast but he was only battered and singed. Being a Danarmyl was the main reason but he also realized that the heat-channeling properties on his ensorcelled blade had helped him survive.
Still, he realized as he struggled to rise, a second such blast would finish him. He used his sword as a lever to push himself up onto his feet.
"My name is Chimu, I was the undefeated wrestler of all Perjena. Even without this helmet, I could slay a Subterran such as you." The metal face swivelled to regard the other enemy in that room. "Ah, but it is you who are the real threat, aren't you? We have been warned of the new Tel Shai knights. You are Frost, the heartless ice maiden who causes rivers to freeze!"
"Accurate enough," Jessica Frost admitted. She did not need to gesture to use her power. Her mind drew on the transendental gralic force to siphon heat out of the area around her enemy. The path of this transference showed as a swirling column of ice crystals rushing toward the Beast Helmet man. Another fierce gush of superheated force exploded from the metal muzzle and both fundamental forces stalled in a gout of steam and spray.
For a full five seconds, bitter cold and intolerable crashed against each other in mid-air. Then both fighters let their attacks fade. Chimu stepped back, breathing heavily, gathering his will power for another burst.
Frost turned to Dorgo, sweeping in her hand in a forward motion. "He can't hurt you! Kill him."
The Danarmyl had been on the verge of rushing the enemy anyway. Prudence and patience were not his strongest attributes. At Frost's admonition, he closed in quick as a fencer, with the Burning Blade drawn back at head level in both hands. A sputter of hot air flurried in front of the Dragon Helm but faded out instantly, then the ancient sword wheeled around in a horizontal arc and lopped the cultist's head off with a geyser of blood from the base of the neck. Helmeted head and robed body fell in different directions, one hitting with a clang and the other a damp thud.
The Danarmyl braced himself with feet wide apart, needing a second to let his victory sink in. He saw the blood sizzle and burn off his blade, leaving it clean. "Tel Shai, you blocked his attack with your freezing power?"
"Yes."
Swinging around to stare at that pale emotionless face, Dorgo felt weary. He sheathed his sword and fell to his knees on the floor, beginning the unsavory task of removing a helmet from a severed head. "I must admit, that was quick thinking."
"I judged he could have overcome my ability with repeated attacks," Frost said grudgingly, as if explaining anything was an imposition. "You would have been killed as well. By shielding you, I enabled you to kill him. It seemed the best strategy."
Holding the cursed iron helmet in both hands, Dorgo glared down at it, strongly desiring to cast it into the river Evanyl outside or to hammer it flat on an anvil. "It was only chance that we ended up as the right team for this helmet, if chance it was."
"Our partners are even now fighting," Jessica Frost said, going to leave the chamber. "We must help. You may carry the Helmet."
"It has been a pleasure to work with you, too," muttered Dorgo, but not too loud.
2. Silver Skull and Shining Blade vs Mantis
Taper felt comfortable with Perendir as soon as they had introduced themselves. He had met many Eldarin during his career and did not understand why so many Humans felt uneasy around the golden folk.
They walked briskly along gloomy corridors that turned and twisted so frequently that running would have meant slamming into the stone walls often. Taper's Silver Skull uniform had appeared upon him when he had first entered the realm of Evaho, a sign that imminent danger was near. The black leather tunic, pants and high boots were offset by the round silver shield strapped to his left forearm and a straight sword three feet long in a scabbard at his left hip. Fastened on his head was a helmet of silver also, crafted to resemble a grim unsmiling skull.
For more than a decade, he had fought the Midnight War in this guise as had uncounted knights before him. The Silver Skull was a tradition that reached back thirty thousand years into the Darthan Age.
Like her teammates in the Seven Swords, Perendir had elected not to wear the plate armor tonight. She was clad in a dark green tunic with a hood, black leggings and soft slippers. The Shining Sword was slung across her back diagonally with its hilt up by her left shoulder for easy drawing. Under five feet tall, weighing ninety pounds at best, she glided forward with effortless silence. There was a definite androgynous beauty to the Eldarin. Small-boned, delicate, the males had narrow shoulders and the females barely perceptible breasts and hips. Few ever reached more than five feet four in height.
The face which turned back toward Taper as they spoke was a haunting oval with a pointed chin, snub nose and enormous amber-tinted eyes. The shining gold hair had been tied back to reveal pointed ears. It was difficult not to stare at an Eldar, but those who dealt with Humans grew used to it. "So empty this stronghold," she whispered. "I expected many guards."
"I acknowledge some consternation, as well," Taper said. Up close, it was unsettling that his eyes could not be seen through the openings in his helmet, only black emptiness as if no one was inside. "Maybe the Nine Beast Helmets are miniscule in numbers, rather than the world-girdling nefarious conspiracy of our conjectures. Servitors, valets, chefs and other plebes are conspicuous by their absence."
At the end of the corridor before them, a door creaked open but no one could be seen. "Enter! I do not lower myself to ambush," called a strident voice. "Come freely to your deaths."
Taper and Perendir exchanged bemused glances, then boldly marched through the opening. Both drew their weapons before they entered. Chalcemar, the sword of the Silver Skull, was of steel inlaid with numerous flecks of ensalir. That was silver ensorcelled by the Eldarin themselves, granting the blade its unique qualities.
Perendir smiled wryly. She could sense the nearness of the metal her Race had devised ages ago. The shield and helmet which Taper bore also were heavily infused with bits of ensalir. Its presence pleased her.
The new colleagues found themselves in a high-ceilinged chamber well lit by dozens of candles on high standing poles along the walls. Open racks displayed an internationally derived assortment of weapons, from a three-section staff to claymores to nunchakus to tomahawks. Seated on an ornate wicker bench was a lean figure in the coarse robes of the Beast Helmet sect, with iron braces running on each arm from wrist to elbow. His helmet was crafted in the grotesque large-eyed semblance of a Preying Mantis.
"Not the Tel Shai clowns I was hoping for," the Mantis scoffed. "My dream was to clash with Jeremy Bane himself. That fool is so overrated! But I suppose slaying the latest Silver Skull will be satisfying enough."
Despite her small size and thin arms, Perendir twirled the Shining Blade deftly and drew it back to a ready stance with one hand. "I take no joy in striking you down, it is for the greater good."
"Hah! So you claim. You are notorious in your own way, little Elf. How rare it is to find an Eldar who bear to fight hand to hand at all. Your Race is well known for its weakness, but you.. you are different, are you not?"
"I have not lived these thousands of years to banter with the likes of you," replied Perendir. She stalked forward and took her place in the open arena, facing the Beast Helmet wearer.
Rising smoothly, the Mantis stretched and twisted his head from side to side. "You have lived so long only to die for little reason. I was the martial arts instructor for the Western Europe branch of the White Web, darling. Even without this helmet, I was the deadliest man alive. Now I am unbeatable."
A faint mocking smile touched those delicate lips. She extended her free hand palm up and flexed the fingers in a 'come on' gesture.
But even as the Mantis took two careful steps forward, the Silver Skull also moved toward the center of the room. His voice made hollow by his helmet, Taper said, "As sublime as a duel between you two might prove, the entertainment value alone cannot justify jeopardizing the outcome of our crusade. With heartfelt reluctance, I must forgo the hallowed traditions of heroism and, well, dogpile on the rabbit."
"And I thought I spoke English...!" muttered the Beast Helmet man. He sprang forward directly in between the two intruders. The next minute would have been impossible for an untrained observer to follow. Two swords slashed and rebounded off the metal cuffs on the Mantis' arms; in return, lightning-swift spinning kicks rang against the Skull helmet and thudded to the chest of the Eldar woman. They were fighting at a level of skill where their movements seemed to been have meticulously rehearsed to perfection.
Despite the two against one odds, despite the added weaponry and shield that Taper and Perendir enjoyed, they could not do any lasting damage to their enemy. The Mantis was a decisive fraction faster than his opponents. His enhanced perception guided him to strike at the best opening, to swerve and crouch beneath the edges of the swords, to dance in and out without being scratched. Each fleeting concussion where he made contact drove Taper and Perendir back a step to recover.
Perendir was not as strong as even a Human woman her size and build, the Eldarin were not brawny by nature. But she was light on her feet, nimble and quick-thinking. Against nearly any opponent, she had proven capable to striking before any defense could stop her. Her skills were not availing her now.
Another minute hurtled by at a frantic pace that would have killed any normal athlete from exhaustion. Taper scored one side kick to the stomach that doubled the Mantis up, but his advantage didn't last more than an instant. Lunging in when Perendir raised her sword, the Mantis stabbed three stiffened fingers up into her armpit, sinking their ends deep into a nerve plexus. The Shining Blade dropped from limp fingers to clatter on the floor.
If they had been alone, the Beast Helmet bearer would have been able to finish off the Eldar there and then. But he did not have the necessary instant for that. Larry Taper bodyslammed him from the side, using his shield as a battering ram and sending the Mantis tumbling off his feet. The Silver Skull stomped down to the man's chest, intending to drive the breath from his opponent but Mantis seized that foot and twisted, throwing Taper off. Both men rolled over and vaulted back up again.
The two opponents reset their stances ten feet apart. For a moment, they made no move. They were replaying in their minds the furious action of that past minute, considering what opportunities they had not taken advantage of, looking for patterns in their enemy's attacks.
Perendir had stubbornly risen, right arm hanging uselessly at her side. In her left hand, she hefted her sword and lifted it point upwards in front of her. "Here is a sight well worth seeing," she suggested.
Both Taper and the Mantis could not resist glancing over. The entire chamber turned the most intense white imaginable, leaving no room for shadows. Every Eldar was capable of making their bodies blaze up to blind their enemies, in fact they were channeling the healing radiance which bathed their island of Elvedal. Perendir drew this gift through the Shining Blade with overwhelming results. Many times since joining the Seven Swords, they had paralyzed armies into helplessness by depriving them of any sight.
But there was a whack and a thud, and the unbearable radiance faded. Taper's eyes cleared more quickly than they would have if the light had been natural. He saw his teammate lying stretched out on her stomach, one elbow drawn up. She was not dead nor even completely unconscious as a feeble attempt to turn over indicated, but the Eldar was definitely out of the fight for the moment.
The Mantis scornfully kicked the Shining Blade to the farther end of the arena. "Hah! Poor golden one. The brightest light or the deepest blackness, they matter nothing to me. My Mantis helmet increases my perception beyond the need for sight." He held up both arms with the forearms raised and hands hanging so that he further resembled the insect for which his Helmet had been styled.
Facing him, blinking away tears as his vision fully returned, Larry Taper had decided on his best gambit against this enemy. He tossed the sword Chalcemar to one side and then slid the round shield from his left arm and sent it skittering away as well. Unarmed, he lowered into a deep forward leaning stance with most of his weight on his foreward leg and his open right hand stretched forward.
Mantis knew nothing of the Silver Skull's ensorcellments. He took this action as a form of surrender. With a gleeful snort, he sprinted toward his opponent, leaping up to pounce... and ran headlong into the razored point of Taper's sword. The Silver Skull had summoned it, and Chalcemar had appeared in his grasp from across the room. So neatly did it pierce the man's torso that the sword's point emerged up under his shoulder blades for more than a foot.
"Ugh! What?" was all the Mantis managed to say before life left him. Taper kept his grip and slowed the body's fall to the floor, then planted a foot on the dead chest and tugged his weapon free. "That ruse has spared me much tedious sparring," he announced to the unhearing Mantis.
He hurried over to kneel before Perendir. The Eldar woman moaned and placed her palms flat on the floor, trying without much success to brace herself preparatory to rising. A noticeable lump already showed on the back of her head. Taper placed one gentle hand beneath that head and the other high up on her back for support. "Steady on there, compatriot," he advised. "Energetic activity is counterindicated at this point."
"The Mantis! Where is he?"
"Departed to confess his shortcomings to his ancestors," the Silver Skull told her. "Don't fret over him now. Your cranial condition must supersede all other considerations."
Those slightly oblique eyes opened to reveal the amber irises. "You slew him? Very well. My light failed for the first time. Here, help me up if you will. There is no time to rest. Our friends are fighting their own desperate duels while we sit here."
As the Eldar got to her feet, bracing herself and growing steadier with each second, Taper fetched her Shining Blade and handed it over. Perendir slid it back into her scabbard and sighed. "That Mantis Helmet gave greater powers than I would have thought, Lawrence. I only hope that our teammates are doing well."
The Silver Skull took some folded pieces of paper from within his belt and thoughtfully wiped his blade clean before sheathing it. "If it offers comfort, Perendir, they undoubtedly are worrying the same about us."
III.
Cat's-Claw and Hissing Blade vs Tiger
Two deadly fighters stalked down the long empty corridors of the abandoned Melgar fortress. Kwali was nearly invisible in the gloom except when he passed near one of the sparsely placed wall torches. The huge Danarakan warrior wore the traditional tight cotton suit which left his forearms and shins bare, and only soft moccasins which made no sound. The grim expression on his dark heavy-featured face was normal for him. His wiry hair was close-cropped, and his eyes were an unpredictable bright green... cat's eyes.
Slightly behind the Tel Shai knight, Cheram felt increasingly clumsy and awkward in comparison. He had prided himself on a stealthy tread but that seemed like mere vanity now. In his right hand, Cheram brandished the Hissing Sword. When he in turn passed near a torch, a bizarre non-Human face was revealed.
For Cheram Murakami was from Chyl. His tawny-skinned head was completely hairless, his deepset eyes were shadowed under protruding brow ledges and most alarmingly, he had no nose at all. Only a slight ridge swelled between nose and mouth. The Chylans breathed in through their mouths and out through gill slits on either side of their necks. Why the Darthim had so long ago modified Chylans from Human ancestors, no one knew. The most accepted theory was that they had been intended to water-breathers but had been supplanted by the Gelydrim of Ulgor.
One of the Zoku-ya class, raised from childhood to be master swordsmen, Cheram had ranked near the top of his trade before leaving Chyl ten years earlier. He was cousin to the notorious Zemu Watura, the Stray Dog, and the two had managed to avoid a showdown that would only end with one or both of them dead.
Slowing to a halt, Kwali pressed his fingertips to where the talisman Cat's-Claw hung on a chain under his tunic. The incredibly ancient talon was growing warmer with each step. "Danger is near," he warned, his Danarakan accent almost lost after many years of travel. "Gralic force. Something potent and hateful."
"I am ready," said Cheram. "Nay, even eager. Let us do what we came here to do."
The African warrior glanced back and nodded. "Odd that our paths have never crossed before. We fight the same fight, Cheram."
"Yes. Well, the Seven Swords seldom enter the real world. We patrol the adjacent realms to strike down and bandits and tyrants."
"I have heard of nothing but deeds brave and righteous about your fellowship."
A sharp barking laugh escaped the Chylan. "I would say the same about your Tel Shai knights." Before he could speak further, lurid scarlet light flooded in through the window slits along the walls. Outside, a gralic firebolt had risen high into the freezing sky and detonated with a thump of thunder too close for safety. The alarm had been given.
"They know we are here," Cheram said. "Now it's kill or be killed."
Without further comment, Kwali took off at an easy loping pace that the Chylan was hard pressed to match. Bent far forward, long legs pumping and arms tucked in close to the massive chest, Kwali seemed more catlike than ever. The Seven Swords fighter ran close behind, sword ready.
Ahead, the corridor branched left and right. Accelerating into a full sprint, Kwali leaped into that opening but far to his right, and a dark figure slashed the air where he would have been if he had not swerved. The Danarakan swung a knotted fist that would have broken any jaw it struck, but he too made contact with only empty air. Then gouges raked across his chest, deep into the pectoral muscles and Kwali backpaced out of reach.
Swerving in through the doorway, the Beast Helmet cultist flashed straight at Cheram. The Hissing Sword moved so quickly that its passage made the sinister sound which had given it its name. Somehow, the dark robed man stopped that slash with his palm, forcing the sword down and bodyslamming Cheram off his feet entirely. Agle as an acrobat, the Beast Helmet man hopped over the fallen Chylan and landed in the hallway behind them. He had wounded Kwali and placed one of his opponents between himself and the other in less than a second.
Revealed in the torchlight near him, the cultist was shown as a tall, thin man wrapped in coarse robes sashed tightly. His iron helmet was crafted in the likeness of a snarling tiger with its jaws open to show the fangs. He raised his open hands in a swirling motion, revealing the shukos he wore... bands which held four vicious hooks across his palms. Those hooks reached out three inches. It had been these which had wounded Kwali.
"Who dies first?" he asked.
Jumping back onto his feet, Cheram drew his sword back. That impact had taken him off-balance but done no harm. "What unworthy weapons you bear," he spat. "Only a Brumal without honor would sink so low."
"Stop it," the Tiger laughed, "Do you want to hurt my feelings?"
The former Zoku-Ya stamped his foot twice and lunged forward, the Hissing Blade sweeping in a diagonal arc that would have bisected any man it struck. But, faster and fiercer than Human muscles should be able to move, the Tiger rushed in close under the swing and smashed his elbow into the noseless face stunning force. Cheram did not fall. He recovered instantly, bringing the great two-handed sword around but the Tiger was swifter. Planting one foot by Cheram's ankle, seizing the Chylan's sword arm, the Beast Helmet fighter flung Cheram over his hip to crash full length on the stone floor.
Even as he fell, though, the Zoku-Ya lashed out again with a backhand stroke that the Tiger was forced to leap up over to avoid having his legs amputated at the knee. The Seven Swords fighter was on his feet in a blink, whipping his sword from side to side and driving the Tiger back.
"Let me slay him," rumbled the deep baritone of Bakwanga Kwali.
"No! I have him! He will be lying quartered in a second," Cheram protested. But despite his best efforts, his strokes could not touch the elusive Tiger. Skilled warriors in their own right, the new fighters of the Nine Beast Helmets had their abilities magnified many times by their talismans.
"He has drawn blood from me. I will have his!" insisted the huge Danarakan. He shouldered past the Seven Swords fighter, stalking more catlike than ever.
"Har, let him try. After I kill him, you and I will dance around a little more."
Cheram Murakami moved back two steps toward the doorway, lowering his sword. His grosteque face was unreadable but his voice gave away his anger. "Oh very well. Have your way with him."`
The Tiger dropped into a crouch so low his torso was parallel to the floor. On his outstretched hands, the savage shuko devices glinted in the torchlight. "Cat's-Claw! Heir to Wakime. The lying tales say you can turn into a gigantic Black Lion, but I never believed them."
"Against you," Kwali retorted, "I will not need the full attribute of our sacred Black Lion." Even the Tiger Helmet man was taken unaware by how terrifyingly fast Kwali plunged across the intervening space and continued past him to whirl back around.
"Huh? I didn't even... see you move..." The cultist groaned in fatalistic awareness he had only seconds to live. Onto the spill of his own intestines, the gutted man fell face down and his final breath rattled in his throat.
Stupefied by what he had seen, Cheram slowly slid his sword back into his scabbard. He tried to speak but made only a vague croaking noise.
Turning toward his new colleague, the Danarakan made no comment. He raised his arms and let Cheram get a good look. Where his hands had been a moment before, his wrists swelled and thickened into two massive black-hided lion's paws.
10/14/2021
1. Frost and Burning Blade vs. Dragon
The oak door which blocked them was massive and intimidating, its thick planks reinforced with iron bands. The hinges and locks were not complex or modern, merely daunting. Two reluctant allies broke their uneasy silence as their progress was halted.
Slightly above average height, slender in her tight black field suit, Jessica Frost was strikingly attractive in a way she completely disregarded. Since the traumatic curse which had changed her appearance and given her the cryogenic power, nearly all of her emotions had been lost as well. The sole remaining tinge of feeling she retained was deep loyalty to the man who had kept her alive during that hellish ordeal, Jeremy Bane. It was to repay him that she had joined the KDF and become a knight of Tel Shai. Nothing else mattered to her. All attempts by her teammates to draw her out and to loosen her up with humor had fallen flat.
With her helmet held in the crook of her arm, Frost was revealed to have long fine-textured hair more silver than platinum blonde. If not for her eyes being saphire blue instead of pink, her flat white skin might have marked her as albino. When she turned those disinterested eyes on Dorgo, the Danarmyl felt an unreasonable irritation. Human eyes should show SOMETHING, they should not be as remote and frigid as doll's eye.
In contrast, the Seven Swords fighter wore only a loose mantle woven of stiff asbesto-like fibers, reaching to his knees and sashed at the waist. In the freezing hall, steam rose visibly from his hide. For Dorgo was a Danarmyl, one of the rare and little-known Cousins of Men who had been sorcerously modified to thrive deep underground. Dorgo's body was meant for high pressure and intense heat. His thick rugose hide was bright red, coarse-textured and thick as leather. His Race had neither hair nor external ears, the crimson-irised eyes were deepset and his mouth a wide toothy trap. It could not be seen easily in the dim light, but Dorgo had no fingernails and no separate toes.
This woman had done nothing overt to offend him, Dorgo admitted to himself. It was just her manner which infuriated him. He had wished to pair up with the Silver Skull, about whom he had heard many wild tales, but no such luck. With great effort, the Danarmyl focused on the challenge at hand and slid his sword from its sheath.
"In even normal hands, the Burning Blade can start fires and boil water," he rasped in a voice that sounded like rocks scraping together. "But in my grip, the sword can melt through steel walls. I will have this door down in a trice."
But Jessica Frost gave him a mere passing glance that stopped him short. She reached up, closed her hand on the lock and siphoned away every bit of heat in the metal. It cracked and fell into fragments without her even applying pressure. Frost swiped the broken apieces away and undid the hasp to open the door.
"Hear me!" he unexpectedly hissed. "I know your power has killed a Danarmyl like myself."
Frost turned her eyes toward him. "Hasak was a criminal mercenary working for Wu Lung. He had commited many murders."
"Even so. I understand you cracked him open with your gift as if pouring ice water on red hot iron. But do not think you could do the same to me. I am Dorgo of the Seven Swords. My core burns more intensely than that of my brethren. And I bear the ancient Burning Blade as well."
Jessica Frost lifted her helmet and brought it down over her shining head, fastening its lower rim to the high collar of her field suit. She had no reply to his comments.
"By Margoth, woman, you task my patience. Hagen has declared that the Nine Beast Helmets are an affront which must be destroyed. Shall such novices as you and your Dire Wolf, not even past a score and ten of years be taken more weightily?"
Without seeming to have heard him, Frost moved through the open door into the gloom beyond as if she were entirely alone. Dorgo shivered with repressed rage. So be it then. While he could with effort lower his skin temperature enough to contact Humans without harm, at the moment he had lost all control of that. His hide would have burned any bare skin touching it.
Following through the doorway, he saw the Tel Shai knight striding past a pair of narrow alcoves, not looking back to see if he was following. Dorgo fumed, physically and mentally. When this night's work was done, he meant to demand a reckoning. So worked up was he nursing his grievances that the thundering blow from that darkened alcove caught him completely unaware. A tight fist crashed against the side of his head and sent him reeling drunkenly. In an instant, he had regained his balance and the Burning Blade was ready in his grip. The Danarmyl rushed through the doorway and was ignominously thrown to the stone floor by a spinning kick that thumped violently across his back.
If Dorgo had been in a foul temper before, now he was on the edge of running amok. Nimble despite his peculiar traits, he sprang back up onto his feet and whirled his two-handled sword in a glittering circle that would have gutted anyone in its path. But the Dragon Helmet stood well out of reach.
He sensed Jessica Frost coming in close behind him, but at this point he hated her as much as he did the Nine Beast Helmets. Dorgo twirled the sword and assumed an on guard stance with its pointed half extended. He found himself facing an stout man whose coarse tunic was stretched uncomfortably over a round belly.
The man's helmet was crafted to resemble a Hurimi beast, one of the more familiar Breeds in the Midnight War. The horselike head showed a higher brow than such an equine must display. Two twisted horns stretched back from the brow, and a pair of short barbels hung from the chin. From within the eyeholes, nothing showed. Those openings were as black as if the helmet were unoccupied.
"Lay down your weapon, fool!" shouted the cultist. "There is still a bare hope that you and the colorless woman might live to see the dawn in your surrender."
"Empty words! It is know that NO other sect in the Midnight War has been humbled so often and so throughly as the Nine Beast Helmets." Dorgo extended his sword in front of him with a two-handed grip. "You have been beaten into laughingstocks."
"No! Wrong! We are a new sect, not the weak old witchmen who wore these helms. Atrumo has gathered the greatest warriors and assassins in the adjacent realms, now we are masters."
Dorgo laughed out loud, twirled his sword and lunged forward with the point extended. His attack was halted in mid-step by a roaring stream of white-hot force which shot from the Beast Helmet's open muzzle. That dragonflame rushed out fast and hard. The Danarmyl was flipped over backwards and slid ten feet across the stone floor.
"Do you sing different words to your little song now?" asked the Beast Helmet man.
Dazed and gasping, Dorgo rolled over and got up onto his knees. His hide sizzled in the cold night air and his sword glowed like a coal. In truth, he was pleasantly surprised to find himself alive. Any true Human would have been incinerated at once by that blast but he was only battered and singed. Being a Danarmyl was the main reason but he also realized that the heat-channeling properties on his ensorcelled blade had helped him survive.
Still, he realized as he struggled to rise, a second such blast would finish him. He used his sword as a lever to push himself up onto his feet.
"My name is Chimu, I was the undefeated wrestler of all Perjena. Even without this helmet, I could slay a Subterran such as you." The metal face swivelled to regard the other enemy in that room. "Ah, but it is you who are the real threat, aren't you? We have been warned of the new Tel Shai knights. You are Frost, the heartless ice maiden who causes rivers to freeze!"
"Accurate enough," Jessica Frost admitted. She did not need to gesture to use her power. Her mind drew on the transendental gralic force to siphon heat out of the area around her enemy. The path of this transference showed as a swirling column of ice crystals rushing toward the Beast Helmet man. Another fierce gush of superheated force exploded from the metal muzzle and both fundamental forces stalled in a gout of steam and spray.
For a full five seconds, bitter cold and intolerable crashed against each other in mid-air. Then both fighters let their attacks fade. Chimu stepped back, breathing heavily, gathering his will power for another burst.
Frost turned to Dorgo, sweeping in her hand in a forward motion. "He can't hurt you! Kill him."
The Danarmyl had been on the verge of rushing the enemy anyway. Prudence and patience were not his strongest attributes. At Frost's admonition, he closed in quick as a fencer, with the Burning Blade drawn back at head level in both hands. A sputter of hot air flurried in front of the Dragon Helm but faded out instantly, then the ancient sword wheeled around in a horizontal arc and lopped the cultist's head off with a geyser of blood from the base of the neck. Helmeted head and robed body fell in different directions, one hitting with a clang and the other a damp thud.
The Danarmyl braced himself with feet wide apart, needing a second to let his victory sink in. He saw the blood sizzle and burn off his blade, leaving it clean. "Tel Shai, you blocked his attack with your freezing power?"
"Yes."
Swinging around to stare at that pale emotionless face, Dorgo felt weary. He sheathed his sword and fell to his knees on the floor, beginning the unsavory task of removing a helmet from a severed head. "I must admit, that was quick thinking."
"I judged he could have overcome my ability with repeated attacks," Frost said grudgingly, as if explaining anything was an imposition. "You would have been killed as well. By shielding you, I enabled you to kill him. It seemed the best strategy."
Holding the cursed iron helmet in both hands, Dorgo glared down at it, strongly desiring to cast it into the river Evanyl outside or to hammer it flat on an anvil. "It was only chance that we ended up as the right team for this helmet, if chance it was."
"Our partners are even now fighting," Jessica Frost said, going to leave the chamber. "We must help. You may carry the Helmet."
"It has been a pleasure to work with you, too," muttered Dorgo, but not too loud.
2. Silver Skull and Shining Blade vs Mantis
Taper felt comfortable with Perendir as soon as they had introduced themselves. He had met many Eldarin during his career and did not understand why so many Humans felt uneasy around the golden folk.
They walked briskly along gloomy corridors that turned and twisted so frequently that running would have meant slamming into the stone walls often. Taper's Silver Skull uniform had appeared upon him when he had first entered the realm of Evaho, a sign that imminent danger was near. The black leather tunic, pants and high boots were offset by the round silver shield strapped to his left forearm and a straight sword three feet long in a scabbard at his left hip. Fastened on his head was a helmet of silver also, crafted to resemble a grim unsmiling skull.
For more than a decade, he had fought the Midnight War in this guise as had uncounted knights before him. The Silver Skull was a tradition that reached back thirty thousand years into the Darthan Age.
Like her teammates in the Seven Swords, Perendir had elected not to wear the plate armor tonight. She was clad in a dark green tunic with a hood, black leggings and soft slippers. The Shining Sword was slung across her back diagonally with its hilt up by her left shoulder for easy drawing. Under five feet tall, weighing ninety pounds at best, she glided forward with effortless silence. There was a definite androgynous beauty to the Eldarin. Small-boned, delicate, the males had narrow shoulders and the females barely perceptible breasts and hips. Few ever reached more than five feet four in height.
The face which turned back toward Taper as they spoke was a haunting oval with a pointed chin, snub nose and enormous amber-tinted eyes. The shining gold hair had been tied back to reveal pointed ears. It was difficult not to stare at an Eldar, but those who dealt with Humans grew used to it. "So empty this stronghold," she whispered. "I expected many guards."
"I acknowledge some consternation, as well," Taper said. Up close, it was unsettling that his eyes could not be seen through the openings in his helmet, only black emptiness as if no one was inside. "Maybe the Nine Beast Helmets are miniscule in numbers, rather than the world-girdling nefarious conspiracy of our conjectures. Servitors, valets, chefs and other plebes are conspicuous by their absence."
At the end of the corridor before them, a door creaked open but no one could be seen. "Enter! I do not lower myself to ambush," called a strident voice. "Come freely to your deaths."
Taper and Perendir exchanged bemused glances, then boldly marched through the opening. Both drew their weapons before they entered. Chalcemar, the sword of the Silver Skull, was of steel inlaid with numerous flecks of ensalir. That was silver ensorcelled by the Eldarin themselves, granting the blade its unique qualities.
Perendir smiled wryly. She could sense the nearness of the metal her Race had devised ages ago. The shield and helmet which Taper bore also were heavily infused with bits of ensalir. Its presence pleased her.
The new colleagues found themselves in a high-ceilinged chamber well lit by dozens of candles on high standing poles along the walls. Open racks displayed an internationally derived assortment of weapons, from a three-section staff to claymores to nunchakus to tomahawks. Seated on an ornate wicker bench was a lean figure in the coarse robes of the Beast Helmet sect, with iron braces running on each arm from wrist to elbow. His helmet was crafted in the grotesque large-eyed semblance of a Preying Mantis.
"Not the Tel Shai clowns I was hoping for," the Mantis scoffed. "My dream was to clash with Jeremy Bane himself. That fool is so overrated! But I suppose slaying the latest Silver Skull will be satisfying enough."
Despite her small size and thin arms, Perendir twirled the Shining Blade deftly and drew it back to a ready stance with one hand. "I take no joy in striking you down, it is for the greater good."
"Hah! So you claim. You are notorious in your own way, little Elf. How rare it is to find an Eldar who bear to fight hand to hand at all. Your Race is well known for its weakness, but you.. you are different, are you not?"
"I have not lived these thousands of years to banter with the likes of you," replied Perendir. She stalked forward and took her place in the open arena, facing the Beast Helmet wearer.
Rising smoothly, the Mantis stretched and twisted his head from side to side. "You have lived so long only to die for little reason. I was the martial arts instructor for the Western Europe branch of the White Web, darling. Even without this helmet, I was the deadliest man alive. Now I am unbeatable."
A faint mocking smile touched those delicate lips. She extended her free hand palm up and flexed the fingers in a 'come on' gesture.
But even as the Mantis took two careful steps forward, the Silver Skull also moved toward the center of the room. His voice made hollow by his helmet, Taper said, "As sublime as a duel between you two might prove, the entertainment value alone cannot justify jeopardizing the outcome of our crusade. With heartfelt reluctance, I must forgo the hallowed traditions of heroism and, well, dogpile on the rabbit."
"And I thought I spoke English...!" muttered the Beast Helmet man. He sprang forward directly in between the two intruders. The next minute would have been impossible for an untrained observer to follow. Two swords slashed and rebounded off the metal cuffs on the Mantis' arms; in return, lightning-swift spinning kicks rang against the Skull helmet and thudded to the chest of the Eldar woman. They were fighting at a level of skill where their movements seemed to been have meticulously rehearsed to perfection.
Despite the two against one odds, despite the added weaponry and shield that Taper and Perendir enjoyed, they could not do any lasting damage to their enemy. The Mantis was a decisive fraction faster than his opponents. His enhanced perception guided him to strike at the best opening, to swerve and crouch beneath the edges of the swords, to dance in and out without being scratched. Each fleeting concussion where he made contact drove Taper and Perendir back a step to recover.
Perendir was not as strong as even a Human woman her size and build, the Eldarin were not brawny by nature. But she was light on her feet, nimble and quick-thinking. Against nearly any opponent, she had proven capable to striking before any defense could stop her. Her skills were not availing her now.
Another minute hurtled by at a frantic pace that would have killed any normal athlete from exhaustion. Taper scored one side kick to the stomach that doubled the Mantis up, but his advantage didn't last more than an instant. Lunging in when Perendir raised her sword, the Mantis stabbed three stiffened fingers up into her armpit, sinking their ends deep into a nerve plexus. The Shining Blade dropped from limp fingers to clatter on the floor.
If they had been alone, the Beast Helmet bearer would have been able to finish off the Eldar there and then. But he did not have the necessary instant for that. Larry Taper bodyslammed him from the side, using his shield as a battering ram and sending the Mantis tumbling off his feet. The Silver Skull stomped down to the man's chest, intending to drive the breath from his opponent but Mantis seized that foot and twisted, throwing Taper off. Both men rolled over and vaulted back up again.
The two opponents reset their stances ten feet apart. For a moment, they made no move. They were replaying in their minds the furious action of that past minute, considering what opportunities they had not taken advantage of, looking for patterns in their enemy's attacks.
Perendir had stubbornly risen, right arm hanging uselessly at her side. In her left hand, she hefted her sword and lifted it point upwards in front of her. "Here is a sight well worth seeing," she suggested.
Both Taper and the Mantis could not resist glancing over. The entire chamber turned the most intense white imaginable, leaving no room for shadows. Every Eldar was capable of making their bodies blaze up to blind their enemies, in fact they were channeling the healing radiance which bathed their island of Elvedal. Perendir drew this gift through the Shining Blade with overwhelming results. Many times since joining the Seven Swords, they had paralyzed armies into helplessness by depriving them of any sight.
But there was a whack and a thud, and the unbearable radiance faded. Taper's eyes cleared more quickly than they would have if the light had been natural. He saw his teammate lying stretched out on her stomach, one elbow drawn up. She was not dead nor even completely unconscious as a feeble attempt to turn over indicated, but the Eldar was definitely out of the fight for the moment.
The Mantis scornfully kicked the Shining Blade to the farther end of the arena. "Hah! Poor golden one. The brightest light or the deepest blackness, they matter nothing to me. My Mantis helmet increases my perception beyond the need for sight." He held up both arms with the forearms raised and hands hanging so that he further resembled the insect for which his Helmet had been styled.
Facing him, blinking away tears as his vision fully returned, Larry Taper had decided on his best gambit against this enemy. He tossed the sword Chalcemar to one side and then slid the round shield from his left arm and sent it skittering away as well. Unarmed, he lowered into a deep forward leaning stance with most of his weight on his foreward leg and his open right hand stretched forward.
Mantis knew nothing of the Silver Skull's ensorcellments. He took this action as a form of surrender. With a gleeful snort, he sprinted toward his opponent, leaping up to pounce... and ran headlong into the razored point of Taper's sword. The Silver Skull had summoned it, and Chalcemar had appeared in his grasp from across the room. So neatly did it pierce the man's torso that the sword's point emerged up under his shoulder blades for more than a foot.
"Ugh! What?" was all the Mantis managed to say before life left him. Taper kept his grip and slowed the body's fall to the floor, then planted a foot on the dead chest and tugged his weapon free. "That ruse has spared me much tedious sparring," he announced to the unhearing Mantis.
He hurried over to kneel before Perendir. The Eldar woman moaned and placed her palms flat on the floor, trying without much success to brace herself preparatory to rising. A noticeable lump already showed on the back of her head. Taper placed one gentle hand beneath that head and the other high up on her back for support. "Steady on there, compatriot," he advised. "Energetic activity is counterindicated at this point."
"The Mantis! Where is he?"
"Departed to confess his shortcomings to his ancestors," the Silver Skull told her. "Don't fret over him now. Your cranial condition must supersede all other considerations."
Those slightly oblique eyes opened to reveal the amber irises. "You slew him? Very well. My light failed for the first time. Here, help me up if you will. There is no time to rest. Our friends are fighting their own desperate duels while we sit here."
As the Eldar got to her feet, bracing herself and growing steadier with each second, Taper fetched her Shining Blade and handed it over. Perendir slid it back into her scabbard and sighed. "That Mantis Helmet gave greater powers than I would have thought, Lawrence. I only hope that our teammates are doing well."
The Silver Skull took some folded pieces of paper from within his belt and thoughtfully wiped his blade clean before sheathing it. "If it offers comfort, Perendir, they undoubtedly are worrying the same about us."
III.
Cat's-Claw and Hissing Blade vs Tiger
Two deadly fighters stalked down the long empty corridors of the abandoned Melgar fortress. Kwali was nearly invisible in the gloom except when he passed near one of the sparsely placed wall torches. The huge Danarakan warrior wore the traditional tight cotton suit which left his forearms and shins bare, and only soft moccasins which made no sound. The grim expression on his dark heavy-featured face was normal for him. His wiry hair was close-cropped, and his eyes were an unpredictable bright green... cat's eyes.
Slightly behind the Tel Shai knight, Cheram felt increasingly clumsy and awkward in comparison. He had prided himself on a stealthy tread but that seemed like mere vanity now. In his right hand, Cheram brandished the Hissing Sword. When he in turn passed near a torch, a bizarre non-Human face was revealed.
For Cheram Murakami was from Chyl. His tawny-skinned head was completely hairless, his deepset eyes were shadowed under protruding brow ledges and most alarmingly, he had no nose at all. Only a slight ridge swelled between nose and mouth. The Chylans breathed in through their mouths and out through gill slits on either side of their necks. Why the Darthim had so long ago modified Chylans from Human ancestors, no one knew. The most accepted theory was that they had been intended to water-breathers but had been supplanted by the Gelydrim of Ulgor.
One of the Zoku-ya class, raised from childhood to be master swordsmen, Cheram had ranked near the top of his trade before leaving Chyl ten years earlier. He was cousin to the notorious Zemu Watura, the Stray Dog, and the two had managed to avoid a showdown that would only end with one or both of them dead.
Slowing to a halt, Kwali pressed his fingertips to where the talisman Cat's-Claw hung on a chain under his tunic. The incredibly ancient talon was growing warmer with each step. "Danger is near," he warned, his Danarakan accent almost lost after many years of travel. "Gralic force. Something potent and hateful."
"I am ready," said Cheram. "Nay, even eager. Let us do what we came here to do."
The African warrior glanced back and nodded. "Odd that our paths have never crossed before. We fight the same fight, Cheram."
"Yes. Well, the Seven Swords seldom enter the real world. We patrol the adjacent realms to strike down and bandits and tyrants."
"I have heard of nothing but deeds brave and righteous about your fellowship."
A sharp barking laugh escaped the Chylan. "I would say the same about your Tel Shai knights." Before he could speak further, lurid scarlet light flooded in through the window slits along the walls. Outside, a gralic firebolt had risen high into the freezing sky and detonated with a thump of thunder too close for safety. The alarm had been given.
"They know we are here," Cheram said. "Now it's kill or be killed."
Without further comment, Kwali took off at an easy loping pace that the Chylan was hard pressed to match. Bent far forward, long legs pumping and arms tucked in close to the massive chest, Kwali seemed more catlike than ever. The Seven Swords fighter ran close behind, sword ready.
Ahead, the corridor branched left and right. Accelerating into a full sprint, Kwali leaped into that opening but far to his right, and a dark figure slashed the air where he would have been if he had not swerved. The Danarakan swung a knotted fist that would have broken any jaw it struck, but he too made contact with only empty air. Then gouges raked across his chest, deep into the pectoral muscles and Kwali backpaced out of reach.
Swerving in through the doorway, the Beast Helmet cultist flashed straight at Cheram. The Hissing Sword moved so quickly that its passage made the sinister sound which had given it its name. Somehow, the dark robed man stopped that slash with his palm, forcing the sword down and bodyslamming Cheram off his feet entirely. Agle as an acrobat, the Beast Helmet man hopped over the fallen Chylan and landed in the hallway behind them. He had wounded Kwali and placed one of his opponents between himself and the other in less than a second.
Revealed in the torchlight near him, the cultist was shown as a tall, thin man wrapped in coarse robes sashed tightly. His iron helmet was crafted in the likeness of a snarling tiger with its jaws open to show the fangs. He raised his open hands in a swirling motion, revealing the shukos he wore... bands which held four vicious hooks across his palms. Those hooks reached out three inches. It had been these which had wounded Kwali.
"Who dies first?" he asked.
Jumping back onto his feet, Cheram drew his sword back. That impact had taken him off-balance but done no harm. "What unworthy weapons you bear," he spat. "Only a Brumal without honor would sink so low."
"Stop it," the Tiger laughed, "Do you want to hurt my feelings?"
The former Zoku-Ya stamped his foot twice and lunged forward, the Hissing Blade sweeping in a diagonal arc that would have bisected any man it struck. But, faster and fiercer than Human muscles should be able to move, the Tiger rushed in close under the swing and smashed his elbow into the noseless face stunning force. Cheram did not fall. He recovered instantly, bringing the great two-handed sword around but the Tiger was swifter. Planting one foot by Cheram's ankle, seizing the Chylan's sword arm, the Beast Helmet fighter flung Cheram over his hip to crash full length on the stone floor.
Even as he fell, though, the Zoku-Ya lashed out again with a backhand stroke that the Tiger was forced to leap up over to avoid having his legs amputated at the knee. The Seven Swords fighter was on his feet in a blink, whipping his sword from side to side and driving the Tiger back.
"Let me slay him," rumbled the deep baritone of Bakwanga Kwali.
"No! I have him! He will be lying quartered in a second," Cheram protested. But despite his best efforts, his strokes could not touch the elusive Tiger. Skilled warriors in their own right, the new fighters of the Nine Beast Helmets had their abilities magnified many times by their talismans.
"He has drawn blood from me. I will have his!" insisted the huge Danarakan. He shouldered past the Seven Swords fighter, stalking more catlike than ever.
"Har, let him try. After I kill him, you and I will dance around a little more."
Cheram Murakami moved back two steps toward the doorway, lowering his sword. His grosteque face was unreadable but his voice gave away his anger. "Oh very well. Have your way with him."`
The Tiger dropped into a crouch so low his torso was parallel to the floor. On his outstretched hands, the savage shuko devices glinted in the torchlight. "Cat's-Claw! Heir to Wakime. The lying tales say you can turn into a gigantic Black Lion, but I never believed them."
"Against you," Kwali retorted, "I will not need the full attribute of our sacred Black Lion." Even the Tiger Helmet man was taken unaware by how terrifyingly fast Kwali plunged across the intervening space and continued past him to whirl back around.
"Huh? I didn't even... see you move..." The cultist groaned in fatalistic awareness he had only seconds to live. Onto the spill of his own intestines, the gutted man fell face down and his final breath rattled in his throat.
Stupefied by what he had seen, Cheram slowly slid his sword back into his scabbard. He tried to speak but made only a vague croaking noise.
Turning toward his new colleague, the Danarakan made no comment. He raised his arms and let Cheram get a good look. Where his hands had been a moment before, his wrists swelled and thickened into two massive black-hided lion's paws.
10/14/2021