Hawkmoon: The Jewel in the Skull (33 page)

"Oh, Dorian, I cannot tell you the horrors I have been through these past months. Captured by this group and that, traveling for hundreds of miles. I do not even know where this hellish place is. I have no memory of recent days, save for a faint remembrance of some nightmare where I struggled with myself against a desire to slay you. . . ."

Hawkmoon hugged her to him. "A nightmare was all it was. Come, we will leave. We will return to the Kamarg and safety. Tell me, what has become of your father and the others?"

Her eyes widened. "Did you not know? I had thought you returned there first before coming to seek me."

"I have heard nothing but rumors. How are Bowgentle, von Villach, Count Brass . . .?"

She lowered her gaze. "Von Villach was killed by a flamelance in a battle with Dark Empire troops on the northern borders. Count Brass ..."

"What is it?"

"When I last saw him, my father lay on a sickbed, and even Bowgentle's healing powers seemed incapable of raising him to health. It is as if he had lost all feelings—as if he no longer wished to live. He said the Kamarg must soon fall—he believed you dead when you did not return in the time necessary to have told him you were safe."

Hawkmoon's eyes blazed. "I must get back to the Kamarg posthaste—if only to give Count Brass the will again to live. With you gone, he can barely have sustained any kind of energy."

"If he lives at all," she said softly, not wanting to admit the possibility.

"He must live. If the Kamarg still stands, then Count Brass lives."

From the passage beyond the hall came the sound of running, booted feet. Hawkmoon pushed Yisselda behind him and again drew his great battle blade.

The door was flung open, and Oladahn stood there panting, D'Averc not far behind.

"Dark Empire warriors," Oladahn said. "More of them than we could fight. They must be exploring the castle and surrounds for survivors and booty."

D'Averc pushed past the little beastman. "I tried to reason with them—claimed that I had the right to command them, being of greater rank than their leader, but"—he shrugged—"it seems D'Averc has no rank in the legions of Granbretan any more. The damned pilot of the ornithopter lived long enough to tell a search party of my clumsiness in letting you escape. I am as much an outlaw, now, as you. . . ."

Hawkmoon frowned. "Come in, both, and bar that great door. It should hold them if they attack."

"Is it the only exit?" D'Averc asked, appraising the door.

"I think so," Hawkmoon said, "but we must worry about that score later."

From the shadows, the Warrior in Jet and Gold reemerged. In one gloved hand the Red Amulet dangled from its cord. The cord was stained with blood.

The Warrior handled it gingerly, not touching the stone itself, and stretched it out toward Hawkmoon as D'Averc and Oladahn hurried to swing the door shut and bar it.

"Here," said the Warrior in Jet and Gold. "It is yours."

Hawkmoon recoiled. "I do not want it—will not have it. It is an evil thing. It has caused many to die, others to go mad—even that poor creature Stalnikov was its victim. Keep it. Find another fool enough to wear it!"

"You must wear it," came the voice from the helm.

"Only you may wear it."

"I will not!" Hawkmoon swept out his hand to point to Yisselda. "That thing drove this gentle girl to become a slavering, killing beast. All those we saw in the fisherfolk's village—all slain by the power of the Red Amulet. All those who came against us—turned insane by its power. All those who died in the courtyard—destroyed by the Red Amulet." He struck the thing from the Warrior's hand. "I will not take it.

If that is what the Runestaff creates, I will have no part of it.!"

"It is what men—fools like yourself—do with it, that makes it corrupt in its influence," the Warrior in Jet and Gold said, his voice still grave and impassive. "It is your duty—as the Runestaff's chosen servant—to take the gift. It will not harm you. It will bring you nothing but power."

"Power to destroy and turn men mad!"

"Power to do good—power to fight the hordes of the Dark Empire!"

Hawkmoon sneered. There came a great crash on the door, and he knew that the warriors of Granbretan had found them. "We are outnumbered," said Hawkmoon. "Will the Red Amulet give us the power to escape them when there is only one way out through yonder door?"

"It will help you," said the Warrior in Jet and Gold, leaning down to retrieve the fallen amulet, again picking it up by its string.

The door creaked under the pressure of the blows from those on the other side.

"If the Red Amulet can do so much good," Hawkmoon said, "why do you not touch it yourself?"

"It is not mine to touch. It could do to me what it did to the miserable Stalnikov." The warrior moved forward. "Here, take it. It is why you came here."

"It is because of Yisselda I came here—to rescue her. I have done that."

"It is why she came here."

"So it was a trick to lure me . . .?"

"No. It was part of the pattern. But you say you came to save her, and yet you refuse the means of escaping with her safely from this castle. Once those warriors break in, a score or more of fierce fighters, they will destroy you all. And Yisselda's fate might be worse than yours. . . ."

Now the door was splitting. Oladahn and D'Averc backed away, swords ready, a look of quiet desperation in their eyes.

"Another moment and they will be in here," said D'Averc. "Farewell, Oladahn—and you, too, Hawkmoon. You were less boring companions than some . . ."

Hawkmoon eyed the amulet. "I do not know . . ."

"Trust my word," said the Warrior in Jet and Gold. "I have saved you in the past. Would I have done so merely to destroy you now?"

"Destroy me, no—but this will put me in some evil power. How do I know you are a messenger for the Runestaff? I have only your word that I serve it and not some darker cause."

"The door is breaking down!" Oladahn yelled.

"Duke Dorian, we'll need your aid! Let the warrior escape with Yisselda if he can!"

"Quick," said the Warrior, extending the amulet again to Hawkmoon. "Take it and save the maid, at least."

For an instant, Hawkmoon hesitated; then he accepted the thing. It settled into his hand like a pet in the hand of its master—but an exceedingly powerful pet. Its red light seemed to grow in intensity until it appeared to flood the great, grotesquely proportioned chamber. Hawkmoon felt the power flood into him.

His whole body became full of a great sense of wellbeing. When he moved it was with great speed. His brain seemed no longer clouded by the events of the past day. He smiled and placed the bloodstained thong about his neck, bent to kiss Yisselda once and felt a delicious sensation rush through him, turned, sword ready, to face the howling horde that had by now all but demolished the great door.

Then the door fell inward, and there stood crouched the panting dogs of Granbretan, tiger masks gleaming with enameled metal and semiprecious jewels, weapons poised to butcher the pathetic seeming little group that awaited them.

The leader stepped forward.

"So much exercise for so few. Brothers, we'll make them pay for our efforts."

And then the killing began.

"OH, BY THE Runestaff," murmured Hawkmoon thickly, "the power in me!"

Then he sprang forward, great battle blade howling through the air to snap the enmetaled neck of the leading warrior, slash backhanded at the man to his left and send him reeling, swing around and cut through the armor of the man to his right.

Suddenly there were blood and twisted metal everywhere. The light from the amulet spread scarlet shadows across the masked faces of the warriors as Hawkmoon led his comrades forward in an attackthe last thing the Dark Empire soldiers had expected.

But the amulet's light dazzled them, and they lifted armorclumsy arms to shield their eyes, weapons held defensively, bewildered by the speed with which Hawkmoon, Oladahn, and D'Averc moved against them. Following the other three came the Warrior in Jet and Gold, his own huge broadsword whistling in a circle of steel death, all his movements apparently effortless.

There were a clattering and a shouting from the men of Granbretan as, with Yisselda behind them at all times, the four drove them into the hall.

Hawkmoon was attacked by some six swearing axmen who tried to press in against him and stop him from wielding his deadly sword, but the young Duke of Koln kicked out at one, elbowed another aside, and brought his blade straight down into the mask

helmet of another splitting both helm and skull so that brains oozed through the fissure when he'd tugged his sword free. The sword became rapidly blunted with so much work, until at last he was using it more as an ax than anything else. He wrenched a fresh sword from the hand of one of his attackers but kept his own. With the new sword he thrust, with the old he hacked.

"Ah," whispered Hawkmoon. "The Red Amulet is worth its price." It swung at his neck, turning his sweating, vengeful face into a red demon's mask.

Now the last of the warriors tried to flee for the door, but the Warrior in Jet and Gold and D'Averc blocked them, hacking them down as they tried to burst past.

Somewhere, Hawkmoon caught a glimpse of Yisselda. Her face was buried in her hands as she refused to witness the red ruin Hawkmoon and his friends had created. "Oh, it is sweet to slay these carrion,"

Hawkmoon said. "Do not refuse to look, Yisselda—this is our triumph!" But the girl did not look up.

In many parts of the hall the floors were heaped with the twisted corpses of the slaughtered. Hawkmoon panted, seeking more to slay, but there were none left. He dropped the borrowed blade, sheathed his own, the battle lust leaving him completely. He frowned down at the Red Amulet, raising it up to regard it more closely, studying the simple motif of a runecarved staff that had been cut from it.

"So," he murmured. "Your first help is in aiding me to kill. I'm grateful, but I wonder, still, if you're not a force more for evil than for good. . . ." The light from the Runestaff flickered and began to fade.

Hawkmoon looked up at the Warrior in Jet and Gold.

"The amulet's dulled—what means that?"

"Nothing," said the Warrior. "It draws its power from a great distance off and cannot sustain it at all times. It will grow bright again eventually." He paused, cocking his head toward the passage. "I hear more footsteps—the warriors were not the whole force."

"Then let us go to meet them," D'Averc said with a low bow, waving Hawkmoon before him. "After you, my friend. You seem best equipped to be first."

"No," said the warrior. "I will go. The Amulet's power has faded for the while. Come."

Warily they passed through the smashed door, Hawkmoon last with Yisselda. She looked up at him then, her eyes steady. "I am glad you killed them," she said, "though I hate to see death come so gracelessly."

"They live without grace," Hawkmoon said softly, "and they deserve to die without grace. It is the only way to treat those who serve the Dark Empire. Now we must face more of them. Be brave, my love, for we face now our greatest danger."

Ahead, the Warrior in Jet and Gold had already engaged the first of the fresh force of fighters and was flinging the weight of his great metalencased body against them so that they stumbled back in the narrow confines of the passage, unnerved, as much as anything, because not one of their opponents seemed hurt by them and because some five and twenty of their comrades appeared to have met their death within.

The Dark Empire soldiers broke out into the corpsestrewn courtyard, shouting and trying to rally themselves. All four who came against them were covered in partly dried blood and brains and made a terrifying sight as they entered the daylight.

The gray rain was still falling and the air was still chill, but it revived Hawkmoon and the others, and their recent victory had made them feel invincible.

Hawkmoon. D'Averc, and Oladahn grinned like wolves at their foes—grinned with such complacency, too, that the Dark Empire warriors hesitated before attacking, though they greatly outnumbered Hawkmoon and his companions. The Warrior in Jet and Gold raised a pointing finger to the drawbridge. "Begone," he said in deep, grave tones, "or we shall destroy you as we destroyed your brothers."

Hawkmoon wondered if the warrior were bluffing or if that mysterious entity honestly believed they could beat so many without the power of the Red Amulet to aid them.

But before he could decide, another group of warriors came rushing over the drawbridge. They had retrieved weapons from the hands and bodies of corpses, and they were enraged.

The Mad God's warrior women had escaped from the nets.

"Show them the amulet," the Warrior in Jet and Gold whispered to Hawkmoon. "That is what they are used to obeying. It is that which bemused them in the first place, not the Mad God."

"But its light has faded," Hawkmoon protested.

"No matter. Show them the amulet."

Hawkmoon swept the Red Amulet from his neck and held it up before the howling women.

"Stay. In the name of the Red Amulet, I command you to attack not us—but these . . ." and he pointed at the wavering Dark Empire warriors. "Come, I will lead you!"

Hawkmoon sprang forward, his blunted sword sweeping out to slash the foremost warrior and slay him before he realized it.

The women easily outnumbered the Dark Empire force, and they worked with a will at their destruction, so well that D'Averc called, "Let them finish—we can escape now."

Hawkmoon shrugged. "This is surely but one pack of Dark Empire hounds. There must be many more about, for it's not their way to spread too far from the mass of their brothers."

"Follow me," said the Warrior in Jet and Gold.

"Time, I think, to unloose the Mad God's beasts...."

THE WARRIOR in Jet and Gold led them to a section of the Courtyard where a pair of great iron trapdoors had been let into the cobblestones. They were forced to drag aside corpses before they could grasp the huge brass rings and heave the doors back. The doors clanged on the stones to reveal a long stone ramp that led down into gloom.