dochermes | Entries tagged with 1987

"The Final Tournament of Wu Lung"

9/1987

I.

On a windy hill overlooking Kowloon, two rival schools sat facing each other across a fifty-foot-wide flat area covered with hard mats. Two dozen students of Winter Snow in their white canvas gis knelt in a row along one side, glaring murderously at their enemies. Sitting crosslegged across from them were an equal number of Black Mantis students in their loose black silk uniforms. None had moved in the slightest since taking their places. These schools had hated their rivals for generations. This was a bitter feud where grandsons of original students now hated grandsons of the other school's founding students.

Seated side by side in matching gilt chairs were the elderly masters of their schools, Sifu and Sensei, both attentive as they watched their best fighters step onto the mats. On poles behind the teachers, their respective white and black pennants snapped in the breeze. It was cool, almost chilly this high above the water.

Both fighters were young Asian men in their twenties, both fit and hard-muscled, wearing the uniforms of their schools. In the white gi of Winter Snow, Shimura Ikio stood only an inch over six feet in height, with thick brawny arms and heavily callused hands. His hair was cropped so short it might as well have been shaved. The broad face was kept deadpan, nearly without expression.

Facing him was Chen Wong-Lai. Son of the Dragon of Midnight, Chen had removed his shirt and wore only the loose baggy trousers and slippers. A few inches shorter than his opponent, ten pounds lighter, Chen's torso showed wiry sleek muscles with sharp definition. He seemed to have zero body fat. His coarse black hair was shaggy, even untidy, over a narrow face that was set in stern resolute lines.

Meeting in the center of the mats, the fighters turned and bowed, not to their own schools but to their opponents. Then they stood side by side and bowed more deeply to the Sensei and Sifu, who inclined their heads respectfully. Finally, Chen and Shimura moved back and bowed to each other as minimally as possible, then dropped into ready stances.

Winter Snow was a hard style. Shimura came in fast and direct with a front snap kick to the lower stomach but Chen swept it to the inner side with the heel of his palm, swinging Shimura half around. The Winter Snow fighter was now awkardly standing with his right side to his opponent. In the instant before Shimura regained his footing, Chen lunged in quick as any fencer and exploded a short straight jab that caught the Winter Snow fighter directly in the center of the face with a sharp cracking noise. Shimura fell hard onto his back, rolled and hopped back up onto his feet ten feet away.

Too well disciplined to cheer or even show the faintest smile, the Black Mantis warriors could not entirely keep approval from their eyes.

Instead of becoming more cautious, the Winter Snow karateka charged forward more aggressively, turning on his left heel to whip out a high side kick to the chest. He was just outmatched. Moving much quicker and with greater assurance, Chen Wong-Lai swiveled his body like a matador and crashed his elbow deep into Shimura's side just below the armpit level. That blow hurt and disoriented. Shimura's defenses went down completely.

Planting his feet, torquing up power from his hips and core, Chen looped a wide haymaker that connected perfectly to the side of Shimura's jaw with a crunching sound. The Japanese fighter sagged to his knees and then over on to his side. Chen stepped back discreetly.

From his gilt throne, the Sensei clapped his hands sharply and two of the Winter Snow students leaped up to carry Shimura away where a healer waited. The two leaders of the rival shools nodded to each other without discussion, and the Winter Snow master reached over to tug on the cord which lowered his white and red pennant to half mast. Remaining atop in triumph, the sinister flag of the Black Mantis snapped and unfurled in the wind.

The students of the two schools remained silent as they walked off in different slopes down the hill. The winter Snow fighters made their way down the winding tree-lined path to the road where their chartered bus awaited them. The battered Shimura was walking with some assistance, indicating some hope he would be okay.

In contrast, once the Black Mantis students were out of sight from the arena, they began to buzz with low enthusiastic discussion. Cantonese was officially the language used in their school but there were still many comments in English and Mandarin. They vanished with triumph into the dorm building.

Chen Wong-Lai remained behind, quietly picking up his black tunic and tugging it on as his Sifu watched. The stocky old man with a wispy white beard and sideburns rose and came over to watch him thoughtfully.

"The Winter Snow will not be eager to challenge our House again soon," said the old man.

"I am honored to represent Black Mantis," Chen answered with a proper bow.

"Your skills are all that can be asked, young Chen. And yet, in today's fight as several other times recently, I saw you draw on other resources beside what Black Mantis provides. We do not throw wild roundhouse punches like John Wayne, nor do we use the footwork of a fencer wielding an epee. I have hinted before that this mimgling is not your best interests."

"Your words are true, esteemed one," Chen replied with as much meekness as he could pretend. "When the opponent provides an opening, my body takes adavantage of it. This is my shortcoming and I do not know how to overcome it."

The Sifu raised a single reproving finger. "Let that pass for the moment. I am informed a visitor has come here to see you."

"I expect no such visitor, Teacher."

"Go to the gazebo at the front gates, young Chen. There you will find a man named Mikage Tatsuo awaiting...the Iron Ronin."

( the rest of the story )

"King Homir's Treasure House"

4/19-4/21/1987

I.

Wearing Melgar clothes, Jeremy Bane is in Androval on the trail of the ancient Alchemist Melchius. By chance, he spots the renegade Avathor at a low tavern. Peering in through an open window befor entering, Bane discovers Avathor is meeting with high mountain bandit chiefs,and he finds Human adventurerss Ruffian spying there as well (and also posing as a Melgar, although she is Myrrwhan). Ruffian is tall, five feet seven and athletic. She has darkened her distinctive auburn hair to dark bown to fit in better. Over the previous five years, Ruffian has built a reputation as a bold and inventive thief with acrobatic skills

Identifying Avathor's fmous golden horse hitched to a fence by the tavern, Bane plants one of his tracking discs under the saddle. Then he enters, slugs some of the bandits and breaks up the conference. Avathor runs outside. While getting Ruffian ready to flee, Bane is knocked out by Avathor's Korean mercenary Bronze Ronin. This is Mikage Tstsuo, top street fighter with a healing factor. Bane recovers in time to follow the tracking signal to a shack a few miles away where he finds Ruffian beaten, stripped and bound, with the Melgar symbol for "dog" in shallow cuts across her body. He smashes Avathor's men before they can kill her and takes her to safety.

Ruffian explains to Bane about Avathor's plan to rob King Holmir's Treasure House. This is a single vast chamber cut into the side of a sheer mountain wall, with no known entrances or exits other than the massive woodem gate. staffed with a permanent garrison, it holds a vast treasure of gold, silver and gems. Holmir also is known to store valuable statues, paintings and chronicles there for safekeeping.

Following the tracer disc he planted inside the Melgar's saddle, Bane trails Avathor to a remote part of Androval not far from the Royal Treasure House, bringing along the bruised but furious Ruffian, who vows to assassinate Avathor. Both being extremely skilled in stealth, Bane and Ruffian sneak into Avathor's camp in the mountains and overhear him conferring with Dolomir, an agent of Melchius. Avathor is pleased with the compressed air bomb filled with Alchemical poison gas potent enough to kill an army. Modern technology will function perfectly well in Androval but it is taboo culturally and legally.

With Ruffian beside him, Bane overhears Avathor explain his plan. A labor gang of Trolls under Melgar supervision will be headed to the mines with their wagons to fill with ore. This is a common sight in the mountains. Avathor explains the Trolls will wheel away as much gold and silver as they can. But the two are discovered and Bronze Ronin kills Ruffian with his lethal fists. Avathor intervenes, using his electrical powers to stun Bane into helplessness. Bane is captured and strapped to a table with a sharp-edged cabre poised near his neck. A Gralic Leech, Avathor wants to siphon off Bane's speed for his own but has to wait a few days because his body is already holding as many powers as it can for one time.

While Bronze Ronin is busy elsewhere, Bane escapes his cell and witnesses Avathor's second meeting with the Melgar bandit chiefs, who are supplying horsemen to accompany the Trolls for the assault. Avathor plans to breach Treasure House by releasing a deadly Alchemical serum into the atmosphere, killing the personnel. This serum will be sprayed from the air by Melgar mercenary Beldor and her five Air Maidens riding rare winged horses from Okali. Then the Trolls will fill their wagons with as much treasure as will fit and hurry to their tunnels in the mountains.

The bandits scorn Avathor's scheme, particularly one named Khuthir who demands to be paid immediately so he can leave. Avathor admits that since the caravan of Trolls is already on its way, he doesn't need the chiefs anymore. Stepping into an airtight cell, he gasses them to death with an Alchemical potion and rants to himself that he will do the same to any who might tell his tale.. Bane is captured by Beldor and taken back into custody. Bane confronts Avathor over the logistical implausibility of moving tons of gold, silver and gems. The Trolls will only be able to carry off a fraction of the treasure. As Avathor laughs and says he has a more subtle agenda, Bane deduces from the presence of the minion that Avathor has been offered a deadly gas bomb by Melchius the Alchemist to detonate inside the vault and poison the gold for decades. Avathor doesn't care much for claiming the treasure, he wants revenge on King Holmir.

III.

Again trying to escape, Bane engages in a fight with Beldor that ends with them both battered and willing to talk. He tells her that Avathor killed the Melgar bandits and will soon have no use for her. The next day, on the rare winged horses, Beldor's maidens spray the gas over Treasure House, seemingly killing the guards and workers. The garrison is so surprised and fascinated by the flying horses that no arrows are loosed until it is too late. The heavier than air gas quickly forms an ankle-high mist that can be walked through safely for short periods of time. Wheeling overhead, the Air Maidens fly back in the directon from which they had come... except for Beldor, who suddenly breaks away and speeds off to the South.

Avathor's Troll press gang breaks through the outer gates of Treasure House and beats down the door to the inner vault as Avathor arrives with the poison gas bomb. In the vault, Melchius's henchman Dolomir, ties Bane down across the bomb with ropes. This gives Avathor great glee and he can't stop laughing. The Trolls and the bandits loot with frantic haste, loading crates of gold and silver coins, leather bags of jewels and some heirloom weapons on to the carts while also filling their pockets.

"Androval will fall!" gloats Avathor to the stoic Bane. "With no gold or silver that can be handled, with nothing to back it up, Androval's money will be worthless, the economy will collapse and this realm will collapse into raw panic. Holmir will be deposed as he deserves to... and a new, stronger man will claim the throne." Bane says nothing and Avathor leaves him. Bronze Ronin is ordered to remain behind until the last minute to be sure the well-known tricky Bane doesn't get loose somehow.

Unknown to Avathor, Bane's talk with Beldor convinced her to change sides. She diluted the Alchemical solution to harmless levels. So the Alchemical serum has knocked all the Melgarin soldiers out and left them sick but still alive. Avathor locks the inner vault leaving Bane and Bronze Ronin trapped inside. The bomb itself is still fatal and ready to blow.

IV.

As the Troll wagons roll away as quickly as they can manage, Avathor withdraws to a hilltop to observe from a safe distance. Bane frees himself with the razor blades hidden in his cuffs, but Bronze Ronin tackles him before he can stop the bomb. Bane quickly manages to defeat Bronze Ronin then forces the lock off the serum bomb and figures out how to disarm it. He sits down with a bad case of the shakes after realizing how close he came to being killed.

A deep rumbling outside draws him to the ruined gate. One hundred Melgar calvary on their great war horses thunder by in pursuit of the fleeing Trolls. Bane realizes that the fighting will be brief and merciless. Unarmed, facing mounted Melgarin with lances and sabres, even the powerful Trolls will have no chance. Some of the riders stay to safeguafrd the Treasure House. Their captain dismounts. He and Bane fill each other in on the situation, and the captain thanks Bane for saving Androval from ruin and a coup. Beldar is a prisoner at the nearby lancer fort. She had landed her winged horse and informed the officers in charge of the ongoing attack at Treasure House, so her life is safe for the moment.

For her service in preventing all the deaths, Beldor will be pardoned all her crimes by the King. Bane is told he will be the first non-Melgar to be awarded the Green Star medal for heroism. The poison gas bomb is hauled along until a way can be found to safely destroy it. Both are escorted by a squad of the calvary to the Royal Court for audience with the King, but Avathor and his surviving fighters attack the group. In the struggle, Avathor's sword chops open a seal on the gas tank and sprays Avathor with the gas. Bane and Beldor get back safely from the deadly fumes but the Gralic Leech withers into a mere mummy.

12/31/2022

"Dreams Within Dreams"

12/11-12/12/1987

I.

The troubling thoughts had been building up for weeks and nothing he could do dispelled them for long. As he punched the clock at the Valley Auto Works and scrubbed his hands with steaming hot water and liquid soap, Bane wondered again if he was simply losing his mind. Maybe he needed to be on some medication but he was afraid the doctors would put him away. Tom and Joel waved goodbye and he called over to the grease pit that he'd see them on Monday. But would he? He had a sinking feeling of impending doom and no clear idea why. Sticking his head in the office, he said bye to Gloria, and she smiled up from her desk without getting off the phone.

In the ceiling of the office was a round white light in a frosted glass bowl. As he glanced up at it, Bane suddenly got extreme vertigo. He almost fell, caught himself with a hand on the door behind him and fought to be steady. Everything seemed unreal and distant, as if he was just watching the office from a far distance. A moment later, the feeling passed and he felt normal but he was careful not to look at the ceiling light again as he walked over to his truck.

Turning left, he went away from town and toward Rt 32. Traffic was heavy at 5 PM, and he tried to be patient. The old Dodge was running a little rough, he thought, he figured it needed some dry gas after being nearly empty on a cold night. Bane rolled past a few gas stations, the Harley-Davidson shop, the strip club with its next door neighbor the motel, and then a lumber yard. The next side road was his. Bane turned right and pulled up a low hill to the familiar one-story white frame house. They had bought it from Cindy's parents when they retired and moved to Florida. With only one kid, it was plenty big enough and the separate garage was his own domain when he wanted to be alone. The yard was still covered with a thin crust of snow, but patches of brown dirt were starting to snow.

Cindy's car was not there yet. She might have gone shopping for groceries, the refrigerator had been looking picked clean that morning. Bane got out of his truck, shuddered once as a cold wind cut through his stained blue overalls, and hopped up onto the porch and in through the front door. The interior was warm and snug and smelled fresh. The front door opened into the kitchen, and from there he passed into the living room.

There was Kenneth, curled up on the couch with his nose in a book. At eleven, he read more than anyone Bane had ever met. The kid took after him physically, a thin brunette with a narrow face and pale grey eyes but Kenneth did not have his personality. Bane seldom read except to find information he needed. Now, seeing his son glance up, Bane asked, "Whatcha got there, Ken?"

"FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE," the boy answered without enthusiasm. "It's okay. Not as good as the first book in the series." He frowned and thumbed through a few more pages. "Any idea what's for supper, dad?"

"It's a secret between God and your mother," Bane. "You can make a PBJ if you don't want to wait, I won't say anything. Me for a shower." He headed past the couch. To his right was the door to the bedroom he and Cindy shared, and he went in there to get a change of clothes. When he emerged, Kenneth was lost again in that crazy science-fiction novel. What on Earth did the boy see in that stuff?

( Collapse )
The short hall beyond the living room ended in the back door, flanked by Kenneth's room and the bathroom. Bane stripped down and threw his coveralls in the hamper, then took a furiously hot shower. Toweling himself dry, Bane caught his reflection in the steamy mirror. At six feet tall and one hundred seventy pounds, he was gaunt but muscular. He never put on weight, no matter how much he ate or how little he ever exercised. Why was that? Who knew. He put on jeans and a red flannel shirt and combed his short hair with his fingers.

An hour later, Cindy arrived with the groceries and Bane helped her haul them in. Every time he saw her, he still felt that same leap at how beautiful she was without her trying to be. Cynthia Lee Brunner was a little over a year younger than he was, just five feet tall and a hundred pounds. Her dark blonde hair hung down her back like a flame, and her inquisitive freckled face smiled as she watched him started to put the food away.

"I was just gonna cut up some potatoes and fry some hamburgers and maybe chop a few onion slices into the mix," she told him. "You okay with that?"

"Sure," Bane said, sliding a hand across her narrow shoulders as he went by. "Kenneth went in his room. I bet he finishes that book before dinner."

"It keeps him out of trouble," she told him as she began to get the frying pan ready. "I ran into Steve and Josie, they asked how every one is. Hand me that knife, okay?"

As Bane pulled a slim, narrow-bladed knife from the butcher block that held seven blades, he stopped and stared at it. It felt so natural in his hand. But there should be TWO of them...

"Hey! Earth to Jeremy, hand me that knife any day now." She took him from him. "You get lost in thought and you might as well be in another world."

"Sorry," he said absently, still thinking that there should be two knives, both identical, and he would wear them under his shirtsleeves for some reason...

"Ex-CUSE me," Cindy chuckled as she grabbed the cutting board off the wall. "Sometimes I wish I could read your mind."

Bane flinched. What would make her say that? What sounded familiar about her being able to read his mind? He watched her small dextrous hands chopping up a white onion and he was still trouble. But all he said was, "You'd be disapppointed, not much going on in there."

Cindy snorted and looked up at him. "Aw, I know you better than that. You're deep. Your brain is always working on something." She scooped all the bits of onion up. "Now for potato peeling time!"

That night he had one of the wild dreams that were becoming more common. Sometimes they involved him fighting monsters like werewolves or men with rattlesnake fangs. Sometimes he was hiking through steaming swamps or over desert sand. A few times he was flying some sort of stealth helicopter through the night. The memory of these dreams stayed with him most of the next day, clear and vivid. A few times he dreamed of a giant man made of living silver or a black man with a beard and a sad face. A young Asian man with an invisible tiger swirling around his shoulders. None of this made any sense. That particular night he had a dream he would remember clearly. There was a man dressed all in white, with a shimmering gold cloak. He wore a golden helmet which covered his face completely and which had no eyeholes. As Bane stared, the man with the eyeless helmet pointed a gloved finger at him and said in a sepulchral voice, "You can free yourself, Jeremy! Just remember what is real. The truth is within you." With that, the man vanished and Bane woke in a panic, breathing hard and covered with cold sweat.

( the rest of the story )

"The Jackal-Headed Servants of Menekartes"

3/2-3/4/1987

I.

Larry Taper had never looked worse. In the hospital bed, surrounded on three sides by drawn curtains which hung from a track in the ceiling, he seemed shrunken and somehow aged beyond his years. Taper was forty-two and normally at Olympic-level fitness from his decade of Tel Shai training, but an observer might pin his age just then at early sixties. The oxygen mask fastened over his lower face and the IV tubes leading up from his elbow to three plastic bags hanging on the stainless steel tree didn't help. What puzzled Bane was how dry and dehydrated Taper looked. His skin seemed almost brittle, as if it would flake off at a touch.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Jeremy Bane felt helpless in a way he seldom had before. Just thirty, the Dire Wolf was so serious and intense that he intimidated people without realizing it. Gaunt and wiry at six feet even, Bane was wearing his usual wardrobe of all black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. The somber outfit seemed grimly appropriate in these circumstances.

Aloud, in his characteristic low tones, Bane said, "I don't know if you can hear me, Larry. I hope so. Hang on. Keep fighting! We're doing everything we can for you. Don't give up."

Beind him, a stout, middle-aged nurse interrrupted as gently as she could. "I'm sorry, sir. Dr Wright is waiting for you down in the visitor room with your friends."

Bane turned, his grey eyes withdrawn and introspective. "Okay. Thank you." Giving Taper a final glance, the Dire Wolf left the room, went past the nursing station where everyone was buzzing over some X-rays and discussing whether to quarantine Room 544, and entered one of the twin color-coded elevators. He rode down three floors to Metropolitan General's new visitor's room. Everything was in soothing tones of pastel green and blue, there was a table holding assorted magazines and a bubbling tank in one corner with bright fish swimming about helped to keep worried people distracted.

Standing in that room were Jessica Frost, Stephen Weaver and Sulak. Three of his fellow Tel Shai knights and KDF members, watching him enter anxiously.

"What do you think, captain?" asked Weaver. A tall black man with a thick mustache, Weaver was wearing the casual blue work shirt and jeans he had on when the call had come to meet here.

"I don't know what to make of it," Bane said. "To me, he looks like he's been exposed to the elements. As if he's been out in the desert sun for a week. But we saw him last night and he was fine. Ted?"

Dr Thaddeus James Wright had just come in the room. He had been studying papers on a clipboard, which he now lowered. He was older than his teammates, with dark heavy features that always seemed sad. Grey was beginning to appear in his short tightly curled hair and beard, more from worry than from age. "Listen, everyone. The staff here is doing more blood work and and an MRI has been ordered. They suspect it's some rare virus and I'm going along with that. But we need to deal with the truth. It's gralic sorcery of the strongest and most baleful kind... Darthan magick."

"Bad news indeed," muttered Sulak. The Melgar champion looked like the gladiator he was. A few inches taller than the others, his tailored Royal blue suit with the dress white shirt and narrow blue tie could not conceal the massive hard muscles in his wide-shouldered body. Sulak's dark blue eyes remained fixed on Wright as if hoping the doctor would change what he said. Over a long career, he had lost many comrades and had never found a way to make it easy to take.

"I can't give you false hopes," Wright said slowly. "The truth is, an ordinary man struck by this spell would have died within seconds. Larry has been on a tagra diet for ten years and his regenerative abilities are beyond what medical science can acknowledge. All of us have survived severe injuries because of our enhanced healing. He's in peak athletic condition and he has a strong will to survive. Even now, close to being in a coma, he is fighting back at every level."

"Sounds like a 'but' is coming," Weaver put in sourly.

"Yes. 'But.' Larry is resisting but the Darthan magick is hideously potent. My own gralic powers can only help him a little. It's a question of time, my friends. Larry will hang on as long as he can, I will keep reinforcing his body with my own gralic powers. And I have slipped him some tagra tea secretly, which violates hospital procedure and which could land me on charges. We can only delay the inevitable."

Weaver stood slumped with folded arms, head down. "Can you give us some sort of time frame?"

"A few days. Maybe seventy-two hours, the way things stand now. After that, the damage will be established so deeply that I can't see him recovering." Wright raised the clipboard again. "I still have to check on Mrs Whitman in 521 to see how she's reacting to the antibiotic. As much as I love Larry as a fellow knight, I still have other patients to tend."

Jeremy Bane suddenly took command of the situation, his voice regaining its usual crispness. "We know where Larry had been before he was stricken. Khebir. We're going there to find out what happened to him. Ted, I don't have to ask you to do your best for him, I know you always do!"

"Thank you," Wright answered, heading for the door. "Good luck. I pray you find something that helps. Right now, I must see Mrs Whitman... her kidney tests came back with discouraging results." Reading from the clipboard again, he left the room.

Jessica Frost spoke for the first time. Since the traumatic incident that had awakened her freezing powers, she had become taciturn and withdrawn. Only her sense of gratitude to Bane and a feeling of duty had kept her involved with other people. With her ash-blonde hair down past her shoulders, her pale skin and light crystal blue eyes, Jessica looked every the chilly person she had become. "I thought Khebir was a dead realm," she stated as if that should settle the question.

"It is, as far as we know," Bane told her. "But Larry encountered Menekartes there ten years ago. That was where he became the Silver Skull and entered the Midnight War seriously. Come on, team, let's roll." The Dire Wolf led his friends to the elevators and suddenly their spirits lifted at the thought they still might be able to do something to help Larry Taper.

( the rest of the story )

"The White Wolves of Zimborlin"

4/22/1987

I.

4/22/1987

I.

Jeremy Bane could not remember the last time he had stepped out into public without the flexible armor under his clothes, without his gun or his gadgets, especially without the silver-bladed daggers strapped to his forearms. He was wearing plain canvas sneakers, denim jeans and a dark green T-shirt , which left him feeling incredibly vulnerable and exposed. A six feet tall mass of highly defined lean muscle, Bane was a few months shy of turning thirty but he seemed younger somehow in his discomfort. He stood outside the front door of the Hawk Island complex and felt a brisk April breeze drift in off the Atlantic. They were only ten few miles off the coast of northern Maine.

Looking over the assemblage of twenty Midnight War heroes socializing on the asphalt gathering ground, he did ease up slightly. Surrounded by friends like these could not be anything but reassuring. Two long redwood tables held trays of cheese and fruit and crackers, as well as bottles of sparkling water, soda, even some beer and wine. Long benches and lawn chairs were available but most of the heroes milled about and chatted in small clusters.

The founding members and most associate members of the Kenneth Dred Foundation were there, but so were several colleagues not seen often enough. Samuel Watesa, the greatest Houngan of his era. Mary Cassidy, the Unicorn. Andrew Steel. Bent old Dr Kobal. Cheval. Even the reclusive Dr Matthias Mage had appeared briefly to greet everyone before taking off again. Everyone was catching up on events, reminiscing, discussing current events of the mundane life. A portable sound system was playing old rock songs that almost everyone would like or at least not object to. Bane turned his head and sniffed as a tempting odor reached him. He went back inside the long 0ne-story complex and down the hall to the galley.

This was a brand new display of gleaming stainless steel and dark wood paneling. Both ovens were going full blast, as well as the top burners supporting various pots and pans which steamed and burbled. Unmistakable aromas of roast beef and lamb prompted his stomach to growl. Straightening up as she closed one oven door was a gorgeous blonde woman, six feet tall and fit as any athlete in a brown pullover with a front zipper and tan slacks. Princess Valera of Androval gave him a smile that was like a present. "Captain! Eager to eat, I presume?"

"I have never smelled anything more tempting," he honestly said. "What are those spices though? I can't place them."

"Ah, well-guarded secrets of Melgar cuisine," she teased with her blue eyes gleeful. "One half hour more, Jeremy. The dining table in the next room is not set, but I brought some decent china and cutlery to use for a change."

The Dire Wolf shook his head. "Waiting is sure going to test everyone's discipline."

Over by a prep counter, the newest and youngest KDF member grinned widely. At just eighteen, Tang Ming was a petite girl from Hong Kong whose powers of enhanced awareness and martial skills had qualified her to join. "I am helping too! With my perception, I can tell if anything is about to burn."

"Why, you insolent little thing!" said Valera in mock outrage. "What do you mean, 'if anything is about to burn?' Really. How are those mixed vegetables you were chopping?"

"They will be crisp and delicious," Ming promised. "Particularly the bamboo shoots. I had six brothers and sisters back home and often helped my mother prepare meals."

"Now you are saying I remind you of your mother?! Jeremy, you see what I have to endure?"

"Hee hee hee," was Tang Ming's comment as she went back to work.

Seeing Bane was heading back out of the kitchen, Valera called after him, "Jeremy, this was such a great idea. We all needed this."

"Thanks, Princess," said Bane simply. He went back past the front office and meeting room to step back out into the early afternoon sunlight. The past six months had indeed been grueling for his team. One crisis after another, they had faced their biggest threats in a rapid succession. There had been Arem Kamende's most ambitious scheme. Then clashes with the Preincarnators, then with Those Who Remember and Simon Cohen. Wu Lung's army of the BlackMantis and finally the Ship of Skulls battle with that traumatic exposure to a creature of the Sulla Chun. He had thought even his team was becoming worn down and stressed out. His proposal for a social gathering away from the Midnight War for a day had been met with cheers.

Hurrying to meet him was a blonde carrying an acoustic guitar nearly as large as she was. Her flip-flops making slapping noises, wearing only blue bikini panties and a blue sleeveless tanktop, Cindy Brunner evidently was having trouble catching her breath. She was laughing too much.

Bane watched his lover and partner for the past eight years and waited for her to get a grip. He himself had never displayed a discernable sense of humor but he realized she made up for his lack. In a second, the telepath, "Oh my God. Jeremy! It's too much. The Olur was dancing. You have to see this!"

"Watch him dance?" repeared the Dire Wolf. "Hell, I can hardly look at Dinsdell without losing it."

"Over here. Oh, no, he acting out pantomime now." Cindy seized Bane by one wrist and dragged him over to where most of the assemblage was standing in a rough circle.

( the rest of the story )

"The Final Tournament of Wu Lung" (Synopsis)
[8/9/1980]

9/19-9/21/1987

[-This is a story I am not likely to ever revise and polish so it fits into current canon. At 43 single-spaced typewritten pages, it is a massive brute that would take forever to rewrite. Also, it was from the end of my kung fu mania years, so there is page after page of overly detailed descriptions of every punch and kick. In fact, it's pretty much nothing BUT fights. "The Final Tournament of Wu Lung" is a shameless homage to ENTER THE DRAGON and other Hong Kong epics of that era but it is a fairly major event in my little mythology that is referred to in other stories. So I want to at least get the basic facts down for reference. This is a funny hobby.]

Wu Lung, the Dragon of War, holds an illegal tournament every four years. No fighters with gralic abilities are allowed, nor are weapons used, but entrants can be from Ulgor or Androval or other adjacent realms. The duels are brutal, ending when one fighter either surrenders or is so obviously damaged that he cannot continue. Winners are offered positions in Wu Lung's global empire as well as massive cash prizes. No only does Wu Lung recruit new henchmen with these tournaments, he often sets up some of his men who have fallen out of favor to be killed by a superior opponent. Helping Wu is the Iron Ronin, Mikage Tatsuo, an amoral mercenary who has already clashed with Bane a few times.

For over a year, Jeremy Bane has been planning to infiltrate this tournament and bring it down. He and three of his KDF teammates have been operating on the fringes of the underworld under false identities. Ethically, it's a tricky straategy; the four of them engage mostly in solitary robberies of big scale gangsters, the taking down of assassins or bodyguards, and helping one gang in a turf war against another. They avoid injuring civilians, and although this discretion takes careful planning, they become notorious enough that Wu Lung's emissaries approach them separately to offer a chance at the tournament. Chen Wong-Lai is not a KDF member or Tel Shai knight at this point, but as the son of the Dragon of Midnight, he has had enough Midnight War exploits on his own that Bane trusts him and includes him on this mission.

Using Trom techniques to change their hair and eye colors, as well as implants of synthetic flesh to alter their features, the four KDF members have been unrecognizable even at close range in daylight. Their cover identities had been prepared to stand up to investigation. Jeremy Bane was now Morris T. Booker, a former Special Forces instructor for the United States Army who had received a dishonorable discharge. Sulak posed as a Cuban boxer named Luis Dominquiz. Shiro Mitsuru was supposed to be a Filipino escrima master called Raul Hermano Pasqual. Chen Wong-Lai remained obviously Chinese but he was now supposed to be a former Triad enforcer named Ho Wei.

The Tournament is held on a large island in waters disputed by Korea and Japan, with neither nation eager to attack Wu Lung's fortress there. Flown in by helicopter, the four KDF members attend a welcoming banquet where they recognize many Midnight War fighters such as Prince Lankur of Androval, Golgora, Fergus the Gallowglass, Venom the Amrath, Stuart Duffy and Atron Ke of Ulgor; all are using aliases but mostly as a formality as they have made only perfunctory attempts to disguise themselves.

On the first day of the tournament, Shiro fights Venom. The Amrath refrains from using his fangs to avoid revealing his identity but he is still faster and more difficult to harm than a regular Human. After a long grueling duel where they both take a lot of punishment, Shiro manages to beat Venom into submission.

That night, walking past the display cases lining the hallway to the feast, Chen Wong-Lai is stunned to see his father's Dragon of Midnight uniform hanging on hooks. He had known that Wu Lung had murdered his father while Chen was an infant but seeing the actual clothing that Chen Lee-Sun had been wearing at the time of his death still infuriates him. He barely restrains himself. With enormous effort, he continues to the feast with an expressionless face.

At the feast, Wu Lung announces a special guest has arrived. This is Zemu Watura, the Stray Dog. Zemu makes an insulting speech about his own greatness and how he will not be competing since no one present could give him a decent challenge. Sulak loses his temper and goes right for the Stray Dog. They have a brawl which smashes tables and benches, revealing Sulak's superhuman strength even as he defeats Zemu.

Wu Lung strikes a huge bronze gong to silence the uproar. He announces his suspicions have been confirmed, that there are imposters among them. Wu casts a spell which uses gralic force to wash away chemicals and restore normal appearances. Not only are the four KDF members reveals in their usual identities but it can be seen that over half of the fighters there were in some sort of disguise. Over a hundred of the most dangerous individuals in the Midnight War leap to their feet.

Armed with truncheons and staffs, guards move to encircle the crowd, Bane jumps up on a table and yells, "Don't let them put you men in chains! Death to Wu Lung!" That sets off a free-for-all. Many of the fighters hate Wu Lung and were hoping for a chance at him; they fully expect the guards to try to kill them. Also, many of the fighters hold bitter grudges against each other and grab the opportunity to settle old scores. The feast hall turns into a melee of savage brawling. During the free-for-all, Bane manages to beat the much stronger Prince Lankur and Sulak finishes off Zemu.

Seeing Wu Lung sneak away heading for the helipad, Chen Wong-Lai hurries in pursuit but he pauses to smash the glass case and put on the Dragon of Midnight uniform which fits him. Inside the tunic is the mystic Dragon Pendant, which Wu Lung had been unable to touch, let alone use. Filled with new vitality and purpose, Chen confronts Wu Lung. The Dragon Pendant protects Chen from Wu Lung's gralic bolts and he slays his family's worst enemy.

As the fighting winds down, a squad of the remaining KDF members arrive on the island to clean up. These include Valera, Ted Wright and Larry Taper. Some of the bad guys have escaped in the confusion, including Atron and Duffy but taken prisoner are Lankur, Venom and Zemu. The blind mystic Garrison Nebel dampens the triumph slightly by reminding everyone that Wu Lung was an ancient spirit from the Darthan Age who had inhabited many Human hosts over the millenia... and that the Dragon of War might soon return.

Chen doesn't care. He has avenged his father's murder and reclaimed the pendant. For the first time, he feels he has earned title Dragon of Midnight. Chen decides to apply for membership in the KDF and to be a Tel Shai student, never imagining he will only have a few years left in his short life.

2/10/2020

"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.

( the rest of the story )

"Let Sleeping Dragons Lie"

8/28/1987

I.

When Kwali and Gornak leaped at each other and began pounding away, the clash should have come as no surprise.

Their explosion of tempers had been building up for weeks. As Gornak's mating season neared, he grew increasingly tense and jumpy. Since there were no female Kulan in the real world and he dared not return to Fanedral to court one, he found no outlet for his reproductive urges. Gornak was unusual among Kulan in that he was able to restrain his impulses at all; back in Fanedral, most of his demon brethren were constantly being punished for their ferocious outbursts.

As for Kwali, his admittedly humorless personality had little patience for anyone taking liberties. His own marriage to his cousin Kisura had been arranged by the elders, more a part of his duties as the holder of the Cat's-Claw than a romantic relationship. Lately he had been under pressure from her and from the elders to produce offspring. His reluctance was criticized sharply, which put him in a foul mood most of the time.

More and more frequently, the two Tel Shai knights quarreled with each other. As their captain, Jeremy Bane kept an eye on them but as neither Gornak nor Kwali were short with their other teammates, he decided not to intervene yet. Then, late on a hot August afternoon, the explosion came.

"Jeremy, you'd better get up to the hangar," Cindy blurted as she rushed into the office on the first floor. As soon as she spoke, the Dire Wolf was up out from behind his desk and following her. There was no one alive he trusted more than the little blonde telepath. It was her perceptions and insights in the members' minds that made a team of such strongly independent individuals as workable as the KDF had been.

As they hopped into the high-speed elevator which shot them up to the tenth floor, Cindy turned a worried face on her longtime lover and partner. "It's the two you-know-whos at it again," she said. "Talk about cats and dogs!"

There was more truth than poetry in that expression, the Dire Wolf thought. Kwali had become strongly feline in both mind and body after wearing the potent Claw of the Black Lion day and night for years. Strikingly in a sub-Saharan African face, his irises had turned bright green. As for Gornak, the dog-headed Kulan demons did live and hunt in packs as both dogs and before them wolves did. Cindy's theory was that Gornak had subconsciously accepted Bane as his new Alpha Male pack leader, which did seem to ring true.

As the elevator reached the top floor, Bane wondered if maybe he should have taken the friction between the Kulan and the Cat's-Claw more seriously, maybe not assigned them to work as a pair so often.

The door opened onto the hangar which took up the entire top story of the headquarters building. Standing at the opposite end, its landing gear clamped down, the black stealthcopter CORBY waited under cool fluorescent lights. Banks of electronic equipment and benches loaded with tools lined the walls.

When he stepped into that hangar, Jeremy Bane was stunned to see Kwali crash upside down against a wall, scattering tools and machine parts. The big Danarakan was too agile and too resilient to be harmed even by such an impact, though. He rolled, dropped lightly to his feet and plunged directly at his opponent.

Only a handful of Humans from any realm would have dared confront an enraged Kulan as Kwali was doing. Gornak was a nightmarish figure seven feet in height, covered with a leathery red hide. His batlike wings were folded against his back, but the barbed tail whipped back and forth and the talons on his hands were fully extended. The Kulan had the head of a great hound, with upright ears and a long muzzle armed with fangs.

Gornak roared in his fury, but amazingly Kwali was not intimidated. The Danarakan warrior lunged in close and smacked a vicious backhand that slapped the demon's head to one side. Tall and muscular as he was, the African champion had no weapons and seemed to be defenseless against the formidable beast. Wearing only a plain T-shirt, dark slacks and slippers, Kwali nevertheless ducked under a swipe of one clawed hand and struck a second looping roundhouse blow to the demon's head.

"Knights of Tel Shai!" yelled the Dire Wolf from the doorway. "Both of you, freeze where you are!"

That was a tone of voice that they had never heard before from him. Gornak and Kwali indeed stopped dead and even held their poses for a second before turning to face their captain. Even as their rage toward each other faded, both were uneasy at realizing the Dire Wolf was actually angry at them. They felt as if they were unexpectedly in real danger.

When Bane stepped toward the two combatants, Cindy was more than content to fall back behind him.

"Two knights of the Order... fighting? Are you imposters? Are you under some mind control or the effects of a drug trance? Turn to face me. Brothers, your memberships in both the Kenneth Dred Foundation and the Order of Tel Shai are in jeopardy. Cindy, I want you to listen in with your full powers. Gornak, you explain first. I saw you throw your teammate against the wall with force that would be fatal to a normal Human."

The Kulan demon straightened from his feral crouch with effort. "He said that I should be neutered. Like a pet! Captain, in Fanedral I would have eaten the tongue that spoke such words."

"You are not in Fanedral now," Bane replied. "You have been given refuge with us and you agreed to live by our ways. And you, Kwali, what do you have to say?"

The big African warrior lowered his fists and unclenched them as if it was the most dificult act he had ever done. His deep baritone with the Danarak accent responded quietly, "I have endured all the affronts my honor can bear, Jeremy. Do you know what this beast asked? He wanted to know if any of the women of my tribe would be willing to mate with him! And he offered to pay in gold. Wakimbe be my judge, I have reached my limits."

Bane turned the infamous pale grey eyes on Gornak, and they had never seemed colder. "I think you MUST have known better than that. What were you thinking?!"

"Humans cannot understand," growled the demon. His wings snapped open and beat slowly behind him, great ribbed membranes like the wings of a bat. "My blood boils through my veins. My heart pounds like a bass drum in my chest. Kwali mocks me because he has a mate and I do not."

"I have not mocked you," the Cat's-Claw muttered.

"So often has he bragged how strong the women of his tribe are, what tireless runners and fierce fighters they are. Is it beyond reason that one could be undaunted by a night with me?"

"Wakimbe's Soul!" yelled Kwali. "I will not suffer such blasphemy a moment longer." He stabbed an accusing finger at Bane. "Much as I value your respect and much as I revere the Teachers of Tel Shai, I cannot sleep under the same roof as.. as a Kulan of Fanedral!"

Before Bane could respond, everyone gave a start as cold yellow flame rushed up over Gornak and the demon seemed to become Human. A tall blond man with a sardonic face stood there in a black business suit with a white shirt and knitted silk tie... or seemed to. This was an illusion granted to Gornak when he had first fled to the world.

The guise was intended to allow the Kulan to move around in public without causing panicked stampedes from people. He did not physically change, the Human form existed only in the minds of those who saw him. 'Christopher Pagan,' with his forged IDs and fictitous backstory, was a convenience that Gornak only used when he had to.

"I will inflict myself on you no longer," said Pagan in a voice not quite that of Gornak. "I was wrong to think I could be accepted by you Humans. I quit! I resign! Burn what few belongings I have gathered, for I shall never return for them."

"Hold it," Bane said. "Wait a second. You can't make a hasty decision like that...."

"I can do whatever I think best," snapped Pagan as he spun on his heel and headed for the door. "The three of you might be able to kill me. But you cannot make me stay any other way." He broke into a lope and slammed the door behind him.

Left behind in the hangar, Cindy and Kwali turned to their captain in shock. It was the first time they had seen Jeremy Bane uncertain how to react.

( the rest of the story )

"You Say You Want Some Evolution"

4/12/1987

I.

Four rotors slowed as the black stealthcopter settled onto the damp grass. On this drizzly overcast day, the woods around the estate were half-concealed in mist and the CORBY seemed to have dropped straight down from nowhere. The pressurized hatch on the pilot side slid open with a hiss as air escaped from the cabin. Dressed in a black commando suit complete with visored helmet, Jeremy Bane swung out and dropped lightly to the ground as if he expected immediate attack from every direction. In his left hand, the dart gun with its extended needle-thin barrel swung in tight circles.

Six feet tall and lean, Bane looked even more gaunt in the snug field suit. He thumbed one ear pod of his helmet and the visor slid up into its internal track to reveal cold watchful grey eyes under feral black brows. Twenty seconds later, seeing no sign of an ambush, the Dire Wolf lowered his arm slightly and began to move around toward the front of the CORBY. He had flown straight from Manhattan here to northern California as soon as he had gotten the call from Sam and Isabel Guthrie. His nerves were too taut for him to be at his best.

Up a slight incline from where he had landed the copter stood a gorgeous A-frame home of redwood, with a balcony by its second floor windows and a carport under which stood a gleaming new Ford Explorer. On either side of the enclosed walkaround porch were matching blazes of gardenias in neat round gardens. The Dire Wolf had never been here before but he knew the Guthries' dedication to keep their homes attractive. Even in their early seventies, they would be sure to spend as much time as possible on yardwork and upkeep.

Hopefully he had arrived in time. There were no other vehicles in sight, no sign of Eldritch. Bane had begun to holster his dart gun again when he caught the faintest rustle from the brush twenty yards away under the trees. In an instant, a huge tawny shape charged snarling out of those bushes. No normal Human could have reacted in time, but Bane's arm whipped up in a blur and he fired a full clip of the anesthetic darts in a single burst. Sixteen of the metal stings slid into the attacking beast, any one of the darts capable of incapacitating a grown man.

Even if the lunging animal had been dazed instantly, its momentum still drove four hundred pounds of muscle and bone forward quicker than any observer would have followed. Bane nimbly hopped five feet to one side, ejecting the empty clip from his gun and clicking a fresh one into place as he did so. The solid body of the beast crashed hard against the side of the CORBY, rocking even the heavy craft on its landing gear, before sliding motionless to the ground.

Stepping closer, Bane examined the brute. His tentative identification during that split-second of action had to be figure this was a bear of some kind with yellow fur but he saw now it was clearly a big cat... a lion built with massive shoulders and chest, thick short legs and huge paws. In the upper jaw, a pair of long curving canines stretched down seven inches into alarmingly sharp points.

A Sabertooth? There was no uncertainty about it. Then what the Guthries had feared most had come to be. The relics of ancient Zhune were still potent and incredibly dangerous. Bane bent carefully, watching to be certain that the monster's chest was not rising and falling. The big jade-colored eyes were open but did not follow him. Gingerly, he touched the carcass and satisfied himself that the Sabretooth was dead. A full clip of the potent anesthetic had been too much for even a beast that huge. Respiratory failure and cardiac arrest probably had occured before the cat had even been aware of its impending death.

The Dire Wolf swung around, clapping his hand on the butt of his weapon again. The faint sound of a doorknob being turned at the front of the house had been enough to alert him. Recognizing the older couple emerging onto the porch, he released the dart gun and turned to face them openly.

Sam and Iabel Guthrie were both in their early seventies but still mobile and active. They were almost the same size, not much over five feet six, dried and withered by time but moving out onto the porch without canes or relying on a hand holding the railing. Both were neatly dressed and presentable, Isabel in a yellow print sundress and Sam wearing tan slacks and a white short-sleeved dressed shirt.

"Jeremy!" called Sam. "I believe you can see why we called you!"

"So glad you're unharmed," his wife added. "My word, where did you get that weird helicopter? You're not working for the government, I trust?"

Moving toward them, Bane reached up to remove his helmet. The short fine-textured black hair over a narrow face had not changed since he had last met them in person years earlier. "It's KDF property, privately owned. Sam, Isabel, I'm a little surprised to encounter a prehistoric creature in Northern California! Care to explain?"

The man's thick-lensed glasses had slid down on a beaked nose and he pushed them back up with an index finger. "Maybe it would be better if we showed you? Come around the back, please."

Following them from the yard as they slowly walked around the porch, Bane found he was still more keyed up than usual. "Any other prehistorical killers out here I should be aware of?"

"No, no, just the opposite," called Isobel. "Take a second. Look at the hummingbirds."

Bane stepped closer to the side of the house to where a red glass globe hung on a stick. A deep buzz sounded past his ear. Hovering near the feeder was an emerald bird no bigger than his thumb, its wings a haze of motion. As he watched, the hummingbird thrust its long curved beak into a hole in the feeder. "Yeah, I see it."

"Get a little closer," the elderly woman said.

As the Dire Wolf took a few more steps, something unexpected happened. From the furiously beating wings dropped a flurry of glowing sparks... bright, evidently hot reddish glints that slowly drifted down to the ground. Then the bird shot away and was gone in an instant.

"That's something new," Bane admitted. "Never heard of a bird doing that before."

"We think it's an adaptation to distract venomous insects which attack them," said Sam Guthrie. "Hummingbirds won't evolve that ability for another fifty thousand years."

( the rest of the story )