Issue #11: "Hawkman, Part Two"

The attack came suddenly. One minute Katar was flying through a wispy, dissipating cloudbank, the next the air was filled with shrill shrieks and a flight of savage looking Man-hawks!

They came on hard and fast, not giving Katar any time to defend himself. They were upon him in a chaos of slashing talons and exploding feathers. All Katar could do was throw up his arms to fend them off, kicking and flailing about madly. These brutes seemed to be bigger than the Thanagarian Man-hawks he’d been used to--- and had hunted in the Mountain Aeries with the rest of the Wingmen. But no matter: creatures such as these would never get the better of him.

Ignoring the slashing and biting that was taking chunks out of his armor, Katar allowed his wings to flare out to their full length--- their razor-sharp edges cutting into his foes--- and began to spin, corkscrewing through the air and flying blind to shake off the flock.

The next moment he was free, the Man-hawks falling away, blood spraying the air. Katar swooped around, his Nth Mace clutched tightly in his hands now, and dove into their confused ranks, snarling. He hit them like a bomb, his first blow scattering them in all directions. The Nth Mace hummed in his hands, sending the thrill of battle reverberating through him.

It didn’t take long for his enemies to regroup. They came at him up, down, sideways and straight on--- though wary now of the deadly wings and the crackling Nth Mace. Katar fought furiously, weaving in and out among them, constantly changing direction and refusing to give them a target. They tried to swarm him, but he was too fast, too agile; more often than not, they crashed into each other trying to get to him.

But their numbers were great, and for every one he downed, another seemed to swell their ranks. And in addition to being larger than Thanagarian Man-hawks, these were smarter, too, less feral and more cunning. They fought in concert, and not from dumb instinct, but from strategy. Katar knew he could not win this battle in the air.

He let out an inarticulate cry of rage that startled the Man-hawks closest to him, and unleashed a barrage of blows that sent them flying out of the range of his deadly mace. Given that moment to breathe, he seized it and dove for the tree-line. Seeing that he was getting away, the Man-hawks cawed and shrieked their fury and took off after him.

A quick glance behind him showed Katar that the creatures were hot on his tail, and in greater numbers than before. Must be close to Feithera, he reasoned, with grim satisfaction. Now the trick was to live long enough to get there!

He hit the tree-line with a burst of leaves and branches, disappearing into it like a fish cutting into the water. With an expertise gained from a lifetime of exposure and training with the Nth Metal, Katar navigated the obstacle-course-jungle with a series of precise moves, twists and turns. So dense was the undergrowth, he had to pull in his wings, and continually adjust his altitude to avoid tree-trunks and –limbs, sometimes flying so low his chest brushed the ground.

The Man-hawks were neither as lucky, nor as skilled. They crashed into the jungle, and some got caught in the trees, while others smashed into the ground. They were going down left and right, trying to keep up with him, never ceasing their pursuit.

Katar flew a mad, zigzagging course through the jungle, turning on a dime to avoid trees that loomed before him, or the Man-hawk that managed to anticipate his direction. The jungle was filled with their cries, and he could see them in his peripheral vision, hedging in on him. One dropped down in front of him, its talons extended, and Katar rolled to the side at the last minute to avoid those spiky protrusions--- straight into a tree!

The impact was absorbed mostly by his Nth Mace, which he had just managed to throw up in time, but it still sent the Thanagarian veering wildly--- and into another tree. This concussion caused Katar to see stars as he went, end over end and skipping like a stone over the jungle floor, the spears on his back snapping as he rolled on the ground.

He had to get up. He heard the victorious cries of the Man-hawks, and knew that unless he got up, they would be on him, clawing, slashing and tearing--- and not giving up until he was fit only for carrion. But his muscles did not want to work as usual, and his head swam, pounding from his crash.

The first Man-hawk strafed him, its talons scoring his wings, and causing him to fall to the side. His vision cleared in time to see another falling down on him, its wingspan filling his vision. He lashed out with his mace, knocking the creature aside, but it had been a kamikaze run--- another Man-hawk slammed into him from his blind side, opening up three long, bloody trails across his stomach.

He grappled with the creature, its beak pressed close to his helm, straining to tear out his throat. He could see and sense others joining the fray, their talons cutting into his legs and arms as they all jockeyed for a piece of him. He flailed about frantically, desperate for just enough leverage to use his Nth Mace, but it was all he could do to keep that snapping beak from his throat.

Seven Devils, he thought in disbelief. Is this how the last Wingman of Thanagar falls, torn to pieces by these spawn of Thasaro…?

It was a moment before he realized the Man-hawk he was struggling with had gone limp. Indeed, more and more of the creatures fastened on his wildly flailing limbs were falling away, some of their own volition, some just falling away dead. They all seemed to have sprouted multiple wooden shafts…

Gasping for breath, and weak from his wounds and blood-loss, Katar watched in amazement as another flight of arrows slammed into his foes, and more of them fell away, dead. In seconds, the remainder were taking flight out of the jungle, shrieking in panic.

“Norda, take a few harriers and follow them.” A deep, aged voice said. Katar searched for the speaker, and saw a number of figures emerging from the jungle, all armed with longbows and spears. “They must not be allowed to report back to the King.”

“Aye, Revered One.” Said another voice, a younger one.

It was then Katar realized they were speaking in an antique dialect of Thanagar.

The older speaker came into his field of vision. He was tall, swathed in robes and ornaments of turquoise. He almost could have been a man--- but for the hawk’s head and wings that sprouted from his back. The feathers that covered his body were brown but shot with gray.

“Welcome to Feithera, Wingman of Thanagar. I am Hierophant Ramphastos.”

Feitherans! Katar groaned inwardly as he lost consciousness. When I find her, I’m going to kill that Saunders woman myself…

When Katar came to, the first thing he realized was someone had stripped him of his wings and armor. The next was that he was not alone.

He sprang up, much to the surprise of the Feitherans keeping watch over him. He had been resting on a bed of rushes, in what appeared to be a mountainside cave, judging from the view of the sky and neighboring mountains visible from the entrance across the way. Three Feitherans were there, one of whom was the graying elder who had called himself Hierophant Ramphastos. Another was quite a bit older, stooped and leaning on a stick, his wings missing many feathers. But the last was a young, formidable looking harrier, adorned with gold and bone ornament, a spear clasped in his taloned hand, and a longbow strapped across his back.

Katar cast about for his Nth Mace, and found it instantly, sitting on a ledge close at hand--- along with his wings, his helm and the rest of his armor. The Feitherans made no move to prevent him from snatching up the mace.

It was then he noticed that his wounds were cleaned, and the more serious ones dressed.

“What’s going on here?” He rasped, not relaxing his battle stance, nor lowering his mace.

“Peace, Wingman, you are safe and among friends.” Hierophant Ramphastos raised his open palm non-threateningly, his voice rich and calm. “We have brought you to the Nests of Contemplation, a bolt-hole sacred to Thasaro, and far from the prying eyes of Lion-Mane and his Man-hawk assassins.”

Katar’s eye’s narrowed. “Who’s Lion-Mane, and why would he want to send assassins after me? And I thought you Feitherans had tamed your precious Man-hawks? Lived in peace with them.”

“There are no distinctions betwixt Feitherans of old and the Man-hawks of Thanagar.” Ramphastos told him gravely, emphasizing the last. “The sacred Children of Thasaro that accompanied us from Thanagar are as much our revered ancestors as those original Feitheran pilgrims who led the exodus so long ago. Our bloodlines are so intermingled now that we are but one people, and nothing remains of that ancient segregation. Sadly, these new Man-hawks are the product of something far more insidious than Thasaro’s grand design. They are the result of the usurper Lion-Mane, and his corruption of the sacred Mithras Meteor!”

Only confusion showed on Katar’s face.

Ramphastos sighed. “You have many questions, our brother of Thanagar. Please, put aside your weapon for now and we shall speak of many things.”

“I’m not your brother.” Katar muttered, but lowered his mace cautiously. He supposed if they had wanted to kill him, they had had plenty of opportunities before now. “Nor do I share your reverence of the filthy God of the Fallen.”

Ramphastos inclined his head, wincing at Katar’s words, but not appearing especially surprised by them. “Nevertheless, you live now by the grace of Thasaro and his servants, and owe us at least a debt of respect.”

Katar bristled, but though he didn’t like it, he could not argue the point. “Who are you?” He asked, still eyeing them with suspicion.

“We are all that remains of the Hierophants of Feithera, the ruling council of the Hidden City before the usurper seized control. My name is Ramphastos, as you already know. This is Worla, Oracle of Thasaro.” He indicated the ancient, stooped figure with the ragged wings. “And this is Norda, our champion and Master-at-Arms.”

Katar eyed the younger, formidable-looking Feitheran and the two shared a nod of mutual understanding.

“I thought all you Feitherans were pacifists, and forbidden by scripture to fight--- that all that you are to have is what your god sees fit to deliver to you...?”

“Many things have changed since the Advent of Kar’Taral, and the Coming of the Lion.” Came the oddly high-pitched voice of the Oracle, Hierophant Worla. The bent-back, wizened figure stepped closer, studying Katar shrewdly.

“Kar’Taral…?” Katar sucked in a breath. “Do you mean Carter Hall? Hawkman? Is he here?”

At his words, all three of the Feitherans closed their eyes and bowed their heads for a moment, as if in reverence. When they raised them again, Hierophant Worla continued his scrutiny of Katar, and cackled, his head bobbing.

“We have much to talk about…”

Katar finished buckling on his wings, and was reaching for his gloves when the Oracle Worla told him: “This course of action is madness. The Usurper is strong, and he is savage. In a contest of arms, he will kill you.”

“I don’t think so.” Katar snorted dubiously. “I’ve gone toe to toe with Despero of Kalanor, I’m not about to let this Lion-Mane take me down.”

“He is cunning, and without mercy. Do not underestimate him.” Warned the ancient Feitheran.

“Carter Hall defeated him.” Katar reminded him. “I will too.”

This time it was the Oracle’s turn to appear dubious. “Back then, the Lion was still new to his strength. He has had decades to soak in the rays of the Mithras Meteor…”

“And where is this accursed rock?” Katar pulled on his helm, fitting it over his head.

“It is in the House of Thasaro, opposite the main plaza from the House of the Lion.”

“The shrine across the street from the palace, got it.” He hefted his Nth Mace, and strapped it to his side. “Any idea where they’re keeping Kendra?”

This time it was the Master at Arms, Norda, who answered. “She has been taken to the Usurper’s harem.”

Katar actually laughed, if a bit nervously, at this. “Then that’s another reason to feel sorry for this Lion-Mane.” He shook his head as he launched himself from the cave and into the air.

Seven Devils, I am really starting to hate this planet…

The Palace shook as the King’s roar echoed through it. Feitheran and Man-hawk alike scurried out of his path as he bounded down the stairs, coursing on all fours, murder in his eyes.

Lion-Mane did not like to be denied.

He burst from the doors of his palace, again bellowing his rage. Feitherans fled the plaza, taking to the skies or bolting themselves into their homes. Lion-Mane stood on the steps of the palace, his terrible roar causing the stoutest heart to quail.

He cast about for the body, prepared to feast upon it one way or another. Still on all fours, he loped the plaza looking for the mangled remains of Kendra Saunders. But there was no sign of it. He glanced up, spotting the balcony she had thrown herself from… Her body should have been right there… There had not been time for any to spirit it away…

Realization dawned. Somehow she had escaped. She lived.

But not for long.

Lion-Mane reared back and let loose with a roar that challenged any who heard it. He beat his chest like a gorilla. Let no one doubt who was king in Feithera---!

Something struck the ground behind him, causing the very steps to shake as if from an earthquake. Lion-Mane whirled around, and was confronted by an unexpected sight: Hawkman had landed there, and had struck the ground with his Nth Mace.

“Now that I’ve got your attention.” Drawled the Thanagarian, hefting the mace in both hands and taking a step towards the surprised Lion-Mane. “Maybe you’d like to take on someone who can fight back?”

Surprise turned to delight. Lion-Mane’s lips curled away from his teeth. Hawkman raised his mace, and Lion-Mane flicked out his claws as the two rushed to grapple with each other…

“RAWRRR!!!!!”

Lion-Mane lunged, swiping down with his knife-like claws. Katar sidestepped and swung his mace, connecting with his foe’s shoulder. The blow rocked the Usurper, staggering him backward several steps.

“For that,” He growled, his jaws slavering, holding his hurt shoulder. “I’m going to crack your chest open and slurp the life’s blood from your very heart!”

Katar shrugged and raised his mace again. “We all have to die somehow.” He ran at his enemy again, preparing to bring the weapon down, hard!

But this time, Lion-Mane was better prepared. He met the assault head-on, and with one hand, caught Katar’s mace! With his free hand, Lion-Mane slashed at Katar, and with a quick succession of brutal blows, shredded the Thanagarian armor across Katar’s torso. Katar struggled to free himself, squirming at the Usurper’s mercy. He was forced to release his mace to escape Lion-Mane’s deadly grasp, spreading his wings and taking to the air for a respite.

“Coward!” Lion-Mane screamed after him, brandishing the Nth Mace as Katar rose into the air out of his reach. “Face me like a man! Or my Man-hawks will tear you into pieces!”

With that, came the screeches of the Man-hawks as they dove out of the sun, circling the skies above Feithera, their talons and beaks glittering and thirsting for blood. Katar glanced from them to Lion-Mane, unable to keep a smile from his face.

This was it. He had them exactly where he wanted them.

Focused on him.

He held out his hand, his mind stretching out to the Nth Metal in his mace. As if a thing alive, it sprang from Lion-Mane’s grasp and shot through the air. It landed with a satisfying smack in Katar’s grip.

At the same time, new cries filled the air as the hidden Feitheran rebels burst from their hiding places all along the perches and aeries of the city, and led by Norda, ambushed the Man-hawks.

Lion-Mane looked stunned at the sudden reversal. His Man-hawks had been taken utterly by surprise, and were falling from the air, pierced by arrows and spears--- he could see his Captain Tarta engaged with that whelp Norda!

With a roar of his own, Hawkman barreled down upon Lion-Mane, poised to smash him with the mace. Desperate and enraged, Lion-Mane took a running leap into the air, and before Katar could swing, he was caught around the middle by the maddened King of Feithera. They two came down hard, Lion-Mane on top, pummeling Hawkman furiously. Katar’s helm was knocked from his head, and he was dazed, but he managed to interpose the haft of his mace between him and Lion-Mane, shoving forward with all his might.

But the king’s strength was monstrous, and Katar was hurt. In a moment, those snapping jaws were going to rip out his throat.

Just then, a spiked ball on an iron-link chain smashed into Lion-Mane’s forehead, sending him crashing backward and off Katar, howling in pain.

Quickly, Katar sat up, looking to see his savior.

He groaned.

She was swinging a medieval weapon called a morning star, and continuing to advance on the wounded but still-deadly Lion-Mane. She was clad in a ridiculous assortment of lacy veils mixed with battle-leathers and chain mail; around her neck was a hawk-shaped amulet, and harnessed upon her back was a set of feathered wings.

Katar knew who it was before he heard the voice coming from the hawk-headed helm.

“If you’re done playing with the pretty bird from Thanagar, maybe we can continue our own sport, Lion-Mane.” Said Kendra Saunders, icily. “Come dance with Hawkgirl!”


TO BE CONTINUED!