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"THE NINE BEAST HELMETS I - BEASTS OF THE SOUTH

12/21/1988-12/24/1988

1.

Deep in the forest of Evaho, they found the old man lying in the dust. Blood was slowing to a trickle from the deep slash across his back. His clothing was simple homespun, coarse and undyed. Close to where he had fallen was a crude crutch made from the limb of an oak; his left leg ended above the knee.

Hagen signalled his league to halt their steeds, himself dismounting nimbly enough to crouch over the dying man. The leader of the Seven Swords was of average height, but wide-shouldered and narrow-waisted. He had dark brown hair cropped over a clean-shaven face, and his stern expression showed the force of will that made him leader of the Seven Swords. As a Melgar, even one in exile, he had both strength and resistance to harm greater to that enjoyed by Humans.

Riding through the this realm, the Seven Swords had left their plate armor at camp to be guarded by their squires. Hagen had on high boots, tight breeches and a white linen shirt covered by a vest of stiff brown leather. Of course, a baldric passing over his left shoulder supported the scabbard which held his Seeking Sword. None of his fellowship went anywhere without their specific ensorcelled sword.

Decades of questing had given the son of Ewan much knowledge of wounds. Nothing could be done for this poor soul. He dropped to one knee and gently laid a hand on that bony shoulder.

The old man's eyes darted about and widened. "Hagen? Is it you?"

"It is. Tell me who burned the village and mistreated such a greybeard as yourself."

"Nine men in black. They wore... helmets shaped like the heads of animals."

"Rest you well. Your village will be avenged," the Melgar said quietly. "By the White Horse, I swear it."

"Thank y.."

"Speed your soul to its source, grandfather," said Hagen even as he saw the light fade out in the old man's eyes. The Melgar rose smoothly to his feet and turned to face his comrades. "Barzun, you are our strongest. Dig this venerable one a grave and cover it well. I want no jackals to disturb his bones."

"It is a deed well worth doing," rumbled the Troll. He got down off the mighty plow horse which could bear his weight as lesser steeds could not. Barzun topped seven feet in height, massive and thick-limbed beyond proportions any Human could reach. He wore on a long tunic of heavy linen which reached to his knees, as well as his own Bludgeoning Blade. The tawny leathery skin marked his tunnel-dwelling Race, as did the conical skull and brow ledge which gave his features a misleadingly brutal cast.

Untying a spade from their pack horse, the Troll stepped over behind an ancient oak and commenced to digging, throwing huge amounts of earth behind him with ease. The others knew to simply stay out of his way when he tackled such tasks.

Remaining in their saddles, the other Seven Swords regarded their leader with expectation. It was Perendir the Eldar who broke the silence, "The Nine Beast Helmets have indeed surfaced after all these years, Hagen. Many hoped they had been lost and would never be seen again."

"Such good fortune is not given to us," Hagen replied. He stood with hand on hilt, gazing up at his teammates. "The rumors and whispers which led us here to Evaho were well-founded."

Astride his chestnut mount, Dorgo the red-skinned Danarmyl rasped, "Where you lead, we will follow, son of Ewan. Seven swords, nine helmets. Shall we not ride after these villains?"

"We will. The Nine Beast Helmets are not foes to be taken lightly, but then neither are we."

"When your people conquered this realm, they established fortresses at key points," Perendir continued. "Once their rule had been firmly established, the Melgarin stayed as farmers and miners but their strongholds were in time abandoned."

"All this is true," their leader replied. He saw that Barzon had already placed the pitiful corpse into the newly-dug grave and was filling it back. Hagen seized his saddlehorn and swung back up.

"I believe the nearest such castle is four days march from here," added Perendir. The tiny Eldar swept back her gleaming hair to reveal the pointed ears which marked her. "It will be harder to strike them down once they are behind stone walls."

"Much can happen in four days," growled Hagen.


2.

Standing at the head of the long oak table, Jeremy Bane gazed out over his friends and partners. Three generations of Tel Shai knights had assembled at that table, and he was proud he had been able to assemble so many worthy new knights. The seven who sat there offered a useful assortment of strengths and skills. The Dire Wolf felt confident about this mission.

"This council is open," he said, pulling back his chair to sit down. "He can't be here today, but Garrison Nebel informs me that he senses the presence of the Nine Beast Helmets active in the realm of Evaho. We've learned to trust his perception. For those who aren't familiar with them, these are a set of talismans from the Darthan Age that give gralic enhancements to anyone wearing them. When an person puts on one of the helmets, they're given extra strength and resistance to injury, but when a mystic wears one, the helmets endows them with special gralic abilities. The Eagle helmet gives flight, the Dragon helmet gives flame breath, or so the lore tell us. Our mission is to claim these helmets and turn them to our own purposes."

"Whoa, captain," interrupted Stephen Weaver, a tall lanky American black man. "I'm not the greatest expert on how these things work, but if they're Darthan, aren't they inherently destructive? Clear that up for me."

"I think they can be cleansed and repurposed," Bane said. "They were made by Humans, not by the Darthim, and they're made of iron instead of Gremthom. So, even if they use gralic magick from Darthan sources, I hope they can be salvaged."

"If you say so," Weaver responded with clear reservations. "I dunno. My instincts are that this could go awful wrong awful fast."

Sitting opposite the Black Angel, Kwali spoke up in his resonant baritone. "Perhaps not, Stephen. I myself wear the Cat's Claw of the great Wakimbe. Although its influence can draw one to sudden rages and rash actions, I have been able to bear it well through discipline. If we can channel the Nine Beast Helmets to a more noble use, I feel it is worth the attempt."

Bane nodded. "My hope is that we can find nine people we can trust to wear the Beast Helmets as a new team. I was thinking of some of our associate and reserve members stepping up. If not, in the Vault the helmets go. There at least they won't do any more harm."

Further down the table, the Melgar champion Sulak spoke up, "I say it is worth the try. If nothing else, we will at least be ridding the adjacent realms of a menace that has caused so much death and misery."

"A vote, then?" asked Tang Ming.

A simple show of hands decided the matter in favor. The negative votes were from Weaver and Jessica Frost, but both agreed they would go along with the majority decision.

As Bane rose again to end the meeting, he said, "Luckily, modern technology works well enough in Evaho. We found that out with the Ship of Skulls last year. Steve, help me do a rundown on the CORBY. Shiro, I'm afraid you get stuck here on standby duty this time. We need someone on base in case some of us come back wounded or if we need back-up and we all take our turn. Everyone else, you have forty-five minutes to get ready before we leave."

3.

By the steep banks of the River Elavyl, fourteen warriors faced each other in opposing line-ups. Overhead, a full moon in a cloudless star-blazing sky gave ample light to make out details. One hundred yards away, the black stealthcopter CORBY was tethered down beneath a camouflage tarp. Behind the Seven Swords were their horses, tied to a single line which ran to a tree overhanging the water.

Hagen's team were a striking variety of Races and sizes and shapes, counting a Troll, A Danarmyl, a Yugen and an Eldar among them Each bore their individual swords sheathed at their sides, and each had a symbol painted on the scabbard.. numbers ranging from one to seven.

The leaders of each team stepped forward to stand within arm's reach of each other.
"It's been a while," the Dire Wolf spoke first. "We haven't met since the Siege of Androval."

"...When you Tel Shai knights fought alongside we Melgarin against the hordes of Ulgor," Hagen responded. "Your knights' courage and sacrifice have not been forgotten, Dire Wolf. You dared everything for a fight you had no stake in. I take it your fellowship and mine are on the same quest tonight?"

"Yeah, we're definitely not here at the same time by chance. That would be stretching coincidence way too thin. It has to be the Nine Beast Helmets. My source indicates that the cult is using that abandoned castle downriver for the headquarters."

"There are other causes for you to embrace, Bane, other threats to bring down," Hagen said. "The Beast Helmets have been slaughtering and enslaving Melgarin in this realm. I take that personally. It shall be the Seven Swords who strike them down!"

Behind him, Bane sensed his team bristle. "We haven't come to this realm to leave without accomplishing our mission, Hagen. I want those helmets. They are a possible resource too valuable to pass up. I intend to have them cleansed and put to good use."

"Never shall that come to pass. Not that I doubt the strength and courage of your knights. That is mighty Sulak I see standing with you, and Kwali the Cat's-Claw and the Silver Skull. But the Nine Beast Helmets are powered by vile Darthan magick. They would corrupt the purest heart. No living being is noble enough to wear one and stay true."

"Only one way to find out. We're going after them," Bane announced, "Whether you get in the way or not."

The leader of the Seven Swords raised an open hand in conciliation. "Let no hasty words trap us into positions we will regret. Sulak! You are a loyal son of Androval, even as I. What say you?"

"Hagen, I have a thought," the Champion said. "We are both seven warriors. Why contend against each other when we share a common enemy? To quarrel is to do our cause an injustice. I say, let us pair up. One Tel Shai knight with one of the Seven Swords, invading that castle by twos. Let us work together for the greater good."

"You always bring good counsel," replied Hagen. "Dire Wolf, that would be an arrangement we both could honor, yes?"

For one long, unbearably tense moment Bane did not reply. "All right," he agreed at last. "It makes sense. We can figure out how to handle the helmets after we claim them."

"Both our Races share a wise saying," said Hagen. 'Before you begin to cook rabbit stew..'"

"'First catch the rabbit!'" finished the Dire Wolf with relief in his voice. "Let's do it. I guess random teams are as good an arrangement as any. Everyone, introduce yourselves to your opposite standing across of you right now. Our mystic Tang Ming here will perceive the best routes to sneak into the castle without being detected."

Hagen grunted in agreement. "As will my own Seeking Blade. It leads me to whatever I search for. Very well, Dire Wolf. Let justice be served."

In the moonlight, a thin wry smile could be glimpsed on Bane's face. "The Nine Beast Helmets will be sorry that our two teams met!"


the rest of the story )
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THE NINE BEAST HELMETS III - Beasts of the West

I. Black Angel and Returning Blade vs Eagle

Spreading his artificial wings, Black Angel glided up to stand on top of the main wall around the fortress. He turned, knelt down and grasped Magulu's upstretched hands to give an assist. When the armored warrior was ready, they both leaped down into the courtyard, breaking the fall with bent knees and fingertips touching the stone flags.

Magulu of the Seven Swords was encased in a long tunic of tough boiled leather covered with metal rings, his arms and legs left bare and his long sword sheathed at his left hip. In contrast, Stephen Weaver was a striking sight. His tight black flightsuit was contrasted with a red stripe running down the outside of each arm and leg, his own helmet was modern combat model with goggles and a respiratory mask.

Most dramatic were the two wings which stretched from head to heel, had a seven foot spread when fully open and were constructed of taut nylon over aluminum tubing. This made them look more batlike than avian. Weaver's levitation made him perfectly capable of flight by himself, but the wings added stability and tight maneuvering.

"How long has this joint been abandoned?" he asked in a voice made hollow by the speaker in his helmet.

"More than a generation," came the reply. "Melgarin still tend extensive farmland and pastures to the West, but most of Evaho has been reclaimed by the Cojobes."

"An experiment in colonialism that didn't work out," Black Angel grumbled. "Seems to be the way that empire building ends up."

The courtyard had piles of fallen leaves that wind had pushed up against the walls, great cracks ran across the masonry from exposure to the elements. In the center of the open space stood a fountain which had long since run dry, marked by a life-size marble statue of a rearing horse.

The fortress itself was a simple three-sided structure, rising up ten stories high in the freezing night air. Each wing was topped with a cylindrical guard tower, but not a single light showed in any of the narrow window slits. "If I stumbled over this without knowing better, I'd figure this place is empty," Weaver said.

"Three wings of a castle, three ranks of the Helmets," Magulu responded. "Beasts of the East, Beasts of the West, Beasts of the South. We do not know which we will face."

"Might as well get this party started," the Black Angel said. He walked boldly up to the massive front door made of oak planks braced with horizontal iron bands and found it was ajar. "Oh man. Well, not the first trap I stuck my fool head into." As his gloved hand pulled the door open, from the roof of that wing a red firebolt shot upward to explode in a thunderous burst of light. Both the echoes and the flare hung in the air.

"We know no one in this stronghold is still asleep," Magulu remarked as he followed Weaver into the building. That drew a snort from the Black Angel. They entered an open chamber with a ceiling so high that the staircases on either side rose to a second floor showing open doorways. Torches flickered in wall brackets, revealing not a bit of furniture or furnishings. This entrance hall had been stripped down to bare stone floor and walls. Dust covered every surface, and the lack of footprints made Weaver lower his guard a bit too much.

For the occupant of that room did not need to walk across the floor.

A sharp twang sounded overhead and a thick arrow thumped against the Black Angel's chest, bouncing back off without doing any damage. Under the tough material of his flightsuit was a layer of the flexible Trom armor. It would take more than even a skillfully shot arrow to make Weaver even feel an impact.

High up near the vaulted ceiling hovered a muscular figure in coarse robes belted at the waist. He had a cylindrical quiver across his back and was fitting another arrow to the string of his short recurved bow. The iron helmet he wore was fashioned in the semblance of a fierce Eagle head. This was one of the three Beasts of the West.

With a crack, Weaver extended his wings their full spread and hurtled upward. The Eagle had placed himself in a strike position and loosed an arrow that pierced the tough fabric of Weaver's artificial wings, pinning them together like a needle sewing two pieces of cloth shut. Black Angel lurched as his balance was thrown off. He hovered uncertainly. The Eagle came in fast in a predatory dive and kicked Weaver squarely in the head, his boots smacking against the rigid flight helmet with gusto. Unsteady to begin with, Black Angel spiralled in a rough circle to the floor.

The Eagle Helmet wearer laughed heartily, notching another arrow to his short bow. He swung around to look back at the Seven Swords fighter and received an agonizing surprise. The Returning Blade had spun end over end to sink its point deeply into the Eagle's right thigh, touching the femur. The Beast Helmet man screamed at the unexpected pain, dropped his bow and grabbed the sword with both hands.

Standing thirty feet below, Magulu of Danarak held out his open hand and summoned the weapon to him. This was the special property of the Returning Blade, infused in the sword ages ago. Slowly, despite his enraged resistance, the Eagle Helmet man was tugged downward by the blade embedded in his leg. Fighting the pull only made the wound worse. He shouted both from pain and anger, reached to his belt and drew a long narrow-bladed knife, thinking how it was just the thing to slide through the Seven Sword's face.

Stephen Weaver twisted the round buckle on his chest and let his wings fall to the floor. He did not want to waste time trying to free his wings and then fastening them back on to their harness. Even without their help, he was still the most gifted levitator in the Midnight War. He took three running steps and launched himself upward from the floor exactly as if he had used a springboard. Accelerating as he rose, Black Angel swung his body around and drove both feet deep into the Eagle Helmet's stomach. That doubled the already distressed man up, making him lose the last vestige of concentration.

Without his conscious mind controlling the helmet's gift, the cult member dropped straight down and landed poorly. The thump of impact had a grim finality to it. Even with the Eagle dying, the Returning Blade still dragged his body across the floor as it strove to go to its master's hand.

This fight at least was over. Weaver alit, picked up his wings and began disentangling the arrow from the nylon. "Drat darn heck," he said mildly.

Magulu had tugged his weapon free from the Eagle's corpse and cleaned it before returning the sword to his scabbard. He had the face of a typical Danarakan... very dark-skinned, strong-jawed, with the distinctive hooked nostrils that had always been prevalent in that realm.

"Seeing this man dead gives me great satisfaction," Magulu told his new colleague. "Danarak has suffered much from the Nine Beast Helmets. They have pillaged and looted, they have slaughtered entire villages, except for young girls that they sell as slaves to the Darthim and Nekrosim."

Holding his folded wings under one arm, Stephen Weaver said, "I just realized there's something you don't know about me." He unclasped his own modern helmet with one hand and pulled it up off his head. Weaver was an American black man, lighter in tone than Magulu, with a thick mustache and friendly expression. He grinned now as he saw the Seven Swords' reaction.

"Ah. I see we have more in common than I thought," Magulu said.

"Always glad to help a brother out," Weaver responded.

the rest of the story )

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