"The Jackal-Headed Servants of Menekartes"
"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Bane turned, his grey eyes withdrawn and introspective.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.
II.
Within the hour, all four Tel Shai knights were assembled and ready in the conference room of the KDF headquarters on 38th Street. Both Bane and Jessica had changed into the black field suits with heavy boots, pants and waist-length jacket that held a dozen tiny gadgets and weapons in hidden pouches. Most of these were left behind, because they knew modern science did not work in Khebir. Like many of the adjacent realms, not even a flashlight would function there.
Sulak wore the arena uniform of his native Androval. Bright blue pants and long-sleeved tunic, held at the waist with a sash, with white leather gloves and boots, the arena suit fit snugly and showed his impressive build. On a mantle across his shoulders, a single red bar marked his rank as champion. By the rules of his profession, he was not allowed to use weapons but could rely only on his own strength and skill. "Do you need some help there, Steve?"
The Black Angel uniform had been designed by the USAF as part of the project which only Weaver had even taken part in. Two other men had been found with rudimentary levitation powers, with one only able to reduce his weight to a few ounces. Stephen Weaver was the only true levitaph known capable of actual flight. His outfit resembled a tight black SCUBA suit with red trim down the arms and legs, and a black fibreglass helmet with a feed to the oxygen tank on his back. Folded as they were now, the aluminum tubing and silk-covered wings still reached from head to calves; extended, they had a six foot span.
Just finishing up with adjusting the folded wings to their harness built into his uniform, Weaver said, "I'm good, Sulak, thanks anyway." He reluctantly unsnapped the holster from his web belt which carried a 45 automatic and put it up in a cabinet. "Looks like I'll only be armed with my survival knife this trip."
Bane handed out standard canteens to each of his teammates and also insisted they each drink two tumblers of water before leaving. "We might as well be well hydrated when we start," he announced. Seeing that everyone was ready, he opened a locked wooden panel set at face level on one wall. Within it in a silver mount was a pale blue gem the size an open hand.
"We'll use a twenty-four hour charge," Bane said, placing his fingertips on the Eldar travel stone. "After that, give or take a few hours, the gralic force in our bodies will dissipate and we'll automatically return to this world where we belong. Everyone stand close together, shoulders touching. Hang on, this takes concentration."
To the four Tel Shai knights, it seemed that clear blue light flared up all around them and when it faded, the conference room had been replaced by hot yellow sand underfoot and a hot blue sky overhead without a single cloud. Bane sagged and caught himself, saying, "Damn, that doesn't get any easier. Next time, let's have two people touch the stone."
"Khebir..." said Sulak, turning to take in his surroundings. Far to the north was a blue line of distant mountains. "Once this was a lively realm, filled with villagers and tradesmen and scholars. But for ages has it been deserted."
"And yet Larry returned here for some reason," Bane put in. "We have to make things happen fast. Steve! How about getting a view with some altitude?"
"Sure thing, captain." The artifical wings snapped open with a crack and the Black Angel shot smoothly straight up. Weaver was among the most gifted levitators ever known. Although his flight appeared effortless, it required intense concentration and was mentally fatiguing, as well as physically tired because he used posture and body movement to help steer. The Black Angel leveled off at a thousand feet, touched the earpiece on his helmet to report and then remembered their communications wouldn't work here. Swinging around in a loop, he swooped down and brought his legs down under him at the last second to land as lightly as if stepping off a curb.
"Lots of surprises, Jeremy!" he blurted out as he yanked his helmet off. "There's an army camped out about ten miles away, on the other side of those hills. I reckon six hundred, seven hundred men with tents set up and horses in pens."
"That's a surprise," Sulak snorted. "So much for the deserted realm where only lizards and insects dwell."
"Wait, there's more! Beyond that, at the mouth of a river, it looks like a city is being built! Cultivated fields and a village or two. But not only that, large scale construction in stone going on!" Weaver was expressing himself with his hands in his excitement.
Gazing into the distance, Jeremy Bane scowled. "I guess Menekartes has stayed here and been busy these past ten years. Maybe that's what Larry was investigating." He turned to his teammates. "My plan would be to bypass that army. Leave large groups of armed men alone if you can. Instead, we circle around them and get a look at the farms. Maybe question a villager we can get alone."
"Sounds solid to me," Weaver said. "We might as well start trucking. Man, feel that sun."
Jessica Frost spoke so seldom that her teammates tended to give a start when she did say something. "I can keep us comfortable if that's what you wish."
They all agreed it was a fine idea. Jessica marched along with her three friends, surrounding them with an area in which the temperature stood at seventy Fahrenheit instead of the ninety-eight it was all around them. She did not generate cold. As the Teachers of Tel Shai understood it, Jessica Frost used gralic force to siphon heat away from any spot she concentrated on. At this moment, her teammates were exceptionally grateful for her gift. They made much better time trudging through the sand and dry dirt inside the invisible bubble of cool dry air than they would have otherwise.
They did give the army a wide miss. Every now and then, Weaver rose a hundred feet or so overhead to keep an eye on the camp and make sure they were still well out of sight. In late afternoon, as the sun seemed red and enormous on the horizon, they passed through areas where sparse grass became more common and eventually there were shrubs and even a few trees which resembled palms. A dried creek bed to their left still had some moisture in its basin, indicating it had rained recently. Khebir was not the utter wasteland that legend had it as being.
Flying up for one of his periodic surveys of the terrain, Weaver lit back down quickly. "I'll be darned," he said. "There's a brick well up ahead, covered by a wooden roof. A girl is standing by it and she's being confronted by maybe six or seven men with spears."
"Soldiers?" Bane asked, "Bandits?"
"Definitely a military unit. They all had the same type of short stabbing spear and they're wearing white cotton tunics and sandals. Square shields on the left arm. And they were wearing full-head masks of some sort, I couldn't quite make them out."
"Masks? In this heat?" Sulak said disbelievingly. "Their discipline must be strict."
"Let's take a look." Bane began moving briskly forward with his teammates behind him. There was no cover to use, only ankle-high dry grass and a tiny shrub every few yards, so they just proceeded boldly. As they came over a slight rise, they could see what Black Angel had reported. Standing by a covered well, a girl was being harassed by a half dozen armed men.
The woman wore a sleeveless robe of thin white cotton which reached her ankles, tied at the waist with a cord. Her thick black hair was cut short across her shoulders and she wore a wide-brimmed white hat that protected her face from the sun. Across her shoulders was stretched a pole, on which end was suspended a bucket full of water.
Closely surrounding the young girl were a half dozen big men in cotton tunics which ended just above the knee. Each held a short spear with a wide barbed blade at the end, each held a rectangular wooden shield braced with iron strips on the left arm. One seemed to be their leader, as he wore a red cloth mantle wrapped around his shoulders and had a long knife with a curved blade tied to his waist sash.
Strangely, each of the men seemed to be wearing a stiff mask of reddish-brown material shaped like a dog head with a muzzle and upstanding pointed ears.
"A jackal cult of some kind?" wondered Weaver as they drew closer. Even though the KDF members were in plain view in the short grass, they had not been noticed. The masked soldiers were preoccupied with the woman, who was meekly answering their shouted questions. The leader shifted his spear to his shield hand and, without preamble, backhanded the woman so sharply across the face that she turned halfway around and fell to the dust.
Weaver's batlike wings opened wide and he shot forward at head height, zooming parallel to the ground. At more than a hundred miles per hour, the Black Angel swooped down to seize two of the masked soldiers by the arms and lift them up off the dirt. Spinning in a tight circle, Weaver let go and sent the two men tumbling twenty feet away to land with awkward thumps. Neither rose.
Reacting quickly, the leader of the soldiers drew back his arm and flung his javelin up at the weird flying intruder. Weaver saw the action coming and was swerving aside even as the spear was thrown. It missed him completely. Black Angel rose up higher, preparing to dive down at the men but by then Bane had reached the group. Racing up in a dark blur, the Dire Wolf dove into the middle of the soldiers and dropped three of them instantly with sharp hooking blows that broke jaws and snapped necks. Only the leader was left standing. To give him credit, he kept his head and drew his sole remaining weapon, the curve-bladed knife at his waist, but he had no chance at surviving the encounter. There was a crisp cracking noise and suddenly Bane was drawing his leg back from a high side kick so fast that no one there had been able to follow it.
By then, the others had come running up and Weaver had landed. Bane glanced around at the dead men and announced, "I guess we've chosen sides."
Sulak smiled at the disoriented Khebiran and held out an open hand reassuringly to help her up. She seemed too stunned by the sudden burst of violence and the strange nature of these intruders to be able to react. She just stared in near panic.
"You are safe now," the big Melgar told her with a broad smile. "These men cannot harm you now." He held onto her hand and she did not seem to mind as she began to calm down.
Kneeling over one of the dead soldiers, Jeremy Bane turned the head from side to side, opened and closed the fanged jaw, and then stood up. "Here's something interesting," he said quietly. "These men are not wearing masks."
III.
For the next few minutes, everyone crowded around the grotesque corpses. The heads were indeed those of genuine jackals, sewn deftly onto the necks of decapitated men. The KDF members straightened and regarded each other with some alarm.
"This is Darthan magick, vile indeed," Sulak said. He blocked his massive fists and glared about the surrounding low hills for signs of any more animal-headed warriors. "Menekartes lives, I have no doubt of it."
"Talk about gross," added Stephen Weaver. "Jeremy, why would anyone do such a thing? What's the point?"
"I'm no expert on sorcery, but from what I know, this would bind the victims to the warlock who made them this way. These were zombies, in a way. But they weren't feral. They were completely enslaved by their master." Bane turned toward the shepherd girl, who they could see was very young, no more than a teenager. She had the wavy black hair and light brown skin of a typical Khebiran.
"We do not mean you any harm," he said in Prilyrdyn, the primal form of language infused in every conscious mind by Jordyn. "Our business here is with Menekartes."
"Who are you? That man has wings like a bat, and you.. you struck down four of the Jackal-Headed Men as if they were mere scarecrows tied to poles. Are you demons?"
"Who, us?" said Bane. "No. We are just Humans like yourself but we have been given special talents. Can you direct us to where we can find the sorcerer we seek?"
"Our Master? Why, he would be in his palace at Mekh-Kayu for all I know. What have I to do with matters such as that?" she asked in alarm. "I have never even seen the great city."
She was backing away as if preparing to flee. Bane said, "You won't be harmed now. Tell me your name."
"Just Zanarza, daughter of a shepherd. I must leave! If the King's men find me near these dead ones, the torture room will be my final home. I must go..!"
Bane reached over and took her by one arm. His grip didn't seen tight but she found she couldn't break loose. "Wait a few minutes. We just saved your life and you owe us a few answers at least. My friends and I will remove these bodies and conceal them so they will not be found."
II.
Once she accepted that these strangers did not seem about to harm her, Zanarza calmed down and walked with them down the dirt path that led to the only paved road in Khebir.. the road to the new city of Mekh-Kayu by the river. Despite what was commonly believed in other realms, Khebir had never been completely deserted. There had always been scattered villages wherever there was water from natural springs or creeks coming down from the mountains. It had been Menekartes who had brought hundreds of laborers here from the real world, who had forcibly relocated all the villagers to tend new fields and to herd sheep and goats so that the laborers could be fed.
Menekartes was seldom seen in person, but his presence was everywhere. The Jackal-Headed Men who served as his soldiers were only the latest abomination of his doing. Before that, he enforced his will by the huge reanimated mummy Nebeht, and then there had been the blasphemous ceremonies and rituals intended to placate the dark lord Draldros. Human sacrifice, even that of infants, were frequent.
They were starting to pass scattered farm houses of dried brick with thatched roofs, and then they saw a flock of sheep on a nearby hill. Zanarza became agitated again and repeated that she did not dare be seen with strangers. Intruders were strictly forbidden to enter Khebir. She told the four KDF members that the road to the city was only a short distance away, then spun and ran off across a field that had been cleared but not cultivated yet.
Sulak stood with folded arms, head down. "Menekartes has built quite a private kingdom for himself here, eh?"
"Something odd about that girl," Bane said. "Look. She turned and ran off in the same direction we're going. Why would she do that?"
"Should I follow her from the air?" Weaver asked. "I can keep the sun to my back, she won't see me."
"No. We'll keep going. I have a feeling we'll be met along the way."
The four Tel Shai knights walked along, comfortable in the halo of cool air which Jessica created around them. In the distance, they could see large tents with white roofs striped with thin black patterns. More of the Jackal-Headed Men could be discerned moving about. Three chariots pulled by black horses were thundering their way at full gallop.
Bane gestured for his team to halt. "We might as well get this over. Stand by for a fight."
As the chariots approached, they slowed. Each had a Khebiran who held the reins of the black horses and two of the chariots carried a pair of the Jackal-Headed soldiers. In the lead chariot, marked by an arcane symbol embossed on its front, stood a Khebiran who wore a long dark robe with loose sleeves and whose head was shielded from the sun by a white cloth draped over it. He seemed well into middle-age, with a hawklike nose and deepset eyes with heavy bags under them.
Coming to a halt almost within reach, the Khebiran said, "Know that you stand before Baken-Shepya, Priest and Oracle. I speak for our Master, Menekartes himself. Name yourselves! Explain your presence on the sacred soil of our land."
Bane placed his fists on his hips and answered, "We are knights of the Order of Tel Shai. We go where justice sends us. Baken-Shepya, we intend to have words with your so-called Master."
The priest nodded solemnly. "So be it. When dealing with the one who rules Khebir, you may wish I had slain you here and now. At least it would be a clean and painless death." He raised his hand, weilding what had been concealed in his loose sleeve.. a short rod of copper-colored gremthom metal, capped with a green gem. Recognizing a Darthan blasting wand, the KDF members moved to scatter but even their quick reaction was not enough to escape the wave of dark red force that erupted from the wand to slam into them with a peal of thunder.
III.
Bane groggily struggled up to awareness. His head ached viciously, especially where his forehead stung as if it had been burned. He was lying face down on a hard flat surface. What had happened? Where was he and where were his teammates? With a surge of effort, he opened his eyes, placed his hands under him and forced himself up to his knees. The last he remembered, they had confronted some big guy in a chariot drawn by black horses...
First, he saw his friends stretched out in a row alongside him. They did not seem to have been harmed and were also fighting to regain consciousness. Sulak, Steve and Jessica, still fully dressed and coming back to awareness as he had. That was a huge relief. Then he took in his surroundings with a jolt.
The throne room was immense, its domed ceiling easily fifty feet overhead, the walls supported by thick pillars carved to resemble coiled serpents. All the surfaces were a gleaming white, contrasting with black tapestries decorated with figures of bizarre creatures. Spaced at intervals were wrought iron braziers blazing away and giving off pungent fumes. Surrounding himself and his teammates were a dozen of the Jackal-Headed Men with their spears in hand, watching him with barely repressed eagerness to stab. As Sulak grumbled to himself and sat up, Bane said quietly, "Take it easy. We're in an interesting spot."
"Do not speak until you are given permission," hissed a low mellow voice from ahead of them. Bane got up on one knee and forced himself to stand, facing a backless throne of carved ebony adorned with gold foil, its armrests topped with fierce demonic faces. Seated on that throne, stiff and unmoving, was a thin figure in a black caftan. His unmoving face glared at Bane, those sharp eyes seemingly the only living features. If not for those eyes, it would have seemed as if a dried corpse had been propped up on that throne.
By now, Bane felt back to normal. He was used to healing quickly from any injury, this was a benefit of the tagra diet. Turning his head, he saw Sulak had also gotten to his feet and that both Jessica and Steve were doing the same. They stared around themselves and then gave him a quizzical look. Before he could say anything, the figure on the throne spoke again.
"Know, oh prisoners, that you are in the presence of Menekartes the Benevolent, Lord of Khebir, Master of the Sons of the Night, High Priest of the Great Old Ones. Your lives rest in the hollow of my hand." The figure on the throne thrust his head forward and his eyes moved over the KDF members. Menekartes' angular face was a mass of fine wrinkles, with no skin exposed that looked smooth and healthy. A sharp beaked nose and firm jaw gave strength to a face that otherwise would have seemed hopelessly fragile. A cowl of white linen covered the top of the Mummy's head and hung down on either side, bound in place by a gold circlet at the temples.
"I don't care for the way you treat your guests..." began Sulak, but he stopped as the guards jabbed their spears to just prick the skin of each prisoner's neck.
"There is no need to introduce yourselves," Menekartes continued. "I know of Tel Shai. You, the leader, are the Dire Wolf, and the big one is the Champion of Androval. The one with crafted wings is called Black Angel, and the pale woman is said to bring ice and cold where she goes. So you see, I know more of you than you do of me."
"So you have spies in the real world," Bane retorted. "Menekartes, this isn't a social visit. Whatever curse you have laid upon our friend, we demand you lift it now."
"You are in a position unsuitable for demands," the withered figure announced. "Look upon each other. What mark do you see?"
With a jolt of horror, the four Tel Shai knights saw that each had a strange symbol seemingly branded onto their foreheads. A round impression with a four-pointed star in its center, the mark was on each of them. Bane involuntarily reached up to touch his own forhead and found the flesh was still sore and tender.
"The Brand of Submission..." he growled and then launched himself right at the figure on the throne, drawing a silver-bladed dagger from one sleeve. In that bare split-second before he would have struck, he was halted as Menekartes said simply, "Stop." The Dire Wolf stumbled and fell heavily to one side with his forward momentum turned away.
"Make no moves against me, any of you," Menekartes said. He raised a shriveled claw which clutched a slim rod of copper-colored metal. Set at the end of that rod was a round disc with the star-emblem which was impressed on their skin. "Darthan magicks from the Corruption itself. Yes, I was there at the Fall of Ulgor, I was there when the Sulla Chun themselves whispered forbidden secrets that flesh and blood were not meant to know."
Bane managed to look over at his partners. They were all standing quietly, arms lowered at their sides, but each had furious rage in their faces. He found he could not move. It was not a question of determination. All his will power had no effect, his arms and legs simply did not respond. He felt like a sleepwalker. The Dire Wolf had never been in this condition before and he could not overcome it.
"Hear me, my new slaves," said Menekartes. "These are my words. Your comrade who wore the Silver Skull helmet is doomed. Forget him. Your only concern now is the duty I will ask of you. My adopted son, my presumed heir, Abar-Adayhu, has betrayed his trust. Even now, he gathers rebellious peasants and farmers into a ragtag band of followers in the mountains. Work on my monuments has been slowed. Even the Temple dedicated to the Sulla Chun is not near completion and the stars are moving into aligment for the ceremony."
Finding he could speak, the Dire Wolf snapped, "Never! You can't hold us! I swear we will bring your empire down, Menekartes...!"
The ancient sorcerer smiled so faintly that it was barely discernible. "Others have thought to defy me before. Kneel. All four of you, kneel before your new master."
As if they were watching strangers from a distance, the four KDF members saw themselves lower to one knee. And, silently, each of them swore they would see Menekartes destroyed until nothing remained of the ancient warlock, whatever it took.
One withered hand was raised and a small, entirely human boy wearing only a loincloth and sandals stepped out from behind a tapestry. He bowed low from the waist. "What does my Lord wish?"
"Bear these messages, Mekh. Tell the Chamberlain to prepare a feast for this very night. Our finest wine, our choicest meats. All members of the court must attend. I have good tidings, for here fate has delivered four potent weapons into my keeping... living weapons that the accursed Abar-Adahyu cannot defy. Go now."
Menekartes rose, stiffly but without great effort, to his feet. "I go now to be prepared for the feast. You four will be taken to separate chambers until called for. I order you, by this Brand of Submission, to make no effort at escape nor to offer any harm to my servants. So let it be done."
IV.
As night fell suddenly over the desert and the stars brightened in a sky that had never known industrial smokestacks, one hundred and ten members of the royal court took their seats at four long tables arranged in a circle with open spaces between them for servants to pass through. The great chamber was filled with excited conversation about its comfort. On Menekartes' command, Jessica Frost had lowered the temperature in the dining hall to a moderate level and the guests were delighted at the relief from the constant oppressive heat of Khebir.
The Jackal-Headed Men paced outside, visible as they passed the open doorways but the servants bringing the meal were normal Humans. Set back from the guests was a shorter table on a raised podium, and it was here that Menekartes sat on a chair higher than any other. To his left were seated Jeremy Bane and Sulak, to his right were Stephen Weaver and Jessica Frost. He had told them to eat as they wished and this was one order they did not want to resist. The food offered was mostly lamb and goat, with steamed vegetables and hard black bread. As was the Khebir custom to avoid drunkeness, the wine had been watered down.
Menekartes had already given a long self-congratulatory speech, introduced his new slaves from the world beyond, and had predicted a quick victory over the rebels. The royalty at the tables had offered flowery toasts and hopes for a long reign by their Lord, then the nobles had dug into the feast with a vengeance.
There was neither plate nor goblet set in front of Menekartes. The Lord of Khebir had returned all toasts and offerings with only a dignified inclination of his head or a politely raised hand. Watching the KDF members eating, he folded his clawlike hands in front of him.
"It is our custom for the host to entertain his guests," the sorcerer announced abruptly. When he spoke, his mouth barely moved and his face showed no emotion. "For Tel Shai knights, I feel jugglers and dancing girls would be inadequate. Instead, I will relate a tale which no living soul knows... my story, how I came to be as I am."
"I'd rather watch dancing girls," Weaver scoffed. They had not been forbidden to speak, only forbidden to make any aggressive moves. The Black Angel's spirit had obviously not be broken by his servitude.
Menekartes took no notice. "It was an Age your archaelogists do not suspect ever existed. All traces of it have been erased by Jordyn Himself, the Spirit who guides this world, and the very continents and seas were reshaped by Him when the Darthan Age ended. Know then that the Midnight War began more than thirty thousand years ago on the island of Ulgor. Thirteen of the dread Sulla Chun descended and took visible form to impart forbidden knowledge to mortal beings.
"Tollinor Kje of the Darthim was there. So was Wakimbe, who became the Black Lion, as was Sinjir, who became known as Wu Lung. Karina in her original body was there, so was Malberon of Androval. Many of those who stood on Ulgor did not benefit from the wisdom given because it was too much for their minds to bear. Many were broken in mind and body after being in the presence of the Sulla Chun."
Menekartes paused and saw all four of his prisoners were listening intently. His sardonic smile flickered on that sunken parchment-skinned face. "I see you are not bored? Good. I was there, yes I attended the Corruption on Ulgor those millenia ago. I was Prince Yakub-Anu of Khebir and I studied secrets that smote my brain like thunderbolts but I survived. And I fled, with a few others who were prudent, before Jordyn intervened. The Regent of the world drove the Sulla Chun away, imprisoning them not in the earth but in the spaces between what makes the earth. He threw Ulgor itself to the bottom of the ocean, drowning all who had remained. It was not anger that drove these actions but concern.
"That was when Jordyn and his two fellow Halarin created the adjacent realms for the different Races and Cousins to inhabit. These realms were much like the lands where the various peoples had inhabited, but separated now by gralic barriers. Maroch was given to the Darthim, Elvedal to the Eldarin, Perjena to the Nekrosim. And this realm we now sit within, Khebir, was crafted to be much like the original Khebir that had been lost when the world was refashioned."
Bane had finished his plate and he pushed it away from him impatiently. "It's a great backstory, Menekartes, but let's get to what brought us here! We intend to break the spell that is killing out friend back in New York-"
"Be silent," Menekartes ordered and, despite his rage, the Dire Wolf could not speak further. "Out of courtesy, allow me to continue," said the warlock, "and finish my tale. I ruled Khebir as men need to be ruled.. with an iron fist. No one could defy my sorcery. And yet, as generations of my subjects died and were replaced, I began to age myself. Weakness and weariness crept upon my body.
"But I had mastered the same art which was learned by Wu Lung and your own Karina. I cast my spirit forward to inhabit a body of a descendant in a later time. So it went, century following century, as I moved through one empire after another behind the scenes..."
As Menekartes paused, Stephen Weaver could not resist a wisecrack. His insolence was such a part of him that no fear could repress it for long. "From the way you look, my man, you are past due for a new incarnation."
The sorcerer did not react with anger, as everyone expected. "In 1921, my spirit came to this, my ancestral realm, wounded and seeking refuge. Something happened I think you will find ironic and perhaps amusing. As if drawn naturally to its rightful host, my spirit incarnated within a long-dead form preserved both by forbidden magick and by the dry sands of the desert where rain never falls. I awoke within my original body!"
"Oh my God!" snapped Bane, "You're inside your own Mummy!" Even as he spoke, the Dire Wolf realized he had broken the command to be silent. Was the power of the Brand of Submission weakening? He didn't see any sign that Menekartes had noticed.
"So it is. The ways of fate take strange turns, do they not?" The ancient warlock gazed down at his gnarled hands. "In this Undead body, I do not breathe or sleep, I need no food nor drink. Yet my powers are at their greatest. It is a fortunate stroke of destiny for me." Suddenly his tone changed. "But now I should hear pleas from the royal court. There are always disputes for me to settle. Knights of Tel Shai, I command you to rise now and a Jackal-Headed Man will escort you to separate chambers. Your gifts will be put to good use. Flight, great strength, the power to freeze any object, unmatched fighting skill... with you as my lieutenants, I will crush the upstart rebels tomorrow. Go now. Wait for my summons with the dawn."
Reluctantly, resisting but compelled to obey, the KDF members pushed back the padded stools on which they had been seated. One of them had a Jackal-Headed warrior take charge and lead them away. Left alone at the table, Menekartes gestured for the first of the waiting nobles to approach and make his case.
V.
Left in a cell that was better than many dungeons he had survived, Bane paced furiously. The stone walls were of blocks so closely fitted together than a needle could not be placed between them. Clean straw was piled in one corner, a brass chamberpot in another corner. A pitcher of water had been left by the door. High up on the wall was an opening for ventilation barely big enough for his arm to fit through, and the window set in the massive wooden door was no bigger.
Troubling the Dire Wolf even more than the difficulty in escaping the cell was the awareness of the hours rushing by. Back in that hospital ward in the world, Larry Taper lay dying. Bane's team now had about twelve hours before they would be automatically returned home, whether or not they had broken the curse on Taper. Far from being in charge of the situation and ready to head back successfully, they were ensorcelled slaves of the undead Mummy of Menekartes. Tomorrow they would be sent out to fight Menekartes' battle for him and Taper would be left to die while Ted Wright wondered what had gone wrong. It seemed hopeless.
And yet...
At the feast, Menekartes had commanded Bane to be silent. A moment later, though, Bane had spoken anyway. When they had been ordered to rise and go with the Jackal-Headed Men, Bane had the distinct sensation he could have resisted and perhaps broken free. He probed at his forehead. The emblem made by the Brand of Submission no longer felt tender and it definitely seemed to be not as deeply indented into his skin.
He was healing. It was the tagra tea he drank, from the plant found only at Tel Shai. Bane recovered from everything from beatings to poison to gunshot wounds much faster than a normal Human. It was neither instantaneous nor guaranteed, since Tel Shai knights did die of violence as a rule. But if something wasn't immediately fatal, the odds were good a knight like Bane would quickly bounce back.
The Dire Wolf felt a surge of hope that he tried not to let carry him away. Steve had started on the tagra diet only a year later than he himself had. So he might be breaking free as well. Both Sulak and Jessica Frost had only joined Tel Shai recently and were just beginning to see results from the tagra and from the Kumundu training. But then they each had unusual nonhuman metabolisms that could affect how long the Brand of Submission dominated them. This might not be as hopeless as it seemed.
Kicking off his heavy boots and shrugging out of the field suit jacket, Bane stepped to the center of the cell. Feet together, fists at his sides, he bowed respectfully to Teacher Chael so far away. He began the DohRa form that had been devised specifically for him. It started as a series of stances and poses that gradually merged into kicks and blows and evasions. Soon, he was whirling, leaping and striking at imaginary enemies with such crisp movements that the air snapped in his wake. Eventually, the punches and throws slowed down again into more difficult stances and stopped as he was back in the beginning pose.
Bane was breathing only slightly faster than usually, his heartbeat had barely moved past its normal rate, and he was covered with a thin layer of sweat. But he felt free. The dominance of the Brand of Submission had been broken, he could tell. Taking the pitcher, he sipped sparingly and used some water to wipe his face and hands of sweat. For the first time since waking in Menekartes' palace, his grey eyes had their normal sharp gleam to them.
Going over to stretch out on the straw in the corner, he tried to think of a way to contact his teammates. He had seen Steve and Sulak placed in cells with an empty chamber between them, and his own cell also had empty rooms on either side. Tapping messages in code on the walls was out of the question. Bribing these Jackal-Headed guards, who were zombies after all, was also not going to happen. Bane lay full length with his jacket rolled up under his head and spent the night devising and discarding one plan after another.
VI.
With the first red streaks of light through the window, three of the Jackal-Headed Men unlocked the door to Bane's cell. Two had their short spears leveled at him while the third took the chamberpot to be emptied and then returned with a large wooden bowl of hot oats and rye mushed in what tasted like goat milk.
"I suppose it's too much to hope you washed your hands between the two chores," Bane said. The undead creatures gave no sign they could even hear, much less understand. Keeping a suspicious watch on him, they backed out and he heard the heavy bar slide shut on the other side to keep the door secure. Always ravenous because of his hyper metabolism, Bane put fastidiousness aside and finished the gruel, then drank some of the lukewarm water from the pitcher. He had survived on worse fare many times.
Tugging his boots back on and getting into his field jacket, he surreptitiously adjusted the hilts of the silver bladed daggers under his sleeves. To his surprise, he had not been given even a cursory search and neither had his teammates. Evidently, Menekartes had complete confidence in the effectiveness of the Brand of Submission to keep prisoners under control.
A short while later, more of the weird guards returned to usher him out of the cell with preemptory gestures. He wondered how much intelligence these things could possibly have. Those were the actual heads of dead jackals sewn onto the necks of dead men and then given a semblance of life by necromancy. They seemed able to follow simple orders and carry out basic duties, but Bane doubted how effective they would be in actual battle where quick reactions and adapting to changing situations was required. On the other hand, they would feel neither pain nor fear and would keep fighting even when hacked almost to pieces. Normal flesh and blood men might understandably be unnerved fighting such monsters.
Marching quickly, the beast-headed creatures brought Bane to a a sort of loading platform with wide steps leading down to an open courtyard. Two heavy marble benches sat facing that courtyard, and on them his teammates were sitting. As Bane met their smiles, he could tell by their sly expressions that they were breaking free of control as well. The symbol that the Brand had burned into their foreheads had faded considerably, but they were all prudent enough not to give anything away yet.
Lined up in rows in that courtyard were a thousand of the Jackal-Headed Men, standing at attention with spears at their sides pointing up. They held utterly still as the living could not do. Two fully Human soldiers seemed to be in command, striding up and down and inspecting their troops. These men carried whips, rolled up but ready for use.
As Bane took in this scene, a panel opened in the wall beside him. It was constructed well enough that he had not noticed it before, the seams appearing to be part of the tile design. Menekartes stepped through and the panel swung closed behind him to again be difficult to discern.
In one bony hand, the Mummy of the ancient sorcerer clutched the Brand of Submission like a sceptre. "The day of reckoning has come for my disloyal foster child," he said in his low unemotional tones. "These are your orders. Black Angel, as you are called, it is your task to fly to the south and report back to me how many rebels Abar-Adahyu has assembled, where they are, how they are armed. Report back here immediately. Jessica Frost, you will be driven out in a chariot with Sulak of Androval to confront the rebels. Use your powers to slay as many of them as you can. And you, the Dire Wolf. Your honor will be to lead my Jackal-Headed Army to intercept what rebels escape past your teammates."
Raising the Darthan talisman dramatically, Menekartes said, "Do you have any questions before you march to victory?"
"Yeah," Bane answered, "How about letting me have that thing?" Faster than any real wolf, he lunged forward to wrest the Brand of Submission away from Menekartes. The unexpected action sent the dried ruin of the sorcerer reeling back helplessly. Bane swung toward his friends and announced, "I've got the Brand now. If any of you are still under its influence, I hereby release you to be your normal independent selves!"
Then the Dire Wolf noticed that Menekartes' hand had broken off at the brittle wrist bones and was still clutching the talisman. Not a drop of blood showed. Bane tugged the lifeless hand loose and flung it away in disgust, then whirled around just as the Jackal-Headed Men behind him began to react. The Dire Wolf used the Brand of Submission like a Filipino escrima stick, smacking it hard to the side of the bestial heads with left-right blows that knocked the undead things down but could not harm then.
Stepping between Bane and the creatures, Sulak seized two Jackal-headed men by the tunic fronts and effortlessly lifted them overhead, one with each hand, to fling them far out into the massed army of their fellow creatures. All of this had taken place in barely a few seconds. The third he sent flying out over the courtyard with a backhanded slap.
"Jessica," said Bane, "It's up to you to keep those zombies away." He tucked the Brand of Submission into his belt and drew the silver daggers from their sheaths. In the courtyard below the platform where the four KDF members stood, the Jackal-Headed Men were slow to respond to the events. One of the Human commanders did react, though. He raised his arm and began to shout, "Slay them! Slay the in-" but that was as far as he got before he stopped motionless. Ice crystals had formed over his entire body. Off-balance as he died, the Khebir soldier toppled forward and his frozen body broke into pieces as it hit the paved surface beneath him.
Standing on the edge of the platform, Jessica Frost gazed out at the army of beast-headed creatures without any sign of apprehension. She did not have to gesture or speak to use her power. In the pale oval of her face, bright blue eyes stood out vividly. She narrowed those eyes in concentration and a wave of unseen force swept out to freeze the Jackal-Headed Men solid. Dozens of them in the front ranks stiffened and toppled over without trying to break their falls.
That was enough. Even the sluggish minds of the undead soldiers felt panic at this mysterious force dropping their fellows in front of them. Breaking ranks, they scattered at a run, some of them freezing and crashing to the ground as the effect reached them even as they fled. Watching the hundreds of creatures flee, Jessica showed no triumph and no regret. The event which had triggered her power over cold had also numbed her emotionally. She acted now only out of a sense of duty to help Bane, who had rescued her at that time.
Seeing the army rush off, the Dire Wolf had turned his attention to the section of wall through which Menekartes had escaped as he had first appeared. The panel was fitted so well that no trace of its edges could be found. Bane ran his fingers over the surface but was getting nowhere.
"Captain, if you will allow me," Sulak said, gently pressing a hand to Bane's shoulder to make him step aside. The big Melgar held up his open hands and slammed them against the section of the wall. Hidden hinges snapped and the panel crashed inward to reveal a narrow passageway. Bane immediately rushed into that opening and was gone from sight.
Sulak turned toward Weaver. "Stephen, we must not let Menekartes escape. He is our only hope to help Larry recover. If you keep watch--"
"Way ahead of you," the Black Angel answered as his wings snapped open to their full spread. "I'm going up where I can see the whole palace. If that Mummy tries to escape, I'll intercept him." Diving off the edge of the platform, Weaver soared up and was out of sight instantly.
Entering the narrow passageway, Sulak and Jessica hurried along but as the big Melgar stepped down on a certain tile, it clicked beneath his foot. A razor-sharp blade swung horizontally on a bar at neck level across the passage, stopping short as it struck the Melgar's skin. Sulak stepped back and touched his throat thoughtfully. He was not harmed but there was a notch now in the blade where it had struck him. "That's a pretty little trap," he said. "Perhaps I should go first."
"Agreed," Jessica said. "Jeremy must have caught the enemy by now."
"We'll see," Sulak replied as he began moving forward again. The passageway ahead twisted and was only lit by what light came from the opening behind them. As they proceeded a bit more carefully, both were worried about the possibility of Menekartes escaping and leaving them with no way to save Taper.
VII.
In an alcove off the throne room, Menekartes carefully lowered himself to his knees in front of an altar to Draldros. On the dark wooden stand before him was a statue only a foot high, a stone figure of an armored man with a bull-horned helmet and bearing a spiked mace in one hand. It was the representation of Draldros, one of the Halarim who brought war and misery to the world. On either side of the altar was a wrought iron brazier filled with burning oil that gave off a bitter odor and dim light.
Menekartes knelt before the altar and faced a small oil lamp with its wick already burning. Propped up against a wooden frame was a fragment of an ancient scroll, ragged at the edges and with worm holes here and there. This was one of the few surviving artifacts from the Fall of Ulgor, preserved with Prince Yakub's body and now being used by his own Mummy all these thousands of years later. On it, the Wasting Spell was written in hieroglyphs no living person could read.
Menekartes hardly noticed his missing hand. His dried body felt no pain and no pleasure. Gazing at the fragment of parchment, he read the Wasting Spell aloud to ensure it continued. First, the outsider named Taper must die. He had dared to come here and strike Menekartes down with a sword stroke that he thought would slay the sorcerer but which had only dazed him. Then, after Taper, these others would die. The four who had entered his realm and who had dared to rise against him.
In the language of ancient Khebir, long forgotten by the world and known to no other mind, Menekartes chanted the Wasting Spell. Behind him, he felt a sudden presence. The warlock barely turned his stiff neck enough to see the gaunt form of Jeremy Bane stride up behind him. "You are too late, Dire Wolf," Menekartes gloated. "With these final words, your friend perishes!"
"You won't be around to know about it," Bane said. He seized one of the braziers and swung it upside down to bring it down on the Mummy. The dessicated flesh flared up in a fireball that made Bane step back to avoid being singed. Even as the undead sorcerer burned away, the Dire Wolf plucked up the fragment of scroll and held it over the flames, turning it until nothing was left but ashes which he crumbled beneath his boot.
Only a dark smudge remained on the floor to show where Menekartes had been kneeling. Not even his slippers remained. Gralic force had been holding the undead form together and when fire broke the spell, the sorcerer had dissipated into ash and smoke.
In the open doorway, Sulak and Jessica Frost appeared. Bane turned toward them, suddenly weary as the crisis was ended. He pointed at the smear on the floor. "That's all that's left of the Mummy. I just hope it was in time to help Larry."
"We will soon know," Sulak said. He stepped up to the altar, seized the small figurine of Draldros and hurled it against the far wall so hard that it burst into fragments. "If only I could treat the real Dread One that way!"
The palace seemed suddenly deserted. Uncertain what had become of their master, all the servants and ministers had withdrawn into hiding. The army of Jackal-Headed Men had scattered and only a few of the fully Human guards remained on the grounds. No one interfered with the three Tel Shai knights as they walked through the throne room, past the hall where the feast had been held the night before and out through the vast front gate into the blinding sunlight.
Seeing them emerge, Weaver came swooping down to land lightly on his feet. "What's the story, guys?"
After he was told what had happened, Black Angel folded his wings so they rested flat down his back and removed his helmet, saying, "I figure we only have a few more hours before we're returned home. Maybe we should just keep out of sight until then."
"Fair enough," Bane replied. "Our work here is done. Let's head into the hills and wait in the shade."
"After we're gone, Abar-Adayhu will certainly take over the throne," Jessica Frost said. Everyone seemed startled to hear this from her, she was silent so much of the time and usually only spoke to answer direct questions. "He was Menekartes' chosen heir, so at least civil war will be averted."
"I hadn't thought of that, but you're right," agreed Bane. "And since Abar-Adayhu is not a warlock, it'll be an end to those Jackal-Headed Men and whatever other sorcery Menekartes was using. Whatever this new guy may be like as a ruler, he can't be worse than Menekartes was."
"Khebir will be just another realm of the living," Sulak said. "Well, shall we seclude ourselves? I for one don't wish to deal with the palace staff as they start asking questions."
"Yeah. Let's go. My only regret is that we won't meet up with that Baken-Shepya joker again. I wanted to repay him for that blast that knocked us out." Bane started striding past the palace grounds toward where the low foothills stretched not far away. High overhead, a hawk wheeled and gave its piercing cry.
VII.
At mid-afternoon, they were sitting in a circle under some stunted trees on a hill. Weaver was munching on a high-protein bar he carried in one of the pouches of his suit, having a debate with Sulak.
"I'm not sayin' Androval NEEDS a written Constitution," he was exclaiming with frequent gestures, "But it would keep a King from pulling anything reckless. I've met Holmir and he seems a sensible guy but suppose the next king is a complete jerk? He might declare war on any realm for no good reason."
"Stephen," Sulak said reasonably, "Androval is guided by a solid body of tradition and protocol, things which are and are not done. A sovereign who broke too many of these or who ordered something completely out of the question, would be strongly pressured by the barons and the clerks to step down."
"Yeah, but--"
"This has happened. When King Oregist grew aged, some of his commands were outlandish. His decree that cattle should wear wigs to give them dignity, for example. Within a few days of that edict, he announced that his failing health required him to abdicate and he spent his final years happily fishing by the river Emaryl..."
As the Melgar champion spoke, the air shimmered blue all around them for an instant. The four Tel Shai knights found themselves sitting on the floor of the conference room of the KDF headquarters building again. At once, Bane leaped up and used his Link to call Ted Wright. The Dire Wolf listened for a few minutes, made a brief reply and then said goodbye. He turned to face the anxious eyes of his partners.
"Ted says Larry is going to be all right. Early this morning, all his vitals went back to normal. He broke out in a sweat, stirred and mumbled something before going into a natural sleep. Ted is confident that he's past the crisis."
"Early this morning," said Jessica Frost. "That would be when you destroyed Menekartes and burned the scroll."
9/19/2016
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.
II.
Within the hour, all four Tel Shai knights were assembled and ready in the conference room of the KDF headquarters on 38th Street. Both Bane and Jessica had changed into the black field suits with heavy boots, pants and waist-length jacket that held a dozen tiny gadgets and weapons in hidden pouches. Most of these were left behind, because they knew modern science did not work in Khebir. Like many of the adjacent realms, not even a flashlight would function there.
Sulak wore the arena uniform of his native Androval. Bright blue pants and long-sleeved tunic, held at the waist with a sash, with white leather gloves and boots, the arena suit fit snugly and showed his impressive build. On a mantle across his shoulders, a single red bar marked his rank as champion. By the rules of his profession, he was not allowed to use weapons but could rely only on his own strength and skill. "Do you need some help there, Steve?"
The Black Angel uniform had been designed by the USAF as part of the project which only Weaver had even taken part in. Two other men had been found with rudimentary levitation powers, with one only able to reduce his weight to a few ounces. Stephen Weaver was the only true levitaph known capable of actual flight. His outfit resembled a tight black SCUBA suit with red trim down the arms and legs, and a black fibreglass helmet with a feed to the oxygen tank on his back. Folded as they were now, the aluminum tubing and silk-covered wings still reached from head to calves; extended, they had a six foot span.
Just finishing up with adjusting the folded wings to their harness built into his uniform, Weaver said, "I'm good, Sulak, thanks anyway." He reluctantly unsnapped the holster from his web belt which carried a 45 automatic and put it up in a cabinet. "Looks like I'll only be armed with my survival knife this trip."
Bane handed out standard canteens to each of his teammates and also insisted they each drink two tumblers of water before leaving. "We might as well be well hydrated when we start," he announced. Seeing that everyone was ready, he opened a locked wooden panel set at face level on one wall. Within it in a silver mount was a pale blue gem the size an open hand.
"We'll use a twenty-four hour charge," Bane said, placing his fingertips on the Eldar travel stone. "After that, give or take a few hours, the gralic force in our bodies will dissipate and we'll automatically return to this world where we belong. Everyone stand close together, shoulders touching. Hang on, this takes concentration."
To the four Tel Shai knights, it seemed that clear blue light flared up all around them and when it faded, the conference room had been replaced by hot yellow sand underfoot and a hot blue sky overhead without a single cloud. Bane sagged and caught himself, saying, "Damn, that doesn't get any easier. Next time, let's have two people touch the stone."
"Khebir..." said Sulak, turning to take in his surroundings. Far to the north was a blue line of distant mountains. "Once this was a lively realm, filled with villagers and tradesmen and scholars. But for ages has it been deserted."
"And yet Larry returned here for some reason," Bane put in. "We have to make things happen fast. Steve! How about getting a view with some altitude?"
"Sure thing, captain." The artifical wings snapped open with a crack and the Black Angel shot smoothly straight up. Weaver was among the most gifted levitators ever known. Although his flight appeared effortless, it required intense concentration and was mentally fatiguing, as well as physically tired because he used posture and body movement to help steer. The Black Angel leveled off at a thousand feet, touched the earpiece on his helmet to report and then remembered their communications wouldn't work here. Swinging around in a loop, he swooped down and brought his legs down under him at the last second to land as lightly as if stepping off a curb.
"Lots of surprises, Jeremy!" he blurted out as he yanked his helmet off. "There's an army camped out about ten miles away, on the other side of those hills. I reckon six hundred, seven hundred men with tents set up and horses in pens."
"That's a surprise," Sulak snorted. "So much for the deserted realm where only lizards and insects dwell."
"Wait, there's more! Beyond that, at the mouth of a river, it looks like a city is being built! Cultivated fields and a village or two. But not only that, large scale construction in stone going on!" Weaver was expressing himself with his hands in his excitement.
Gazing into the distance, Jeremy Bane scowled. "I guess Menekartes has stayed here and been busy these past ten years. Maybe that's what Larry was investigating." He turned to his teammates. "My plan would be to bypass that army. Leave large groups of armed men alone if you can. Instead, we circle around them and get a look at the farms. Maybe question a villager we can get alone."
"Sounds solid to me," Weaver said. "We might as well start trucking. Man, feel that sun."
Jessica Frost spoke so seldom that her teammates tended to give a start when she did say something. "I can keep us comfortable if that's what you wish."
They all agreed it was a fine idea. Jessica marched along with her three friends, surrounding them with an area in which the temperature stood at seventy Fahrenheit instead of the ninety-eight it was all around them. She did not generate cold. As the Teachers of Tel Shai understood it, Jessica Frost used gralic force to siphon heat away from any spot she concentrated on. At this moment, her teammates were exceptionally grateful for her gift. They made much better time trudging through the sand and dry dirt inside the invisible bubble of cool dry air than they would have otherwise.
They did give the army a wide miss. Every now and then, Weaver rose a hundred feet or so overhead to keep an eye on the camp and make sure they were still well out of sight. In late afternoon, as the sun seemed red and enormous on the horizon, they passed through areas where sparse grass became more common and eventually there were shrubs and even a few trees which resembled palms. A dried creek bed to their left still had some moisture in its basin, indicating it had rained recently. Khebir was not the utter wasteland that legend had it as being.
Flying up for one of his periodic surveys of the terrain, Weaver lit back down quickly. "I'll be darned," he said. "There's a brick well up ahead, covered by a wooden roof. A girl is standing by it and she's being confronted by maybe six or seven men with spears."
"Soldiers?" Bane asked, "Bandits?"
"Definitely a military unit. They all had the same type of short stabbing spear and they're wearing white cotton tunics and sandals. Square shields on the left arm. And they were wearing full-head masks of some sort, I couldn't quite make them out."
"Masks? In this heat?" Sulak said disbelievingly. "Their discipline must be strict."
"Let's take a look." Bane began moving briskly forward with his teammates behind him. There was no cover to use, only ankle-high dry grass and a tiny shrub every few yards, so they just proceeded boldly. As they came over a slight rise, they could see what Black Angel had reported. Standing by a covered well, a girl was being harassed by a half dozen armed men.
The woman wore a sleeveless robe of thin white cotton which reached her ankles, tied at the waist with a cord. Her thick black hair was cut short across her shoulders and she wore a wide-brimmed white hat that protected her face from the sun. Across her shoulders was stretched a pole, on which end was suspended a bucket full of water.
Closely surrounding the young girl were a half dozen big men in cotton tunics which ended just above the knee. Each held a short spear with a wide barbed blade at the end, each held a rectangular wooden shield braced with iron strips on the left arm. One seemed to be their leader, as he wore a red cloth mantle wrapped around his shoulders and had a long knife with a curved blade tied to his waist sash.
Strangely, each of the men seemed to be wearing a stiff mask of reddish-brown material shaped like a dog head with a muzzle and upstanding pointed ears.
"A jackal cult of some kind?" wondered Weaver as they drew closer. Even though the KDF members were in plain view in the short grass, they had not been noticed. The masked soldiers were preoccupied with the woman, who was meekly answering their shouted questions. The leader shifted his spear to his shield hand and, without preamble, backhanded the woman so sharply across the face that she turned halfway around and fell to the dust.
Weaver's batlike wings opened wide and he shot forward at head height, zooming parallel to the ground. At more than a hundred miles per hour, the Black Angel swooped down to seize two of the masked soldiers by the arms and lift them up off the dirt. Spinning in a tight circle, Weaver let go and sent the two men tumbling twenty feet away to land with awkward thumps. Neither rose.
Reacting quickly, the leader of the soldiers drew back his arm and flung his javelin up at the weird flying intruder. Weaver saw the action coming and was swerving aside even as the spear was thrown. It missed him completely. Black Angel rose up higher, preparing to dive down at the men but by then Bane had reached the group. Racing up in a dark blur, the Dire Wolf dove into the middle of the soldiers and dropped three of them instantly with sharp hooking blows that broke jaws and snapped necks. Only the leader was left standing. To give him credit, he kept his head and drew his sole remaining weapon, the curve-bladed knife at his waist, but he had no chance at surviving the encounter. There was a crisp cracking noise and suddenly Bane was drawing his leg back from a high side kick so fast that no one there had been able to follow it.
By then, the others had come running up and Weaver had landed. Bane glanced around at the dead men and announced, "I guess we've chosen sides."
Sulak smiled at the disoriented Khebiran and held out an open hand reassuringly to help her up. She seemed too stunned by the sudden burst of violence and the strange nature of these intruders to be able to react. She just stared in near panic.
"You are safe now," the big Melgar told her with a broad smile. "These men cannot harm you now." He held onto her hand and she did not seem to mind as she began to calm down.
Kneeling over one of the dead soldiers, Jeremy Bane turned the head from side to side, opened and closed the fanged jaw, and then stood up. "Here's something interesting," he said quietly. "These men are not wearing masks."
III.
For the next few minutes, everyone crowded around the grotesque corpses. The heads were indeed those of genuine jackals, sewn deftly onto the necks of decapitated men. The KDF members straightened and regarded each other with some alarm.
"This is Darthan magick, vile indeed," Sulak said. He blocked his massive fists and glared about the surrounding low hills for signs of any more animal-headed warriors. "Menekartes lives, I have no doubt of it."
"Talk about gross," added Stephen Weaver. "Jeremy, why would anyone do such a thing? What's the point?"
"I'm no expert on sorcery, but from what I know, this would bind the victims to the warlock who made them this way. These were zombies, in a way. But they weren't feral. They were completely enslaved by their master." Bane turned toward the shepherd girl, who they could see was very young, no more than a teenager. She had the wavy black hair and light brown skin of a typical Khebiran.
"We do not mean you any harm," he said in Prilyrdyn, the primal form of language infused in every conscious mind by Jordyn. "Our business here is with Menekartes."
"Who are you? That man has wings like a bat, and you.. you struck down four of the Jackal-Headed Men as if they were mere scarecrows tied to poles. Are you demons?"
"Who, us?" said Bane. "No. We are just Humans like yourself but we have been given special talents. Can you direct us to where we can find the sorcerer we seek?"
"Our Master? Why, he would be in his palace at Mekh-Kayu for all I know. What have I to do with matters such as that?" she asked in alarm. "I have never even seen the great city."
She was backing away as if preparing to flee. Bane said, "You won't be harmed now. Tell me your name."
"Just Zanarza, daughter of a shepherd. I must leave! If the King's men find me near these dead ones, the torture room will be my final home. I must go..!"
Bane reached over and took her by one arm. His grip didn't seen tight but she found she couldn't break loose. "Wait a few minutes. We just saved your life and you owe us a few answers at least. My friends and I will remove these bodies and conceal them so they will not be found."
II.
Once she accepted that these strangers did not seem about to harm her, Zanarza calmed down and walked with them down the dirt path that led to the only paved road in Khebir.. the road to the new city of Mekh-Kayu by the river. Despite what was commonly believed in other realms, Khebir had never been completely deserted. There had always been scattered villages wherever there was water from natural springs or creeks coming down from the mountains. It had been Menekartes who had brought hundreds of laborers here from the real world, who had forcibly relocated all the villagers to tend new fields and to herd sheep and goats so that the laborers could be fed.
Menekartes was seldom seen in person, but his presence was everywhere. The Jackal-Headed Men who served as his soldiers were only the latest abomination of his doing. Before that, he enforced his will by the huge reanimated mummy Nebeht, and then there had been the blasphemous ceremonies and rituals intended to placate the dark lord Draldros. Human sacrifice, even that of infants, were frequent.
They were starting to pass scattered farm houses of dried brick with thatched roofs, and then they saw a flock of sheep on a nearby hill. Zanarza became agitated again and repeated that she did not dare be seen with strangers. Intruders were strictly forbidden to enter Khebir. She told the four KDF members that the road to the city was only a short distance away, then spun and ran off across a field that had been cleared but not cultivated yet.
Sulak stood with folded arms, head down. "Menekartes has built quite a private kingdom for himself here, eh?"
"Something odd about that girl," Bane said. "Look. She turned and ran off in the same direction we're going. Why would she do that?"
"Should I follow her from the air?" Weaver asked. "I can keep the sun to my back, she won't see me."
"No. We'll keep going. I have a feeling we'll be met along the way."
The four Tel Shai knights walked along, comfortable in the halo of cool air which Jessica created around them. In the distance, they could see large tents with white roofs striped with thin black patterns. More of the Jackal-Headed Men could be discerned moving about. Three chariots pulled by black horses were thundering their way at full gallop.
Bane gestured for his team to halt. "We might as well get this over. Stand by for a fight."
As the chariots approached, they slowed. Each had a Khebiran who held the reins of the black horses and two of the chariots carried a pair of the Jackal-Headed soldiers. In the lead chariot, marked by an arcane symbol embossed on its front, stood a Khebiran who wore a long dark robe with loose sleeves and whose head was shielded from the sun by a white cloth draped over it. He seemed well into middle-age, with a hawklike nose and deepset eyes with heavy bags under them.
Coming to a halt almost within reach, the Khebiran said, "Know that you stand before Baken-Shepya, Priest and Oracle. I speak for our Master, Menekartes himself. Name yourselves! Explain your presence on the sacred soil of our land."
Bane placed his fists on his hips and answered, "We are knights of the Order of Tel Shai. We go where justice sends us. Baken-Shepya, we intend to have words with your so-called Master."
The priest nodded solemnly. "So be it. When dealing with the one who rules Khebir, you may wish I had slain you here and now. At least it would be a clean and painless death." He raised his hand, weilding what had been concealed in his loose sleeve.. a short rod of copper-colored gremthom metal, capped with a green gem. Recognizing a Darthan blasting wand, the KDF members moved to scatter but even their quick reaction was not enough to escape the wave of dark red force that erupted from the wand to slam into them with a peal of thunder.
III.
Bane groggily struggled up to awareness. His head ached viciously, especially where his forehead stung as if it had been burned. He was lying face down on a hard flat surface. What had happened? Where was he and where were his teammates? With a surge of effort, he opened his eyes, placed his hands under him and forced himself up to his knees. The last he remembered, they had confronted some big guy in a chariot drawn by black horses...
First, he saw his friends stretched out in a row alongside him. They did not seem to have been harmed and were also fighting to regain consciousness. Sulak, Steve and Jessica, still fully dressed and coming back to awareness as he had. That was a huge relief. Then he took in his surroundings with a jolt.
The throne room was immense, its domed ceiling easily fifty feet overhead, the walls supported by thick pillars carved to resemble coiled serpents. All the surfaces were a gleaming white, contrasting with black tapestries decorated with figures of bizarre creatures. Spaced at intervals were wrought iron braziers blazing away and giving off pungent fumes. Surrounding himself and his teammates were a dozen of the Jackal-Headed Men with their spears in hand, watching him with barely repressed eagerness to stab. As Sulak grumbled to himself and sat up, Bane said quietly, "Take it easy. We're in an interesting spot."
"Do not speak until you are given permission," hissed a low mellow voice from ahead of them. Bane got up on one knee and forced himself to stand, facing a backless throne of carved ebony adorned with gold foil, its armrests topped with fierce demonic faces. Seated on that throne, stiff and unmoving, was a thin figure in a black caftan. His unmoving face glared at Bane, those sharp eyes seemingly the only living features. If not for those eyes, it would have seemed as if a dried corpse had been propped up on that throne.
By now, Bane felt back to normal. He was used to healing quickly from any injury, this was a benefit of the tagra diet. Turning his head, he saw Sulak had also gotten to his feet and that both Jessica and Steve were doing the same. They stared around themselves and then gave him a quizzical look. Before he could say anything, the figure on the throne spoke again.
"Know, oh prisoners, that you are in the presence of Menekartes the Benevolent, Lord of Khebir, Master of the Sons of the Night, High Priest of the Great Old Ones. Your lives rest in the hollow of my hand." The figure on the throne thrust his head forward and his eyes moved over the KDF members. Menekartes' angular face was a mass of fine wrinkles, with no skin exposed that looked smooth and healthy. A sharp beaked nose and firm jaw gave strength to a face that otherwise would have seemed hopelessly fragile. A cowl of white linen covered the top of the Mummy's head and hung down on either side, bound in place by a gold circlet at the temples.
"I don't care for the way you treat your guests..." began Sulak, but he stopped as the guards jabbed their spears to just prick the skin of each prisoner's neck.
"There is no need to introduce yourselves," Menekartes continued. "I know of Tel Shai. You, the leader, are the Dire Wolf, and the big one is the Champion of Androval. The one with crafted wings is called Black Angel, and the pale woman is said to bring ice and cold where she goes. So you see, I know more of you than you do of me."
"So you have spies in the real world," Bane retorted. "Menekartes, this isn't a social visit. Whatever curse you have laid upon our friend, we demand you lift it now."
"You are in a position unsuitable for demands," the withered figure announced. "Look upon each other. What mark do you see?"
With a jolt of horror, the four Tel Shai knights saw that each had a strange symbol seemingly branded onto their foreheads. A round impression with a four-pointed star in its center, the mark was on each of them. Bane involuntarily reached up to touch his own forhead and found the flesh was still sore and tender.
"The Brand of Submission..." he growled and then launched himself right at the figure on the throne, drawing a silver-bladed dagger from one sleeve. In that bare split-second before he would have struck, he was halted as Menekartes said simply, "Stop." The Dire Wolf stumbled and fell heavily to one side with his forward momentum turned away.
"Make no moves against me, any of you," Menekartes said. He raised a shriveled claw which clutched a slim rod of copper-colored metal. Set at the end of that rod was a round disc with the star-emblem which was impressed on their skin. "Darthan magicks from the Corruption itself. Yes, I was there at the Fall of Ulgor, I was there when the Sulla Chun themselves whispered forbidden secrets that flesh and blood were not meant to know."
Bane managed to look over at his partners. They were all standing quietly, arms lowered at their sides, but each had furious rage in their faces. He found he could not move. It was not a question of determination. All his will power had no effect, his arms and legs simply did not respond. He felt like a sleepwalker. The Dire Wolf had never been in this condition before and he could not overcome it.
"Hear me, my new slaves," said Menekartes. "These are my words. Your comrade who wore the Silver Skull helmet is doomed. Forget him. Your only concern now is the duty I will ask of you. My adopted son, my presumed heir, Abar-Adayhu, has betrayed his trust. Even now, he gathers rebellious peasants and farmers into a ragtag band of followers in the mountains. Work on my monuments has been slowed. Even the Temple dedicated to the Sulla Chun is not near completion and the stars are moving into aligment for the ceremony."
Finding he could speak, the Dire Wolf snapped, "Never! You can't hold us! I swear we will bring your empire down, Menekartes...!"
The ancient sorcerer smiled so faintly that it was barely discernible. "Others have thought to defy me before. Kneel. All four of you, kneel before your new master."
As if they were watching strangers from a distance, the four KDF members saw themselves lower to one knee. And, silently, each of them swore they would see Menekartes destroyed until nothing remained of the ancient warlock, whatever it took.
One withered hand was raised and a small, entirely human boy wearing only a loincloth and sandals stepped out from behind a tapestry. He bowed low from the waist. "What does my Lord wish?"
"Bear these messages, Mekh. Tell the Chamberlain to prepare a feast for this very night. Our finest wine, our choicest meats. All members of the court must attend. I have good tidings, for here fate has delivered four potent weapons into my keeping... living weapons that the accursed Abar-Adahyu cannot defy. Go now."
Menekartes rose, stiffly but without great effort, to his feet. "I go now to be prepared for the feast. You four will be taken to separate chambers until called for. I order you, by this Brand of Submission, to make no effort at escape nor to offer any harm to my servants. So let it be done."
IV.
As night fell suddenly over the desert and the stars brightened in a sky that had never known industrial smokestacks, one hundred and ten members of the royal court took their seats at four long tables arranged in a circle with open spaces between them for servants to pass through. The great chamber was filled with excited conversation about its comfort. On Menekartes' command, Jessica Frost had lowered the temperature in the dining hall to a moderate level and the guests were delighted at the relief from the constant oppressive heat of Khebir.
The Jackal-Headed Men paced outside, visible as they passed the open doorways but the servants bringing the meal were normal Humans. Set back from the guests was a shorter table on a raised podium, and it was here that Menekartes sat on a chair higher than any other. To his left were seated Jeremy Bane and Sulak, to his right were Stephen Weaver and Jessica Frost. He had told them to eat as they wished and this was one order they did not want to resist. The food offered was mostly lamb and goat, with steamed vegetables and hard black bread. As was the Khebir custom to avoid drunkeness, the wine had been watered down.
Menekartes had already given a long self-congratulatory speech, introduced his new slaves from the world beyond, and had predicted a quick victory over the rebels. The royalty at the tables had offered flowery toasts and hopes for a long reign by their Lord, then the nobles had dug into the feast with a vengeance.
There was neither plate nor goblet set in front of Menekartes. The Lord of Khebir had returned all toasts and offerings with only a dignified inclination of his head or a politely raised hand. Watching the KDF members eating, he folded his clawlike hands in front of him.
"It is our custom for the host to entertain his guests," the sorcerer announced abruptly. When he spoke, his mouth barely moved and his face showed no emotion. "For Tel Shai knights, I feel jugglers and dancing girls would be inadequate. Instead, I will relate a tale which no living soul knows... my story, how I came to be as I am."
"I'd rather watch dancing girls," Weaver scoffed. They had not been forbidden to speak, only forbidden to make any aggressive moves. The Black Angel's spirit had obviously not be broken by his servitude.
Menekartes took no notice. "It was an Age your archaelogists do not suspect ever existed. All traces of it have been erased by Jordyn Himself, the Spirit who guides this world, and the very continents and seas were reshaped by Him when the Darthan Age ended. Know then that the Midnight War began more than thirty thousand years ago on the island of Ulgor. Thirteen of the dread Sulla Chun descended and took visible form to impart forbidden knowledge to mortal beings.
"Tollinor Kje of the Darthim was there. So was Wakimbe, who became the Black Lion, as was Sinjir, who became known as Wu Lung. Karina in her original body was there, so was Malberon of Androval. Many of those who stood on Ulgor did not benefit from the wisdom given because it was too much for their minds to bear. Many were broken in mind and body after being in the presence of the Sulla Chun."
Menekartes paused and saw all four of his prisoners were listening intently. His sardonic smile flickered on that sunken parchment-skinned face. "I see you are not bored? Good. I was there, yes I attended the Corruption on Ulgor those millenia ago. I was Prince Yakub-Anu of Khebir and I studied secrets that smote my brain like thunderbolts but I survived. And I fled, with a few others who were prudent, before Jordyn intervened. The Regent of the world drove the Sulla Chun away, imprisoning them not in the earth but in the spaces between what makes the earth. He threw Ulgor itself to the bottom of the ocean, drowning all who had remained. It was not anger that drove these actions but concern.
"That was when Jordyn and his two fellow Halarin created the adjacent realms for the different Races and Cousins to inhabit. These realms were much like the lands where the various peoples had inhabited, but separated now by gralic barriers. Maroch was given to the Darthim, Elvedal to the Eldarin, Perjena to the Nekrosim. And this realm we now sit within, Khebir, was crafted to be much like the original Khebir that had been lost when the world was refashioned."
Bane had finished his plate and he pushed it away from him impatiently. "It's a great backstory, Menekartes, but let's get to what brought us here! We intend to break the spell that is killing out friend back in New York-"
"Be silent," Menekartes ordered and, despite his rage, the Dire Wolf could not speak further. "Out of courtesy, allow me to continue," said the warlock, "and finish my tale. I ruled Khebir as men need to be ruled.. with an iron fist. No one could defy my sorcery. And yet, as generations of my subjects died and were replaced, I began to age myself. Weakness and weariness crept upon my body.
"But I had mastered the same art which was learned by Wu Lung and your own Karina. I cast my spirit forward to inhabit a body of a descendant in a later time. So it went, century following century, as I moved through one empire after another behind the scenes..."
As Menekartes paused, Stephen Weaver could not resist a wisecrack. His insolence was such a part of him that no fear could repress it for long. "From the way you look, my man, you are past due for a new incarnation."
The sorcerer did not react with anger, as everyone expected. "In 1921, my spirit came to this, my ancestral realm, wounded and seeking refuge. Something happened I think you will find ironic and perhaps amusing. As if drawn naturally to its rightful host, my spirit incarnated within a long-dead form preserved both by forbidden magick and by the dry sands of the desert where rain never falls. I awoke within my original body!"
"Oh my God!" snapped Bane, "You're inside your own Mummy!" Even as he spoke, the Dire Wolf realized he had broken the command to be silent. Was the power of the Brand of Submission weakening? He didn't see any sign that Menekartes had noticed.
"So it is. The ways of fate take strange turns, do they not?" The ancient warlock gazed down at his gnarled hands. "In this Undead body, I do not breathe or sleep, I need no food nor drink. Yet my powers are at their greatest. It is a fortunate stroke of destiny for me." Suddenly his tone changed. "But now I should hear pleas from the royal court. There are always disputes for me to settle. Knights of Tel Shai, I command you to rise now and a Jackal-Headed Man will escort you to separate chambers. Your gifts will be put to good use. Flight, great strength, the power to freeze any object, unmatched fighting skill... with you as my lieutenants, I will crush the upstart rebels tomorrow. Go now. Wait for my summons with the dawn."
Reluctantly, resisting but compelled to obey, the KDF members pushed back the padded stools on which they had been seated. One of them had a Jackal-Headed warrior take charge and lead them away. Left alone at the table, Menekartes gestured for the first of the waiting nobles to approach and make his case.
V.
Left in a cell that was better than many dungeons he had survived, Bane paced furiously. The stone walls were of blocks so closely fitted together than a needle could not be placed between them. Clean straw was piled in one corner, a brass chamberpot in another corner. A pitcher of water had been left by the door. High up on the wall was an opening for ventilation barely big enough for his arm to fit through, and the window set in the massive wooden door was no bigger.
Troubling the Dire Wolf even more than the difficulty in escaping the cell was the awareness of the hours rushing by. Back in that hospital ward in the world, Larry Taper lay dying. Bane's team now had about twelve hours before they would be automatically returned home, whether or not they had broken the curse on Taper. Far from being in charge of the situation and ready to head back successfully, they were ensorcelled slaves of the undead Mummy of Menekartes. Tomorrow they would be sent out to fight Menekartes' battle for him and Taper would be left to die while Ted Wright wondered what had gone wrong. It seemed hopeless.
And yet...
At the feast, Menekartes had commanded Bane to be silent. A moment later, though, Bane had spoken anyway. When they had been ordered to rise and go with the Jackal-Headed Men, Bane had the distinct sensation he could have resisted and perhaps broken free. He probed at his forehead. The emblem made by the Brand of Submission no longer felt tender and it definitely seemed to be not as deeply indented into his skin.
He was healing. It was the tagra tea he drank, from the plant found only at Tel Shai. Bane recovered from everything from beatings to poison to gunshot wounds much faster than a normal Human. It was neither instantaneous nor guaranteed, since Tel Shai knights did die of violence as a rule. But if something wasn't immediately fatal, the odds were good a knight like Bane would quickly bounce back.
The Dire Wolf felt a surge of hope that he tried not to let carry him away. Steve had started on the tagra diet only a year later than he himself had. So he might be breaking free as well. Both Sulak and Jessica Frost had only joined Tel Shai recently and were just beginning to see results from the tagra and from the Kumundu training. But then they each had unusual nonhuman metabolisms that could affect how long the Brand of Submission dominated them. This might not be as hopeless as it seemed.
Kicking off his heavy boots and shrugging out of the field suit jacket, Bane stepped to the center of the cell. Feet together, fists at his sides, he bowed respectfully to Teacher Chael so far away. He began the DohRa form that had been devised specifically for him. It started as a series of stances and poses that gradually merged into kicks and blows and evasions. Soon, he was whirling, leaping and striking at imaginary enemies with such crisp movements that the air snapped in his wake. Eventually, the punches and throws slowed down again into more difficult stances and stopped as he was back in the beginning pose.
Bane was breathing only slightly faster than usually, his heartbeat had barely moved past its normal rate, and he was covered with a thin layer of sweat. But he felt free. The dominance of the Brand of Submission had been broken, he could tell. Taking the pitcher, he sipped sparingly and used some water to wipe his face and hands of sweat. For the first time since waking in Menekartes' palace, his grey eyes had their normal sharp gleam to them.
Going over to stretch out on the straw in the corner, he tried to think of a way to contact his teammates. He had seen Steve and Sulak placed in cells with an empty chamber between them, and his own cell also had empty rooms on either side. Tapping messages in code on the walls was out of the question. Bribing these Jackal-Headed guards, who were zombies after all, was also not going to happen. Bane lay full length with his jacket rolled up under his head and spent the night devising and discarding one plan after another.
VI.
With the first red streaks of light through the window, three of the Jackal-Headed Men unlocked the door to Bane's cell. Two had their short spears leveled at him while the third took the chamberpot to be emptied and then returned with a large wooden bowl of hot oats and rye mushed in what tasted like goat milk.
"I suppose it's too much to hope you washed your hands between the two chores," Bane said. The undead creatures gave no sign they could even hear, much less understand. Keeping a suspicious watch on him, they backed out and he heard the heavy bar slide shut on the other side to keep the door secure. Always ravenous because of his hyper metabolism, Bane put fastidiousness aside and finished the gruel, then drank some of the lukewarm water from the pitcher. He had survived on worse fare many times.
Tugging his boots back on and getting into his field jacket, he surreptitiously adjusted the hilts of the silver bladed daggers under his sleeves. To his surprise, he had not been given even a cursory search and neither had his teammates. Evidently, Menekartes had complete confidence in the effectiveness of the Brand of Submission to keep prisoners under control.
A short while later, more of the weird guards returned to usher him out of the cell with preemptory gestures. He wondered how much intelligence these things could possibly have. Those were the actual heads of dead jackals sewn onto the necks of dead men and then given a semblance of life by necromancy. They seemed able to follow simple orders and carry out basic duties, but Bane doubted how effective they would be in actual battle where quick reactions and adapting to changing situations was required. On the other hand, they would feel neither pain nor fear and would keep fighting even when hacked almost to pieces. Normal flesh and blood men might understandably be unnerved fighting such monsters.
Marching quickly, the beast-headed creatures brought Bane to a a sort of loading platform with wide steps leading down to an open courtyard. Two heavy marble benches sat facing that courtyard, and on them his teammates were sitting. As Bane met their smiles, he could tell by their sly expressions that they were breaking free of control as well. The symbol that the Brand had burned into their foreheads had faded considerably, but they were all prudent enough not to give anything away yet.
Lined up in rows in that courtyard were a thousand of the Jackal-Headed Men, standing at attention with spears at their sides pointing up. They held utterly still as the living could not do. Two fully Human soldiers seemed to be in command, striding up and down and inspecting their troops. These men carried whips, rolled up but ready for use.
As Bane took in this scene, a panel opened in the wall beside him. It was constructed well enough that he had not noticed it before, the seams appearing to be part of the tile design. Menekartes stepped through and the panel swung closed behind him to again be difficult to discern.
In one bony hand, the Mummy of the ancient sorcerer clutched the Brand of Submission like a sceptre. "The day of reckoning has come for my disloyal foster child," he said in his low unemotional tones. "These are your orders. Black Angel, as you are called, it is your task to fly to the south and report back to me how many rebels Abar-Adahyu has assembled, where they are, how they are armed. Report back here immediately. Jessica Frost, you will be driven out in a chariot with Sulak of Androval to confront the rebels. Use your powers to slay as many of them as you can. And you, the Dire Wolf. Your honor will be to lead my Jackal-Headed Army to intercept what rebels escape past your teammates."
Raising the Darthan talisman dramatically, Menekartes said, "Do you have any questions before you march to victory?"
"Yeah," Bane answered, "How about letting me have that thing?" Faster than any real wolf, he lunged forward to wrest the Brand of Submission away from Menekartes. The unexpected action sent the dried ruin of the sorcerer reeling back helplessly. Bane swung toward his friends and announced, "I've got the Brand now. If any of you are still under its influence, I hereby release you to be your normal independent selves!"
Then the Dire Wolf noticed that Menekartes' hand had broken off at the brittle wrist bones and was still clutching the talisman. Not a drop of blood showed. Bane tugged the lifeless hand loose and flung it away in disgust, then whirled around just as the Jackal-Headed Men behind him began to react. The Dire Wolf used the Brand of Submission like a Filipino escrima stick, smacking it hard to the side of the bestial heads with left-right blows that knocked the undead things down but could not harm then.
Stepping between Bane and the creatures, Sulak seized two Jackal-headed men by the tunic fronts and effortlessly lifted them overhead, one with each hand, to fling them far out into the massed army of their fellow creatures. All of this had taken place in barely a few seconds. The third he sent flying out over the courtyard with a backhanded slap.
"Jessica," said Bane, "It's up to you to keep those zombies away." He tucked the Brand of Submission into his belt and drew the silver daggers from their sheaths. In the courtyard below the platform where the four KDF members stood, the Jackal-Headed Men were slow to respond to the events. One of the Human commanders did react, though. He raised his arm and began to shout, "Slay them! Slay the in-" but that was as far as he got before he stopped motionless. Ice crystals had formed over his entire body. Off-balance as he died, the Khebir soldier toppled forward and his frozen body broke into pieces as it hit the paved surface beneath him.
Standing on the edge of the platform, Jessica Frost gazed out at the army of beast-headed creatures without any sign of apprehension. She did not have to gesture or speak to use her power. In the pale oval of her face, bright blue eyes stood out vividly. She narrowed those eyes in concentration and a wave of unseen force swept out to freeze the Jackal-Headed Men solid. Dozens of them in the front ranks stiffened and toppled over without trying to break their falls.
That was enough. Even the sluggish minds of the undead soldiers felt panic at this mysterious force dropping their fellows in front of them. Breaking ranks, they scattered at a run, some of them freezing and crashing to the ground as the effect reached them even as they fled. Watching the hundreds of creatures flee, Jessica showed no triumph and no regret. The event which had triggered her power over cold had also numbed her emotionally. She acted now only out of a sense of duty to help Bane, who had rescued her at that time.
Seeing the army rush off, the Dire Wolf had turned his attention to the section of wall through which Menekartes had escaped as he had first appeared. The panel was fitted so well that no trace of its edges could be found. Bane ran his fingers over the surface but was getting nowhere.
"Captain, if you will allow me," Sulak said, gently pressing a hand to Bane's shoulder to make him step aside. The big Melgar held up his open hands and slammed them against the section of the wall. Hidden hinges snapped and the panel crashed inward to reveal a narrow passageway. Bane immediately rushed into that opening and was gone from sight.
Sulak turned toward Weaver. "Stephen, we must not let Menekartes escape. He is our only hope to help Larry recover. If you keep watch--"
"Way ahead of you," the Black Angel answered as his wings snapped open to their full spread. "I'm going up where I can see the whole palace. If that Mummy tries to escape, I'll intercept him." Diving off the edge of the platform, Weaver soared up and was out of sight instantly.
Entering the narrow passageway, Sulak and Jessica hurried along but as the big Melgar stepped down on a certain tile, it clicked beneath his foot. A razor-sharp blade swung horizontally on a bar at neck level across the passage, stopping short as it struck the Melgar's skin. Sulak stepped back and touched his throat thoughtfully. He was not harmed but there was a notch now in the blade where it had struck him. "That's a pretty little trap," he said. "Perhaps I should go first."
"Agreed," Jessica said. "Jeremy must have caught the enemy by now."
"We'll see," Sulak replied as he began moving forward again. The passageway ahead twisted and was only lit by what light came from the opening behind them. As they proceeded a bit more carefully, both were worried about the possibility of Menekartes escaping and leaving them with no way to save Taper.
VII.
In an alcove off the throne room, Menekartes carefully lowered himself to his knees in front of an altar to Draldros. On the dark wooden stand before him was a statue only a foot high, a stone figure of an armored man with a bull-horned helmet and bearing a spiked mace in one hand. It was the representation of Draldros, one of the Halarim who brought war and misery to the world. On either side of the altar was a wrought iron brazier filled with burning oil that gave off a bitter odor and dim light.
Menekartes knelt before the altar and faced a small oil lamp with its wick already burning. Propped up against a wooden frame was a fragment of an ancient scroll, ragged at the edges and with worm holes here and there. This was one of the few surviving artifacts from the Fall of Ulgor, preserved with Prince Yakub's body and now being used by his own Mummy all these thousands of years later. On it, the Wasting Spell was written in hieroglyphs no living person could read.
Menekartes hardly noticed his missing hand. His dried body felt no pain and no pleasure. Gazing at the fragment of parchment, he read the Wasting Spell aloud to ensure it continued. First, the outsider named Taper must die. He had dared to come here and strike Menekartes down with a sword stroke that he thought would slay the sorcerer but which had only dazed him. Then, after Taper, these others would die. The four who had entered his realm and who had dared to rise against him.
In the language of ancient Khebir, long forgotten by the world and known to no other mind, Menekartes chanted the Wasting Spell. Behind him, he felt a sudden presence. The warlock barely turned his stiff neck enough to see the gaunt form of Jeremy Bane stride up behind him. "You are too late, Dire Wolf," Menekartes gloated. "With these final words, your friend perishes!"
"You won't be around to know about it," Bane said. He seized one of the braziers and swung it upside down to bring it down on the Mummy. The dessicated flesh flared up in a fireball that made Bane step back to avoid being singed. Even as the undead sorcerer burned away, the Dire Wolf plucked up the fragment of scroll and held it over the flames, turning it until nothing was left but ashes which he crumbled beneath his boot.
Only a dark smudge remained on the floor to show where Menekartes had been kneeling. Not even his slippers remained. Gralic force had been holding the undead form together and when fire broke the spell, the sorcerer had dissipated into ash and smoke.
In the open doorway, Sulak and Jessica Frost appeared. Bane turned toward them, suddenly weary as the crisis was ended. He pointed at the smear on the floor. "That's all that's left of the Mummy. I just hope it was in time to help Larry."
"We will soon know," Sulak said. He stepped up to the altar, seized the small figurine of Draldros and hurled it against the far wall so hard that it burst into fragments. "If only I could treat the real Dread One that way!"
The palace seemed suddenly deserted. Uncertain what had become of their master, all the servants and ministers had withdrawn into hiding. The army of Jackal-Headed Men had scattered and only a few of the fully Human guards remained on the grounds. No one interfered with the three Tel Shai knights as they walked through the throne room, past the hall where the feast had been held the night before and out through the vast front gate into the blinding sunlight.
Seeing them emerge, Weaver came swooping down to land lightly on his feet. "What's the story, guys?"
After he was told what had happened, Black Angel folded his wings so they rested flat down his back and removed his helmet, saying, "I figure we only have a few more hours before we're returned home. Maybe we should just keep out of sight until then."
"Fair enough," Bane replied. "Our work here is done. Let's head into the hills and wait in the shade."
"After we're gone, Abar-Adayhu will certainly take over the throne," Jessica Frost said. Everyone seemed startled to hear this from her, she was silent so much of the time and usually only spoke to answer direct questions. "He was Menekartes' chosen heir, so at least civil war will be averted."
"I hadn't thought of that, but you're right," agreed Bane. "And since Abar-Adayhu is not a warlock, it'll be an end to those Jackal-Headed Men and whatever other sorcery Menekartes was using. Whatever this new guy may be like as a ruler, he can't be worse than Menekartes was."
"Khebir will be just another realm of the living," Sulak said. "Well, shall we seclude ourselves? I for one don't wish to deal with the palace staff as they start asking questions."
"Yeah. Let's go. My only regret is that we won't meet up with that Baken-Shepya joker again. I wanted to repay him for that blast that knocked us out." Bane started striding past the palace grounds toward where the low foothills stretched not far away. High overhead, a hawk wheeled and gave its piercing cry.
VII.
At mid-afternoon, they were sitting in a circle under some stunted trees on a hill. Weaver was munching on a high-protein bar he carried in one of the pouches of his suit, having a debate with Sulak.
"I'm not sayin' Androval NEEDS a written Constitution," he was exclaiming with frequent gestures, "But it would keep a King from pulling anything reckless. I've met Holmir and he seems a sensible guy but suppose the next king is a complete jerk? He might declare war on any realm for no good reason."
"Stephen," Sulak said reasonably, "Androval is guided by a solid body of tradition and protocol, things which are and are not done. A sovereign who broke too many of these or who ordered something completely out of the question, would be strongly pressured by the barons and the clerks to step down."
"Yeah, but--"
"This has happened. When King Oregist grew aged, some of his commands were outlandish. His decree that cattle should wear wigs to give them dignity, for example. Within a few days of that edict, he announced that his failing health required him to abdicate and he spent his final years happily fishing by the river Emaryl..."
As the Melgar champion spoke, the air shimmered blue all around them for an instant. The four Tel Shai knights found themselves sitting on the floor of the conference room of the KDF headquarters building again. At once, Bane leaped up and used his Link to call Ted Wright. The Dire Wolf listened for a few minutes, made a brief reply and then said goodbye. He turned to face the anxious eyes of his partners.
"Ted says Larry is going to be all right. Early this morning, all his vitals went back to normal. He broke out in a sweat, stirred and mumbled something before going into a natural sleep. Ted is confident that he's past the crisis."
"Early this morning," said Jessica Frost. "That would be when you destroyed Menekartes and burned the scroll."
9/19/2016