Hawkmoon: The Jewel in the Skull (32 page)

"I care nothing for the amulet, only for Yisselda.

Where is she, Warrior?"

"Within. She is within. Go claim both your rights—your woman and your amulet. Both are important in the Runestaff's scheme."

Hawkmoon turned and ran for the doorway, disappearing into the darkness of the castle.

The interior of the castle was incredibly chill. Cold water dripped from the roof of the passage, and moss grew on the walls. Blade in hand, Hawkmoon crept along it, halfexpecting an attack.

But none came. He reached a large wooden door, stretching twenty feet above his head, and paused.

From behind the door came a strange rumbling sound, a deepvoiced murmuring that seemed to fill the hall beyond. Cautiously Hawkmoon pushed against the door, and it yielded. He put his head through the gap and peered in upon a bizarre scene.

The hall was of strangely distorted proportions. In some parts the ceilings were very low, in others they soared upward for fifty feet. There were no windows, and the light came from brands stuck at random in the walls.

In the center of the hall, on a floor on which one or two corpses lay as they had been cut down earlier, was a great chair of black wood, studded with inlaid plaques of brass. In front of this, swinging from a part of the ceiling that was relatively low, was a large cage, such as would be used for a tame bird, save that this was much bigger. In it, Hawkmoon saw huddled a human figure.

Otherwise, the weird hall was deserted, and Hawkmoon entered, creeping across the floor toward the cage.

It was from this, he realized, that the distressed muttering sound was coming; yet it seemed impossible, for the noise was so great. Hawkmoon decided that it was because the sound was amplified by the peculiar acoustics of the hall.

He reached the cage and could see the huddled figure only dimly, for the light was poor.

"Who are you?" Hawkmoon asked. "A prisoner of the Mad God?"

The moaning ceased, and the figure stirred. From it then came a deep, echoing melancholy voice. "Aye—you could say so. The unhappiest prisoner of all."

Now Hawkmoon could make out the creature better. It had a long, stringy neck, and its body was tall and very thin. Its head was covered in long, straggling gray hair that was matted with filth, and it had a pointed beard, also filthy, that jutted from its chin for about a foot. Its nose was large and aquiline, and its deepset eyes held the light of a melancholy madness.

"Can I save you?" Hawkmoon said. "Can I prise apart the bars?"

The figure shrugged. "The door of the cage is not locked. Bars are not my prison. I have been trapped within my groaning skull. Ah, pity me."

"Who are you?"

"I was once known as Stalnikov, of the great family of Stalnikov."

"And the Mad God usurped you?"

"Aye. Usurped me. Aye, exactly." The prisoner in the unlocked cage turned his huge, sad head to stare at Hawkmoon. "Who are you?"

"I am Dorian Hawkmoon, Duke of Koln."

"A German?"

"Koln was once part of the country called Germania."

"I have a fear of Germans." Stalnikov slid back in the cage, farther away from Hawkmoon.

"You need not fear me."

"No?" Stalnikov chuckled, and the mad sound filled the hall. "No?" He reached into his jerkin and pulled something forth that was attached to a thong about his neck. The thing glowed with a deep red light, like a huge ruby, illuminated from within, and Hawkmoon saw that it bore the sign of the Runestaff.

"No? Then you are not the German who has come to steal my power?"

Hawkmoon gasped. "The Red Amulet! How did you obtain it?"

"Why," said Stalnikov, rising and grinning horribly at Hawkmoon, "I obtained it thirty years ago from the corpse of a warrior my retainers set upon and slew as he rode this way." He fondled the amulet, and its light struck Hawkmoon in the eyes so that he could barely see. "This is the Mad God. This is the source of my madness and my power. This is what imprisons me!"

"You are the Mad God! Where is my Yisselda?"

"Yisselda? The girl? The new girl with the blonde hair and the white, soft skin? Why do you ask?"

"She is mine."

"You do not want the amulet? "

"I want Yisselda."

The Mad God laughed, and his laughter filled the hall and reverberated through every cranny of the distorted place. "Then you shall have her, German!"

He clapped his clawlike hands, his whole body moving like a looselimbed puppet's, the cage swinging wildly. "Yisselda, my girl! Yisselda, come forth to serve your master!"

From the depths of one part of the hall where the ceiling almost touched the floor, a girl emerged.

Hawkmoon saw her outlined but could not be fully sure it was Yisselda. He sheathed his sword and moved forward. Yes . . . the movements, the stance—they were Yisselda's.

A smile of relief began to form on his lips as he stretched out his arms to embrace her.

Then there came a wild animal shriek, and the girl rushed at him, metaltaloned fingers reaching for his eyes, face distorted with bloodlust, every part of her body enclosed on a garment studded with outward jutting spikes.

"Kill him, pretty Yisselda," chuckled the Mad God. "Kill him, my flower, and we shall reward you with his offal."

Hawkmoon put up his hands to fend off the claws, and the back of one of them was slashed badly. He backed away hastily. "Yisselda, no—it is your betrothed, Dorian. . . ."

But the mad eyes showed no sign of recognition, and the mouth slavered as the girl slashed again with the talons of metal. Hawkmoon leaped away, pleading with his eyes that she might recognize him.

"Yisselda . . ."

The Mad God chuckled, grasping the bars of his cage and looking on eagerly. "Slay him, my chicken. Rip his throat."

Hawkmoon was almost weeping now as he leaped this way and that to avoid Yisselda's gleaming talons.

He called to Stalnikov. "What power is it she obeys that conquers her love for me?"

"She obeys the power of the Mad God, as I obey it," Stalnikov answered. "The Red Amulet makes all its slaves!"

"Only in the hands of an evil creature . . ."

Hawkmoon flung himself aside as Yisselda's talons ripped at him. He scrambled up and darted toward the cage.

"It turns all who wear it evil," Stalnikov replied, chuckling as Yisselda's claws ripped at Hawkmoon's sleeve. "All . . ."

"All but a servant of the Runestaff!"

The voice came from the entrance to the hall, and it belonged to the Warrior in Jet and Gold. It was sonorous and grave.

"Help me," said Hawkmoon.

"I cannot," said the Warrior in Jet and Gold, standing motionless, his huge blade point down on the floor before him, his gauntleted hands resting on the pommel.

Now Hawkmoon stumbled and felt Yisselda's claws digging into his back. He lifted his hands to grab her wrists and yelled in pain as the spikes sank into his palms, but he managed to free himself of the talons and fling her away and dash for the cage where the Mad God gibbered in delight.

Hawkmoon leaped for the bars, kicking at Stalnikov as he did so. The cage swung erratically and began to spin. Yisselda danced below, trying to reach him with her talons.

Stalnikov had withdrawn to the opposite side of the cage, his mad eyes now full of terror, and Hawkmoon managed to drag open the door and fling himself in, pulling it shut behind him. Outside, Yisselda howled in frustrated bloodlust, the light from the amulet turning her eyes scarlet.

Now Hawkmoon wept openly as he darted a glance at the woman he loved; then he turned his hatefilled face on the Mad God.

Stalnikov's deep voice, still mournful, reverberated through the hall. He fingered the amulet, directing its light into Hawkmoon's eyes. "Back, mortal. Obey me—obey the power of the amulet. . . ."

Hawkmoon blinked, feeling suddenly weak. His eyes became fixed on the glowing amulet, and he paused, feeling the power of the thing engulf him.

"Now," said Stalnikov. "Now, you will deliver yourself up to your destroyer."

But Hawkmoon rallied all his determination and took a step forward. The Mad God's bearded, chin dropped in astonishment. "I command you in the name of the Red Amulet . . ."

From the doorway came the sonorous voice of the Warrior in Jet and Gold. "He is the one whom the amulet cannot control. The only one. He is the rightful wearer."

Stalnikov trembled and began to edge around the cage as Hawkmoon, still weak, moved determinedly on.

"Back!" screamed the Mad God. "Leave the cage!"

Below, Yisselda's taloned fingers had grasped the bars and she was hauling her metal studded body up, her eyes still fixed murderously on Hawkmoon's throat.

"Back!" This time Stalnikov's voice lost some of its force and confidence. He reached the door of the cage and kicked it open.

Yisselda, her white teeth bared, her beautiful face twisted in terrifying madness, had hauled herself up now so that she clung to the outside of the cage. The Mad God's back was toward her, the Red Amulet directed still into Hawkmoon's eyes.

Yisselda's claw darted out, slashing at the back of Stalnikov's head. He screamed and leaped to the floor.

Now Yisselda saw Hawkmoon again and made to enter the cage.

Hawkmoon knew there was no time to try to reason with his maddened betrothed. He gathered all his strength and dived past her slashing claw, to land on the uneven flagstones of the floor and lie there for a moment, winded.

Painfully he picked himself up as Yisselda, too, leaped groundward.

The Mad God had scrambled to the great seat opposite the cage, climbing up its back to perch there, the Red Amulet dangling from his neck, casting its strange light again on Hawkmoon's face. Blood streamed down his shoulders from the wound Yisselda's clawed hands had inflicted.

Stalnikov gibbered in terror as Hawkmoon reached the seat and climbed up onto its arm. "I beg you, leave me ... I'll do you no harm."

"You've done me much harm already," Hawkmoon said grimly, drawing his blade. "Much harm. Enough to make revenge taste very sweet, Mad God. . . ."

Stalnikov crept as high as he could. He shouted at the girl. "Yisselda—stop! Resume your former character. I command you, by the power of the Red Amulet!"

Hawkmoon turned and saw that Yisselda had paused, looking bemused. Her lips parted in horror as she stared at the things on her hands, the metal spikes that covered her body. "What has happened? What has been done to me?"

"You were hypnotized by this monster here,"

Hawkmoon rasped, waving his sword in the cringing Stalnikov's direction. "But I will avenge the wrongs he has done you."

"No," Stalnikov screamed. "It is not fair!"

Yisselda burst into tears.

Stalnikov looked this way and that. "Where are my minions—where my warriors?"

"You made them destroy one another for your own perverted sport," Hawkmoon told him. "And those not slain, we captured."

"My army of women! I wanted beauty to conquer all Ukrania. Get me back the Stalnikov inheritance ..."

"That inheritance is here," said Hawkmoon, raising his sword.

Stalnikov leaped from the back of the chair and began to run toward the door but swerved aside as he saw that it was blocked by the Warrior in Jet and Gold.

He scuttled into the darkness of the hall, into a cranny where he disappeared from sight.

Hawkmoon got down from the chair and turned to look at Yisselda, who lay in a heap on the floor weeping. He went to her and gently removed the bloodstained talons from her slim, soft fingers.

She looked up. "Oh, Dorian. How did you find me? Oh, my love . . ."

"Thank the Runestaff," said the voice of the Warrior in Jet and Gold.

Hawkmoon turned, laughing in relief. "You are persistent in your claims, at least, Warrior."

The Warrior in Jet and Gold said nothing but stood like a statue, faceless and tall, by the doorway.

Hawkmoon found the fastenings of the grim, spiked suit and began to strip it off the girl.

"Find the Mad God," said the Warrior. "Remember, the Red Amulet is yours. It will give you power."

Hawkmoon frowned. "And turn me mad, perhaps?"

"No, fool, it is yours by right."

Hawkmoon paused, impressed by the Warrior's tone. Yisselda touched his hand. "I can do the rest," she said.

Hawkmoon hefted his sword and peered into the darkness wherein Stalnikov, the Mad God, had disappeared.

"Stalnikov!"

Somewhere in the deepest recesses of the hall a tiny spot of red light gleamed. Hawkmoon ducked his head and entered the alcove. He heard a sobbing sound. It filled his ears.

Closer and closer crept Hawkmoon to the source of the red brilliance. Greater and greater became the sound of the strange weeping. Then at last the red glow burned very bright, and by its light he saw the wearer of the amulet, standing against a wall of rough hewn stone, a sword in his hand.

"For thirty years I have waited for you, German,"

Stalnikov said suddenly, his voice calming. "I knew you must come to ruin my plans, to destroy my ideals, to demolish all I have worked for. Yet I hoped to avert the threat. Perhaps I still can."

With a great scream, he raised the sword and swung it at Hawkmoon.

Hawkmoon blocked the blow easily, turned the blade so that it spun from the Mad God's grasp, brought his own sword forward so that it was presented at Stalnikov's heart.

For a moment Hawkmoon looked gravely and broodingly at the frightened madman. The light from the Red Amulet stained both their faces scarlet.

Stalnikov cleared his throat as if to plead; then his shoulders sagged.

Hawkmoon drove the point of his blade into the Mad God's heart. Then he turned on his heel and left both corpse and Red Amulet where they lay.

HAWKMOON DREW HIS cloak about Yisselda's naked shoulders. The girl was shivering, sobbing with reaction mixed with joy at seeing Hawkmoon. Nearby stood the Warrior in Jet and Gold, still motionless.

While Hawkmoon embraced Yisselda, the warrior began to move, his huge body crossing the hall and entering the darkness where lay the body of Stalnikov, the Mad God.