A Glimpse Beyond the Mists

The sweltering heat of another long West African day seemed to accentuate the incessant, throbbing beat of the drums. The pounding rhythm was simultaneously primal and mystical. Depending on whose ears it reached, the sound could be considered mesmerizing, hypnotic, or even horrifying. Some have said, and perhaps rightfully, that the drums were a representation of the Dark Continent's heartbeat. The pulsating effect spoke to a vastness, those things untamed, and mysteries ancient and deep. Strange things the white man was drawn towards but could never fully understand.

One such man was called Solomon Kane. He was a restless wanderer, a seeker of adventure, a fierce fighter, and an entirely complex man. Many things had been said or whispered of Kane but there were two truths that no one would dispute. He was one of the greatest and most feared swordsmen that the British Isles ever produced and he was a religious fanatic following the way of the puritan.

Of course many also called him mad. This was a rumor that Kane himself could not dispute entirely. The true purpose behind many of his travels and the red deeds he performed were a mystery even unto the man himself. To relate to you now the tale of one of his most astounding adventures we must travel back through the mists of time to the ominous dark expanse that was Africa. Back to the oppressive heat of that day in the year 1582......and the sound of the drums.

The thundering beat increased in tempo and intensity. The nearly naked horde of ebony skinned tribesmen chanted loudly and beat their spears against the hard ground. Their bodies glistened with streams of steaming sweat as they swayed and moaned to the ancient, foreboding beat. A mass of undulating limbs moved in rhythm as a ritual nearly as old as man himself was played out. Quivering bright ostrich feathers adored heads and bodies that lurched with primal anticipation.

The tall gaunt white man cursed and spat at his captors. He strained unceasingly against the stout ropes that bound him to a heavy pole, one set deep in the sun baked earth. The murderous fire that glowed in his icy steel gray eyes gave cause for the warriors standing guard to grip their iron tipped spears with nervous alertness.

The white man's clothes had been reduced to tattered rags and he bled from a dozen wounds. He gave no thought to any of this, but only that he must break free and somehow bring to a halt the ghastly tribal ritual occurring just before his infuriated eyes.

The white woman was beautiful despite the dirt and tears that marred her delicately chiseled features. Her clothing had been ripped away and her fragile skin glowed an angry red beneath the merciless African sun that beat down relentlessly.

She lay sobbing faintly, face down on the ground. The girl was bound to a rough hewed pole by abrasive bindings, ropes that cut deeply into her tender, sorely blistered flesh every time she attempted to move.

Two great, heavily muscled black warriors positioned themselves on either side of the helpless girl. With scant little effort they grasped the pole in their powerful hands and hoisted the slight girl's body to a vertical position. She cried out with pain and began to sob louder. Her full naked breasts swayed and heaved with terror. She made weak pleading noises as the two men carried her up a crude earthen ramp. They paused at the apex of the ramp as the drums continued to pound with an ever increasing frenzy.

The edge of the primitive ramp pushed up against a very large clay cistern filled with boiling water. The smoke from the fire beneath floated lazily upwards and away. The white man cursed with renewed vigor and struggled mightily against his binds even as sharp spear points pricked at his flesh, creating fresh wounds. The veins in his neck stood out as if they were about to burst. Still, the man could do little else save bear witness to the cruel events occurring only a few yards away.

With a precision perfected by much practice the two burly sweating warriors held their burden over the steaming hot water. Inch by agonizing inch they lowered the woman feet first until her toes were partly immersed in the steaming hot liquid. Despite her exhaustion, the girl screamed from this new and unbearable pain. She frantically tossed her head back and forth, giving cause for her long blond tresses to fly about wildly. This action seemed to fuel the mad frenzy of the savages and many yelped excitedly. Indeed, one or two of the elderly amongst the horde fainted from lurid anticipation at that precise moment.

The white man's protests became little more than dust choked gasps as his strong voice faltered. He might have cried at that moment had his body held sufficient fluids to make tears. It did not.

The helpless girl was lowered still more until the boiling water struck her at mid calf. The odor of cooking flesh reached the nostrils of the horrified white man and he vomited the meager contents of his stomach. His struggles were now reduced to little more than a battle to merely remain conscious.

The powerful ebony duo lifted the woman's body from the terrible cistern even as pieces of flesh fell off her tortured limbs and back into the pink stained liquid. Then cold water was splashed onto the face of the hapless victim until she revived sufficiently to re-enter what had truly become for her a waking nightmare. She shut her eyes in an expression of hopelessness but not before fixing her gaze for the briefest moment on the white man. Then she moaned from the intense agony as her captors hastily transported her back up the ramp. The drums thundered and the loud chanting droned on as the screaming blond woman was held over the steaming cooking pot yet again, only tilted head down this time.

As the tips of the young white girl's golden tresses sizzled and popped on making contact with the boiling water, the white man once again found his voice. He screamed with all the anger, agony, and stark mad indignation that his mighty frame could muster.

Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*Y*

Solomon Kane wakened screaming. His violent thrashing about came perilously near to hurling the puritan off the wide limb where he'd slumbered for one or two fitful hours. The lofty perch had seemed safe enough from the roaming beasts below but it had provided scarce protection from..........."A cursed nightmare sent by Satan himself to plague my scant rest," the gaunt Englishman mumbled to himself. "Yet it has no power over the conscious mind."

Kane utilized his great agility to scamper down from the tree that had served as a place of repose. By the time his boots hit solid ground the puritan's usual steely composure had returned entirely. As always, his first concern was to examine his weapons. This thought was almost immediately replaced by another. Out there somewhere an ominous rumbling had commenced and it was uncomfortably close.

"The drums," Kane whispered almost reverently. His hard gained experience on the Dark Continent had long since taught him exactly what this particular rhythm meant. Once again the fierce ebony tribesmen had picked up the dark clad Englishman's trail. The drums spoke to a hunt....and the prey was a white man!

The puritan swordsman was reminded of the terrible nightmare. "The dream was meant to rouse me from my deep slumber. It was a warning it seems, and one for which I am most humbly grateful."

The gaunt, grim faced adventurer lowered his head for a quick prayer of thanks before taking full flight against the thinly veiled light of the breaking dawn.


The Dark Continent has ever been a dangerous, unconquered land. During the sixteenth century it could truthfully be said that this wholly untamed expanse was nothing if not a singular, unending wave of peril upon peril. The landless wanderer Solomon Kane had learned this simple fact only to well. He glided from tree to tree, bush to bush, like a skittish panther. It was a tribute to the Englishman's uncommon stamina, keen intellect, and graceful agility that he managed to somehow stay at least one step ahead of the fearsome West African warriors who pursued their gaunt prey with relentless, unwavering zeal. It was almost as if they saw the white man as a cancer that must be purged from the flesh that was the Dark Continent.

Ever mindful of concealing his tall frame whenever possible, Kane cautiously entered a copse covered morass of decaying vegetation, tangled vines, and chattering monkeys. Confident that he was safely hidden for the moment, the swordsman paused and sat beneath a great fig tree, a tree that provided easily obtained nutrition for the curious monkeys. There the puritan gnawed a mouthful of dried meat and took a sip from the small wine flask he carried tucked into his glimmering green oriental sash. Briefly he thought to perhaps shoot one of the monkeys and enjoy a meal of fresh meat. This idea was quickly brushed aside because the risks of making such a noise were simply to great. A shot might carry to the ears of his enemy, not a prospect Kane relished. Thus resigned, the harried puritan rested.

Solomon Kane did not linger long nor did he need to so great was his vast endurance and remarkable vigor. A half-hour of repose for the strangely pallid swordsman served to refresh him far more than a three or four hour respite would rest ordinary men. The striking figure clad all in drab black had been called many things during his tumultuous life, but not a single person had ever mouthed the word ordinary in describing the somber puritan fanatic.

The broad expanse of Africa's skies had been mostly unclouded that day but the occasional clap of distant thunder prompted Kane to acknowledge that better shelter than what a mere tree could provide would be a welcomed sight. A stormy night complete with potentially deadly lightening and cold heavy rain would plague a man most sorely should he be caught out in the open.

Thus Solomon Kane rose to his feet and peered in every direction through the deep set slits of his hard gray eyes. He sought in this fashion to detect anything amiss or unusual ere he took so much as one step. These simple precautions had served him well, the proof being he remained as yet amongst the living. Still, he noted nothing threatening, no great prowling beasts or poisonous reptiles slithering about, and thankfully, no proud but malevolent headhunters lurking in the bush.

All the same the Dark Continent held many evils well hidden, secret unknowns that awaited any man brave or foolish enough to test his survival skills against unmerciful raw nature. Kane had taken no more than a half-dozen carefully calculated steps upon parting from beneath the shade of the great fig tree when the very earth beneath his heavy boots suddenly gave way! The puritan felt his body fall, arms flailing against empty space for a horrifyingly long instant. Just as suddenly he slammed with great force against a hard surface. The impetus from the long fall and a glancing blow to the head thanks to some unknown object instantly hurled the surprised adventurer into the blackness of unconsciousness.

The Englishman gradually awakened to a world filled with pain, confusion, and blurred visual images. His head throbbed like a searing hot kettle being pounded upon by a giant wielding a great hammer. As Kane struggled to lift himself to a sitting position, he vigorously massaged his eyes and neck until the objects before him began to slowly re-define themselves with more clarity. Most men would have cursed their foul luck after falling into what appeared to be a natural chasm. Kane was silent. If anything he considered himself fortunate that it was not a man made pit.....one that might soon be ringed by hate filled ebony faces. In his haste he had failed to make a more careful study of the ground on which he walked. Had he been more vigilant perhaps he might have noticed that it was not solid ground that he had attempted to traverse. Kane rubbed his face and considered yet another hard lesson learned.

Other than a rather smallish boulder and scattered debris mostly consisting of leaves and rotten twigs, the Englishman was utterly alone......and apparently trapped.

Kane continued to massage his throbbing temples as he hauled himself up sufficently to assume a sitting position upon the solitary boulder. Looking upwards the puritan could see the hole his body had created as it plunged through the leafy vines and plants that had grown over the maw of the pit. At least a goodly measure of daylight was thusly admitted into what otherwise would have been an environment of shrouded darkness. The swordsman sat and attempted to gather himself. He found his shapeless black hat and placed it on his throbbing head. Then Kane meticulously inspected his weapons to ascertain as to whether they had received damage during the unexpected fall. He was relieved to find his pistols, long rapier, and lethal dirk all in good working order. However, the puritan reasoned quite logically that an armed man trapped in a deep hole was scarcely better off than an unarmed man that likewise found himself in a deep hole.

The Englishman found his wine flask and was grateful that it held one last, good swallow. The warm fluid served to hasten the surging return of the puritan's legendary strength. Still, he continued to sit in deep contemplation regarding his current and altogether dire situation. Despite the pain and bruising he had no broken bones so far as he could tell. Off in the distance the thunder continued sporadically. In turn, this sound was answered by the rumbling roar of some magnificent lion located in the not so distant bush.

Depending on location, the sheer rock walls of the pit rose between twenty-five to almost thirty feet from the floor of the crevice. There appeared to Kane's sharp eyes less than nothing that might serve as a hand or foothold should an effort be made to climb out of the bowels of the earth and back into the world above. A spider or perhaps even a clever monkey could scramble out of such a cursed trap but Solomon Kane could not envision a man accomplishing such a daunting task.

The pit was nothing if not deep and spacious. The whole of the crevice was formed into something similar to the shape of wedge. Kane, sitting on his boulder throne, was located within the larger section of the triangle whereas the farther end of the pit narrowed to a murky point that lay cloaked by impenetrable darkness. The quickly fading daylight that filtered through from above was inadequate in respect to enabling a visual inspection of the entire surroundings from his present position. After a bit more rest the puritan determined to further explore the narrowed end of the pit. Kane found some renewed hope creeping back into his psyche. It was not totally out of the question that he might yet find means of escaping his new prison, albeit that means be hidden from his probing eye for the moment.

Stiff, bruised muscles protested adamantly as Kane stood and made ready to investigate the more shrouded areas of the pit. It was precisely then that he made the startling discovery that he was not entirely alone after all. At first he noticed the smell, the foul stench of putrid, unclean.....things.

The puritan frowned as the repulsive odor seemed to gather strength. Suddenly he realized that the narrow darkened area of the chasm was not enclosed at all. Evidently the ever increasing and entirely offensive odor emanated from some well concealed opening that lay just beyond the black maw that stretched before him. Kane's hand went immediately to the hilt of his rapier and he stood unblinking, straining his eyes as he peered into the mysterious area of opaque shadows and sheer blackness that lay so ominously nearby. And then he began to see them.

They slowly appeared, creeping with an almost imperceptible deliberateness. Kane could only guess as to what they were. Indeed they seemed almost human-like as they emerged from the inky darkness. However, it was just as true that they were wholly unlike any form of man that the puritan had ever encountered......and Solomon Kane had traveled far. They smelled of rotting flesh and their skin, mostly covered in festering sores, was dusky in color though not black like the native African. The things crept with an unsteady gait on gnarled and malformed limbs. Most were naked save for a few filthy and ragged loincloths. They were bald with the exception of occasional wisps of long and unkempt black hair. To the Englishman they seemed not unlike a foul demonic horde unleashed from the womb of hell but he held his ground unwavering.

The grim faced puritan instantly perceived the unsightly creatures to have malevolent intentions. As the pit filled with the stinking mutations, Kane saw not even one that didn't carry some type of weapon, woefully crude and primitive though they were. A few held heavy wooden clubs, others wielded nasty shards of jagged volcanic glass, and many simply carried a heavy stone....held high, poised for throwing or bashing. Primitive weapons true enough but Kane knew of nowhere that it was written a weapon must be sophisticated to kill a man.

Kane held his rapier and a pistol at the ready. He made an effort to speak to the diseased things by means of a few native dialects the clever puritan had learned from the friendly river peoples. The only response this elicited from the wretches was a whining nonsensical gibberish that could surely not be classified as language by any sane linguist. The Englishman backed away until he felt the sheer wall of rock at his back. There were perhaps nearly two dozen of the filthy, hunchbacked fiends. The puritan debated with himself as to what he detested most, the dreadsome stench of the sub-humans or their dark misshapened flesh that, to the swordsman, seemed the product of some cruel jest by the greater powers that ruled over all evil.

The gaunt puritan soon found himself surrounded. The creatures commenced their gibberish anew with all joining in and screeching loudly to the point of bringing pain to Solomon Kane's ears. He instinctively recognized the noise as a probable diversion, and truly most men would have felt wholly unsettled by all the racket. However Kane's eyes became tiny slits and he merely steeled himself all the more to the threat of battle. He was a man seemingly born to be a fighter and the prospects thereof did little to instill fear in the swordsman. He was as ready as ever....granted the odds left scant chance of survival. Still, some have whispered that death itself was afraid of the strange puritan with the cold hard eyes the color of bright steel.

The noise made by the creatures reached a screeching crescendo until Solomon Kane's quick eyes glimpsed a heavy bludgeon coming swiftly at his already throbbing head. The long rapier flashed like a lightening stroke and the arm of the club wielder was severed cleanly at the elbow. The thing fell back screaming, its over-sized eyes agape in horror at the sight of the blackish fluid spurting from the stump where its arms had so recently been attached. Kane cared not as he fired his pistol directly into the face of another grotesque assailant. The face dissolved into a ghastly red ruin and its owner fell dead, entangling momentarily the feet of a number of his companions.

The deadly Englishman had hoped that the report and effect of the shot might give cause for the attackers to flee en mass, as sometimes occurred when primitive peoples were exposed to gunfire for the first time. Alas, the shot did not have this effect. Rather, it seemed to increase the rage of the foul mob. The puritan noticed some clasped their hands over their largish ears which appeared to be nearly as sensitive as a normal man's. However, they hesitated for less than an instant before pressing the attack on Kane with a renewed energy.

A heavy stone crashed against the gaunt swordsman's shoulder and he staggered back but quickly recovered. Kane's rapier bit again, making a sickening sucking sound as he withdrew it from where it had plunged, deep into the chest of the rock thrower. The Englishman caught a quick glance at shriveled breasts on the dying fiend, obviously even the females had joined the fray. The struggling puritan doubted not that there were more women amongst the foe but he had not the time or inclination to differentiate as he slashed and dodged expertly.

The filthy horde came on with increasing boldness despite their losses. Kane discharged his second pistol but his aim was slightly askew due to an emaciated hand that yanked at the puritan's arm with surprising strength. Nevertheless, the bullet clipped a nose off and splattered blood into the eyes of its former host. The puritan soon found himself near suffocated by the sheer numbers of the underground dwellers. The rapier had become less than useless at such close quarters. Thus he reluctantly allowed it to slip from his grasp and fought on with his short dirk and one of his heavy pistols, which now served him well at close quarters as an effective bludgeon.

One leering, especially twisted face flashed just before Kane's. At the last possible instance, before the thing could dash out the puritan's brains with a heavy stone, its own skull was split open by means of a crashing blow with the pistol. The Englishman sensed that might have been his final victory as his mighty frame was slowly pressed back and down beneath the sheer weight of the stinking dark horde. Multiple blows rained down on the struggling swordsman and jagged sharp objects tore at his flesh. Still, he continued to fight on with indomitable will, striking with elbows, lashing out with the heels of his boots, and jabbing with the dirk until he felt it jarred from his hand by another blow from a jagged stone.

Solomon Kane felt his consciousness begin to wane as the depraved mass pressed against his chest making it impossible to breath. With a final effort born of mad fury Kane clutched a scrawny throat and dug his fingernails deep into the leathery flesh even as the gurgling thing spat blood and attempted with failed desperation to claw at the instrument of its fast approaching doom.

The Englishman knew that his own end was near as well. The darkness closed in rapidly and surely his fate was sealed..........but! What?

end of The Queen of the Legions Beneath part 1