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Updated: June 8, 2025
A fair, a lovely city was Cherkis's stronghold of Ruszark. Its beauty filled the eyes; out from it streamed the fragrance of its gardens the voice of its agony was that of the souls in Dis. The row of destroying shapes lengthened, each huge warrior of metal drawing far apart from its mates. They flexed their manifold arms, shadow boxed grotesquely, dreadfully. Down struck the flails, the sledges.
Within a hood shaped somewhat like the tight-fitting head coverings of the Crusaders a pallid, cruel face looked out upon us; in the fierce black eyes was no trace of fear. Evil as Norhala had said these people of Ruszark were, wicked and cruel they were no cowards, no! The red armored man threw up a hand. "Who are you?" he shouted.
Had she there sucked in with her mother's milk the enigmatic life of the Metal Hordes, been transformed into half human changeling, become true kin to them? What else could explain "My mother showed me Ruszark," her voice, taking up once more her tale, checked my thoughts. "Once when I was little she and my father bore me through the forest and through the hidden way.
The whole granite barrier seemed to quiver with agony. Higher we rose and higher. "Look," whispered Drake, and whirled me around. Less than five miles away was Ruszark, the City of Cherkis. And it was like some ancient city come into life out of long dead centuries. A page restored from once conquering Persia's crumbled book. A city of the Chosroes transported by Jinns into our own time.
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