"The Armor of Hell"
3/27-3/28/2000
I.
Jeremy Bane appeared from nowhere in a silent flash of clear blue light, suddenly standing on a sidewalk in Flanders, Long Island where no one had been an instant before. He had popped in from thin air within plain sight of two police officers and a number of passers-by. Bane regretted his haste as soon as he realized he had not arranged to materialize in the shadows as usual. Keeping a low profile was so important that this blatant public appearance worried him.
Everyone jumped at the unexpected sight and one man dropped a paper sack of groceries he had been holding, spilling its contents. "Huh? What? Where...?"
Within arm's reach, a uniformed officer gave a violent start. "Goddam. Where did you come from, mister?"
"It's all right. Here, look at this." Bane handed over his leather document case, opened to show both his driver's license and his PI license. The cops examined both carefully, comparing the photo to the man before him. Six feet tall, one hundred and seventy pounds, black hair and grey eyes. It all matched. They also noticed there was a Consultants certificate for the NYPD and a folded document from the FBI's 21 Black Department authorizing the bearer to appear on crime scenes. Finally, returning the case, the oldest officer there said, "The notorious Dire Wolf, huh? I've been hearing wild stories about you for years. What was that blue light a second ago?"
"Hard to say," Bane replied unhelpfully. "Some sort of optical illusion, maybe." He turned toward the neat one-story white frame building which read 'AUSTEN GALLERIES - BY APPPOINTMENT ONLY' in ornate green script across its wide picture window. Next to it was a frozen yogurt place, and a used clothing boutique beyond that. The middle-aged couple standing in front of that building regarded Bane with mixed hopefulness and dismay. The small slender form of Cindy Brunner was close to them to give moral support.
"Hey, Jeremy," she sang out cheerfully. "Glad you got here so fast. Henry and Meredith, this is my partner, Jeremy Bane. He's been figuring out oddball crimes most of his life."
"You're Henry and Meredith Austin, I guess?" the Dire Wolf asked in as subdued a tone as he could manage. "What happened here?"
The woman answered for them both, glancing over at the telepath. With her dark blonde hair pulled up into a thick ponytail, wearing a light windbreaker and jeans, Cindy was not intimidating at all. Her open fresh face and easy smile helped relaxed the older couple. "Hello," said Mrs Austin, "We were explaining the situation to Cindy, maybe you should come in and get a look. The police have taken all the photos they care to. Here, mind the broken door..."
In fact, not only was the front door to the shop hanging inward at an angle, supported by only its lower hinge, but the lock itself had been broken apart. A gouge deep in the wood of the door frame hinted how much force had been used. Seeing Bane's interested scrutiny, Henry Austin said, "A man is on his way to replace everything. He's done a good deal deal of home repair for us, name's Bob."
"Glad to hear it," the Dire Wolf remarked absently as he followed the older couple inside. "I know you've told your story a hundred times to the police but how about running it past me?"
"Not a problem," said Henry Meredith. He was a short dumpy man with his belt pulled up to the center of a round belly. The lack of hair except across the back of his neck up to both jug ears didn't make him more appealing, but his voice was intelligent and well-spoken. "Well, young fellow, Meredith and I parked out Firebird behind the store as we always do and when we came around front, naturally we noticed the door as you saw it."
"No one can explain why the alarms didn't go off," interrupted his wife. "After all we spent to have them installed, too. The nice officer says it looks to him as if something somehow fused the wires shut so the circuit didn't know it was broken. I don't understand that."
The interior of the shop had plenty of open floor space to allow browsers. Along the walls and in stand-alone cabinets behind glass were abstract statuary, geodes and other crystals, and a number of odd rather-crude looking ancient relics. A pair of wooden ceremonial masks with a West African flair hung from the ceiling out of reach. Bane turned in a circle and immediately headed over to a white pillar with an unoccupied plush cushion on its top. A neatly lettered plaque still explained 'CEREMONIAL GAUNTLET Found In Syria, dated c. 1500 BC.' "So, I take it that was the missing object."
"Yes. And I must say it certainly is not the most valuable item in the store," said the man. "That pewter figure of a rearing horse was by Petrucci and it's valued at eight thousand. We were offered just as much for those opal and onyx diadems at auction. The gauntlet is more problematic."
Standing by the pillar, the Dire Wolf dropped down to a squat so he could examine a 4 by 5 photo affixed by the cushion. "Hmm," he said non-commitally. "You had it appraised?"
"It seemed to be a well preserved gauntlet made of black leather that had been lacquered. Some of its joints were fastened with iron rivets." Meredith Austin sounded amused as she continued, "Two professors at the State University got into an argument over it when we left it with them for a week. One swore it was nothing but a modern replica of something from the Second Crusades era but the other professor became quite agitated. He went on a rant about something called the Darthan Age."
Bane straightened up and turned toward the elderly couple. Something in his pale grey eyes under heavy black brows seemed to alarm them. "Go on."
"Errr...well, Professor Crawford had a theory about something called the Darthan Age, a sort of blind spot in prehistory about very few hints have been uncovered. He went on in some detail about an unprecedented cataclysm that changed the continents and erased all signs of the worldwide civilization that had existed. The other professor grew outraged and everything ended in a shouting match. Henry and I took the gauntlet and departed while they were yelling at each other."
Cindy gave a low husky chuckle and turned attention back to herself. "Yes, the Darthan Age has that effect on archaeologists and historians, I'm afraid. Most scientists place it between the Hollow Earth theories and the Gobi Desert origin of mankind. So, Mr and Mrs Austin, the gauntlet was the only such item you had on display?"
"Oh yes. We only obtained it by chance at an estate sale. What do you folks make of the whole shenanigans?"
The Dire Wolf was still frowning when he raised his head to regard them. "Personally, I don't think you folks need to worry about any further break-ins. This was a one-time thing, the thieves got what they wanted and they won't be back."
"That's a relief," Mrs Austin breathed.
"I think we're about done here," Cindy offered, going over to take Bane by an arm. "We'll ask our sources to keep an eye open. If your property is reported anywhere, naturally we will try to get it back to you."
As Bane and Cindy headed out the door, they heard Henry Austin mutter, "I'd be happy to never see that glove again. Damn thing always made my skin crawl."
Back out in the afternoon sunlight, they found that the police had left and there were no curious bystanders left either. The blonde telepath tugged on Bane's arm and headed down the block. "I'm parked right over there. I have to say, hon, that those two were telling the truth as best as they know it. No deceit. But you looked even more worried than usual."
The Dire Wolf nodded as they reached the sporty cherry-red Heron she had purchased as her personal car. "Something about a leather gauntlet like that... I can't quite remember where I've read about it. But it gives me an uncomfortable feeling."
Climbing in behind the wheel, Cindy reached over to unlock his door from the inside. While he got in, she went on, "And I plucked some images from the memory centers of their brains without them knocking it. The Austins saw the burglar drive away as they arrived but they didn't realize it at the time. We are looking for a black 1998 SUV with a dent on the rear bumper. They didn't get a good enough look at the plates. Driving the car was a woman maybe thirty or thirty-one, pretty tall, say five feet eleven. Golden blonde hair down to the shoulders, thin lips and a straight nose and a wide jawline. Not so much a dainty heartbreaker as someone intimidating. Sound like some individuals we've tangled with?"
"A Melgar...."
II.
Over an hour later, they made it back to Midtown Manhattan. At 38th Street, they turned up Lexington and swung into a dead-end alley where a steel door slid up automatically. Going slowly and carefully, Cindy made the sharp turn in the concrete ramp leading down without scraping the paint on her car. Already parked in the small garage was the Ford Focus. The other KDF vehicle, a Buick Regal, had been taken by Josef Jubilec on his own assignment. They headed from the garage down the long narrow corridor between the Vault and the arsenal, then up through the sliding panel in the rear of the walk-in closet in the front hall.
Waiting gleefully for them was a lovely young woman barely an inch over five feet tall and reaching a hundred pounds only on Thanksgiving afternoon. But Ashley Whitaker was so enthusiastic, so burning with life, that she dominated the scene. Between the all-white outfit she had on, the shining platinum blonde hair and the fair skin, there was a definitely snow elf aspect to her. "Hey, guys!" she sang out. "We have all been researching like MAD since you called. Hurry, hurry, everyone is in the conference room."
Following the Unicorn as she scurried up the wide center staircase, Cindy gave Bane a rueful smile. Had the two of them ever been that young and gung-ho? They reached the second floor landing and went into the conference room where the members of the Second Team were at work. Most of the room was taken up by a massive oak table with five chairs on either side and one at each end; at this table had gathered three previous generations of heroes. The four other members of the new team stirred as they heard Bane and Cindy enter.
Megan Salenger, the Human orphan raised by the Trom, had two open laptops in front of her. Sheng Mo-Yuan and Lauren Sable Reilly both were half concealed behind precarious stacks of ancient hardbound volumes. A third stack marked where Unicorn had been working until the chime had announced a car pulling into the building's garage.
"You guys seem to be taking the assignment seriously," Cindy told them. She circled around and glanced down at the laptops but drew back feeling dizzy. Both screens were flashing pages of information like a strobe light. "Oh God, Megan," Cindy said. "Don't tell me you can read that fast!"
"I can," the Trom Girl answered blithely, not even glancing up. "Two screens are my limit. After that, reading comprehension drops off rapidly."
"I bet," Cindy said. "Jeremy, you want to summarize for the team what happened at the gallery?"
Taking his seat at the head of the table, the Dire Wolf filled his new team in on the robbery. They raised a few questions and received clarification on several points. Then he asked them what they had found.
"The AUSTIN GALLERIES has an online catalogue," Megan started. "I sent the image of the stolen item to a few of our associates. I also initiated a search through our own records and I began to use various search engines. Nothing conclusive has been returned so far."
"Okay, I'd say to keep at it. Something may come back yet. Sable? Sheng?"
The young Chujiran who called himself Argent in the field hefted a battered slim book held together with librarian's black tape. "Of course, only a tiny percentage of the books in this building have been scanned into our computer files. So Lauren and I began rummaging for likely titles and have been searching the old-fashioned way. What did we find? Hints in passing. Vague references not mentioned in any index, all quite frustrating."
"But not without results, captain," interrupted Lauren Sable Reilly. She held up a piece of regular notebook paper covered with her neat tiny writing. "We tried getting all the clues together. I'm inclined to think we are dealing with someone trying to assemble a Targhul. Also called the Armor of Hell, these are empty suits of metal or leather armor animated by a Darthan spell. They are greatly feared because they don't feel pain or fear, they are immensely strong and difficult to destroy. Evidently one such Targhul was disassembled back in the 1940s by Mark Drum and the pieces widely scattered. Over the decades since then, one by one the various segments ended up with occult collectors."
"This is grim news," Bane said. "We need to establish how far someone has gotten in putting a Targhul together IF that is what's going on? Ashley, you've been quiet. Do you have anything to add?"
"Do I?! You bet. I made a few phone calls. It seems Sulak is at his house outside Boston. He wants me to warn everyone about a woman named Alindir. She's a Melgar aristocrat who was about to be charged with forbidden sorcery. Sulak says she is believed to have come here to this world and get up to no good. Being a Melgar, she's strong enough to flip a car over on its side AND she is reported to have been learning Darthan spells. What a combination."
Bane and Cindy glanced at each other. "Any description, Unicorn?"
"Oh sure. She's a little under six feet tall, one hundred and fifty pounds. Long straight blonde hair, Sulak says it's the color of fresh butter. Blue eyes. Sounds like kind of a mannish face if you ask me... why are you two looking at me that way?"
In reply, the Dire Wolf placed his open hands palm down on the table in front of him. "Team, I have to say you have all done better than I had hoped. This is great. You have gotten enough pieces of the puzzle together that we can plan our next move."
Unicorn breathed on her knuckles and then rubbed them against her shirt high up on her chest in self-congratulation. Seeing this, Bane added, "You have ALL done well, you're starting to work as a team," and Ashley's smirk faltered.
III.
The rest of the early evening had been spent checking their gear, eating a light meal and resting. Several of the new members were getting able to nap for two or three hours as available so that they could function nonstop for the following twenty-four. At nine o'clock, they assembled in the hangar on the top floor for the final briefing. All of them except one were wearing the black field suits with boots, snug pants and waist-length jacket. Those suit carried a dozen tiny weapons and gadgets in concealed pockets. Each member also had one of the helmets on hand. They looked like an elite commando squad.
The one glaring exception was, as usual, Ashley Whitaker. She had ordered a field suit all in white and she wore it whenever she thought she could get away with it. Seeing disapproval on the faces of her teammates, Unicorn tried to look humble. The petite blonde buckled together her leather utility belt with its flap holster holding the dart gun and six pouches, snuggling it down at a jaunty angle across her narrow hips.
"It's not about fashion sense," she objected although no one had said anything. "This is how my mother dressed when she was the first Unicorn. I'm carrying on her tradition. You have to respect the legacy."
"This is the last time I'm allowing this," said Bane. "On your own time, you can dress however you like. But on a mission where the safety of your teammates is at risk, you're going to wear the standard field suit or be suspended."
"Sure. No problem." Something in her voice hinted at future disobedience.
Bane turned to the rest of the team. "Lauren and Megan, go down to the garage and take one of the cars. The Ford might be the better choice. Drive out toward the far end of Long Island. That's where some seemingly unrelated robberies have been pulled the past few weeks. The rest of us will be searching from the air. Megan, take readings for any unusual life signs or gralic activity. Lauren, use your sensory powers as often as you can."
"Understood, captain," Sable said, leading the Trom Girl from the hangar and down a flight of the stairs to the elevator, which only reached the ninth floor.
As Bane watched critically, Ashley and Sheng readied the CORBY for take-off. They did the external visual check, started the Trom impulse engines and ran down the lengthy checklist of various dials and gauges. The storage compartment was already stocked with survival gear and their personal knapsacks, but they made sure everything was secured. Eventually, the young Chujiran walked around the sleek black shape one final time and said, "Wheels up in five minutes."
"Well done, both of you," Bane told them. "You didn't miss a single detail. Cindy, you want to take co-pilot seat so you can scan for troubled minds as we go?"
"Sounds good," she said, sliding open the right front hatch and grabbing a horizontal bar to hoist herself up. "It's dark enough outside for us to sneak out."
Climbing into the pilot seat, Bane waited until his teammates were strapped in on the bench in the compartment behind the cabin before starting the rotors. "Opening roof panel," he said, pulling back on the stick. The CORBY lifted up two feet off the hangar floor and the three point landing gear retracted behind a flush panel. "Sensors show no other aircraft within a mile of us." They rose smoothly through the segmented roof panel which closed automatically behind them and ascended so swiftly that G-forces pressed them down uncomfortably into their seats.
As they leveled off at one thousand feet and began to move south, Sheng exhaled sharply. "Whew. I bet even if someone was standing on the roof next door, odds are they wouldn't spot us leaving."
"We haven't been caught yet," Bane said. "At least no one has reported us to FAA. But there's always a chance. We usually leave by an Eldar travel crystal, but I like to keep in practice for quick departures. You two might as well settle back for now. Once the action starts, there's no telling how long we'll be on the run."
IV.
Almost touching the waters of Long Island Sound where the shore wore away year after year, the rust-red barn was dangerously close to collapsing under its own weight. The roof sagged in visibly and some boards had dropped off. Across an expanse of gravel was a two-story farmhouse in equally poor condition. It had not been painted in many years, windows were boarded up or empty holes gaped where the glass had broken. In front of the house was a porcelain bath tub over on its side, with a lawn mover rusted out of usability and an engine block with tools scattered around it.
Milling around in the brisk March afternoon, drinking beer and smoking both pot and cigarettes, were all eight members of the Dirty Dogs. Their numbers had dwindled from a peak of two dozen a few years earlier. Most were related by blood or by marriage, they were beefy men ranging from thirty to almost fifty years old, wearing what amounted to variations on a uniform. Boots, worn-out jeans with knees gone or patches across the crotch, T-shirts, leather vests or jackets with the sleeves torn off. Beards, long hair hanging wild or pulled back into ponytails, tattoos, missing front teeth... they made a point of advertising who they were.
Yet they were actually a peaceful bunch who avoided fights and tried to stay out of trouble. Their income came from drug sales, car repairs and yardwork for cash. Until the coming of Alindir and her terrifying friend, the Dogs had never expected anything exciting to enter their lives. All that had changed forever.
ZZ Top was blaring from a battery-powered cassette player. "Turn that afore I break you over your head, Skeeter!" yelled their leader. This was a man three inches over six feet tall, once a bodybuilder but now sporting forty pounds too many, mostly around his waist. No one knew where his nickname 'Preacher' had come from and he never explained. "Our lady's got something to say."
Everyone dropped what they were doing and hustled over to the dark mid-sized SUV that was parked by the barn. They obeyed with a hastiness born of fear. Five days earlier, this vehicle had pulled out and Alindir surprised them by emerging and telling them she was claiming them all as her servants. She did not look particularly scary, a tall woman with rich blonde hair that hung straight to her shoulders. When Skeeter had sauntered up and drawled, "And why we would be doing that, ma'am?"
Alindir had responded by seizing his shirt front and lifting him up off the ground with one hand. She held him up at arm's length without seeming effort, shook him vigorously and dropped him to fall to a seated position in the dirt. "You have never known my like," she announced. "I am a Melgar from Androval! Our children are stronger than your brawniest men. Yet it is not I that you should fear."
And then she had introduced them to the Targhul.
Now, Alindir watched them form a semi-circle facing her, all but kneeling and groveling. She smirked at the sight. Humans needed to be ruled by fear, it took the burden of decisions from them. She still wore high riding boots from her native realm but she had changed into tan slacks and a long-sleeved silk blouse. Like most Melgarin women, she was handsome rather than beautiful, with a strong jaw and prominent nose, but she had a presence that could not be ignored.
"Hear me," she said, "These are my words. With the Armor of Hell to aid you, you have robbed some local markets in the dark of the night. What are mere locks or iron bars to the Targhul? Stone walls can not resist him. Tonight we must be bolder. Before midnight, we will return here with all the loot you can carry!"
The cheers which answered her seemed forced. Alindir frowned and beckoned with one hand toward a gigantic figure which had been behind the SUV, standing more unmoving than any living thing could hold a pose. There was none of the minute swaying and adjustments which flesh and made had to make. A head taller than a tall man, the Targhul seemed to be wearing a complete suit of lacquered black leather, complete with gauntlets and epaulets and a helmet with a featureless faceplate. But there was no one inside. Targhul WAS the armor, an unnatural constructed animated by a Darthan spell from thirty thousand years ago before history began. Reinforced by gralic energy, a Targhul could not be destroyed by mortal weapons. It had strength to whatever extent was needed, it could channel gralic blasts like lightning on command. Whenever a Targhul manifested itself, mass deaths and destruction inevitably followed.
The younger Dogs member called Skeeter averted his face and did not look directly at the Armor of Hell. From elbow to wrist, his right forearm was encased in a plaster cast and hung from a sling around his neck. When they had first met the Targhul, Skeeter had been bold enough to try to strike the monster with a tire iron. Not only did the blow not do any harm to the Armor, the Targhul had snapped Skeeter's forearm with the grip of one hand and then flung the howling biker aside. A few more attempts at harming the black leather figure had produced similar results and the Dirty Dogs had been living in downtrodden fear ever since.
"Grudging loyalty will not do!" the Melgar woman shouted. "Pledge me your hearts and your hands, your last ounce of strength. When I am ready to return to Androval, it must be as a conqueror. King Holmir will regret the day he disowned me." She made a growling sound of disgust. "Feh! None of you understand my agenda. But you will."
"Lady..." began Preacher, "We're just reg'lar working folks. We can't follow half of what you say. But we're with you."
"So be it." She folded her arms across her substantial chest and eased her scowl. "I still have no sword to weild. I have no proper steed to bear me, only this metal wagon which runs by burning oil. No matter. When darkness falls, blood will be spilt and heads will roll. My vengeance has barely begun..."
V.
There was no sound of engines in the pressurized, air-conditioned cabin. The subdued illumination came from dozens of pastel green and blue lights stretched across almost every available surface in the cabin; if one had turned red, the change would get immediate attention. A row of six small monitor screens were all active and showing no problems. As an hour ticked by in silence, Sheng Mo-Yuan began to fidget on the bench in the back compartment. He peered through the clear divider into the cabin and studied how Bane was using the single collective/cyclic stick, but nothing unusual was going on. The Dire Wolf's helmet kept him in communication with his teammates and also fed him any alerts from the CORBY's computers. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. The CORBY was only proceeding at sixty miles an hour so that Sable and Megan could keep pace on the road below and so that the search could proceed.
In the co-pilot seat, Cindy Brunner was staring out through the windscreen at the night. Her profile showed complete concentration and Sheng knew this meant she was searching the area telepathically for any sign of trouble. Sheng shifted restlessly and glanced at Unicorn next to him. He suppressed a laugh. Ashley had fallen asleep with her head on her shoulder. She looked about twelve years old. Smiling, the Chujiran envied the little blonde's ability to catch a nap whenever possible, even during thunderstorms. But then, Ashley had been raised by her mother to be the second Unicorn and this explained a lot of her habits.
After another long silent interval, Cindy leaned back. "Nothing. Nothing yet. Jeremy, can we drop a little lower?"
"Sure." He tilted the nose of the stealthcopter down. "Descending to one hundred feet. On a night like this, way out in the sticks,
The telepath began gazing down through the windscreen again, frowning. Abruptly, she said, "Oh no! Jeremy, turn back. Hard to port. It's an emergency."
Responding by swinging the CORBY around on its own axis, the Dire Wolf asked, "What have you got?"
"Ten miles back. Agitated minds. People being killed. Hurry!"
As he accelerated through the night, Bane spoke into his helmet's mic. "Sable, come in."
"We read you, captain," came her steady voice in his earpod.
"There's trouble. Intruments show you're eight miles to our south. Keep coming, but use caution. Follow our signal."
"On our way," Sable said and broke off communications.
In the compartment behind the cabin, Sheng poked Unicorn in the ribs with his elbow. "Huh?" she said, sitting up on the bench. "Are we there yet?"
"Stand by, you two," Bane said as he brought the copter down to treetop level. "Be ready to jump out and start fighting."
Far from the nearest town, at the end of a hard-packed dirt road, sat a bar called THE ROUNDUP. It had briefly featured topless dancers but now got by on beer, country music and two pool tables. At eleven o'clock on a Thursday night, the round parking lot held only a few cars, one motorcycle, a pick-up with its light on and a black SUV. Bane lowered the three-wheel landing gear and touched down in plain sight on the edge of the parking lot. The urgency in Cindy's voice led him to skip staying unseen for the moment.
As soon as the copter settled, all four KDF members had unstrapped themselves and hopped off from the sliding hatches. Cindy shouted, "They're being killed! We have to stop it!" and started to run. Quick as she was, she had not taken more than the first step before Bane caught her by one arm and brought her up short.
"You stay here with the CORBY," he said firmly. "Be ready to take off instantly. Sheng, Ashley, stay behind me." The Dire Wolf bounded away toward the bar and, even though he was holding back his speed, his teammates had a hard time keeping him in sight. The three of them ran across the parking area toward the lights of the bar. They saw a long one-story wooden structure with a life-sized plywood cutout on the roof of a curvaceous woman with a cowboy hat. A neon sign blinked red and blue, 'THE ROUNDUP - YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO COME IN.' Parked at various angles were two cars and a Harley with extended handlebars. Off to one side, motor running and headlights on, sat a red Chevy pick-up with the crudely rendered head of a bulldog painted on the hood. Next to it stood a new Ford Explorer, where the Melgar renegade Alindir stood and smiled at the carnage.
Stretched out where they had fallen were four corpses which showed marks of extreme violence. One was missing an arm and another had his head twisted around to an angle it could never have assumed in life. Before the KDF team reached the bar, another body came flying out through the open door and thudded face down twenty feet away, never to rise by itself. From inside the bar, loud honkytonk music was drowned out by a shriek of agony which cut off suddenly.
A massive dark figure appeared in that doorway. The Targhul was holding a howling man by one leg, ignoring the frantic struggling and kicks. When he stepped outside, the Armor of Hell swung the man by that leg overhead and then down against the ground, shook him and then swung him again to the dirt to make sure his victim was dead before releasing him. Coming out behind the monster, members of the Dirty Dogs gang were hauling cases of beer and cartons of cigarettes toward their truck. One brought a wad of cash over to the tall blonde woman, who examined it suspiciously. "I count six hundred and thirty dollars," she said. "Search the pockets of the dead men."
As the Dogs moved to obey, a huge antique Buick skidded to a halt and a middle-aged man in a mechanic's coverall swung out with a Wetherby shotgun in hand. "You bastards!" he screamed, "You murderin' low-life scum! I knew those fellows!" He fired both barrels at pointblank range at this weird character in the leather armor.
Targhul did not flinch as the pellets bounced off and ricocheted away from him. He slowly raised one open gauntlet as if relishing the dawning fear in the old man's face, then loosed a lightning bolt of lurid red energy to fry the man into a blackened husk within a cloud of oily smoke.
"This is getting kinda hard to take," muttered one of Dirty Dogs, but he kept digging through the clothes of the victims just the same.
At that moment, the bikers saw people charging toward them out of the night. Jeremy Bane was in the lead, he stopped in a marksman stance and swung up his weapon. Instead of the anesthetic darts, he had brought a clip of the resonance caps. Twelve sharp explosions cracked in rapid succession against the leather helmet and the Targhul fell back a step in surprise, not injury. The creature raised the blank faceplate toward these newcomers.
Ejecting the empty magazine, Bane slid a fresh one into the butt of his airgun. Those bursts had obviously not even fazed the Targhul, and he intended to try the silver daggers next. Unicorn sprinted past him, holding her talisman in both hands, disregarding his instruction to wait the order for attack. Almost within reach of the unliving construct, she held the horn overhead and sang out in a clear confident voice, "With this horn I remove thy power!"
The Unicorn was a sacred beast itself in its natural way and this horn's effectiveness against malevolent force had been magnified by a spell from the Eldarin ages ago. Against everything from warlocks to howlers, the talisman had never failed Ashley before. She was dumbfounded when the Targhul defied the horn's effect.
Hollow echoing laughter boomed from within the dark helmet. The Armor of Hell gestured again and another bolt of gralic force hissed from that gauntlet to crash into Ashley Whitaker like a bomb exploding. She was spun completely upside down and flung back fifteen feet with steam boiling from her body. Only the ancient Unicorn talisman in her grasp had shielded her enough to keep from being incinerated completely.
Underestimating her audacity, Bane had not been prepared for her attacking the enemy by herself. As the gralic blast flung her past him, the Dire Wolf leaped and barely caught her in both arms, tumbling to the ground himself to break her fall. Springing back up, he found Cindy nearby and handed the half-dead Unicorn to her. "Get her into the CORBY, Cin!" he barked. "See how bad her injuries are." Even as the telepath took the unconscious girl, Bane wheeled around and was rushing to confront the Armor of Hell again.
Seeing Ashley take that bolt, Sheng Mo-Yuan forgot weapons and strategy. He focused his gralic charge into elevated speed and hurtled toward the Targhul faster than a leopard might. He built up momentum and, when he had nearly reached the Targhul, he shifted to greater strength. The classic looping haymaker he threw had tremendous force behind it. Any normal Human receiving that punch would have been killed outright but the Armor of Hell hardly reacted. That leather helmet twitched to one side and the monster slapped an open hand like an axe blade across Argent's face. That dazed the young Chujiran. With a split lip, he reeled a step to one side and managed to whip out a high front kick that scraped past the Targhul's shoulder harmlessly. Staying that close left Sheng too vulnerable. The stiffened fingers of a black gauntlet stabbed into Argent's side and broke three ribs at once.
Through the pain and outrage, Sheng retained enough awareness to reproach himself for attacking recklessly. His anger at seeing Ashley blasted away had overcome his judgement. But that passed through part of his mind in an instant and was swept away by defiance. Unable to straighten up fully, the young Chujiran managed to stay on his feet and raised his fists in front of him.
"By the White Horse," laughed the Targhul. "The pup has spirit." With the final word, the unliving thing swatted Sheng aside with a brutal backhand that spun the Chujiran to the ground. The Armor of Hell turned its blank faceplate toward the sole remaining foe. But Bane had scooped Sheng up as gently as possible and was hurrying over to the CORBY with the dazed youth. From the ease with which he ran, the Dire Wolf seemed able to have carried much greater burdens. The Targhul mistakenly concluded that the final enemy was fleeing in panic, so he strode over to rejoin Alindir.
The rotors of the CORBY were turning slowly, and the hatch to the rear compartment was open where Cindy had secured Unicorn in place. "Ashley's breathing well and her pulse is strong," Cindy said as she helped load Argent into the compartment as well.
The Unicorn could be heard mumbling, "No fair... let me at 'im..."
In a second, Cindy and Bane had tied Sheng down with restraint belts as well, so that he would not move around during flight. "I think he has a broken rib or two, he took a real pounding," the Dire Wolf said.
"I can't affect that creature with my telepathy," Cindy told him. "It's not really alive. Okay, I'm ready for wheels up. I already called Ted, he's waiting for us."
"Good to hear. Keep me updated, honey." Bane started to slide the hatch shut as he saw his partner squeeze through the partition into the pilot's seat.
Just before she pulled back on the collective/cyclic stick, the telepath gave him a reassuring look. "I'd tell you to be careful, Jeremy, but I'm sure you already have a plan to destroy that awful thing." Then the hatch clicked shut and the rotors spun faster.
VI.
As the Dire Wolf stepped quickly back, the CORBY rose upward into the darkness, its rotors making no more noise than a breeze might. With no external lights, the Trom-built craft could not be seen from the ground by even the sharpest eye. Bane swung around and strode angrily toward the scene of the massacre. He blamed himself for not keeping Ashley and Sheng behind him until the right moment. They were still too rash and headstrong yet.
The pick-up truck carrying the Dirty Dogs was gunning its motor. Infuriatingly, triumphant howls and hee-haws could be heard. As Bane charged toward the bar, he spotted the dark outline of the Targhul clambering stiffly into the rear bed of the truck before it roared away. It was not too late to try blowing a tire off that vehicle with a resonance cap but Bane restrained himself. He had to stick to his plan if there was any chance of destroying that walking horror. Another direct confrontation would only end with him being as battered as his teammates.
Exactly as the truck rounded a turn in the road and vanished, headlights appeared behind him. The KDF cruiser slowed and Bane swung open the front passenger door to hop inside. "Keep going," he told Lauren at the wheel. "This is going to be the showdown."
Sable slammed down her foot on the gas and the Ford Focus nearly left the ground as it accelerated. Megan Salenger had made extensive modifications to the hatchback, so much so that she would have to restore its original engine and drive train before taking it for State inspection. The body panels and acrylic resin windows were resistant against even high-powered rifle rounds and the vehicle had been fitted with undercarriage nozzles that sprayed either anesthetic gas or a combination of black smoke and tear gas. Sable had immediately taken a liking to the high-powered car and relished putting it through its paces.
Next to her, Bane said mildly, "This isn't a CORBY, Lauren. It won't actually fly."
"Heh. Sorry, you guys." Sable slowed down and switched off the visible headlights. Through the treated windshield, the scene before them was sharply revealed in eerie pale green radiance from the projectors under the hood. This could not be seen by the unaided eye. If anyone had been beside the road the night, they might have glimpsed only a dark shape hurtling through the gloom and making nearly no sound. Within minutes, they had the truck ahead of them.
"I'm staying back a bit," Sable announced to her partners. "There's not much chance of them spotting us even if they're looking, but still...."
"Good. Team, we are dealing with a Targhul. Also called Armor of Hell. They're empty constructs of hard leather moving by sorcery. Strong and almost impossible to destroy. It supposedly is under the control of that Melgar renegade Alindir. The Targhul slaughtered six men back there and a Human gang of helpers looted the scene." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Unicorn and Sheng both took some damage. Unicorn was hit by a gralic bolt and Sheng was beaten by the monster. I don't know how severe their injuries are. Cindy is flying them to headquarters where Dr Wright is standing by."
"Are they going to be all right?" asked the Trom Girl from the back seat. Her emotionless mask was slipping more frequently as she became attached to her teammates.
"I hope so. There's no one better to have on hand than Ted Wright, remember. He's a Blue Guide and a genuine MD specializing in trauma surgery. I trust him without any reservations." He bent forward to peer at the truck far ahead of them. "They're not aware of us. I'm letting them get more distance between us. Lauren, how's your telescopic vision working?"
"Let me pull over for a second." She brought the car to a halt and made a few "hmmm" and "ahh" sounds while using her abilities. "I can see the corner of a farmhouse and a barn two miles ahead of us. There are outdoor lights. People are getting out of the truck and milling around. That's all I can make out, the light is poor."
"The light is POOR?" repeated Bane. "That's how you see it? I can't make out twenty feet ahead of us tonight. Your powers are amazing, Sable, I only wish you could teach us to see and hear that way."
"We each have our gifts," Sable said in an unsuccessful attempt to sound modest. "What's the plan, captain?"
Bane turned his head toward the Trom Girl behind them. "It's time to wrap this up. Megan, you have the spare gravity shield? And the adhesive? Good. I want you to fly up out of eyesight and find concealment near the scene. In the trees would be good. Be ready to act immediately on my signal. Got it?"
"On my way," responded the Human orphan raised by the enigmatic Trom. She climbed out of the Ford and got her bearings. Fastened between her shoulder blades was a round metal disc the size of a dinner plate, and she carried an identical disc on a strap over one shoulder. Controls to the gravity shield were in the stiff cuffs of her field suit. Megan lifted up clear of the ground, floated for a split-second as she straightened her body like a diver and then she flashed away straight up. A tiny slender figure all in black, she was effectively invisible against the overcast night sky.
Sable blinked at the abrupt departure. She had seen Megan take off before, of course, but she still had not gotten used to it. There was no noise of engines, no flash of rocket exhaust. The Trom Girl simply rose up and accelerated like a bullet into the air. If you weren't looking directly at her, you might wondered how she had vanished.
Reaching over, Bane turned off the engine. "I'm going to sneak into that farm house, I have a plan. You're not going to like this next order, Lauren. You're staying here. Keep your Link open and be ready to drive to my rescue if necessary. If we don't make it, report to Cindy and you can figure out the next move together."
"Wait, what? I'm supposed to wait here safe in the car?" Sable protested. "While you and Megan take the risks?"
"I have reasons for these orders," said Bane. He did not raise his voice, but its tone indicated he expected to obeyed. "Stay alert. Stand by." Then he leaped out the driver door and was gone into the gloom.
Leaning back in the driver's seat, Lauren Sable Reilly did not realize what a sullen pout had fixed itself to her face. She said a few words she did not normally use.
VII.
Twenty years of Kumundu training, of taking lessons from ninja and espionage experts, had made Bane so stealthy that he would have experienced difficulty making noise as he crept through the night. He approached the delapidated farm house from an angle where he was not visible to any watchers at its windows. For the moment, worry about his injured teammates had been put aside; all his thoughts were focused on the task of destroying this formidable enemy.
Circling the farm house, taking advantage of scattered trees and dense bushes, Bane turned up the light enhancers in his helmet's visor. There, one window on the north side of the building was open six inches. These bikers were not likely to have brought any alarm systems with them and their Melgar master operated on the level of Medieval technology. The Dire Wolf flashed up to the house, slid the widow up further and climbed through as nimbly as an acrobat.
He found himself in a bedroom with a distinctly musty odor. On a dresser sat a porcelain water jug and some tumblers, scattered clothing lay on the floor where it had been dropped. Bane moved over to the bed and gazed down at the barely alive form of Paldren the Melgar. He knelt to examine the man. Paldren's skin was cold and clammy, he was only breathing five times a minute and his pulse was regular but weak. The Dire Wolf knew what was wrong. This Melgar's very lifeforce had left his body and was animating the Armor of Hell. Targhuls had no independent existence of their own.
Lifting the limp form up, Bane draped him across his own shoulders in the fireman's carry. It felt like dead weight. The Dire Wolf twisted the left ear pod of his helmet and the visor slid up into its internal track to leave his face exposed. He wanted to experience the next few minutes directly. More, he wanted his expression to show to help intimidate the enemy.
Emerging from the stuffy farm house into the crisp night air, Bane carefully closed the screen door behind him and stole along the side wall toward the front yard. Lights had been strung on a cord over the open door of the barn, revealing six men who were sloshing beer as they drank and whooped it up as if congratulating themselves on winning a war. Standing by a folding card table, Alindir sorted through the money and valuables they had brought back. She seemed to be dividing the loot into piles to be dispersed among her followers.
Standing ominously to one side, arms folded across its hollow chest, stood the leather construct that had made all the slaughter possible. Targhul, the Armor of Hell, still another vile creation of Darthan sorcery in ages long past.
Bane peered around the corner of the farm house at the unpleasant scene. With Paldren still across his shoulders, the Dire Wolf set his dart gun to single shot and calculated his next sequence of action. Even with the long needle-thin barrel, the dart gun did not have the range of a regular firearm. On the other hand, the Dirt Dogs wore sleeveless jackets and vests open over hairy bellies, so there was plenty of exposed skin to aim at. Bane swung around into view and fired quickly but accurately. One by one, the bikers gave a start and cursed as they felt a sting of the metal darts piercing their flesh. In less than a second, the drug dazed and disoriented them and a few seconds after that, the Dogs began slumping to the dirt as if they had become extremely sleepy.
The faint chuff of the CO2-powered was inaudible twenty feet away, and there was no muzzle flash. None of the bikers had a clue about what was happening to them until it was too late. The one called Preacher was last to receive a dart. He saw his gang drop and he managed to yell, "Hey!" before he fell to his knees himself and stretched out in the dirt.
The Targhul moved closer, tilting its helmeted head. "Sister, what does this mean?"
"Nay, I know not," Alindir answered, hustling over to crouch by the snoring men. "Could their beer have been poisoned?!"
That was Bane's cue. He strode across the parking area, Paldren across his shoulders, and announced, "Maybe I can explain."
"YOU!" boomed the sepulchral voice of the Targhul, not formed by lungs or mouth. "You were at the battle."
"You should be ashamed to call that a battle," the Dire Wolf told them. "It was a massacre. The Melgar I knew used to have at least some semblance of honor. Listen, I am a knight of Tel Shai. Maybe you know about us."
Alindir tensed up, raising one fist in a defiant gesture. "Who has not heard of the Dire Wolf? I saw you and your friends aid Androval itself when the scum of Ulgor dared invade our sacred soil."
"Yeah, you're welcome," Bane scoffed. He had raised the visor of his helmet so his expression could be seen, knowing the effect his pale eyes often had on adversaries. "You recognize this body I'm holding?"
"My brother! Paldren! By the White Horse, it is a dangerous game you play."
Lifting a silver-bladed dagger in his free hand, Bane pressed the point to the unconscious Melgar's damp throat. "Hold it. Not a move, Targhul. You know how the spell works. If your mortal body dies, you'll be trapped in that leather shell forever. You'll never be flesh and blood again."
Surprisingly, the unliving construct clapped its mitts together. "Hah! Human fool. Is that how you hope to subdue me?" The hollow voice from the empty helmet echoed in the night air. "I do not WANT to ever be mortal again. I do not hunger, I do not thirst, I never grow ill or weary. No weapon can slay me."
Bane did not like the turn this conversation had taken. "You'd be content to never love a woman again? Never enjoy food and drink? Never feel the sun on your face or take a deep breath of fresh air?"
"Do your worst to that carcass, I care not."
But Alindir cried out. "Wait! Wait, that is my younger brother you speak of. I would not see Paldren's life tossed away thus. Targhul, reconsider, I plead with you."
Sinister laughter rumbled in that empty chest. "Woman, it is not for you to decide," the Armor of Hell retorted. "Kill that flesh, Dire Wolf, and have done with it. Better yet, I shall slay both of you."
As the monster raised a fist around which red lightning crackled, Bane spoke into the mic in his helmet, "Megan - do it now!"
In the next few seconds, it was all over. Swooping down from the trees, the Trom Girl landed right on top of the Targhul and soared away again instantly but during that brief contact she had slapped the disc of the spare gravity shield to the monster's back where it was stuck with potent adhesive. So quickly that no one watching could follow his departure, the Targhul hurtled straight up into the dark sky, accelerating as he went. From a mile overhead came the painful crack of a sonic boom at too close a range.
Bane allowed Paldren's limp form to slump down to the ground. He exhaled forcefully as the tension of that confrontation passed. "Nice work, Megan. Clean and decisive."
"Unfortunately, I will be reprimanded by my superiors for this," the Trom Girl told him. "That device was expensive."
Her mouth hanging open, Alindir swung around to stare wildly in all directions. "I don't... Where is my brother? What did you do to him?"
"That wasn't your brother," Bane said. "That was an unliving engine of destruction. A bloodless thing of evil, as it called itself."
"Where is he?" she demanded. "What will happen to him?"
"Getting rid of the Targhul was a real problem," Bane admitted. "If we sent him to the South Pole or the bottom of the Pacific, he would survive and start walking. Sooner or later, he would make it back here to start all over again. We couldn't restrain him, he was too strong. We couldn't destroy him. Honestly, all I could think of was to exile him."
Megan Salenger was gazing up at the sky thoughtfully. "He reached escape velocity thirty seconds ago, captain. By now, he is leaving the stratosphere."
Turning to the stupefied Melgar woman, Bane snapped, "He won't be coming back, Alindir. Targhul will be speeding away for eternity. I suppose he might collide with a stray asteroid or get sucked into a star a million years from now but that hardly matters to you, does it?"
She lowered her head and her shoulders slumped. Her voice alone remained defiant. "And what fate will you serve me?"
"That's for King Holmir to decide. I'm sending you and what's left of your brother back to Androval. You knew his edict about entering this world without permission and you knew his law against harming Humans. My guess is the royal executioner will be summoned. And I don't feel sorry for you, lady. You left eight men dead at that bar, men who had done you no harm whatever, men who had famlies. You've earned what's coming to you." Taking out his Link, he said in it, "Sable, bring the car around, please."
With Megan guarding the prisoner, the Dire Wolf walked up the driveway to meet Sable. She parked the vehicle and got out with anger clear in her stiff pose.
"I know you're annoyed, Lauren," Bane said without sounding apologetic. "You're going to have to obey a lot of orders you don't agree with. It's part of the job. And I think you'll be in a position to be giving orders yourself someday."
She untensed her shoulders and nodded. "Understood, captain. I heard from Cindy. Argent and Unicorn are going to be all right. Sheng has a broken rib and a torn shoulder muscle. Ashley has the equivalent of dehydration and sunburn from the gralic blast. They're in good spirits." Sable took in the puzzling situation, the stunned bodies sprawled in the yard and Trom Girl guarding the prisoner. "Jeremy, where's the armored man?"
With a rare smile, the Dire Wolf pointed straight up. "Out there somewhere."
3/26/2000 - Rev. 5/13/2019
I.
Jeremy Bane appeared from nowhere in a silent flash of clear blue light, suddenly standing on a sidewalk in Flanders, Long Island where no one had been an instant before. He had popped in from thin air within plain sight of two police officers and a number of passers-by. Bane regretted his haste as soon as he realized he had not arranged to materialize in the shadows as usual. Keeping a low profile was so important that this blatant public appearance worried him.
Everyone jumped at the unexpected sight and one man dropped a paper sack of groceries he had been holding, spilling its contents. "Huh? What? Where...?"
Within arm's reach, a uniformed officer gave a violent start. "Goddam. Where did you come from, mister?"
"It's all right. Here, look at this." Bane handed over his leather document case, opened to show both his driver's license and his PI license. The cops examined both carefully, comparing the photo to the man before him. Six feet tall, one hundred and seventy pounds, black hair and grey eyes. It all matched. They also noticed there was a Consultants certificate for the NYPD and a folded document from the FBI's 21 Black Department authorizing the bearer to appear on crime scenes. Finally, returning the case, the oldest officer there said, "The notorious Dire Wolf, huh? I've been hearing wild stories about you for years. What was that blue light a second ago?"
"Hard to say," Bane replied unhelpfully. "Some sort of optical illusion, maybe." He turned toward the neat one-story white frame building which read 'AUSTEN GALLERIES - BY APPPOINTMENT ONLY' in ornate green script across its wide picture window. Next to it was a frozen yogurt place, and a used clothing boutique beyond that. The middle-aged couple standing in front of that building regarded Bane with mixed hopefulness and dismay. The small slender form of Cindy Brunner was close to them to give moral support.
"Hey, Jeremy," she sang out cheerfully. "Glad you got here so fast. Henry and Meredith, this is my partner, Jeremy Bane. He's been figuring out oddball crimes most of his life."
"You're Henry and Meredith Austin, I guess?" the Dire Wolf asked in as subdued a tone as he could manage. "What happened here?"
The woman answered for them both, glancing over at the telepath. With her dark blonde hair pulled up into a thick ponytail, wearing a light windbreaker and jeans, Cindy was not intimidating at all. Her open fresh face and easy smile helped relaxed the older couple. "Hello," said Mrs Austin, "We were explaining the situation to Cindy, maybe you should come in and get a look. The police have taken all the photos they care to. Here, mind the broken door..."
In fact, not only was the front door to the shop hanging inward at an angle, supported by only its lower hinge, but the lock itself had been broken apart. A gouge deep in the wood of the door frame hinted how much force had been used. Seeing Bane's interested scrutiny, Henry Austin said, "A man is on his way to replace everything. He's done a good deal deal of home repair for us, name's Bob."
"Glad to hear it," the Dire Wolf remarked absently as he followed the older couple inside. "I know you've told your story a hundred times to the police but how about running it past me?"
"Not a problem," said Henry Meredith. He was a short dumpy man with his belt pulled up to the center of a round belly. The lack of hair except across the back of his neck up to both jug ears didn't make him more appealing, but his voice was intelligent and well-spoken. "Well, young fellow, Meredith and I parked out Firebird behind the store as we always do and when we came around front, naturally we noticed the door as you saw it."
"No one can explain why the alarms didn't go off," interrupted his wife. "After all we spent to have them installed, too. The nice officer says it looks to him as if something somehow fused the wires shut so the circuit didn't know it was broken. I don't understand that."
The interior of the shop had plenty of open floor space to allow browsers. Along the walls and in stand-alone cabinets behind glass were abstract statuary, geodes and other crystals, and a number of odd rather-crude looking ancient relics. A pair of wooden ceremonial masks with a West African flair hung from the ceiling out of reach. Bane turned in a circle and immediately headed over to a white pillar with an unoccupied plush cushion on its top. A neatly lettered plaque still explained 'CEREMONIAL GAUNTLET Found In Syria, dated c. 1500 BC.' "So, I take it that was the missing object."
"Yes. And I must say it certainly is not the most valuable item in the store," said the man. "That pewter figure of a rearing horse was by Petrucci and it's valued at eight thousand. We were offered just as much for those opal and onyx diadems at auction. The gauntlet is more problematic."
Standing by the pillar, the Dire Wolf dropped down to a squat so he could examine a 4 by 5 photo affixed by the cushion. "Hmm," he said non-commitally. "You had it appraised?"
"It seemed to be a well preserved gauntlet made of black leather that had been lacquered. Some of its joints were fastened with iron rivets." Meredith Austin sounded amused as she continued, "Two professors at the State University got into an argument over it when we left it with them for a week. One swore it was nothing but a modern replica of something from the Second Crusades era but the other professor became quite agitated. He went on a rant about something called the Darthan Age."
Bane straightened up and turned toward the elderly couple. Something in his pale grey eyes under heavy black brows seemed to alarm them. "Go on."
"Errr...well, Professor Crawford had a theory about something called the Darthan Age, a sort of blind spot in prehistory about very few hints have been uncovered. He went on in some detail about an unprecedented cataclysm that changed the continents and erased all signs of the worldwide civilization that had existed. The other professor grew outraged and everything ended in a shouting match. Henry and I took the gauntlet and departed while they were yelling at each other."
Cindy gave a low husky chuckle and turned attention back to herself. "Yes, the Darthan Age has that effect on archaeologists and historians, I'm afraid. Most scientists place it between the Hollow Earth theories and the Gobi Desert origin of mankind. So, Mr and Mrs Austin, the gauntlet was the only such item you had on display?"
"Oh yes. We only obtained it by chance at an estate sale. What do you folks make of the whole shenanigans?"
The Dire Wolf was still frowning when he raised his head to regard them. "Personally, I don't think you folks need to worry about any further break-ins. This was a one-time thing, the thieves got what they wanted and they won't be back."
"That's a relief," Mrs Austin breathed.
"I think we're about done here," Cindy offered, going over to take Bane by an arm. "We'll ask our sources to keep an eye open. If your property is reported anywhere, naturally we will try to get it back to you."
As Bane and Cindy headed out the door, they heard Henry Austin mutter, "I'd be happy to never see that glove again. Damn thing always made my skin crawl."
Back out in the afternoon sunlight, they found that the police had left and there were no curious bystanders left either. The blonde telepath tugged on Bane's arm and headed down the block. "I'm parked right over there. I have to say, hon, that those two were telling the truth as best as they know it. No deceit. But you looked even more worried than usual."
The Dire Wolf nodded as they reached the sporty cherry-red Heron she had purchased as her personal car. "Something about a leather gauntlet like that... I can't quite remember where I've read about it. But it gives me an uncomfortable feeling."
Climbing in behind the wheel, Cindy reached over to unlock his door from the inside. While he got in, she went on, "And I plucked some images from the memory centers of their brains without them knocking it. The Austins saw the burglar drive away as they arrived but they didn't realize it at the time. We are looking for a black 1998 SUV with a dent on the rear bumper. They didn't get a good enough look at the plates. Driving the car was a woman maybe thirty or thirty-one, pretty tall, say five feet eleven. Golden blonde hair down to the shoulders, thin lips and a straight nose and a wide jawline. Not so much a dainty heartbreaker as someone intimidating. Sound like some individuals we've tangled with?"
"A Melgar...."
II.
Over an hour later, they made it back to Midtown Manhattan. At 38th Street, they turned up Lexington and swung into a dead-end alley where a steel door slid up automatically. Going slowly and carefully, Cindy made the sharp turn in the concrete ramp leading down without scraping the paint on her car. Already parked in the small garage was the Ford Focus. The other KDF vehicle, a Buick Regal, had been taken by Josef Jubilec on his own assignment. They headed from the garage down the long narrow corridor between the Vault and the arsenal, then up through the sliding panel in the rear of the walk-in closet in the front hall.
Waiting gleefully for them was a lovely young woman barely an inch over five feet tall and reaching a hundred pounds only on Thanksgiving afternoon. But Ashley Whitaker was so enthusiastic, so burning with life, that she dominated the scene. Between the all-white outfit she had on, the shining platinum blonde hair and the fair skin, there was a definitely snow elf aspect to her. "Hey, guys!" she sang out. "We have all been researching like MAD since you called. Hurry, hurry, everyone is in the conference room."
Following the Unicorn as she scurried up the wide center staircase, Cindy gave Bane a rueful smile. Had the two of them ever been that young and gung-ho? They reached the second floor landing and went into the conference room where the members of the Second Team were at work. Most of the room was taken up by a massive oak table with five chairs on either side and one at each end; at this table had gathered three previous generations of heroes. The four other members of the new team stirred as they heard Bane and Cindy enter.
Megan Salenger, the Human orphan raised by the Trom, had two open laptops in front of her. Sheng Mo-Yuan and Lauren Sable Reilly both were half concealed behind precarious stacks of ancient hardbound volumes. A third stack marked where Unicorn had been working until the chime had announced a car pulling into the building's garage.
"You guys seem to be taking the assignment seriously," Cindy told them. She circled around and glanced down at the laptops but drew back feeling dizzy. Both screens were flashing pages of information like a strobe light. "Oh God, Megan," Cindy said. "Don't tell me you can read that fast!"
"I can," the Trom Girl answered blithely, not even glancing up. "Two screens are my limit. After that, reading comprehension drops off rapidly."
"I bet," Cindy said. "Jeremy, you want to summarize for the team what happened at the gallery?"
Taking his seat at the head of the table, the Dire Wolf filled his new team in on the robbery. They raised a few questions and received clarification on several points. Then he asked them what they had found.
"The AUSTIN GALLERIES has an online catalogue," Megan started. "I sent the image of the stolen item to a few of our associates. I also initiated a search through our own records and I began to use various search engines. Nothing conclusive has been returned so far."
"Okay, I'd say to keep at it. Something may come back yet. Sable? Sheng?"
The young Chujiran who called himself Argent in the field hefted a battered slim book held together with librarian's black tape. "Of course, only a tiny percentage of the books in this building have been scanned into our computer files. So Lauren and I began rummaging for likely titles and have been searching the old-fashioned way. What did we find? Hints in passing. Vague references not mentioned in any index, all quite frustrating."
"But not without results, captain," interrupted Lauren Sable Reilly. She held up a piece of regular notebook paper covered with her neat tiny writing. "We tried getting all the clues together. I'm inclined to think we are dealing with someone trying to assemble a Targhul. Also called the Armor of Hell, these are empty suits of metal or leather armor animated by a Darthan spell. They are greatly feared because they don't feel pain or fear, they are immensely strong and difficult to destroy. Evidently one such Targhul was disassembled back in the 1940s by Mark Drum and the pieces widely scattered. Over the decades since then, one by one the various segments ended up with occult collectors."
"This is grim news," Bane said. "We need to establish how far someone has gotten in putting a Targhul together IF that is what's going on? Ashley, you've been quiet. Do you have anything to add?"
"Do I?! You bet. I made a few phone calls. It seems Sulak is at his house outside Boston. He wants me to warn everyone about a woman named Alindir. She's a Melgar aristocrat who was about to be charged with forbidden sorcery. Sulak says she is believed to have come here to this world and get up to no good. Being a Melgar, she's strong enough to flip a car over on its side AND she is reported to have been learning Darthan spells. What a combination."
Bane and Cindy glanced at each other. "Any description, Unicorn?"
"Oh sure. She's a little under six feet tall, one hundred and fifty pounds. Long straight blonde hair, Sulak says it's the color of fresh butter. Blue eyes. Sounds like kind of a mannish face if you ask me... why are you two looking at me that way?"
In reply, the Dire Wolf placed his open hands palm down on the table in front of him. "Team, I have to say you have all done better than I had hoped. This is great. You have gotten enough pieces of the puzzle together that we can plan our next move."
Unicorn breathed on her knuckles and then rubbed them against her shirt high up on her chest in self-congratulation. Seeing this, Bane added, "You have ALL done well, you're starting to work as a team," and Ashley's smirk faltered.
III.
The rest of the early evening had been spent checking their gear, eating a light meal and resting. Several of the new members were getting able to nap for two or three hours as available so that they could function nonstop for the following twenty-four. At nine o'clock, they assembled in the hangar on the top floor for the final briefing. All of them except one were wearing the black field suits with boots, snug pants and waist-length jacket. Those suit carried a dozen tiny weapons and gadgets in concealed pockets. Each member also had one of the helmets on hand. They looked like an elite commando squad.
The one glaring exception was, as usual, Ashley Whitaker. She had ordered a field suit all in white and she wore it whenever she thought she could get away with it. Seeing disapproval on the faces of her teammates, Unicorn tried to look humble. The petite blonde buckled together her leather utility belt with its flap holster holding the dart gun and six pouches, snuggling it down at a jaunty angle across her narrow hips.
"It's not about fashion sense," she objected although no one had said anything. "This is how my mother dressed when she was the first Unicorn. I'm carrying on her tradition. You have to respect the legacy."
"This is the last time I'm allowing this," said Bane. "On your own time, you can dress however you like. But on a mission where the safety of your teammates is at risk, you're going to wear the standard field suit or be suspended."
"Sure. No problem." Something in her voice hinted at future disobedience.
Bane turned to the rest of the team. "Lauren and Megan, go down to the garage and take one of the cars. The Ford might be the better choice. Drive out toward the far end of Long Island. That's where some seemingly unrelated robberies have been pulled the past few weeks. The rest of us will be searching from the air. Megan, take readings for any unusual life signs or gralic activity. Lauren, use your sensory powers as often as you can."
"Understood, captain," Sable said, leading the Trom Girl from the hangar and down a flight of the stairs to the elevator, which only reached the ninth floor.
As Bane watched critically, Ashley and Sheng readied the CORBY for take-off. They did the external visual check, started the Trom impulse engines and ran down the lengthy checklist of various dials and gauges. The storage compartment was already stocked with survival gear and their personal knapsacks, but they made sure everything was secured. Eventually, the young Chujiran walked around the sleek black shape one final time and said, "Wheels up in five minutes."
"Well done, both of you," Bane told them. "You didn't miss a single detail. Cindy, you want to take co-pilot seat so you can scan for troubled minds as we go?"
"Sounds good," she said, sliding open the right front hatch and grabbing a horizontal bar to hoist herself up. "It's dark enough outside for us to sneak out."
Climbing into the pilot seat, Bane waited until his teammates were strapped in on the bench in the compartment behind the cabin before starting the rotors. "Opening roof panel," he said, pulling back on the stick. The CORBY lifted up two feet off the hangar floor and the three point landing gear retracted behind a flush panel. "Sensors show no other aircraft within a mile of us." They rose smoothly through the segmented roof panel which closed automatically behind them and ascended so swiftly that G-forces pressed them down uncomfortably into their seats.
As they leveled off at one thousand feet and began to move south, Sheng exhaled sharply. "Whew. I bet even if someone was standing on the roof next door, odds are they wouldn't spot us leaving."
"We haven't been caught yet," Bane said. "At least no one has reported us to FAA. But there's always a chance. We usually leave by an Eldar travel crystal, but I like to keep in practice for quick departures. You two might as well settle back for now. Once the action starts, there's no telling how long we'll be on the run."
IV.
Almost touching the waters of Long Island Sound where the shore wore away year after year, the rust-red barn was dangerously close to collapsing under its own weight. The roof sagged in visibly and some boards had dropped off. Across an expanse of gravel was a two-story farmhouse in equally poor condition. It had not been painted in many years, windows were boarded up or empty holes gaped where the glass had broken. In front of the house was a porcelain bath tub over on its side, with a lawn mover rusted out of usability and an engine block with tools scattered around it.
Milling around in the brisk March afternoon, drinking beer and smoking both pot and cigarettes, were all eight members of the Dirty Dogs. Their numbers had dwindled from a peak of two dozen a few years earlier. Most were related by blood or by marriage, they were beefy men ranging from thirty to almost fifty years old, wearing what amounted to variations on a uniform. Boots, worn-out jeans with knees gone or patches across the crotch, T-shirts, leather vests or jackets with the sleeves torn off. Beards, long hair hanging wild or pulled back into ponytails, tattoos, missing front teeth... they made a point of advertising who they were.
Yet they were actually a peaceful bunch who avoided fights and tried to stay out of trouble. Their income came from drug sales, car repairs and yardwork for cash. Until the coming of Alindir and her terrifying friend, the Dogs had never expected anything exciting to enter their lives. All that had changed forever.
ZZ Top was blaring from a battery-powered cassette player. "Turn that afore I break you over your head, Skeeter!" yelled their leader. This was a man three inches over six feet tall, once a bodybuilder but now sporting forty pounds too many, mostly around his waist. No one knew where his nickname 'Preacher' had come from and he never explained. "Our lady's got something to say."
Everyone dropped what they were doing and hustled over to the dark mid-sized SUV that was parked by the barn. They obeyed with a hastiness born of fear. Five days earlier, this vehicle had pulled out and Alindir surprised them by emerging and telling them she was claiming them all as her servants. She did not look particularly scary, a tall woman with rich blonde hair that hung straight to her shoulders. When Skeeter had sauntered up and drawled, "And why we would be doing that, ma'am?"
Alindir had responded by seizing his shirt front and lifting him up off the ground with one hand. She held him up at arm's length without seeming effort, shook him vigorously and dropped him to fall to a seated position in the dirt. "You have never known my like," she announced. "I am a Melgar from Androval! Our children are stronger than your brawniest men. Yet it is not I that you should fear."
And then she had introduced them to the Targhul.
Now, Alindir watched them form a semi-circle facing her, all but kneeling and groveling. She smirked at the sight. Humans needed to be ruled by fear, it took the burden of decisions from them. She still wore high riding boots from her native realm but she had changed into tan slacks and a long-sleeved silk blouse. Like most Melgarin women, she was handsome rather than beautiful, with a strong jaw and prominent nose, but she had a presence that could not be ignored.
"Hear me," she said, "These are my words. With the Armor of Hell to aid you, you have robbed some local markets in the dark of the night. What are mere locks or iron bars to the Targhul? Stone walls can not resist him. Tonight we must be bolder. Before midnight, we will return here with all the loot you can carry!"
The cheers which answered her seemed forced. Alindir frowned and beckoned with one hand toward a gigantic figure which had been behind the SUV, standing more unmoving than any living thing could hold a pose. There was none of the minute swaying and adjustments which flesh and made had to make. A head taller than a tall man, the Targhul seemed to be wearing a complete suit of lacquered black leather, complete with gauntlets and epaulets and a helmet with a featureless faceplate. But there was no one inside. Targhul WAS the armor, an unnatural constructed animated by a Darthan spell from thirty thousand years ago before history began. Reinforced by gralic energy, a Targhul could not be destroyed by mortal weapons. It had strength to whatever extent was needed, it could channel gralic blasts like lightning on command. Whenever a Targhul manifested itself, mass deaths and destruction inevitably followed.
The younger Dogs member called Skeeter averted his face and did not look directly at the Armor of Hell. From elbow to wrist, his right forearm was encased in a plaster cast and hung from a sling around his neck. When they had first met the Targhul, Skeeter had been bold enough to try to strike the monster with a tire iron. Not only did the blow not do any harm to the Armor, the Targhul had snapped Skeeter's forearm with the grip of one hand and then flung the howling biker aside. A few more attempts at harming the black leather figure had produced similar results and the Dirty Dogs had been living in downtrodden fear ever since.
"Grudging loyalty will not do!" the Melgar woman shouted. "Pledge me your hearts and your hands, your last ounce of strength. When I am ready to return to Androval, it must be as a conqueror. King Holmir will regret the day he disowned me." She made a growling sound of disgust. "Feh! None of you understand my agenda. But you will."
"Lady..." began Preacher, "We're just reg'lar working folks. We can't follow half of what you say. But we're with you."
"So be it." She folded her arms across her substantial chest and eased her scowl. "I still have no sword to weild. I have no proper steed to bear me, only this metal wagon which runs by burning oil. No matter. When darkness falls, blood will be spilt and heads will roll. My vengeance has barely begun..."
V.
There was no sound of engines in the pressurized, air-conditioned cabin. The subdued illumination came from dozens of pastel green and blue lights stretched across almost every available surface in the cabin; if one had turned red, the change would get immediate attention. A row of six small monitor screens were all active and showing no problems. As an hour ticked by in silence, Sheng Mo-Yuan began to fidget on the bench in the back compartment. He peered through the clear divider into the cabin and studied how Bane was using the single collective/cyclic stick, but nothing unusual was going on. The Dire Wolf's helmet kept him in communication with his teammates and also fed him any alerts from the CORBY's computers. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. The CORBY was only proceeding at sixty miles an hour so that Sable and Megan could keep pace on the road below and so that the search could proceed.
In the co-pilot seat, Cindy Brunner was staring out through the windscreen at the night. Her profile showed complete concentration and Sheng knew this meant she was searching the area telepathically for any sign of trouble. Sheng shifted restlessly and glanced at Unicorn next to him. He suppressed a laugh. Ashley had fallen asleep with her head on her shoulder. She looked about twelve years old. Smiling, the Chujiran envied the little blonde's ability to catch a nap whenever possible, even during thunderstorms. But then, Ashley had been raised by her mother to be the second Unicorn and this explained a lot of her habits.
After another long silent interval, Cindy leaned back. "Nothing. Nothing yet. Jeremy, can we drop a little lower?"
"Sure." He tilted the nose of the stealthcopter down. "Descending to one hundred feet. On a night like this, way out in the sticks,
The telepath began gazing down through the windscreen again, frowning. Abruptly, she said, "Oh no! Jeremy, turn back. Hard to port. It's an emergency."
Responding by swinging the CORBY around on its own axis, the Dire Wolf asked, "What have you got?"
"Ten miles back. Agitated minds. People being killed. Hurry!"
As he accelerated through the night, Bane spoke into his helmet's mic. "Sable, come in."
"We read you, captain," came her steady voice in his earpod.
"There's trouble. Intruments show you're eight miles to our south. Keep coming, but use caution. Follow our signal."
"On our way," Sable said and broke off communications.
In the compartment behind the cabin, Sheng poked Unicorn in the ribs with his elbow. "Huh?" she said, sitting up on the bench. "Are we there yet?"
"Stand by, you two," Bane said as he brought the copter down to treetop level. "Be ready to jump out and start fighting."
Far from the nearest town, at the end of a hard-packed dirt road, sat a bar called THE ROUNDUP. It had briefly featured topless dancers but now got by on beer, country music and two pool tables. At eleven o'clock on a Thursday night, the round parking lot held only a few cars, one motorcycle, a pick-up with its light on and a black SUV. Bane lowered the three-wheel landing gear and touched down in plain sight on the edge of the parking lot. The urgency in Cindy's voice led him to skip staying unseen for the moment.
As soon as the copter settled, all four KDF members had unstrapped themselves and hopped off from the sliding hatches. Cindy shouted, "They're being killed! We have to stop it!" and started to run. Quick as she was, she had not taken more than the first step before Bane caught her by one arm and brought her up short.
"You stay here with the CORBY," he said firmly. "Be ready to take off instantly. Sheng, Ashley, stay behind me." The Dire Wolf bounded away toward the bar and, even though he was holding back his speed, his teammates had a hard time keeping him in sight. The three of them ran across the parking area toward the lights of the bar. They saw a long one-story wooden structure with a life-sized plywood cutout on the roof of a curvaceous woman with a cowboy hat. A neon sign blinked red and blue, 'THE ROUNDUP - YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO COME IN.' Parked at various angles were two cars and a Harley with extended handlebars. Off to one side, motor running and headlights on, sat a red Chevy pick-up with the crudely rendered head of a bulldog painted on the hood. Next to it stood a new Ford Explorer, where the Melgar renegade Alindir stood and smiled at the carnage.
Stretched out where they had fallen were four corpses which showed marks of extreme violence. One was missing an arm and another had his head twisted around to an angle it could never have assumed in life. Before the KDF team reached the bar, another body came flying out through the open door and thudded face down twenty feet away, never to rise by itself. From inside the bar, loud honkytonk music was drowned out by a shriek of agony which cut off suddenly.
A massive dark figure appeared in that doorway. The Targhul was holding a howling man by one leg, ignoring the frantic struggling and kicks. When he stepped outside, the Armor of Hell swung the man by that leg overhead and then down against the ground, shook him and then swung him again to the dirt to make sure his victim was dead before releasing him. Coming out behind the monster, members of the Dirty Dogs gang were hauling cases of beer and cartons of cigarettes toward their truck. One brought a wad of cash over to the tall blonde woman, who examined it suspiciously. "I count six hundred and thirty dollars," she said. "Search the pockets of the dead men."
As the Dogs moved to obey, a huge antique Buick skidded to a halt and a middle-aged man in a mechanic's coverall swung out with a Wetherby shotgun in hand. "You bastards!" he screamed, "You murderin' low-life scum! I knew those fellows!" He fired both barrels at pointblank range at this weird character in the leather armor.
Targhul did not flinch as the pellets bounced off and ricocheted away from him. He slowly raised one open gauntlet as if relishing the dawning fear in the old man's face, then loosed a lightning bolt of lurid red energy to fry the man into a blackened husk within a cloud of oily smoke.
"This is getting kinda hard to take," muttered one of Dirty Dogs, but he kept digging through the clothes of the victims just the same.
At that moment, the bikers saw people charging toward them out of the night. Jeremy Bane was in the lead, he stopped in a marksman stance and swung up his weapon. Instead of the anesthetic darts, he had brought a clip of the resonance caps. Twelve sharp explosions cracked in rapid succession against the leather helmet and the Targhul fell back a step in surprise, not injury. The creature raised the blank faceplate toward these newcomers.
Ejecting the empty magazine, Bane slid a fresh one into the butt of his airgun. Those bursts had obviously not even fazed the Targhul, and he intended to try the silver daggers next. Unicorn sprinted past him, holding her talisman in both hands, disregarding his instruction to wait the order for attack. Almost within reach of the unliving construct, she held the horn overhead and sang out in a clear confident voice, "With this horn I remove thy power!"
The Unicorn was a sacred beast itself in its natural way and this horn's effectiveness against malevolent force had been magnified by a spell from the Eldarin ages ago. Against everything from warlocks to howlers, the talisman had never failed Ashley before. She was dumbfounded when the Targhul defied the horn's effect.
Hollow echoing laughter boomed from within the dark helmet. The Armor of Hell gestured again and another bolt of gralic force hissed from that gauntlet to crash into Ashley Whitaker like a bomb exploding. She was spun completely upside down and flung back fifteen feet with steam boiling from her body. Only the ancient Unicorn talisman in her grasp had shielded her enough to keep from being incinerated completely.
Underestimating her audacity, Bane had not been prepared for her attacking the enemy by herself. As the gralic blast flung her past him, the Dire Wolf leaped and barely caught her in both arms, tumbling to the ground himself to break her fall. Springing back up, he found Cindy nearby and handed the half-dead Unicorn to her. "Get her into the CORBY, Cin!" he barked. "See how bad her injuries are." Even as the telepath took the unconscious girl, Bane wheeled around and was rushing to confront the Armor of Hell again.
Seeing Ashley take that bolt, Sheng Mo-Yuan forgot weapons and strategy. He focused his gralic charge into elevated speed and hurtled toward the Targhul faster than a leopard might. He built up momentum and, when he had nearly reached the Targhul, he shifted to greater strength. The classic looping haymaker he threw had tremendous force behind it. Any normal Human receiving that punch would have been killed outright but the Armor of Hell hardly reacted. That leather helmet twitched to one side and the monster slapped an open hand like an axe blade across Argent's face. That dazed the young Chujiran. With a split lip, he reeled a step to one side and managed to whip out a high front kick that scraped past the Targhul's shoulder harmlessly. Staying that close left Sheng too vulnerable. The stiffened fingers of a black gauntlet stabbed into Argent's side and broke three ribs at once.
Through the pain and outrage, Sheng retained enough awareness to reproach himself for attacking recklessly. His anger at seeing Ashley blasted away had overcome his judgement. But that passed through part of his mind in an instant and was swept away by defiance. Unable to straighten up fully, the young Chujiran managed to stay on his feet and raised his fists in front of him.
"By the White Horse," laughed the Targhul. "The pup has spirit." With the final word, the unliving thing swatted Sheng aside with a brutal backhand that spun the Chujiran to the ground. The Armor of Hell turned its blank faceplate toward the sole remaining foe. But Bane had scooped Sheng up as gently as possible and was hurrying over to the CORBY with the dazed youth. From the ease with which he ran, the Dire Wolf seemed able to have carried much greater burdens. The Targhul mistakenly concluded that the final enemy was fleeing in panic, so he strode over to rejoin Alindir.
The rotors of the CORBY were turning slowly, and the hatch to the rear compartment was open where Cindy had secured Unicorn in place. "Ashley's breathing well and her pulse is strong," Cindy said as she helped load Argent into the compartment as well.
The Unicorn could be heard mumbling, "No fair... let me at 'im..."
In a second, Cindy and Bane had tied Sheng down with restraint belts as well, so that he would not move around during flight. "I think he has a broken rib or two, he took a real pounding," the Dire Wolf said.
"I can't affect that creature with my telepathy," Cindy told him. "It's not really alive. Okay, I'm ready for wheels up. I already called Ted, he's waiting for us."
"Good to hear. Keep me updated, honey." Bane started to slide the hatch shut as he saw his partner squeeze through the partition into the pilot's seat.
Just before she pulled back on the collective/cyclic stick, the telepath gave him a reassuring look. "I'd tell you to be careful, Jeremy, but I'm sure you already have a plan to destroy that awful thing." Then the hatch clicked shut and the rotors spun faster.
VI.
As the Dire Wolf stepped quickly back, the CORBY rose upward into the darkness, its rotors making no more noise than a breeze might. With no external lights, the Trom-built craft could not be seen from the ground by even the sharpest eye. Bane swung around and strode angrily toward the scene of the massacre. He blamed himself for not keeping Ashley and Sheng behind him until the right moment. They were still too rash and headstrong yet.
The pick-up truck carrying the Dirty Dogs was gunning its motor. Infuriatingly, triumphant howls and hee-haws could be heard. As Bane charged toward the bar, he spotted the dark outline of the Targhul clambering stiffly into the rear bed of the truck before it roared away. It was not too late to try blowing a tire off that vehicle with a resonance cap but Bane restrained himself. He had to stick to his plan if there was any chance of destroying that walking horror. Another direct confrontation would only end with him being as battered as his teammates.
Exactly as the truck rounded a turn in the road and vanished, headlights appeared behind him. The KDF cruiser slowed and Bane swung open the front passenger door to hop inside. "Keep going," he told Lauren at the wheel. "This is going to be the showdown."
Sable slammed down her foot on the gas and the Ford Focus nearly left the ground as it accelerated. Megan Salenger had made extensive modifications to the hatchback, so much so that she would have to restore its original engine and drive train before taking it for State inspection. The body panels and acrylic resin windows were resistant against even high-powered rifle rounds and the vehicle had been fitted with undercarriage nozzles that sprayed either anesthetic gas or a combination of black smoke and tear gas. Sable had immediately taken a liking to the high-powered car and relished putting it through its paces.
Next to her, Bane said mildly, "This isn't a CORBY, Lauren. It won't actually fly."
"Heh. Sorry, you guys." Sable slowed down and switched off the visible headlights. Through the treated windshield, the scene before them was sharply revealed in eerie pale green radiance from the projectors under the hood. This could not be seen by the unaided eye. If anyone had been beside the road the night, they might have glimpsed only a dark shape hurtling through the gloom and making nearly no sound. Within minutes, they had the truck ahead of them.
"I'm staying back a bit," Sable announced to her partners. "There's not much chance of them spotting us even if they're looking, but still...."
"Good. Team, we are dealing with a Targhul. Also called Armor of Hell. They're empty constructs of hard leather moving by sorcery. Strong and almost impossible to destroy. It supposedly is under the control of that Melgar renegade Alindir. The Targhul slaughtered six men back there and a Human gang of helpers looted the scene." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Unicorn and Sheng both took some damage. Unicorn was hit by a gralic bolt and Sheng was beaten by the monster. I don't know how severe their injuries are. Cindy is flying them to headquarters where Dr Wright is standing by."
"Are they going to be all right?" asked the Trom Girl from the back seat. Her emotionless mask was slipping more frequently as she became attached to her teammates.
"I hope so. There's no one better to have on hand than Ted Wright, remember. He's a Blue Guide and a genuine MD specializing in trauma surgery. I trust him without any reservations." He bent forward to peer at the truck far ahead of them. "They're not aware of us. I'm letting them get more distance between us. Lauren, how's your telescopic vision working?"
"Let me pull over for a second." She brought the car to a halt and made a few "hmmm" and "ahh" sounds while using her abilities. "I can see the corner of a farmhouse and a barn two miles ahead of us. There are outdoor lights. People are getting out of the truck and milling around. That's all I can make out, the light is poor."
"The light is POOR?" repeated Bane. "That's how you see it? I can't make out twenty feet ahead of us tonight. Your powers are amazing, Sable, I only wish you could teach us to see and hear that way."
"We each have our gifts," Sable said in an unsuccessful attempt to sound modest. "What's the plan, captain?"
Bane turned his head toward the Trom Girl behind them. "It's time to wrap this up. Megan, you have the spare gravity shield? And the adhesive? Good. I want you to fly up out of eyesight and find concealment near the scene. In the trees would be good. Be ready to act immediately on my signal. Got it?"
"On my way," responded the Human orphan raised by the enigmatic Trom. She climbed out of the Ford and got her bearings. Fastened between her shoulder blades was a round metal disc the size of a dinner plate, and she carried an identical disc on a strap over one shoulder. Controls to the gravity shield were in the stiff cuffs of her field suit. Megan lifted up clear of the ground, floated for a split-second as she straightened her body like a diver and then she flashed away straight up. A tiny slender figure all in black, she was effectively invisible against the overcast night sky.
Sable blinked at the abrupt departure. She had seen Megan take off before, of course, but she still had not gotten used to it. There was no noise of engines, no flash of rocket exhaust. The Trom Girl simply rose up and accelerated like a bullet into the air. If you weren't looking directly at her, you might wondered how she had vanished.
Reaching over, Bane turned off the engine. "I'm going to sneak into that farm house, I have a plan. You're not going to like this next order, Lauren. You're staying here. Keep your Link open and be ready to drive to my rescue if necessary. If we don't make it, report to Cindy and you can figure out the next move together."
"Wait, what? I'm supposed to wait here safe in the car?" Sable protested. "While you and Megan take the risks?"
"I have reasons for these orders," said Bane. He did not raise his voice, but its tone indicated he expected to obeyed. "Stay alert. Stand by." Then he leaped out the driver door and was gone into the gloom.
Leaning back in the driver's seat, Lauren Sable Reilly did not realize what a sullen pout had fixed itself to her face. She said a few words she did not normally use.
VII.
Twenty years of Kumundu training, of taking lessons from ninja and espionage experts, had made Bane so stealthy that he would have experienced difficulty making noise as he crept through the night. He approached the delapidated farm house from an angle where he was not visible to any watchers at its windows. For the moment, worry about his injured teammates had been put aside; all his thoughts were focused on the task of destroying this formidable enemy.
Circling the farm house, taking advantage of scattered trees and dense bushes, Bane turned up the light enhancers in his helmet's visor. There, one window on the north side of the building was open six inches. These bikers were not likely to have brought any alarm systems with them and their Melgar master operated on the level of Medieval technology. The Dire Wolf flashed up to the house, slid the widow up further and climbed through as nimbly as an acrobat.
He found himself in a bedroom with a distinctly musty odor. On a dresser sat a porcelain water jug and some tumblers, scattered clothing lay on the floor where it had been dropped. Bane moved over to the bed and gazed down at the barely alive form of Paldren the Melgar. He knelt to examine the man. Paldren's skin was cold and clammy, he was only breathing five times a minute and his pulse was regular but weak. The Dire Wolf knew what was wrong. This Melgar's very lifeforce had left his body and was animating the Armor of Hell. Targhuls had no independent existence of their own.
Lifting the limp form up, Bane draped him across his own shoulders in the fireman's carry. It felt like dead weight. The Dire Wolf twisted the left ear pod of his helmet and the visor slid up into its internal track to leave his face exposed. He wanted to experience the next few minutes directly. More, he wanted his expression to show to help intimidate the enemy.
Emerging from the stuffy farm house into the crisp night air, Bane carefully closed the screen door behind him and stole along the side wall toward the front yard. Lights had been strung on a cord over the open door of the barn, revealing six men who were sloshing beer as they drank and whooped it up as if congratulating themselves on winning a war. Standing by a folding card table, Alindir sorted through the money and valuables they had brought back. She seemed to be dividing the loot into piles to be dispersed among her followers.
Standing ominously to one side, arms folded across its hollow chest, stood the leather construct that had made all the slaughter possible. Targhul, the Armor of Hell, still another vile creation of Darthan sorcery in ages long past.
Bane peered around the corner of the farm house at the unpleasant scene. With Paldren still across his shoulders, the Dire Wolf set his dart gun to single shot and calculated his next sequence of action. Even with the long needle-thin barrel, the dart gun did not have the range of a regular firearm. On the other hand, the Dirt Dogs wore sleeveless jackets and vests open over hairy bellies, so there was plenty of exposed skin to aim at. Bane swung around into view and fired quickly but accurately. One by one, the bikers gave a start and cursed as they felt a sting of the metal darts piercing their flesh. In less than a second, the drug dazed and disoriented them and a few seconds after that, the Dogs began slumping to the dirt as if they had become extremely sleepy.
The faint chuff of the CO2-powered was inaudible twenty feet away, and there was no muzzle flash. None of the bikers had a clue about what was happening to them until it was too late. The one called Preacher was last to receive a dart. He saw his gang drop and he managed to yell, "Hey!" before he fell to his knees himself and stretched out in the dirt.
The Targhul moved closer, tilting its helmeted head. "Sister, what does this mean?"
"Nay, I know not," Alindir answered, hustling over to crouch by the snoring men. "Could their beer have been poisoned?!"
That was Bane's cue. He strode across the parking area, Paldren across his shoulders, and announced, "Maybe I can explain."
"YOU!" boomed the sepulchral voice of the Targhul, not formed by lungs or mouth. "You were at the battle."
"You should be ashamed to call that a battle," the Dire Wolf told them. "It was a massacre. The Melgar I knew used to have at least some semblance of honor. Listen, I am a knight of Tel Shai. Maybe you know about us."
Alindir tensed up, raising one fist in a defiant gesture. "Who has not heard of the Dire Wolf? I saw you and your friends aid Androval itself when the scum of Ulgor dared invade our sacred soil."
"Yeah, you're welcome," Bane scoffed. He had raised the visor of his helmet so his expression could be seen, knowing the effect his pale eyes often had on adversaries. "You recognize this body I'm holding?"
"My brother! Paldren! By the White Horse, it is a dangerous game you play."
Lifting a silver-bladed dagger in his free hand, Bane pressed the point to the unconscious Melgar's damp throat. "Hold it. Not a move, Targhul. You know how the spell works. If your mortal body dies, you'll be trapped in that leather shell forever. You'll never be flesh and blood again."
Surprisingly, the unliving construct clapped its mitts together. "Hah! Human fool. Is that how you hope to subdue me?" The hollow voice from the empty helmet echoed in the night air. "I do not WANT to ever be mortal again. I do not hunger, I do not thirst, I never grow ill or weary. No weapon can slay me."
Bane did not like the turn this conversation had taken. "You'd be content to never love a woman again? Never enjoy food and drink? Never feel the sun on your face or take a deep breath of fresh air?"
"Do your worst to that carcass, I care not."
But Alindir cried out. "Wait! Wait, that is my younger brother you speak of. I would not see Paldren's life tossed away thus. Targhul, reconsider, I plead with you."
Sinister laughter rumbled in that empty chest. "Woman, it is not for you to decide," the Armor of Hell retorted. "Kill that flesh, Dire Wolf, and have done with it. Better yet, I shall slay both of you."
As the monster raised a fist around which red lightning crackled, Bane spoke into the mic in his helmet, "Megan - do it now!"
In the next few seconds, it was all over. Swooping down from the trees, the Trom Girl landed right on top of the Targhul and soared away again instantly but during that brief contact she had slapped the disc of the spare gravity shield to the monster's back where it was stuck with potent adhesive. So quickly that no one watching could follow his departure, the Targhul hurtled straight up into the dark sky, accelerating as he went. From a mile overhead came the painful crack of a sonic boom at too close a range.
Bane allowed Paldren's limp form to slump down to the ground. He exhaled forcefully as the tension of that confrontation passed. "Nice work, Megan. Clean and decisive."
"Unfortunately, I will be reprimanded by my superiors for this," the Trom Girl told him. "That device was expensive."
Her mouth hanging open, Alindir swung around to stare wildly in all directions. "I don't... Where is my brother? What did you do to him?"
"That wasn't your brother," Bane said. "That was an unliving engine of destruction. A bloodless thing of evil, as it called itself."
"Where is he?" she demanded. "What will happen to him?"
"Getting rid of the Targhul was a real problem," Bane admitted. "If we sent him to the South Pole or the bottom of the Pacific, he would survive and start walking. Sooner or later, he would make it back here to start all over again. We couldn't restrain him, he was too strong. We couldn't destroy him. Honestly, all I could think of was to exile him."
Megan Salenger was gazing up at the sky thoughtfully. "He reached escape velocity thirty seconds ago, captain. By now, he is leaving the stratosphere."
Turning to the stupefied Melgar woman, Bane snapped, "He won't be coming back, Alindir. Targhul will be speeding away for eternity. I suppose he might collide with a stray asteroid or get sucked into a star a million years from now but that hardly matters to you, does it?"
She lowered her head and her shoulders slumped. Her voice alone remained defiant. "And what fate will you serve me?"
"That's for King Holmir to decide. I'm sending you and what's left of your brother back to Androval. You knew his edict about entering this world without permission and you knew his law against harming Humans. My guess is the royal executioner will be summoned. And I don't feel sorry for you, lady. You left eight men dead at that bar, men who had done you no harm whatever, men who had famlies. You've earned what's coming to you." Taking out his Link, he said in it, "Sable, bring the car around, please."
With Megan guarding the prisoner, the Dire Wolf walked up the driveway to meet Sable. She parked the vehicle and got out with anger clear in her stiff pose.
"I know you're annoyed, Lauren," Bane said without sounding apologetic. "You're going to have to obey a lot of orders you don't agree with. It's part of the job. And I think you'll be in a position to be giving orders yourself someday."
She untensed her shoulders and nodded. "Understood, captain. I heard from Cindy. Argent and Unicorn are going to be all right. Sheng has a broken rib and a torn shoulder muscle. Ashley has the equivalent of dehydration and sunburn from the gralic blast. They're in good spirits." Sable took in the puzzling situation, the stunned bodies sprawled in the yard and Trom Girl guarding the prisoner. "Jeremy, where's the armored man?"
With a rare smile, the Dire Wolf pointed straight up. "Out there somewhere."
3/26/2000 - Rev. 5/13/2019