"The Ship of Skulls"

[dochermes]

"The Ship of Skulls"

5/28-5/30/1987

I.

At ten o'clock that morning, Jeremy Bane entered the reception room just inside the front door of the headquarters building. He used this for the infrequent cases he undertook to keep his PI business active, but it was mostly for visitors coming to the KDF with their troubles. To the right as he entered was his desk, sitting under a gorgeous hand-painted map of the world as it had been in 1937. Three leatherbound chairs stood in front of his desk. There was a couch under the two narrow windows, a coffee table with magazines on it. On the opposite wall was a waist-high case holding reference books and atop that sat a huge fish tank filled with bizarre specimens. As Bane entered, he found his guest studying the starfish that had a single red eye in its hub.

The visitor was bizarre enough himself. Not more than five feet tall, he was so widely and strongly built that he would have been intimidating to a regular-sized man. His proportions were not quite right, with the trunk too large and the head too big but this was normal for his Race. Tewan the Smith was not a dwarf, that is a human with a medical condition. He was a Dwarf, of the ancient Race that the afflicted humans took their name from.

.As he turned to greet his host, Tewan revealed a deeply lined face with a prominent bulbous nose and a bushy greying beard that reached his chest. He was balding, with only a fringe of hair up to his ears. The Dwarf was well dressed, in a brown pinstripe suit, tan shirt and dark brown tie, all obviously tailored for him. His dress shoes on huge feet were polished. He may have been abnormal in build, by Human standards at least, but he carried himself with immense dignity.

Bane approached and offered his hand, which the Dwarf shook firmly. "Welcome to our headquarters, Tewan. It's been years since we last met." At six feet even, he towered over the visitor, but he was a lean one hundred and seventy pounds and much leaner. As always, he was dressed in black.

"Not since the Battle of Bruenig. There was a bloodletting! And in a good cause indeed." His voice was not the deep rumble that might be expected, but cultured and pleasant. "Never did a Dwarf pay a debt of honor more willingly than I did on that night..."

"Your axe was very welcome, believe me." Bane gestured toward the chairs before the desk, as he himself went to take his seat behind it. "Here. Get comfortable. Tell me what brings you to the world of Men."

The Dwarf sat down slowly and folded his thick-fingered hands. "Jeremy, I trust you as I would no other Human. You have proved yourself. Three times have we of Gamulkor dealt with you and your Tel Shai knights and three times have you acted with honor."

"We try," Bane smiled. "What's troubling you, my friend?"

"It is hard for me to admit we need help. We are too proud by far and we keep ourselves to ourselves."

Saying nothing, Bane waited. His pale grey eyes were intent. After a few seconds, Tewan cleared his throat and began.

"Few of other Races have ever entered Gamulkor. We are a hermit kingdom. It is a land of sharp-ridged mountains and deep icy caverns. In the long ages since Jordyn reshaped the world and established the adjacent realms, we have dwelt alone. There has been some trade with the Eldarin and Melgarin, to be sure, as our skill at metalwork is justly praised. We have our own internal disputes and we have our share of knaves and rascals as does every Race. But we would be content to be left alone until the end days if allowed."

"Go on."

"We have been attacked, without warning, by such a dreadful device as no legends spoke. Tell me, Dire Wolf, have you ever heard whispers of the Ship of Skulls?"

Bane shook his head. "No. Never."

"It is a high-sided ship that glides over land as well as sea, with a murdering crew to swarm its decks. Along its sides and fastened to a central pillar where its mast should be are hundreds of skulls. Skulls of mortal Men, Trolls, Eldarin, even beasts such as the apes of Okali. I say with shame that now the skulls of twenty Dwarves are nailed to that pillar!"

Leaning forward with complete attention, the Dire Wolf asked, "What does the crew look like?"

"They are of all Races, it seems- at least they vary greatly in height and build. But since they wear black armor which covers their faces, we cannot be sure. They are deadly fighters with exotic weapons and they endure great punishment before having the decency to die."

"Have they made any demands? Tribute, surrender?"

"They do not speak. They merely howl like wild wolves. I know, for I am one of the handful who survived their attack. As I am also the only living Dwarf to have entered the world, it was decided that I should come here and seek your counsel."

The grey eyes gleamed with new intensity. Bane stood up. "You were right to come to me, Tewan. This is what the knights of Tel Shai are sworn to fight. I will call a meeting now. And I promise you that we will sink this Ship of Skulls!"

As they stood beside each other, the Dwarf raised his broad hands took Bane by the arms. "My kin are not quick with pretty words, nor do we give thanks easily. Yet I must say we will be in your debt..."

Bane shrugged away and clapped Tewan lightly on the shoulder. "It's what my team lives for. Come on, let's get the job done."

II.

During the Darthan Age, the islands of Evaho had been inhabited by tribes of primitive Humans who lived by hunting and gathering. They had some permanent settlements and even a village where everyone met in times of danger. After the Great Wars when the Darthim were overthrown, the islands were sundered from the world by Jordyn and placed in their own adjacent realm. Not much changed for ages, until the Melgarin came there during their imperialistic phase and established themselves.

The nearest Melgar settlement was forty miles away from the grasslands where the three KDF members walked in the early afternoon sunlight. Only one had ever been in this realm before, and that had been thirty-five years ago. With his comrades Mark Drum and Chen Lee Sun, Sulak had come here hunting the spymaster known as the Red Blade. The Russian mastermind had been looking for reputed treasure in silver which the Evahoans had mined over the ages, as well as recruiting warriors for his private armies. Sulak remembered those two weeks, the blood and the fighting and the burning huts. Those were bitter memories. The Red Blade had escaped back to the real world, but at least the tribesmen had seen his cruelty and greed and would never trust him again.

Because of his Race's longevity, Sulak had not visibly aged. His tall muscular body still moved with agility that underscored the steel-crushing strength. He wore his arena uniform, skintight silk tunic and trousers a royal blue in collar, with white leather boots and gloves. A white mantle across his shoulders bore the vertical red bar that marked his rank in the Melgar hierarchy. Now Sulak paused and glanced over at his two companions.

Christopher Pagan seemed comically out of place in the wilderness, dressed as he was in a neat business suit complete with knotted tie and polished leather shoes. But this was an illusion he could not modify, as was the way he appeared to be a blond Human male. He had been granted it to conceal his true form as a Kulan, and those winged demons were so universally hated and feared that he kept the illusion as long as he could. Gornak had been granted asylum from Fanedral and conditional KDF membership as long as he kept to their code and fought alongside them. So far, he had managed but with his bloodlust, it was not easy.

The third member of the team was a serious dark-haired man, just over six feet tall and with shoulders a bit too wide to look natural. He wore a dark jumpsuit fitted with various little devices and gadgets in their pockets, as well as a round metal plate strapped between his shoulder blades. Using the name Leonard Slade, he was a representative of the Trom. A deal had been struck, the KDF received access to some of the advanced technology the Trom possessed, and in return Slade was taught the ancient knowledge kept only at Tel Shai. Like Pagan's agreement, the Trom's arrangement had worked out well enough.

All three raced through the grasslands and up the rolling hills at just short of a full run. None seemed to have the slightest difficulty. They even had enough breath to carry on a normal conversation. "Len, why are we really here in this realm?" asked Sulak. "I know, Jeremy briefed us on the Ship of Skulls and it's our target. But why Evaho? Why expect it here?"

"The Ship was last reported in the Dwarf realm," Slade answered in his typically measured tones. "From the data we have on its previous appearances, it's obvious that as the Ship claims more victims, its assaults grow more aggressive and successful."

The big Melgar frowned. He had a rough, craggy face with dark blue eyes under heavy brows and a shaggy head of black hair. "That I can understand. Many evil things are that way. They get stronger as they drink in fear and lifeforce from their victims." He hopped over a steam four feet across as lightly as taking a normal step. "But why Evaho?"

Pagan spoke for the first time. "I know why. As a soldier demon, I was taught the various invasion routes. Each realm is accessible from a few others and some are more difficult to reach. From Gamulkor, you can most easily reach Androval, Elvedal, Signarm and these islands. The Ship of Skulls has already plundered Signarm and is not yet ready to challenge Androval or Elvedal."

"Quite rightly!" snorted Sulak. "Invading my realm would be suicide. We Melgarin are warriors born with sword in hand."

Slade slowed and surveyed the terrain. "Your reasoning is correct, Christopher. Our captain decided this was the most likely target for the Ship. From here, god-gates open easily to the world- that is, the real world from which these splinter dimensions were sundered. Our duty as Tel Shai knights is to keep this menace from attacking the cities of Men." He unclipped a device from his belt and began taking readings. "Please give me a moment."

Christopher Pagan glared at the forest they were approaching, dropping into a markedly feral posture. No Kulan had ever entered this realm before, and its smells and sounds were foreign and disturbing to him. Beneath the Human illusion, the true body of the Kulan sniffed the air and growled. "Trom, there are men watching us."

"Yes," Slade said evenly. He was studying the screen on his sensors. "Eleven Human males. Genetic pattern matches the Evahoan classification. Adult males registering adrenalin surges. They are excited and will attack at any provocation."

Sulak drew himself up and raised one belligerent fist. "Let them try. I fear no savages who ever drew breath."

"They are not the enemy," Slade said. He returned the sensor to its clip. Turning to the wooded area a hundred yards uphill, he thumbed a tab on his high military collar and suddenly his voice boomed out louder and more clearly than the best police bullhorn could match. "Brave warriors of Evaho, we come bearing friendship. We wish to help you against a terrible enemy who will soon come to ravage your land-"

He was cut off by a barrage of three-foot-long arrows with flint tips that shot upward from the trees and came down at them. Slade sidestepped the only one which would have hit him, and Sulak smiled as two arrows bounced off his body without harm. Greater weapons than these could not harm him. Pagan snarled like a hound and the air around him flickered for an instant as he almost dropped his illusion.

"Let's rip them up!" he shouted. "They will learn respect after a few are torn apart."

Slade placed a restraining hand on Pagan's sleeve. "No. They are the ones we are here to protect. The real enemy is not here yet."

Pagan's sullen eyes glared at the Trom. "They tried to kill us. How can you be so cold about it?"

"I suggest you redirect your anger toward more appropriate targets," Slade answered in the same unexcited tone. "if you intend to stay as a knight of Tel Shai and a KDF member." There was no mistaking the authority in that quiet voice, and Pagan settled down.

"Fine! Then give me an enemy I can fight. Where is this so-called Ship of Skulls?"

"The odds are best it will appear here. This island has no residents with gralic abilities. Since we used an Eldar travel crystal to appear in this realm, the resonance effect will draw any newcomers with gralic properties directly here," Slade said as he watched for further signs of the natives.

"Heh, I think I understood that," Pagan chuckled. "You must be educating me."


The sensor on Slade's belt began a low beeping. He swung around to face the vast open grasslands across which they had been walking. In the distance, a herd of grazing animals resembling small deer with white stripes broke and ran. "Something is approaching through a gate," the Trom said. "Stand ready."

An animal like a hare with a long muzzle hopped past in panic. The air seemed to tremble as if a storm was breaking. They could hear the Evahoans muttering in the wooded area behind them. With a sharp crash of otherwordly thunder, a blast of dark red light exploded directly overhead and a huge shape rushed by fifty feet above them. The Ship of Skulls was ninety feet from keel to prow, made of some black wood with iron strips reinforcing it. The hurtling vessel had no sails or oars. Circling with terrifying ship, the ominous craft moved like the shark which its shape intentionally resembled and bore down on the three men standing in the open plain.

Hundreds of skulls did indeed decorate the Ship, tied along the sides and fastened to the central pillar to form a shaft of grinning white bones. On the deck were visible about two hundred warriors in black metal armor, waving spears and swords and hammers. Around the entire vessel shimmered a lurid red aura. The steady pounding of drums echoed from inside the craft and the crew howled like coyotes at the moon.

III.

Sulak said, "Great Sirion, what a foul thing!" Beside him, Pagan was trembling with bloodlust as he fought to maintain his Human illusion. Only Slade remained calm. He returned the beam projector to its pouch after playing a barely visible ray over the craft.

"Neural shock is ineffective," he said. The Trom touched control patches on his cuffs and lifted free of the ground, accelerating as he rose like a missile. He swung to one side, intending to approach the Ship from behind. In the split-second before he would have reached the vessel, spears hissed through the air at him. Twisting his body, he rose above the weapons and dove again. A flurry of barbed arrows was next and the Trom showed the superior co-ordination of his Race as he dodged through the shafts without being touched.

As he flew over the gruesome craft, Slade was taking in vast amounts of data both through his own senses and through the probing of his devices. His gravity shield disc was functioning at only seventy per cent; somehow, he concluded, the gralic aura around the Ship of Skulls was affecting his technology. He thought it likely his devices would degrade with exposure to this aura, so this had to be concluded quickly.

Rising up a hundred feet, the Trom watched as a dozen warriors lowered themselves over the sides on ropes and slid to the ground. He was not worried about Sulak and Pagan being able to defend themselves. He was analyzing the flight and concluded that the Ship of Skulls was using a living engine of some sort. There was a being of great gralic charge inside that hull, giving lift and thrust. A Dragon? He didn't think that likely. A Tamiri such as the Great Orm had the power, but a proud and cunning beast like that would never serve willingly.

On the ground, the dozen armored warriors charged the two strangers. As they reached Sulak, three went flying backwards faster than they had charged. The big Melgar's fist dented metal plate and broke bones wherever they connected. A warrior swung his cutlass and Sulak caught its blade unharmed in his bare hand, yanking the man into a straight punch that bent his head back so the neck snapped audibly. The mightiest warrior of his Race, Sulak was the one Melgar in each generation born with the legacy of Malberon; his body was reinforced with gralic force giving him strength and durability far beyond normal flesh and blood limits. As fast as the Ship warriors rushed at him, that quickly did he strike them down and none rose again.

Despite his eagerness, Pagan strangely held back behind Sulak. It was not fear, it was the possibility that he might run amok and slaughter the attackers. His pact required him never to take Human life. It was the only way a Kulan might live among people without a massacre. Now, he clenched his teeth and forced himself to hold back when he ached to sink his fangs into throats and slice his talons across bellies.

The largest of the attackers on the ground was evidently a Troll, for few of any other Race could reach the seven foot height and four hundred pound bulk of an adult fighting Troll. Roaring like a bull, the brute swung his huge stone-headed hammer back up and then down at the strange man in the blue uniform.

Sulak swerved to one side and swung.

The sharp cracking noise of the Melgar's fist connecting was loud even over the rush of the Ship of Skulls passing overhead. Chips of iron broke away as the creature's helmet shattered and the Troll fell over backwards to crash on the dirt. His hammer bounced once. At the same time, Sulak whipped a backhand that crashed against the sole surviving warrior.The breastplate caved in from that blow and the black-armored figure sank to the ground in death. The Melgar turned his eyes up to where Slade was circling the flying ship.

In the air, the Trom dove for the ship at incredible speed, faster than any Human body could have endured without blacking out. So far, the Ship of Skulls had not shown any destructive capabilities beyond the norm, except for its flight. Had its threat been overestimated? He swooped over the ebon deck, just out of reach of the weapons swung at him. At the forecastle was a platform on which stood a thin humanoid figure not in armor, but wrapped in black robes and hood. The master of the ship, he decided, a good prospect for interrogation. In another split-second, he would snatch the being up and take him for questioning.

On the ground, Christopher Pagan suddenly snarled deep in his chest and burst into cold yellow flame. As the fire faded, he was revealed as his true self- a seven foot beast with red leathery hide, wide batlike wings and a ropy barbed tail. Gornak's head was that of a gigantic hound, with erect ears and intelligence in the deepset crimson eyes. The Kulan had unthinkingly given way to revealing himself because he sensed terrible danger at hand. Sulak gave a start of surprise at the transformation.

Up on the Ship, Slade was suddenly caught. Faster than anything living he had ever seen, a red tentacle rushed up through an open hatchway to whip around his torso with bone-cracking pressure. It was as thick as a man's thigh, with suckers arranged in pairs along its underside. Despite the reflexes designed and refined by Trom geneticists, Slade was taken by surprise. The speed of the tentacle was unprecedented, and must have been a gralic attribute. Normal tissue could not move that fast.

Grasping the tentacle with his hands, the Trom Monitor first tried to break loose by muscular effort and found he couldn't. Slade knew the precise limits of his strength and he expended it fully. Like its speed, the limb was strong beyond natural limits. He could feel agonizing stress as his body was being pulled in opposite directions. The tentacle was trying to drag him down into the hatchway and his own gravity shield disc was still giving him forward thrust. The Trom thumbed a control patch on his right cuff, and the exterior of his operations suit heated up enough to boil water. The tentacle convulsed but did not let go. Slade felt his ribs starting to move inward, about to cause internal damage and he turned his suit's surface up to maximum, enough to melt iron. Whipping in pain with oily smoking rising from where it gripped, the monstrous thing flung Slade up and slapped him with murderous impact. The Trom went spinning senseless through the air.

All this happened within a few seconds. Slade regained control, dove to the ground and landed a bit abruptly next to his teammates. Sulak reached out a hand to steady him.

"That was a nice swat you took," the Melgar champion said. "Are you all right?"

"I have suffered no serious damage." Slade was always calm and self-possessed, but this was not a pose. The Trom had for ages tried to mute their emotional responses and had succeeded to the point where they seemed completely devoid of feelings. It took extreme trauma to make a Trom act from emotion, and they had never yet seen Slade in such a state.

Gornak resented this, since he was passionate and bloodthirsty by nature and had to constantly struggle to remain stable. He saw Slade as a cold fish. "Come! Let us rip that monster to shreds!"

"No." Slade spoke with quiet authority. "This Ship is a greater threat than we first realized. There is a gralic being inside more powerful than I can estimate. Let us take some prisoners back for questioning."

"Wait," said Sulak. "First, let me do some damage to keep them occupied with repairs." The tall Melgar took three running steps, crouched and leaped upward. Within his body was strength that let him hurtle upwards like a missile. His fists hit the ship's hull with impact that sounded like a bomb going off. Sulak smashed a hole in the wood, but found that beneath the outer hull was a layer of shiny black stone. He held onto the edge of the hole with his left hand and drew back his right fist. The gloved knuckles blasted against the stone layer and sent a tremor through the ship that knocked some of the crew off their feet. Cracks radiated out in the stone where Sulak had struck and he smiled as he drew back his fist again.

The red tentacle snapped around him so quickly that he didn't react quickly enough. Even though he was half expecting it, the speed of the limb caught him unprepared. The tentacle whirled Sulak around dizzily. With some effort, the Melgar champion got his arms free. He pounded on the rubbery flesh without effect. "Damnation itself!" he shouted.

"Let's go," Slade said to Gornak. Both of them lifted off the ground and rose up toward the hovering ship. The Kulan matched his speed. The demons of Fanedral actually flew within a barely visible gralic field and did not flap their batlike wings much. The wings helped with steering in flight, but they could not lift a beast as heavy as a Kulan by themselves.

Slade knew that the field around the Ship of Skulls was interfering with his equipment and would be harmful after a short exposure. This needed to be done quickly in any case. Speeding over the reach of the furious crew and evaded the spears and arrows, the Trom went straight for the tall central post with skulls fastened to it. Coming in fast, he spun and brought both boots together to hit the post below its midway point. At the moment of impact, his suit restructured itself to diffuse the shock. Cracked in half, the gruesome pillar toppled and fell overboard as the crew lost their minds completely in rage.

Meanwhile, Gornak had rushed to help Sulak. Pouncing on the tentacle where it was tightening around the Melgar's chest, the demon slashed with his long talons, gouging out chunks of the quivering red hide. At once, a second tentacle identical to the first, whipped down over the side of the Ship to snap tight around Gornak's middle. The demon roared in defiance. In an instant, the canine fangs in his muzzle sank deep into the tentacle and and talons on his fingers and toes slashed in all directions. Yellow fire sprang up along the monstrous limb as Gornak's command. In all the adjacent realms, few creatures are as feared as the Kulan of Fanedral. The creature within the ship had dared to seize a winged demon and it paid for it now. Slicing and gnawing, Gornak fought free of the grip. Flying back and away, spitting out foul-tasting chunks of flesh, the demon roared his triumph.

"Free Sulak!" shouted Slade as he glided down next to the Kulan. Gornak attacked the tentacle holding the Melgar with the same ferocity and within a few seconds, that ropy limb released its prisoner. Sulak dropped fifty feet to the grass below and got up unharmed. His uniform was in tatters but he himself was difficult to hurt. Watching the tentacle slide back into the hatchway, Gornak snarled unhappily. He wanted to pursue it.

"Guard the prisoners," Slade ordered as he lifted up and dove back to the deck of the Ship in a dark blur. Both his teammates obeyed, if reluctantly. He did not outrank them, the KDf was a union of peers, but they both knew how quickly the Trom's mind worked and they deferred to his decisions for the most part. Sulak and Gornak checked to see which of the crewmen lying on the plains were still alive.

Whizzing over the deck one last time, Slade came in low and went right for the robed figure still standing on the forecastle. This time no tentacles came from the wounded being beneath the deck to interfere. The Trom's arms closed around the robed monklike man and held tight as they rose and swung around. The armored crew were hopping up and down in rage, and few arrows or spears were left to use by this point. They howled in unison.

Landing where his comrades waited, Slade handed the struggling robed figure to Sulak. "Hold him." Raising his beam projector, the Trom sent a high-density photon ram to crash into the broken section of the central post lying not far from them. Dozens of skulls broke loose and went spinning in all directions, like grisly marbles bouncing out of sight.

Holstering the beam projector, Slade said, "That will keep them occupied." He touched a small blue gem that was fastened to his chest plate and focused his considerable will into it. "You may gate us back, Jeremy," he said to the echo stone. A flare of light the same color as the gem swirled noiselessly around them and, when it faded, they were gone from Evaho. Silence returned, except for the sullen arguments of the black-armored crew as they clambered down ropes to begin painstakingly gathering up the scattered skulls.

IV.

On the second floor of the old brownstone building on East 38th Street, the conference room was taken up mostly by a long oak meeting table with its dozen chairs. One wall was lined with green metal filing cabinets and reference books. But Bane kept a large area free and uncluttered for the arrival of members through gates. He had thought of setting up a seperate room, a sort of travel terminal, but so far this arrangement had worked well enough.

The Dire Wolf glanced over where Tewan the Dwarf sat at that table, holding a mug of steaming coffee. Visitors from other realms invariably came to love coffee and asked to take some back with them. Standing near the table were two more members of the KDF who had come in answer to Bane's blue alert. Larry Taper, the Silver Skull. Steven Weaver, Black Angel. The rest were on their way. It was rare to have more than three or at most four members available for any mission, as they went about their own affairs until needed.

Dr Larry Taper was of average height and build, five foot ten, with brown hair that always looked untidy. He was wearing his usual black suit, with the tie loosened and the top button of the white dress shirt undone. Sometimes he had his glasses on but not at the moment. Taper stood by quietly, seeming diffident and even a bit ill at ease. He turned to Weaver and said, "Dawdling long?"

In contrast, Steven Weaver was a tall American black man, with long lanky arms and legs. He had medium dark skin and a thick mustache, with his hair cropped short. "Nope, I got here just a few minutes ago. I was in Times Square checking out the funny tourists. I probably would have popped in here soon anyway." Weaver had changed into the Black Angel outfit designed by the USAF years earlier. It looked like a vinyl scuba suit, black with red stripes up the arms and legs. The red boots and heavy gloves had fins protruding, and there were only slit pockets. The suit was streamlined to minimize resistance while in flight.

For weaver was the best levitaph known. Most mystics were pleased if they could rise a few inches while seated in the lotus position, but Weaver could fly faster than a car and reach heights where he needed oxygen. This ability had emerged while he was a helicopter pilot stationed in Europe, and the Air Force had studied his power for a year without learning anything useful. Why they had discharged him without trying to use him as a spy or surveillance agent had never been revealed and he never talked about it. He had joined the KDF soon after its founding as a reserve member.

Standing next to Taper, Black Angel cradled his fibreglass helmet in the crook of his arm. This had a crest extending back from the crown to aid in steering, and the goggles had a night vision function. A vented panel over his lower face could cut in his oxygen supply as needed.

Bane said, "I'm glad both you guys were available. This looks like a major mission." He kept looking up at a panel on the wall where two faceted blue gems were set in a silver plate, one much larger than the other. "I'm getting a little worried. Our boys have been in Evaho longer than I expected."

Taking a few steps closer, Taper also watched the stones on the wall as if expecting something. "Our compadres are redoubtable, Jeremy. Sulak, Len, Gornak... it's a rare adversary who be beyond their competence to thrash."

"I know. And yet..." The Dire Wolf scowled. "Steve, what do you think of going to check on them? Maybe a quick flight out and back by you?"

"I'd love it," Black Angel said at once. "Larry, help me get my wings on?"

"It may not be necessary," Bane muttered. "But I want to be sure."

Taper was behind Weaver, fastening the artificial wings to their plate between the shoulder blades. They were lightweight aluminum with red nylon fabric over the ribbed construction and looked more batlike like birdlike. As the tiny motors hummed into life, the wings folded up and reached from just above Weaver's head to his ankles. While Taper was helping, Black Angel fastened a holstered Colt 45 automatic to the small of his back.

"All set, captain! Send me out there," Weaver said eagerly.

Bane was about to comment when a familiar voice came from the echo stone set on the wall, "You may gate us back, Jeremy." With visible relief, Bane touched the larger Eldar crystal and opened the transit between realms. Returning was always easier, and required less mental effort. The room flashed pale blue and seven forms appeared in that burst of light. The three Tel Shai knights, with Sulak holding the robed figure, stood over the three prone forms of armored men lying senseless on the floor.

"We come bearing gifts," Sulak said, shoving his prisoner toward Bane. The man was struggling but he might as well have been trying to break iron chains as to get out of the Melgar's grasp. He did not even make Sulak's arm move.

Bane came over. "Good work, you guys. Listen, Sulak. Take this guy next door while I hear the report. He doesn't need to listen in." As the Melgar hauled the uncooperative prisoner out the door, Bane gestured for everyone to be seated. Wearing his awkward wings, Weaver remained standing. Leonard Slade related everything that had happened in Evaho, leaving nothing out but speaking quickly. Bane listened without interrupting and had only a few questions.

"This looks more serious than I thought at first," the Dire Wolf said. "Tewan, you were right to come to us. I am calling every member on a red alert." He glanced back at the three figures lying on the floor. "Len, I want you and Gornak to place those guys in our holding room. It's not a real prison cell, but it's secure enough and they don't seem like they'll be starting trouble right away. I'll examine them as soon as we question the conscious prisoner."

The Trom agreed and went over to pick up one of the limp captives. He lifted the metal-armored man over one shoulder easily and headed out the door. Gornak had assumed his Human guise again, but it was just an illusion. Physically, he was still a Kulan and he also hauled a prisoner up and carried him out as if lifting a bag full of groceries. Bane himself dragged the third prisoner out into the hall where Slade took over. While out there, the Dire Wolf called for Sulak to come back in.

As the Melgar escorted the hooded man into the conference room, it was clear that the man had accepted the situation and he walked in docilely enough. Bane had Sulak stand the prisoner at the end of the table where everyone could see him. Larry Taper and Tewan the Dwarf were seated, with Weaver standing off to one side. As Slade and Gornak returned, Bane stood at arm's length from the robed man and began.

"Thanks, Sulak. Okay, mister, you are being held on our authority as knights of Tel Shai. I see you know us. What's your name?"

"This day you have taken Death into your parlor," hissed the robed figure. "Long and bitter shall be your suffering."

"Yeah, right, I've heard that before. What's your name?"

The figure did not answer and Bane shrugged. His grey eyes fastened on the prisoner with a sudden cold gleam. The Dire Wolf's hand blurred out faster than could be seen as he tugged the cowl back sharply. Exposed was a white cloth mask tied in the back, from which two light-colored eyes glared. There was only a slit for the mouth.

"You dare touch the Prophet of Death?" came the rasping voice.

"Yeah. I dare." Bane seized the cloth mask and ripped it off with a single sharp tug that snapped the cords in the back. The prisoner's head was yanked down when this happened and as he lifted it again, everyone leaned forward when they saw his face.

It was like a living skull. Chalk-white, unhealthy skin stretched taut over bone, leaving a fleshless face that grinned with exposed teeth. Under heavy brow ledges, deepset pink eyes stared furiously out. There was no hair, not even eyebrows and the nose was a stub.No Human, even a burn victim, had a face like that.

"An albino Nekrosan," observed Taper with bemusemen. "What an unfortunate combination of physiognamical features."

"I am marked for my cause! I am the Prophet of Death, mortal fool."

"Sure," the Dire Wolf replied. "You Nekrosim are only minor warlocks. You couldn't have built that Ship yourselves, and you certainly couldn't have imprisoned whatever is in there. Who's behind you?"

The skull-faced man glared around the room. Without warning, his white hand lunged out with fingers extended for Bane's eyes. The Dire Wolf blocked and countered with a single move, slapping the attack aside and smashing a backfist to the mouth that dropped the Nekrosan to the floor. Bane waited as the albino got painfully back to his feet.

"I expected that. Don't be stupid. You're in a room with the most dangerous men you will ever meet. Let's start again. What's your name?"

"Let us.. let us speak as civilized men," the Nekrosan said. "I am Malacoda, High Priest of Draldros, Prophet of Death itself."

"Good. Who are you working for? Lower those hands, I'll hit harder next time."

"You will not understand my calling," Malacoda rasped. "For I am but the harbinger. I have been given the duty to bring the sleep which has no ending. The experience which comes last." He paused dramatically, "Death."

"I know all about you Nekrosim and your morbid religion," Bane said. "I've tangled with Golgora a few times. You notice he's not around any more. The question is, who is behind you?"

Malacoda lifted his cowl up again, the bright fluorescent lights seemed to bother him. "Every religion must have its prophets, and I am the first to receive the summons. Thus was I born with skin that marks me as a true living skull."

"That's not an answer. Sulak, take him to the detention cell for now. We'll have Ted or Cindy probe his mind when they get here." He gave Malacoda a hard stare. "You'll talk, it's just a question of how hard you make it on yourself."

As the Melgar escorted the prisoner from the room, Bane turned back to his team at the table. "Len, you think that column of skulls was vital to the Ship?"

"That's my conclusion," the Trom answered. "Each time the Ship attacked a realm, skulls were added and the Ship was more powerful and aggressive in its next appearance. It seems to follow that the skulls were a focal point of the gralic force powering the ship. I thought that the crew might be delayed if they have to gather up the skulls and repair the central pillar before proceeding."

"Let's hope so. I want you to examine the prisoners now. Identify their origins and see what medical treatment they need. One sure looked like a Troll. I'm calling a red alert, and hopefully we will have our entire team here shortly. Tewan, you may wait here or in our main library across the hall while we assemble."

The Dwarf stood up, and bowed. "Surely I may go with you when you challenge this Ship of Skulls? There are twenty of my kindred to avenge."

"Absolutely," said Bane. "I know we have a battle-axe or two in our arsenal in the basement."

V.

Within the hour, three more members arrived. Khang, bundled as usual in greatcoat, scarf and hat and goggles so that none of him could seen, filled the doorway as he entered. With him was Ted Wright, an older black man with some grey in his short beard and a melancholy face. He wearing a blue suit with no tie and looked tired. Ten minutes later, Cindy Brunner burst through the door.

"Sorry I'm last to arrive," the blonde telepath announced. "I was over in Queens at a party. The Wallaces, you know them."

"We've heard from all our members," said Bane. "The others are tied up with other work and are excused. Let's all be seated and begin." As everyone took their usual spots, with Tewan the Dwarf seated at the far end and Bane at the head of the table, there was a buzz of low conversation that cut off sharply.

The Dire Wolf filled the new arrivals in on the situation. "That's where we stand. Len and I have examined the prisoners. One is indeed a fighting Troll. One is a Gelydra from Ulgor, and one a normal Human, probably from Skandor. They are sedated and will recover. Each is wearing plate armor of black-enameled steel, made in different styles. They have plenty of scars and look like lifelong mercenaries."

Khang's unnatural voice seemed to come from all directions at once. Whenever he spoke, everyone looked around for a second to see who was speaking. "We know their kind. They hire out for gold, women, the joy of killing in itself..."

"Malacoda still isn't providing any information," Bane went on. "I get nothing but sermons from him on his religion of death. Cindy, I want you to probe his mind but be cautious. He's deranged to the point it'll be painful to read his thoughts."

"I'll be careful," the little blonde said. She was wearing a white long-sleeved pullover and jeans, and a little make-up which was more than she normally bothered with. "I've read some real lunatics before. You want me to check him out now?

"Wait until we're ready to leave. In any case, you and Ted will remain here during the mission. This will be a full combat situation and you two are most valuable in other areas than fighting. Some of us may be coming back in rough shape and I want our doctor standing by."

Wright nodded somberly. The Blue Guide was in fact a genuine MD specializing in trauma surgery, although he had closed his practice. His Tel Shai training let him diagnose and treat injuries where conventional medicine was useless. "I understand, Jeremy. I'll be in the medical room downstairs."

"Good. We need to move now. There's a chance the Ship of Skulls will enter this world in its next assault. They may even send some warriors to rescue their leader, that albino maniac down the hall. That's why I want Sulak to remain here as well."

"WHAT?" demanded the Melgar, sitting up angrily.

"I know, I know. You want to fight. But if some of these pirates do come here after Malacoda, I want you on hand to handle them."

"Very well, captain," said Sulak with a sullen tone he did not try to conceal. "It's your judgement."

"Any ideas what that creature is inside the Ship?" asked Cindy.

"No. I've never heard of anything with red tentacles like that. Something from Fanedral, maybe. We need to find out." Bane stood up. "Every one get into full combat gear. Len and I will ready the CORBY. We'll leave in ten minutes. Let's roll."

VI.

The roof of the old building had been covered over by Bane to make a hangar for the CORBY. Kenneth Dred had left his family fortune, made in the days of industrial barons who paid no income tax, to the young Dire Wolf who rebuilt much of the brownstone. The hangar was high-ceilinged, with a sliding roof panel that could open to allow the jetcopter access.

Cabinets and workbenches lined the walls, there was a row of lockers and a small table at one corner with some folding chairs. But most of the space was occupied by the CORBY.

Watching Leonard Slade ready the craft, Bane was pleased he had sunk so much money into it. There was not much left of the original Bell copter, Slade had gradually replaced almost every part with something more advanced. Nothing made by Human technology could match the craft. The CORBY was solid black, without any identifying letters or numbers, and it had a vaguely sharklike shape. There was no tail rotor, but two short vertical vanes on the tail helped steer with high pressure air jets.

As he saw the interior lights go on and the rotors slowly begin to move, the Dire Wolf wondered again if he should arm this craft more heavily. All it had were twin 50 calber machine guns mounted on two stubby vanes that pointed down at an angle. He had not wanted to make it a real warship, because if he started adding missiles or cannons, where would it end? The CORBY was capable of disengaging its rotors and using Trom impulse thrusters to hit Mach-plus speeds. That, with its manueverability, should give it an edge over anything it might meet.

Cindy came up behind him and he turned. She shook her head. "No luck with Malacoda," she said. "It's not just that he's crazy as a wild goose on tequila, parts of his brain have been burned out. Deliberately. Someone made him this way. I did get the word 'Obanchu,' I guress that's the monster's name." She pressed up against him lightly. "Ted gave him a mild sedative, he'll sleep for the night. What's up?"

"We're almost ready," he told her. "Ted will be down in the medical ward by the front door. I want you in the conference room, standing by. If we contact you on the echo stone, be ready to bring us back and have Ted patch us back up."

Cindy pouted, looking much younger than her twenty-six years. "This is the part I hate most! Waiting and waiting, praying you all come back safe. It's much easier to go with you.""

The Dire Wolf put his arms around her lightly. "I know. I go through it myself. It's not an easy life we chose. Go to the conference room and stand by, Cin. We're going to be fine."

"I'll pretend I'm doing a crossword puzzle," she grumbled as she stomped out of the hangar.

Shortly, the five members ready for this mission assembled. Stephen Weaver was wearing the Black Angel flightsuit, wings folded to the size of a knapsack. Gornak was still concealed in his Human illusion and Leonard Slade was inside the copter, wearing his own outfit.

It was Larry Taper who had changed the most. He now wore a tight black leather tunic and pants, under which was a steel breastplate, greaves and cuffs. High black boots and black gloves concealed him entirely. Taper carried a round shield buckled to his left forearm and a three-foot straight sword was in a scabbard on his left hip. And his head was covered with a gleaming silver helmet crafted in the shape of an unsmiling human skull.

Bane watched how Taper moved now. When he was wearing the Silver Skull uniform, the mild anthropologist suddenly had a confident swagger. He stood taller and moved more decisively. Taper said it was just a psychological quirk that made him act this way, but Bane suspected different. The spirits of the previous wearers of that helmet remained in some way within it, lending their knowledge and courage to its current bearer.

"Let justice be done!" Taper announced boldly and Bane nodded in agreement

Tewan the Dwarf was hefting the axe critically. In the arsenal room in the basement, the KDf had accumulated a wealth of exotic weapons taken from defeated enemies. The battle-axe was from a Melgar renegade, its handle was long and its head smaller than what Tewan was used to, but he said it would do. The Dwarf had found a simple metal helmet and breastplate that he could wear strapped on, although neither fit well.

"Len will be at the stick, I'll be in the co-pilot chair," said the Dire Wolf. "You guys settle in on the bench in the back and fasten the restraint straps."

Khang was last to board. At seven feet four and wide, the silver man took up a lot of room and there was some crowding. Still bundled in heavy coat, flannel trousers, hat and scarf and goggles, Khang seemed determined to show nothing of his appearance. Weaver grumbled as he was squeezed against one panel.

Bane closed his hatch and the cabin pressurized with a hiss. He had put on his own field suit with its inner layer of the flexible Trom armor and a dozen gadgets concealed in inner pockets. Both he and Slade were now wearing what looked like black motorcycle helmets with retractible visors and they each hooked a cord from the helmet into the ship's systems. Bane lowered his visor and checked the heads-up readouts. Everything was nominal. "Ready to go, Len."

The Trom pulled back on the stick and flipped two switches. "Rising to two feet off the floor. Retracting landing gear." He reached up and pressed his hand to an incongruous blue gem set in the cockpit display. Bane also touched his fingers to the Eldar stone and as they both put their concentration into the travel gem, the blue light flashed brilliantly and the CORBY was gone from the hangar.

In the conference room seven floors below, Cindy Brunner felt her telepathic connection with Bane break off as he left the world. She sighed and went to plop down at the table. The NEW YORK TIMES crossword puzzle waited and she began to study the first couple of clues.

XXX

With a flare of blue light, the CORBY appeared abruptly in the air high over the Evaho plains, rotors turning slowly enough to be almost completely silent. Bane looked down at the grasslands, with the forests beginning a few miles to their south. He had not been here before.

"Lucky that tech works here," he said. "In most of the realms, even a flashlight won't function. This bird would fall straight down if we were in Androval or Okali."

"How Jordyn enforces that is beyond our understanding," the Trom said. "His will seems to work outside any framework we can conceive. Coming up on the area where the Ship of Skulls was last seen."

"Let's engage," said Bane. He thumbed a switch and the weapons panel slid down with its firing grip. Through his visor, he now saw a targeting grid. The CORBY accelerated up to a cruising speed of three hundred. Eerie in its silence, the black copter made no more noise than a passing wind would. Below them, they saw the dark bulk of the Ship of Skulls hovering just above treetop level. The black-armored crew were gathering the scattered skulls and raising them to the deck in baskets lowered on ropes. The central pillar was leaning up against a boulder as crewmen tried to fasten ropes to it so it could be raised up to the deck again.

"Give us a low pass," Bane said. As Slade brought the CORBY down close and slowed speed to barely thirty miles per hour, the Dire Wolf aimed and fired three short bursts of the chain guns. Hundreds of rounds rattled out in those few seconds, hitting the central pillar and breaking it into splinters. As the CORBY swept past the Ship of Skulls, Bane fired again, doing extensive damage to the deck and making the crew leap overboard.


"Circle back," ordered the Dire Wolf, returning the weapons panel to its housing. From the back, Weaver said, "Hey, Jeremy. You missed. You didn't hit any of them."

"I know, I know. It would be easy to just mow them down from up here. We've got enough ammo. But I can't do it." Bane raised the visor of his helmet. "Too much like cold-blooded murder. It's foolish, I know."



"Hey, I'm not criticizing," Black Angel said. "A man's got to live with himself."

The Dire Wolf studied the menacing fist-waving of two hundred killers in armor yelling up at him. He could empty the chain guns and leave none of them alive. But he wouldn't be able to sleep after that. "Steve! Gornak! I want you two to pop the back hatch and dive out. Start rounding up those pirates. Larry and I will join you in a second." As the two winged members opened the rear hatch and casually stepped out into thin air, Bane said, "Larry, close that again, will you?" The Silver Skull tugged the hatch shut and it sealed.

Slade was already bringing the CORBY down to a perfect landing a hundred yards from the Ship of Skulls. The landing gear extruded and the craft settled so smoothly they didn't even feel it. "Larry, you and I will work our way into the mob. Len, I trust you to use your judgement based on how things go. You might have to do some rescue or distraction or attack on your own."



"Understood, captain," the Trom replied, letting the rotors slow but not stopping them altogether. "I will be ready."



As the Silver Skull hopped lightly from the CORBY, drawing his sword Chalcemar, Bane followed. He was carrying an airgun that shot heavy resonance caps rather than the anesthetic darts and he was wearing the twin silver daggers on his forearms. But other than that, he had not brought any extra weapons. He watched as Khang emerged and began to shed outer clothing.



Bane's most powerful ally revealed himself as a gleaming figure of silver, like a stylized statue brought to animation. The head was a smooth helmet, featureless except for two eyeslots that burned as if lit from within. In the late afternoon sunlight, he was a surreal sight, something from ancient myth come back to life. The blazing eyes turned down to Bane.



"Khang, the creature inside the Ship is your target. We don't know what it is or how powerful. But you're our big gun... if anyone can handle that monster, you're the one."



The booming voice echoed from all directions. "I hear, captain, and gladly will I seek that beast and slay it." Turning away, the silver man took long strides toward where the Ship of Skulls loomed fifty feet above the ground. Bane watched him thoughtfully. He was worried about Khang's state of mind. The silver giant was still morose and distant, even hostile toward his teammates, since Arem Kamende had briefly given him his Human body back. It had been Bane who had forced the flesh and blood man to resume this inhuman metallic body and Khang's resentment was worrisome.



Reluctantly, Bane put the matter from his mind for now. The battle called.



VIII.



As he dropped from the CORBY, Gornak shed his Human guise in a crackle of yellow fire and spread his batlike wings wide. Steven Weaver was beside him in the same pose as they dove down toward the mob of infuriated crewmen. They descended in parallel loops, sharing for a brief moment of feeling of the brotherhood of flight. Behind his helmet, Weaver was smiling wryly.



Three beings rose up from the Ship to intercept them. One was a Kulan like Gornak, but smaller, wearing black metal armor that left its wings and talons free. Another had wide white-featered wings beating on his back, left exposed by the armor; Weaver recognized this as one of the Angels of Wrath from the KDF files he had studied. The third flying attacker wore the black armor and carried a short stabbing spear, but there was no clue as to how he was lifting upward. A levitaph? Weaver knew he was not the only one, but true levitaphs were rare indeed.



Gornak recognized the Angel of Wrath from his own study of KDF files. He knew that the unnatural Darthan hybrid was powerful enough to be a real challenge for him. Let the Human called Black Angel handle the lesser Kulan approaching, Gornak himself sought bigger game. With a howl like a wolf, the red-hided demon hurtled down toward his intended prey.



Although the Angels of Wrath could repeat brief phrases and follow simple instructions, they were not of normal Human intelligence. Created by the Darthan Kjes, these were Human bodies blended with bird DNA through sorcery, creatures that could never arise in nature. So that they could fly, the Darthim charged their bodies with gralic force. They were a jest, created to mock an image respected and venerated by many Humans, and the Darthan warlocks sometimes turned one or two of these creatures to slay random people and start panic.



The black-armored figure accelerated upward, wings beating faster, and a vague red flicker could be seen around its body from the gralic force that was lifting it. Gornak had the advantage of height and he used it in a screaming power dive. His lips curled back from his fangs. It would be so hard not to kill! He wanted avidly to rip into this enemy and spill blood all over himself. The moment when the intestines spilled out was so sweet... with a shudder, Gornak closed off that image. He was free on a vow not to take life.



Before the Kulan could reach him, the Angel of Wrath held out his open hand and a shattering blast of dark energy roared from it to smash directly into the demon's muzzle. Gornak yelped in pain and surprise, losing control and going into a tumble. The gralic bolt had taken him offguard. His body felt numb, his wings twitched uselessly. As he struggled to regain control of his flight, something crashed into him like a cannonball to send him spinning end over end. The Angel of Wrath cackled.



Weaver saw Gornak tackle the enemy with the white feathered wings. He took the armored Kulan for himself, knowing how deadly the beasts were. Not long earlier, he had managed to drown a Kulan in an icy river and he had no intention of ever getting that close to one again. There was no way this one was going to get within reach. Black Angel swung his legs down and slowed his flight, reaching behind him to the flap holster. He had exchanged his automatic for one of the KDF airguns loaded with the biggest resonance caps. Each cap could pierce a car engine and now he snapped off four quick shots. Four sharp cracking explosions detonated against the beast's head. Not even a Kulan could shrug off punishment like that. Senseless and dying, the beast spiralled downward weakly and suddenly plummeted headlong to the ground to hit with clatter of broken armor.



Black Angel watched the body splat and felt no remorse. He didn't kill lightly, it was always in self-defense or to protect someone else, but there were some enemies in the Midnight War that needed killing. Snake men. Brumals. And these damned dog-headed demons.

Straightening up, he swung around just in time to see Gornak take a blast from the Angel of Wrath. Despite what he had been thinking about Kulan a second earlier, Weaver launched himself full tilt at his falling teammate. As Gornak lost control of his flight, Black Angel was hurtling to his aid. Weaver had been clocked at a maximum of 210 MPH for very brief periods, but fast as he was, he was tackled in mid-air by the wingless killer. Whirling in a tight somersault, Black Angel tried to dislodge his attacker, who had him a tight bearhug from behind.



There was no time to waste. They were not that high off the ground to begin with. Weaver spread his wings suddenly, the motors which moved the aluminum ribbing hummed powerfully and broke the armored man's grip. At the same time, Weaver stopped levitating and became one hundred and ninety pounds of dead weight in the pirate's hands. The unexpected burden broke the armored man's hold and Weaver tore free to plunge straight down. He MUST be too late, he thought furiously, that delay had taken precious seconds. Then he saw that the Angel of Wrath had caught Gornak and was holding the demon upside down by a leg. The winged pirate swung the heavy Kulan back and forth and seemed to be considering flinging him away.



Retrieving his airgun where it hung from it lanyard, Weaver took aim. "Hey, you! Yeah, I'm talking to you! Eat some of this!" he screamed. Hearing that angry voice coming from above him, the Angel of Wrath swung his helmeted head upward just as a heavy resonance cap exploded right on the back of his hand. Bones snapped, finger bent backwards to the wrist and skin peeled off. The Angel shrieked a high-pitched falcon cry and dropped Gornak to fly away crying.



"Not so tough," Weaver muttered as he caught up with Gornak, catching the demon under the arms with both hands. How much does this guy weigh? he thought as the sudden burden jerked him to a stop in mid-air and almost dislocated his own arms from their sockets. He could not rise with Gornak as a burden, but he did lower them both to the plains to land with a bearable thump. Weaver himself went to his knees but instantly was up again. The mob of the Ship was fighting just yards away. Black Angel gasped with relief. That had been too close. He ejected the empty clip from his gun and slid in a fresh one from the pouch at the back of his belt.



Gornak was trying to rise but not making it. Weaver went over and smacked the demon on the shoulder gruffly. "Hey, bro. Stay put for a minute. We're going to need you but be sure you're ready first."



"You rescued me," growled the Kulan ashamedly. A dark burn stretched along his muzzle and just missed one eye. "I was helpless prey and you saved me... I am disgraced."



Black Angel started to turn away. "Hell, don't say things like that. We got to have each other's back, you know? I'll be counting on you." Straightening, he lifted clear of the plain and accelerated in a high arc toward the fighting. Propped up on hands and knees, the Kulan took deep shuddering breaths and tried again to get to his feet. Unfamiliar emotions were swamping him. Gratitude? Friendship? In HIM, a Red Slasher of the elite guard? What was happening to him?



IX.



In the center of that plain, from where the dark bulk of the Ship of Skulls loomed overhead, more than a hundred killers in black armor rushed toward three intruders. The pirates were armed with every exotic weapon from halberds to sai to flails. They were of all sizes and builds. Only a few were actually Human.



Racing to meet them seemed suicidal for a mere three fighters. Jeremy Bane quickly took the lead, with the Silver Skull and Tewan the Dwarf falling behind. The Dire Wolf flashed over the short grass toward the pirates. They were spreading out in a thin line the width of the plain. Fine, he thought. Much easier than tackling a compact mass. He had already picked his first target. The Dire Wolf drew and fired once, and the resonance cap detonated full in a pirate's face to fling him backwards. Suddenly Bane was moving even more quickly than he had been, a dark blur that was hard to track. His arms crossed in front of him and straightened with a silver dagger in each hand.



It seemed foolish to tackle men in full plate, armed with swords and maces and spears, using only a slim pair of knives. But Bane knew what he was doing. Silver by itself had power against dark magick, and his blades had been ensorcelled by the immortal Eldarin more than sixty years earlier. Few creatures of the night could survive their edge and few spells would not be disrupted by them. Moving quicker than a real wolf, elusive and nimble, Bane was not trying to strike the pirates down by sheer strength. All he had to do was scrape the edge of a dagger along the black armor, and the spells binding the pirates broke up. He knew they were under the control of some powerful being, the "Master" that Malacoda had mentioned. As he broke that control, the armored men reeled in confusion and lowered their weapons as they tried to regain their senses.



In those vulnerable seconds, they were set upon by Tewan. The Dwarf was no more than five feet tall, but his thick brawny arms and chest swung his axe with murderous force. He sliced through knees and knecks, whirling the heavy weapon as if it were a twig. A fierce chanting burst from his lips, the ancient war song of his Race. This only lasted twenty or thirty seconds, but in that time he had disabled or killed that same number of the pirates.



The Silver Skull tore into the mob from a different angle. In his years as a Tel Shai knight, Larry Taper had become physically fit and a skilled Kumundu fighter under Teacher Chael. But he was still normally by nature diffident and laid-back. Once the black leather uniform appeared on him and the sword Chalcemar was in his hand, though, he changed dramatically. The armor and shield and sword were unthinkably ancient, dating back to the Darthan Age before the world had been reshaped. They had been forged and ensorcelled by Malberon, greatest wizard of Androval, and had great potency. Taper never told anyone, but when he lowered the skull helmet over his head, he could access the memories and knowledge of its previous wearers. And, inevitably, their martial spirit had begun rubbing off on his modern mind.



Taper danced through the disorganized mob, smashing his round shield to a helmeted head, plunging his straight sword cleanly through armor into the bodies within. Every time Jeremy Bane even grazed a pirate's metal plate, that man became dazed and lost his focus as the spell controlling him failed. And every time this happened, Tewan or the Silver Skull was there to slay that man.

Chalcemar had some of the spell-breaking attributes of Bane's daggers, but to a lesser degree. It had been crafted by a mortal sorceror rather than the Eldarin. When Taper struck, his blade slid easily through armor and pierced the wearer. But as the minute passed into two, the overwhelming odds began to shift against the Tel Shai knights. No matter how skilled and quick Bane and Taper were, no warriors could handle numbers like that. Inevitably, they began to block attacks and evade as much as strike. In another few seconds, the Dire Wolf and the Silver Skull were standing back to back, surrounded by a circle of howling killers. Normal Humans would have been exhausted to the point of heart failure by the pace of those few minutes. The pirates were closing in, tightening the circle. Tewan had dropped back, wounded across the abdomen, and retreated from sight.

And from above crashed a red-hided beast with batlike wings and the head of a great hound. Gornak plowed through the mob, sending the crewmen tumbling away in all directions. Alighting next to his teammates, the Kulan opened his muzzle and let out an eerie bay that echoed for miles. Despite themselves, the crew of the Ship of Skulls drew back in alarm.

"Good to see you," Bane yelled to the demon, and went after the pirates again. The sheer animal ferocity of the Kulan tilted the struggle. The three Tel Shai knights took the offensive. The silver daggers and the shining sword and the taloned paws tore through pirate after pirate as if the armored men were allowing themselves to be slain. The killers were themselves being thinned out quickly.

Something struck Gornak in the back of the head with such impact that he went down hard to the plain. His vision blurred and his ears rang. The demon whirled and leaped up again to take a second savage blow to the chest that would have snapped his spine if he were Human. The Kulan sagged to the ground and glared up defiantly at his foe. It was a Dragon.

X.

This was a Garmiri, the most manlike of the dragon breeds. It stood not taller than a Human, and did not have wings or the flame breath. It resembled a wide alligator standing on humanoid legs, with arms that ended in three-fingered heads. The long narrow jaws hissed, showing rows of sharp teeth and there was only minor intelligence in the black eyes, less than that of a dog or horse. This one had been trained somehow to strike with closed fists like a boxer. The Dragon raised its huge flat foot to trample the dazed Gornak.

Before that foot could land, a figure in black and red swooped down from above to grab the beast from behind. Steven Weaver was moving in excess of one hundred MPH, and he used his momentum to haul the massive creature off the ground, spinning around in a crack the whip. Caught in the centrifugal force of Weaver's motion, the Dragon went sailed high into the air to fall sixty feet right on his head. The crack of skull breaking was clearly audible. From the way that beast sprawled limply, it would not be rising.

Everything had paused for a few seconds at the arrival of a winged demon and a flying man. Now, as the Dire Wolf and the Silver Skull returned to the attack, joined now by a roaring Kulan and the Black Angel, the pirates lost their nerve. No more than forty remained and in an instant they had scattered in all directions. Many dropped their weapons in their terror.

"Let them go," Bane ordered, sheathing his daggers. "They won't regroup for a while. They were expecting easy slaughter of naked tribesmen and they got what they deserved." He glared around at the array of dead and dying armored men. Where was Tewan? He couldn't spot the Dwarf. "The Ship of Skulls is disabled and they won't be able to repair it now. Their leader is our prisoner. The surviving crew has run away in panic."

Larry Taper knelt and cleaned his sword on blades of grass before sheathing it. "This is the work we were born to do!" he declared in a ringing voice not like his normal mellow tones.

Bane pointed toward where the black Ship still floated overhead, with only a few crewmen to be seen on its deck. "All that's left now is the creature within that Ship, and that's what Khang will be-""

He was cut off by an explosion like a hot blast from Hell that flung them off their feet with the shock. A wave of stinking burning air and oily smoke rolled over the plain, withering the grass and starting small fires. As the echoes of the blast faded, the Tel Shai knights fought to get up again. Bane was first to rise, bruised and pained but twisting around to see what could have unleashed such a potent gralic blast. He was sure he already knew.

XI.

The Ship of Skulls lay in burning ruin, broken in half at midpoint by some force so great that splinters of wood and chunks of stone lay scattered in all directions. The flames were taller than a man, boiling with dark greasy smoke as the black wood was consumed. Hundreds of the trophy skulls were popping open as their residual inner moisture expanded.

Half-concealed in that smoking rubble was the most repulsive thing Bane had ever seen. It was surrounded by a hazy blur of gralir that made its exact appearance vague, but the beasy seemed something like a squid with a body thirty feet across. The huge dark eyes moved with rage, and the parrot's beak clashed like axe blades as it opened and shut. Something about its air of hatred and menace gave Bane a strong urge to turn and run. He had never felt such a repelling aura.

The Silver Skull and the Black Angel slowly came to stand beside him, speechless as they stared. Gornak limped up, stiff from the damage he had taken, and growled low in his chest at the sight. Tentacles of the red squid thrashed sixty feet in the air like living whips and a whistling howl shrieked in the air.

Standing before the monster was Khang.

In all the years he had worked with the silver giant, Bane had never been more glad to see him. Despite the difficulties that had risen between them, they were close beyond friendship. It was a condition of Khang's penance that he had to obey any direct order that the Dire Wolf gave but Bane never asked for any action that the silver man was not ready to perform. Watching the confrontation now, Bane gave an involuntary shiver as he realized Khang was their only hope against this being.

Legs braced well apart, the silver giant stood with fists at his sides. White light was shining from within the metallic body, a pure glare that shifted restlessly. The red haze from the monster flowed forward like fog in a breeze but it dissipated on contact with the gralic force from Khang. Slowly, as if moving against gale force winds, the silver man took a step toward the red squid, then another.

Within his helmet, Bane suddenly heard the voice of Leonard Slade rapping, "Get back in the CORBY! That being is giving off deadly gralir that will penetrate your suits. Hurry."

The Dire Wolf grabbed Taper and Weaver by the arm and swung them around. Their stealth copter was skimming toward them just above the ground. As it slowed to hover at waist level, Bane popped the back hatch and hustled his teammates in. Gornak stumbled and had to be helped; the Kulan had taken a beating in this fight.

Hauling himself up into the co-pilot's seat, Bane pulled the hatch shut and strapped himself in. His skin stung and his head felt foggy. Beside him, Slade swung the CORBY around one hundred and eighty degrees and sent the craft skimming away from the confrontation. It was the first time the CORBY seemed sluggish, the Trom engines sounded like they were laboring and the copter wobbled unsteadily.

Bane tugged off his helmet with a gasp and wiped the sweat from his eyes. "I don't feel right," he admitted. "Tewan! We lost track of Tewan, Len."

"It is too late to save him," the Trom observed without emotion. "My sensors recorded his heartbeat stopping eleven minutes ago. This gralic storm would kill him in itself. Your suit, with its armor and Eldar talisman, gives you some protection. As does the Silver Skull uniform, and to a lesser extent, Steven's flightsuit. Gornak has high natural resistance to gralic energy, but all four of you have been exposed to dangerous levels." Suddenly the CORBY accelerated and he slowed it again. "Even this craft was close to suffering systems failure." The Trom Monitor swung the airship around on its axis and rose to treetop level so they could look back and see what was going on where Khang was confronting the Obanchu.

One of the red tentacles slid forward along the ground from the monster, moving to encircle the silver giant. Khang was not moved and did not leave the ground. His body was not matter in a true sense but solidified gralic energy and he weighed whatever he chose. Despite its efforts, the tentacle could not budge him. Khang reached down and seized the rubbery flesh, digging his fingers in and ripping the limb apart. Thick black blood spurted out from the frenzied stump. With a gesture startling in its casual ease, Khang tossed the heavy segment of tentacle off to one side. The screaming from the wounded monster was unbearably shrill.

Khang's deep voice echoed from all directions, it never seemed to come directly from him. What are you?" he demanded. "Where do you come from?" The huge creature did not answer. It flailed its tentacles at the silver man like whips, with no effect. Khang raised his open hand and an intolerably bright shaft of light shone from his palm, brighter than looking directly at the sun. There was a high-pitched howl of agony. Greasy smoke like that from burning car tires rose from the cauterized gape the beam had burned into the Obanchu.

"So you have a voice," rumbled Khang. He raised a glistening hand, palm up as if demanding something. "Hundreds of lives have been cut short because of you. Again, I ask. Who are you? Where do you come from?"

The monster raised its longest tentacle and the red haze around its body flowed into that limb. Now the end of that tendril glowed fiercely with the concentrated force as the gralir faded from the rubbery body. The blazing tentacle snapped like a whip around Khang with a loud cracking noise that echoed for miles. The silver man did not budge. He seemed as unyielding as the metal statue he resembled.

"This is your last chance," Khang thundered. "I shall not suffer you to live." He raised both open hands, which flared up too brightly to be watched directly by flesh and blood eyes. In an answer, the Obanchu clumsily shifted its cylindrical bulk around and the fiery tentacle sped toward the hovering CORBY just within reach. In another second, that copter and its five occupants would be slapped from the sky and incinerated.

Khang struck. The wide shaft of light from his open hand sheared entirely through the Obanchu, severing the tubular mass entirely in half. The silver man swept his arm to one side and the blaze of gralic force he directed blew the monster apart. The stench was vile. A charred pit two feet deep was burned into the ground around the beast.

In the co-pilot's chair of the CORBY, Bane waited as the front window cleared. It had automatically polarized to opaque black at the burst of radiation, for the first time since it had been installed. Even so, dark spots danced before his eyes and he still felt nauseous. The amount of sheer power that Khang wielded always troubled Bane. If the silver man ever went rogue, if he ever turned against them...!

The CORBY lowered its landing wheels and settled to the ground. Slade was taking readings on the sensor array. "Gralic force down to acceptable levels, captain. A brief further exposure should not be dangerous."

"Thanks, Len. Any pirates still in the area?"

The Trom Monitor did not hesitate. "There will be nothing alive within a quarter mile of where Khang stood. The area has been sterilized down to bacteria."

Bane exhaled sharply and opened his hatch. He did not feel his best but he had his duty. "You guys stay in here for a moment. I'll go talk to Khang. Before we leave, we need to find Tewan and bring his body back to his kindred for an honorable service. Len, use the echo stone to report to Cindy we're all right, I know she's biting her nails." The Dire Wolf stepped down from the copter and did not quite stumble. Walking firmly, he strode across the seared grassland to where a silver figure stood motionless.

XII.

Khang had not moved since lowering his hands. The flickering of the burning Ship reflected off his burnished skin and cast strange shadows. The Dire Wolf walked up to him with a barely perceptible limp, grimacing at the stink of the burning creature.

"Good work, Khang," he said as casually as he could manage. The featureless helmet of a head swivelled to regard him with those glowing eyeslots.

After a second, the silver man said, "We both do our duty, captain."

"Some monster. What do you think it was?"

"I cannot say. My senses are not as yours. I do not see by normal light but by gralic waves, and I perceive much that is hidden to you. This beast came from one realm only."

"Fanedral?" asked Bane. "This was the doing of Draldros?"

"So I think." The gleaming head lowered wearily. "Draldros, Lord of Fanedral! How he hates us and yet, he may not leave his realm to strike at us directly."

"Every time we clash with his agents, we barely survive. And we have never even tried to challenge him directly." Bane was watching his teammate closely. "Maybe he's too much for us."

"No! He is an abomination whose reign of terror will not be endured forever." Those eyes flared up again hotly. "Now I know why this inhuman body was my fate, why Mark Drum had to be ruined to be reborn as Khang. I am here for a reason."

Bane said nothing, wiping his grimy face with a cloth from one pocket and waiting.

Khang gestured angrily at the field littered with armored corpses. "Behold how the armies of the night have fallen. Thus may it ever be. We shall always stand together, you and I, and do what we were born to do."

"I'm relieved to hear that," said the Dire Wolf. "When I had Nebel return you to this body, I thought I had lost you as an ally. I couldn't blame you for being mad."

The silver man rumbled deep inside. "Angry I may be, but I must accept my duty. I will always stand beside you, Jeremy, as a teammate and a friend. Our fates are bound together."

"Back to Draldros. I know he's one of the Halarim, a spirit on the level of Jordyn Himself. But I intend to fight him. With Gornak on the team, we can learn more and maybe find a weakness to exploit... an opening through we can attack."

"As soon try to bring down the sun in chains or to cage the stars," Khang rumbled. For the first time in months, there was a tinge of human warmth in that voice, respect that had been absent. "And yet. If any mortal Man would try, Jeremy, I know it would be you."

1/24/2014