"The Eyeless Helmet"
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dochermes"The Eyeless Helmet"
11/2/1982
I.
On a raw wet November morning, a tall man walked quickly past Forsythe Park. Even on such a gloomy day, he wore opaque sunglasses... not for his own sake, but as courtesy to spare others the sight of his blind eyes. But even though he could see nothing in a literal sense through those eyes, Garrison Nebel paused at the intersection and crossed over to Browning Terrace without hesitation. No one driving past would have given him a second thought.
Nebel strode into the courtyard of the Browning Terrace Apartments. He was a lanky man in his early forties, with a long somber face and light brown hair that was brushed back over a high forehead. He wore a simple dark business suit, with a light blue shirt but no tie and he carried a large gym bag in his left hand. THe calm, thoughtful expression was misleading because his mind was working furiously. So much had changed. Was it really only a few months ago he had been happy and ignorant? Yes. Not far up the street was Plymouth Avenue, where his old apartment still carried the psychic residue of his encounter with the Group Mind and his betrayal. Nebel did not break his pace to remember. He had his cause now, there was work to do.
He did not see them but he could feel the row of doors, all identical, with their small rectangular glass panels at face level. His perception was enchanced by gralic force and he could not have explained it to a normal Human. The best analogy he could have come up with was that it was like waking up in the dark and reaching to turn on the lamp on a nightstand.. you knew it was there without looking. To him, it felt as if he just knew somehow where everything was. Nebel reached out to take hold of the doorknob of Apt 11, and a click sounded as the lock opened itself. In a presence of a seeker of truth, everything made way.
Nebel stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The police had not been here, he could feel. Mrs Choi had been missing for two days, not showing up for a lunch date with her sister and then not answering the phone. The sister, Su-Na CHoi, had been concerned but hesitated to report the disapperance to the police. Her family hated scandal and wanted to see if perhaps she had just gone off on her own, as she had been known to do. Yung Choi was a strong-minded independent woman who did not like to account for herself, even to her own family in this country.
When the sister had called on him and ask for his help, Nebel had wanted to decline. "I am just a writer myself, as Yung is. Why do you think I can be of any use, when you should be going to the police?"
"Because Yung spoke of you often," the sister had said sternly. "You both have published books on the supernatural. The occult. The spiritual meaning of the world. Yung told me you were dedicated to learning the truth and cared for little else." Su-Na Choi leaned closer. "My little sister said you had integrity. You could be trusted. So I come to you now."
It was true. Since he had been betrayed by the love of his life into the hands of his enemies, since he had been cruelly blinded by a Colony of the Group Mind, Nebel had passed through a crisis. He was now obsessed with perception. Facing Su-Na, he said quietly, "I decided I would not be fooled again. I do have means to find out what has happened where eyesight can be deceived and trust can be betrayed. Very well. I will look for Yung now, and I swear I will find her."
After she left almost in tears, Nebel had sighed deeply and moved about his small house. He made enough as a writer for his modest needs, alternating serious books on mysticism with exciting adventure novels which sold well. Now he stripped down and pulled on simple white cotton tights and tunic, then put his regular clothes on over them. Into his gym bag went the length of gold-inlaid fabric, the faceted blue crystal on its chain, and the golden helmet without eyes. This would be all he would need. Outside it had stopped raining and a cold breeze made people tremble and get off the streets as soon as possible, but he set out with a determined step to walk the mile to the apartments where Yung Choi lived.
Now, standing in the living room, Garrison Nebel did not turn on the lights, nor did he walk around. He searched with other senses. This room was tidy, everything in its place. A light folding table next to the window held a battered portable typewriter, envelopes, stacks of papers. Nebel stepped closer. There on the floor was a pale blue gem in a gaudy setting filled with ornate swirls. A travel crystal but not one made by the Eldarin. No. He held the sigil in his hands and let his perception probe into its nature. This had been crafted by a Human wizard, made with skill and care but still falling far below the art of the Eldarin. Such an imitation could be neither reliable nor easy to use accurately. Yung Choi had vanished through a god-gate and, since the travel crystal had remained here to drop on the carpet, she would have no way back.
It was well that the police had not be called here, he thought. They would know nothing of the meaning of this gem. The Midnight War was not even a phrase they had heard. Nebel went to lock the door and pull the curtains. He would have to act quickly. In the gloom, he took off his outer garments, standing in the white tunic and tights. In place of his black dress shoes, he drew on white leather boots from the gym bag, and white leather gloves that reached to mid-forearm. His own travel crystal had been crafted the immortals of Elvedal and next to the one that Yung had used, it gleamed with a clean bright light of its own. Nebel unfolded the length of heavy cloth and fastened it around his neck; it was an ankle-length cloak of interwoven with fine threads of ensalir. Even in the dim light of the apartment, that cloak shimmered hotly like the air over a highway under the summer sun.
He drew out the final item from the bag. This was his most precious possession, the major talisman of the Midnight War entrusted to him by the Eldarin under condition he use it well. It was a metal helmet that covered his head completely, reaching almost to his shoulders. The featureless face place had no opening for eyes. This was Sagehelm, devised before the Corruption thirty thousand years earlier, worn by Eldar mystics in service to their Race. Never before had it rested on the head of a mortal Man. Never had Human head worn the Eyeless Helmet, but then there had not been one whom the Eldarin thought worthy to weild it. Made of ensalir, metal ensorcelled by the Eldarin with an art above magick, the helmet seemed to be a rich gold in color but it too had a faint shimmer at its edges.
With that helmet on, Nebel's gralic perception swelled out like a wave to take in the apartment around him. Everything seemed clearer. He could read patterns of movement and understand them. A strange figure of white and gold, the Sorcerer of Truth reached out and lightly touched one gloved finger to the crude travel crystal left behind by Yung Choi. A swirl of beautiful pale blue light flared silently to illuminate the room and, when it faded, he was gone.
II.
as the light faded, Nebel found himself standing on a rocky plain beneath a lowering sky. It was stifling, with no movement of the sullen air. A red mist swirled up to his knees. This must be one of the adjacent realms, he knew, but he was no seasoned traveler in them yet. He felt oppressive sensations pressing down on him, almost as if he were deep beneath the sea.
A small, semi-human creature with big popping eyes squatting near him. Nebel turned to face the thing. "What is this place?" he asked in a voice made hollow by the helmet.
"In Fanedral you are," came the barely understandable squeaked. "in the Dream Circle you stand."
"The Dream Circle..? Then, am I asleep?" He thought perhaps this was justv a projection of his dreaming mind.
"Nay, not so," came the tittering answer. "You wake but this land sleeps."
Nebel regarded the creature. It did not seem to be a living beast but some sort of construct. "Who is your master, my little one?"
The creature shrieked and loped away. Nebel let him go.
Overhead, a bolt of hot purple flame streaked in an arc across what sky there was and burst into a pillar of smoke on the horizon. Far off, he heard the muted call of trumpets. Was there war in this realm? Relaxing, breathing slowly, he allowed his perception to expand. The Eyeless Helmet gleaming in the dim muggy air. There. Not far ahead of him burned the emotions of ambition and anger and desire. Beneath them, a thin cold strand of fear sang out. That must be his goal. Nebel stood up straight and began to march forward. Beside him, a rocky wall began to rise, rough blocks of stone piled crudely head-high. Beneath his feet was a paved road made of flat stones set in the hard ground. Nebel walked on. At intervals, he passed a staff set in the ground with the skull of a beast impaled at its top. He recognized the shape of those skulls, humanlike but larger, with a bony crest on the top and powerful grinding jaws with protruding lower fangs. Trolls.
As he paused by one of the staffs, a living Troll loomed up suddenly on top of the wall and leaped down upon him with a roar no Human throat could produce. It brought a massive spiked hammer down hard upon him with murderous force. A normal man would died then and there with a skull crushed beneath that weapon. But Nebel was not one to be taken by surprise. He sensed the brute's lifeforce, heard the labored breathing and the scrape of leathery feet on rock, felt the rush of displaced air. As the Troll was pouncing, Nebel had already stepped aside. The hammer crashed down on the road where he had been standing, and the Troll grunted with a bafflement that was comical to see.
"You waste your time," said Nebel, "and mine." He regarded the Troll with curiosity, never having seen one in the flesh. He was still a newcomer to the reality of the Midnight War. All the research he had done for his books was not much help when he faced the real thing. A head taller than a tall man, bristling with short black hair, the brute was a nightmare figure out of folklore... the source of legends around the world.
Furious at missing his prey, the Troll stamped up and down in a tantrum, then gripped the war hammer with both paws and swung it back behind his head, ready to swing it down in a killing stroke. The head of that hammer was as big as Nebel's head, and short sharp spikes stuck out from it in every direction. Nebel stood where he was.
The Eyeless Helmet blazed suddenly, becoming a beacon of intense golden light that was as if the Sun had shone directly from it. In fact, it was the holy light of the Halarin Themselves, channeled from where They looked down on Elvedal. A fraction og that transcendental radiance directed itself through Sagehelm, and no creature of the night could bear it. The Troll pawed at its face, shielded its eyes and turned away, but still that golden light blasted away at it.
Nebel allowed the light to fade slightly. His voice was gentle. "I am looking for a woman from the real world. Tell me where she is." When there was no answer, he went on, "Tell me and the light will cease." Finally, the Troll rose to its knees and pointed further down the road.
"There," the beast rumbled. "There. The throne of the Dread One."
The golden light died down, but the Troll did not rise. He seemed dazed and fearful. Nebel thought he would recover soon, and he started down the road again. He walked for a mile, then two. The road was becoming more elaborate. An edging of stone rose ankle high on either side now, and at intervals the wooden staffs had been replaced by flagpoles bearing a pennant. Here was where the limitations of Nebel's perceptions became clearer. He could tell there were triangular pennants hanging down in the still stifling air, but he could not tell their color or if they had any design on them. He was blind, after all, and even his gralic enhancement was not an exact replacement. Nebel could perceive the shape and size of an object behind him, but he could not read a sign nor could he say what color anything was.
Ahead, the road ended at a raised area on which sat a throne of burning metal. Before that throne, a naked woman huddled in chains, and on either side of it stood a winged demon. On the throne sat Draldros.
III.
Although his tread remained steady and unhurried, Nebel felt a pang of fear. He was still Human, still new enough to this desperate game to have a twinge of regret at having entered this realm. He continued anyway. Soon he stood before the presence. At the foot of that dais, a middle-aged Asian woman knelt, hair hanging down over her face. She was dirty and scratched, dried blood spotting her naked body. Chains much heavier than were needed weighed her down. Yung Choi did not look up.
Standing guard at either side of that beaten prisoner were two Kulan. Nebel knew them only from vague descriptions in forbidden texts, but there was no mistaking those dog-headed demons with their batwings, their talons and barbed tails. They watched him with hungry eyes, clawed fingers working as they restrained themselves from pouncing on him and ripping him to tatters. Nebel paid them no attention after the first glance. All his awareness was on the throned man.
Here was a wide, bulky form entirely encased in plate armor so that no skin at all was visible. No even a glimpse of that face could be seen behind the helm. In his right hand, he held a short sceptre topped with a round orb, and a fire burned in a brazier at his other side.
"Mortal," came a sepulchral voice that echoed in the stifling air, "approach us. Know you that you stand in the presence of Draldros, Lord of Fanedral, one of the three Halarim who steer the destiny of the worlds beyond."
For a long moment, Nebel did not speak. He could sense deceit, which he despised beyond all reason. He would not be fooled again! And here was deception laid out before him in all its falseness. He drew the shining gold cloak around him, covering his body completely, and regarded the throned man with the expressionless gaze of a helmet without eyes.
him
Again Draldros spoke. His words did not seem to come from him directly. "Here is the prize you seek. She came unbidden into this realm, and by the laws of trespass, her freedom can be purchased with a forefeit. I claim that helmet, Human. It can not be yours in honesty. It is the property of the Eldarin, forged by Elzulang himself at the beginning of the world. How you came by it I know not, but I shall take it to return it to its rightful owners."
Now Nebel interrupted. He raised one gloved finger in negation. "Nothing you have said is the truth," he said sternly. "I know, for I am Imthril, the Sorceror of Truth, and this helmet was freely given to me by the King and Queen of Elvedal in full view of their court. You speak what you know is false. If I were to surrender Sagehelm to you, then you would have your Kulan slay both me and your captive. Your word is worthless, and even more... you are not Draldros!"
"You dare! Fool. You have sealed both your fates," the armored man screamed. "That helmet can be taken from your corpse. Azug! Barek! kill the Human!" The dogheaded demons spread their wings wide and rose up with vicious grins on their muzzles and in that instant, Nebel again called upon the light which shines on Elvedal. A sunburst of pure golden light exploded where he stood. The winged demons fell to the rocky ground, groveling, pawing at their faces at the blinding. Steam rose from that armor, the plates began to soften and be eaten away.
"Enough!" he cried suddenly. "What trickery is this! How can you presume to steal the light of the Halarin this way?"
"Not stolen," answered Nebel, "but freely granted to use in accordance with Their will. You are not Draldros, but some lesser being posing as him. The Dread One is a peer with the Halarin and could face Their shining. Stand down. I do not need to harm you to claim what is not rightfully yours." Striding over to where Yung was lying in misery, Nebel knelt and touched her chains. They fell from her with a clanking. He gently drew his cloak over her bruised body, then looked up at the figure on the throne. The golden light faded just a bit. Pieces had broken off and fallen from the throne, the imposter's armor had deep cracks and fissures in it.
"Take her then!" roared the armored man. "But watch your back and be wary of every step you take, Imthril. You have made a bitter enemy this day!"
"You are but the first of many I will make," Nebel answered placidly. "Better for you that we do not meet again, poser. I have no patiences with liars and deceivers." With that, he touched the travel crystal hanging around his neck and both he and Yung Choi were gone from that realm.
As Nebel straightened up, he saw they were back in that apartment on Browning Terrace, once more back in the mundane world. With a deep sigh, he lifted the Eyeless Helmet from his head. His hair was matted with sweat and his face was pale. That trial had been only won with great effort of will, and he felt as if he had not slept in days. Putting the helm down, he examined the Korean-American woman tenderly. She was in a deep sleep, she was exhausted and dehydrated. But her wounds and burns were superficial. With medical care, she should recover. He straightened up, wiping his face with the back of his hand, then noticing his glove. Before doing anything else, he called Choi's sister and told her that Yung was in her own apartment, injured but alive, and that an ambulance should be called. He said he would wait there and hung up. With that, he removed the cloak and folded it, then took off the gloves and soft boots and placed them in the gym back with Sagehelm. He again put on normal clothing. Glancing at the woman on the couch, he pulled a blanket from where it was folded on one side and covered her.
Nebel felt exhausted. He went into the bathroom, washed his hands and face with cold water. He was not sure what story Yung would give when she awoke. Most likely, she would have no memory of Fanedral. Her whereabouts the last two days would remain a mystery. Brushing his hair with his fingers and adjusting his shirt, Nebel paused as he detected a car speeding up to come to a sudden stop outside. It was Yung's sister. Before he went to meet her, he remembered to pull the opaque sunglasses from his jacket and put them on over sightless eyes.
________
(Written /14/1972;revised 3/2/2013)
11/2/1982
I.
On a raw wet November morning, a tall man walked quickly past Forsythe Park. Even on such a gloomy day, he wore opaque sunglasses... not for his own sake, but as courtesy to spare others the sight of his blind eyes. But even though he could see nothing in a literal sense through those eyes, Garrison Nebel paused at the intersection and crossed over to Browning Terrace without hesitation. No one driving past would have given him a second thought.
Nebel strode into the courtyard of the Browning Terrace Apartments. He was a lanky man in his early forties, with a long somber face and light brown hair that was brushed back over a high forehead. He wore a simple dark business suit, with a light blue shirt but no tie and he carried a large gym bag in his left hand. THe calm, thoughtful expression was misleading because his mind was working furiously. So much had changed. Was it really only a few months ago he had been happy and ignorant? Yes. Not far up the street was Plymouth Avenue, where his old apartment still carried the psychic residue of his encounter with the Group Mind and his betrayal. Nebel did not break his pace to remember. He had his cause now, there was work to do.
He did not see them but he could feel the row of doors, all identical, with their small rectangular glass panels at face level. His perception was enchanced by gralic force and he could not have explained it to a normal Human. The best analogy he could have come up with was that it was like waking up in the dark and reaching to turn on the lamp on a nightstand.. you knew it was there without looking. To him, it felt as if he just knew somehow where everything was. Nebel reached out to take hold of the doorknob of Apt 11, and a click sounded as the lock opened itself. In a presence of a seeker of truth, everything made way.
Nebel stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The police had not been here, he could feel. Mrs Choi had been missing for two days, not showing up for a lunch date with her sister and then not answering the phone. The sister, Su-Na CHoi, had been concerned but hesitated to report the disapperance to the police. Her family hated scandal and wanted to see if perhaps she had just gone off on her own, as she had been known to do. Yung Choi was a strong-minded independent woman who did not like to account for herself, even to her own family in this country.
When the sister had called on him and ask for his help, Nebel had wanted to decline. "I am just a writer myself, as Yung is. Why do you think I can be of any use, when you should be going to the police?"
"Because Yung spoke of you often," the sister had said sternly. "You both have published books on the supernatural. The occult. The spiritual meaning of the world. Yung told me you were dedicated to learning the truth and cared for little else." Su-Na Choi leaned closer. "My little sister said you had integrity. You could be trusted. So I come to you now."
It was true. Since he had been betrayed by the love of his life into the hands of his enemies, since he had been cruelly blinded by a Colony of the Group Mind, Nebel had passed through a crisis. He was now obsessed with perception. Facing Su-Na, he said quietly, "I decided I would not be fooled again. I do have means to find out what has happened where eyesight can be deceived and trust can be betrayed. Very well. I will look for Yung now, and I swear I will find her."
After she left almost in tears, Nebel had sighed deeply and moved about his small house. He made enough as a writer for his modest needs, alternating serious books on mysticism with exciting adventure novels which sold well. Now he stripped down and pulled on simple white cotton tights and tunic, then put his regular clothes on over them. Into his gym bag went the length of gold-inlaid fabric, the faceted blue crystal on its chain, and the golden helmet without eyes. This would be all he would need. Outside it had stopped raining and a cold breeze made people tremble and get off the streets as soon as possible, but he set out with a determined step to walk the mile to the apartments where Yung Choi lived.
Now, standing in the living room, Garrison Nebel did not turn on the lights, nor did he walk around. He searched with other senses. This room was tidy, everything in its place. A light folding table next to the window held a battered portable typewriter, envelopes, stacks of papers. Nebel stepped closer. There on the floor was a pale blue gem in a gaudy setting filled with ornate swirls. A travel crystal but not one made by the Eldarin. No. He held the sigil in his hands and let his perception probe into its nature. This had been crafted by a Human wizard, made with skill and care but still falling far below the art of the Eldarin. Such an imitation could be neither reliable nor easy to use accurately. Yung Choi had vanished through a god-gate and, since the travel crystal had remained here to drop on the carpet, she would have no way back.
It was well that the police had not be called here, he thought. They would know nothing of the meaning of this gem. The Midnight War was not even a phrase they had heard. Nebel went to lock the door and pull the curtains. He would have to act quickly. In the gloom, he took off his outer garments, standing in the white tunic and tights. In place of his black dress shoes, he drew on white leather boots from the gym bag, and white leather gloves that reached to mid-forearm. His own travel crystal had been crafted the immortals of Elvedal and next to the one that Yung had used, it gleamed with a clean bright light of its own. Nebel unfolded the length of heavy cloth and fastened it around his neck; it was an ankle-length cloak of interwoven with fine threads of ensalir. Even in the dim light of the apartment, that cloak shimmered hotly like the air over a highway under the summer sun.
He drew out the final item from the bag. This was his most precious possession, the major talisman of the Midnight War entrusted to him by the Eldarin under condition he use it well. It was a metal helmet that covered his head completely, reaching almost to his shoulders. The featureless face place had no opening for eyes. This was Sagehelm, devised before the Corruption thirty thousand years earlier, worn by Eldar mystics in service to their Race. Never before had it rested on the head of a mortal Man. Never had Human head worn the Eyeless Helmet, but then there had not been one whom the Eldarin thought worthy to weild it. Made of ensalir, metal ensorcelled by the Eldarin with an art above magick, the helmet seemed to be a rich gold in color but it too had a faint shimmer at its edges.
With that helmet on, Nebel's gralic perception swelled out like a wave to take in the apartment around him. Everything seemed clearer. He could read patterns of movement and understand them. A strange figure of white and gold, the Sorcerer of Truth reached out and lightly touched one gloved finger to the crude travel crystal left behind by Yung Choi. A swirl of beautiful pale blue light flared silently to illuminate the room and, when it faded, he was gone.
II.
as the light faded, Nebel found himself standing on a rocky plain beneath a lowering sky. It was stifling, with no movement of the sullen air. A red mist swirled up to his knees. This must be one of the adjacent realms, he knew, but he was no seasoned traveler in them yet. He felt oppressive sensations pressing down on him, almost as if he were deep beneath the sea.
A small, semi-human creature with big popping eyes squatting near him. Nebel turned to face the thing. "What is this place?" he asked in a voice made hollow by the helmet.
"In Fanedral you are," came the barely understandable squeaked. "in the Dream Circle you stand."
"The Dream Circle..? Then, am I asleep?" He thought perhaps this was justv a projection of his dreaming mind.
"Nay, not so," came the tittering answer. "You wake but this land sleeps."
Nebel regarded the creature. It did not seem to be a living beast but some sort of construct. "Who is your master, my little one?"
The creature shrieked and loped away. Nebel let him go.
Overhead, a bolt of hot purple flame streaked in an arc across what sky there was and burst into a pillar of smoke on the horizon. Far off, he heard the muted call of trumpets. Was there war in this realm? Relaxing, breathing slowly, he allowed his perception to expand. The Eyeless Helmet gleaming in the dim muggy air. There. Not far ahead of him burned the emotions of ambition and anger and desire. Beneath them, a thin cold strand of fear sang out. That must be his goal. Nebel stood up straight and began to march forward. Beside him, a rocky wall began to rise, rough blocks of stone piled crudely head-high. Beneath his feet was a paved road made of flat stones set in the hard ground. Nebel walked on. At intervals, he passed a staff set in the ground with the skull of a beast impaled at its top. He recognized the shape of those skulls, humanlike but larger, with a bony crest on the top and powerful grinding jaws with protruding lower fangs. Trolls.
As he paused by one of the staffs, a living Troll loomed up suddenly on top of the wall and leaped down upon him with a roar no Human throat could produce. It brought a massive spiked hammer down hard upon him with murderous force. A normal man would died then and there with a skull crushed beneath that weapon. But Nebel was not one to be taken by surprise. He sensed the brute's lifeforce, heard the labored breathing and the scrape of leathery feet on rock, felt the rush of displaced air. As the Troll was pouncing, Nebel had already stepped aside. The hammer crashed down on the road where he had been standing, and the Troll grunted with a bafflement that was comical to see.
"You waste your time," said Nebel, "and mine." He regarded the Troll with curiosity, never having seen one in the flesh. He was still a newcomer to the reality of the Midnight War. All the research he had done for his books was not much help when he faced the real thing. A head taller than a tall man, bristling with short black hair, the brute was a nightmare figure out of folklore... the source of legends around the world.
Furious at missing his prey, the Troll stamped up and down in a tantrum, then gripped the war hammer with both paws and swung it back behind his head, ready to swing it down in a killing stroke. The head of that hammer was as big as Nebel's head, and short sharp spikes stuck out from it in every direction. Nebel stood where he was.
The Eyeless Helmet blazed suddenly, becoming a beacon of intense golden light that was as if the Sun had shone directly from it. In fact, it was the holy light of the Halarin Themselves, channeled from where They looked down on Elvedal. A fraction og that transcendental radiance directed itself through Sagehelm, and no creature of the night could bear it. The Troll pawed at its face, shielded its eyes and turned away, but still that golden light blasted away at it.
Nebel allowed the light to fade slightly. His voice was gentle. "I am looking for a woman from the real world. Tell me where she is." When there was no answer, he went on, "Tell me and the light will cease." Finally, the Troll rose to its knees and pointed further down the road.
"There," the beast rumbled. "There. The throne of the Dread One."
The golden light died down, but the Troll did not rise. He seemed dazed and fearful. Nebel thought he would recover soon, and he started down the road again. He walked for a mile, then two. The road was becoming more elaborate. An edging of stone rose ankle high on either side now, and at intervals the wooden staffs had been replaced by flagpoles bearing a pennant. Here was where the limitations of Nebel's perceptions became clearer. He could tell there were triangular pennants hanging down in the still stifling air, but he could not tell their color or if they had any design on them. He was blind, after all, and even his gralic enhancement was not an exact replacement. Nebel could perceive the shape and size of an object behind him, but he could not read a sign nor could he say what color anything was.
Ahead, the road ended at a raised area on which sat a throne of burning metal. Before that throne, a naked woman huddled in chains, and on either side of it stood a winged demon. On the throne sat Draldros.
III.
Although his tread remained steady and unhurried, Nebel felt a pang of fear. He was still Human, still new enough to this desperate game to have a twinge of regret at having entered this realm. He continued anyway. Soon he stood before the presence. At the foot of that dais, a middle-aged Asian woman knelt, hair hanging down over her face. She was dirty and scratched, dried blood spotting her naked body. Chains much heavier than were needed weighed her down. Yung Choi did not look up.
Standing guard at either side of that beaten prisoner were two Kulan. Nebel knew them only from vague descriptions in forbidden texts, but there was no mistaking those dog-headed demons with their batwings, their talons and barbed tails. They watched him with hungry eyes, clawed fingers working as they restrained themselves from pouncing on him and ripping him to tatters. Nebel paid them no attention after the first glance. All his awareness was on the throned man.
Here was a wide, bulky form entirely encased in plate armor so that no skin at all was visible. No even a glimpse of that face could be seen behind the helm. In his right hand, he held a short sceptre topped with a round orb, and a fire burned in a brazier at his other side.
"Mortal," came a sepulchral voice that echoed in the stifling air, "approach us. Know you that you stand in the presence of Draldros, Lord of Fanedral, one of the three Halarim who steer the destiny of the worlds beyond."
For a long moment, Nebel did not speak. He could sense deceit, which he despised beyond all reason. He would not be fooled again! And here was deception laid out before him in all its falseness. He drew the shining gold cloak around him, covering his body completely, and regarded the throned man with the expressionless gaze of a helmet without eyes.
him
Again Draldros spoke. His words did not seem to come from him directly. "Here is the prize you seek. She came unbidden into this realm, and by the laws of trespass, her freedom can be purchased with a forefeit. I claim that helmet, Human. It can not be yours in honesty. It is the property of the Eldarin, forged by Elzulang himself at the beginning of the world. How you came by it I know not, but I shall take it to return it to its rightful owners."
Now Nebel interrupted. He raised one gloved finger in negation. "Nothing you have said is the truth," he said sternly. "I know, for I am Imthril, the Sorceror of Truth, and this helmet was freely given to me by the King and Queen of Elvedal in full view of their court. You speak what you know is false. If I were to surrender Sagehelm to you, then you would have your Kulan slay both me and your captive. Your word is worthless, and even more... you are not Draldros!"
"You dare! Fool. You have sealed both your fates," the armored man screamed. "That helmet can be taken from your corpse. Azug! Barek! kill the Human!" The dogheaded demons spread their wings wide and rose up with vicious grins on their muzzles and in that instant, Nebel again called upon the light which shines on Elvedal. A sunburst of pure golden light exploded where he stood. The winged demons fell to the rocky ground, groveling, pawing at their faces at the blinding. Steam rose from that armor, the plates began to soften and be eaten away.
"Enough!" he cried suddenly. "What trickery is this! How can you presume to steal the light of the Halarin this way?"
"Not stolen," answered Nebel, "but freely granted to use in accordance with Their will. You are not Draldros, but some lesser being posing as him. The Dread One is a peer with the Halarin and could face Their shining. Stand down. I do not need to harm you to claim what is not rightfully yours." Striding over to where Yung was lying in misery, Nebel knelt and touched her chains. They fell from her with a clanking. He gently drew his cloak over her bruised body, then looked up at the figure on the throne. The golden light faded just a bit. Pieces had broken off and fallen from the throne, the imposter's armor had deep cracks and fissures in it.
"Take her then!" roared the armored man. "But watch your back and be wary of every step you take, Imthril. You have made a bitter enemy this day!"
"You are but the first of many I will make," Nebel answered placidly. "Better for you that we do not meet again, poser. I have no patiences with liars and deceivers." With that, he touched the travel crystal hanging around his neck and both he and Yung Choi were gone from that realm.
As Nebel straightened up, he saw they were back in that apartment on Browning Terrace, once more back in the mundane world. With a deep sigh, he lifted the Eyeless Helmet from his head. His hair was matted with sweat and his face was pale. That trial had been only won with great effort of will, and he felt as if he had not slept in days. Putting the helm down, he examined the Korean-American woman tenderly. She was in a deep sleep, she was exhausted and dehydrated. But her wounds and burns were superficial. With medical care, she should recover. He straightened up, wiping his face with the back of his hand, then noticing his glove. Before doing anything else, he called Choi's sister and told her that Yung was in her own apartment, injured but alive, and that an ambulance should be called. He said he would wait there and hung up. With that, he removed the cloak and folded it, then took off the gloves and soft boots and placed them in the gym back with Sagehelm. He again put on normal clothing. Glancing at the woman on the couch, he pulled a blanket from where it was folded on one side and covered her.
Nebel felt exhausted. He went into the bathroom, washed his hands and face with cold water. He was not sure what story Yung would give when she awoke. Most likely, she would have no memory of Fanedral. Her whereabouts the last two days would remain a mystery. Brushing his hair with his fingers and adjusting his shirt, Nebel paused as he detected a car speeding up to come to a sudden stop outside. It was Yung's sister. Before he went to meet her, he remembered to pull the opaque sunglasses from his jacket and put them on over sightless eyes.
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(Written /14/1972;revised 3/2/2013)
