The Siege Against Tolkeen

The man stood in front of the Church of the Third Eye at 1 in the morning. The building was a small, squat structure made of crumbling brick, which boasted a statue of a three eyed man in a robe, proudly staring off into the distance with cold, dead eyes. A bronze plaque above the door read in several languages, "A sanctuary of magical learning and insight," but the man didn't know that. He couldn't read, and didn't want to.

"Satanists," he muttered, staring at the statue. "The scales have fallen from my eyes. How could I have been blind so long?" He slowly climbed up to the statue, pulling out his vibro-knife from a concealed sheath.

"Thank you, God," he prayed. "For making Your humble servant into a instrument of Your will." Then, he switched on the vibro-blade, and jammed the tip of the knife into the statue's third eye.

Anya Yeraanyaa had been a member of the Church of the Third Eye for her entire life. As a child, she had helped hand out prayer books during the holy days. As a teenager, she had helped polish the sacred statues, relics, and artifacts. As soon as she had grown to adulthood she plunged into studying the sacred text and learning the magical arts of sorcery and divination. She had been a priestess of the order for nearly 200 years. Of course, her insectoid race lived far longer than most organic beings.

Anya had been napping, taking a brief rest from her latest prophetic ritual, when she was awoken by a noise from outside, like something was shattering. Throwing on a simple white robe, she walked to the gate, to see if something was broken or somebody needed help.

The man shoved his knife into the stone socket of the third and final eye, and deftly popped the granite eyeball out. Just then, a strange insect, like a mantis or grasshopper, emerged from the temple. Its body was stooped and short, like a monstrously hunchbacked child. The antennae and mandibles surrounding its hairy mouth began to wave wildly.

"What are you doing?" the thing screeched, in a voice shrill and horrible. "That statue is holy!"

"Blasphemer," the man snarled, dropping with catlike reflexes off of the pedestal. "You worship abominations. You are an abomination." The man held his vibro-blade up, and then proclaimed, "This is your destiny. Blood and hell are your fate. Accept it."

Anya ran back into the temple, as fast as her stooped legs would carry her. She had never learned any spells which could help in combat, her religion was a peaceful order. But there was an enchanted silver sword hidden in the back room. It was normally used to dispel evil spirits which were accidentally summoned, but the blade was sharp and it was the only weapon available to her. The old woman ran through the sacred sanctuary, through the rows of pews, until she reached a small, locked door. With numb and trembling hands, she tried to get the right key from the chain around her neck. But it was already too late. She turned, and saw the man at the doorway. He brought one arm back and then made a quick downward motion. The vibro-blade in the hand sailed through the air and slashed through Anya's left side and arm.

"Please no," she begged, as the man picked up his knife. "I don't want to die."

"Demon," he growled, as he shoved the knife into her.

Hours later, the ring of a phone awakened Lucius Mallen, a Wolfen detective. He crawled out of bed wearing only his boxers, trying to shake off his weariness and answer the phone. His wife stirred slightly, murmuring, "Luke, will you please get that phone?"

"I'm on it, honey," he said, staggering across the room, his natural nightvision barely making a dent in the darkness. Finally, he reached the phone, and pulled the receiver up to his ear. "This had better be important," he muttered angrily.

"We've opened up the slasher case. You know, the one at the strip bar."

"Why? I thought that everyone was agreed that the Gergelleg pervert who ran out of the place screaming was the perp. Did the psi-shrinks down at the Looney Bin pull something interesting out of him?"

"I don't think so. But the thing is, there's been another similar murder. A mystic church got defaced, and the priestess got hacked to bits. We've still got the corpses of the strippers, so we're going to try and compare the slash patterns and depths."

"Do me a favor. Don't do anything until I get there. I want to get a good look at this latest victim before the forensics boys take their samples."

"I'll try to hold off the dogs, so to speak."

"Get a life, detective. Bad puns went out of style when the legendary Old Ones were Young Ones. I'll see you down at the station house."

Lucius started to get dressed, slipping on his force field harness over a grey T-shirt and khakis. He had never felt quite comfortable with the techno-wizard toys which were standard issue, but greatly preferred them to going unprotected."

"What's wrong, Lucius?" his wife asked, raising her fox-like head up from the hair-covered pillow. "Aren't you coming back to bed?"

"Sorry, honey," he apologized, loading an E-Clip into his trusty old ion pistol and gently nuzzling against her cheek. "But duty calls. I'll be back in time for breakfast."

A few miles away, Jack Perrin was being awakened from a fitful sleep on a mite-ridden mattress. He was in the beer hall, as there had been no other place to go. Jack groggily sat up, his head swimming, the damage from his brain injuries not completely healed. "What's happened?" he asked the shadowy figure who woke him.

"Sir, you ordered us to find a long-range radio with anti-jamming capabilities?"

"Yeah. Did you find one?"

"We managed to get our hands on an pre-Rifts antique. By modern communications standards it's pretty primitive and the battery's almost dead, but it should work fine."

"Good job. Take me to it. I'd like to send a message."

The man, who turned out to be the bespectacled fellow from the hospital room, led Perrin out of the tavern and into a waiting hovercar outside. After a brief trip, Jack found himself outside of an old, rotting warehouse.

"This place used to belong to an antique dealer," explained the young man as he undid a myriad of locks and deadbolts in the door. "When he went broke, we began using his old warehouse as a supply cache. All of his old artifacts are still here, though, and some of them come in handy."

Inside, there was a chaotic mess. Splintering wooden crates sat under the harsh glare of a naked bulb, soaking in puddles of water from recent rains. There were a few ashtrays which had gone too long without being emptied. Two guards in full body arm or sat on a crate playing cards.

"It's right over here, sir," said the young man, pushing a pile of junk out of the way to reveal the radio. He had been absolutely right---the thing was an antique. It bore a thin blanket of cobwebs, and there were several dents in the casing. "Sorry it's not in better condition."

"Beggars can't be choosers," sighed Perrin, sitting down in front of the thing. He carefully flicked a row of switches into the on position to activate the anti-jamming devices. Then, he set a dial to an encryption pattern he knew the Coalition to use.

"Have you done this before, sir?" asked the young man.

"Yeah," muttered Perrin. "They teach you a lot about this kind of thing in the air force." With that, he flipped another few switches, and then held the transmitter up to his mouth. "To any Coalition-affiliated beings who are hearing this," he began. "I am Jack Perrin, a downed CS pilot behind enemy lines, and I have an urgent message for you. Tell the military that the so-called super-weapon DOES exist, at the suspected coordinates. It presents a great threat to the military efforts against Tolkeen, and must be destroyed at the first available opportunity. Please confirm that this message has been received."

There was a seemingly lengthy pause, lasting about five or six minutes. Then, the radio crackled into life. "Nice try, Mr. Perrin," laughed a voice with a strange accent. "No luck, though. Oh, and just to let you know, your little transmission has be en easily traced."

"Damn!" screamed Perrin, pulling the radio's plug. "Get everything important out of here!" he yelled at the card-playing guards. "If it's valuable or a weapon, get it to some other safe house! The cops'll be here in a few minutes!" The startled guard s burst into activity, throwing down the cards and grabbing small crates to carry away.

"I don't think we're going to be able to alert the CS to the danger via radios," Perrin grumbled as he and the young man jogged out of the warehouse and to their car. "Let's see what we can do about some couriers who can slip into the war zone. And I 'd like to begin arming up, just in case we have to take matters into our own hands."

Next Chapter

By David Haendler.

Copyright © 1996, 1997, 1998 David Haendler. All Rights Reserved.