Hawkmoon: The Jewel in the Skull (68 page)

"There are several million, I believe."

"And we have about five hundred Kamargians left at Castle Brass," murmured Count Brass wiping his lips on his sleeve and giving a mock frown. "Let me compute that..."

D'Averc now spoke. "We have more than five hundred.

You forget the Legion of the Dawn." He pointed at Hawkmoon's sword which lay scabbarded beside his chair.

"How many in that mysterious legion?" Oladahn asked.

"I do not know—perhaps an infinite number, perhaps not."

"Say a thousand," Count Brass mused. "To be con-servative of course. Making fifteen hundred warriors against—"

"Several million," supplied D'Averc

"Aye, several million, equipped with all the resources of the Dark Empire, including scientific knowledge we cannot match..."

"We have the Red Amulet and the Rings of Mygan,"

Hawkmoon reminded him.

"Ah, yes, those ..." Count Brass seemed to scowl. We have those, too. And we have right on our side—is that an asset, Duke Dorian?"

"Perhaps. But if we use the Rings of Mygan to take us back to our own dimension and we fight a couple of small battles dose to home, freeing the oppressed, we can begin to raise some kind of peasant army."

"A peasant army, you say. Hm ..."

Hawkmoon sighed. "I know it seems impossible odds, Count Brass."

Then Count Brass suddenly broke into a beaming, golden smile. "That's right, lad. You've guessed!"

"What do you mean?"

"They're just the sort of odds I like. I'll get the maps and we can begin to plan our initial campaigns!"

While Count Brass was away, Oladahn said to Hawkmoon. "Elvereza Tozer could have returned to Londra and revealed our plans and our position. We are very vulnerable at this moment, friend Hawkmoon."

Count Brass came back with the maps. "Now, let's see..."

An hour later Hawkmoon got up and took Yisselda's hand, bid goodnight to his friends and followed his wife to their apartments.

Five hours later they were still awake, lying in each other's arms. It was then that she told him they were to have a child.

He accepted the news in silence, merely kissed her and held her closer. But when she was asleep, he got up and went to the window, staring out over the reeds and lagoons of the Kamarg, thinking to himself that now he had something even more important to fight for than an ideal.

He hoped he would live to see his child.

He hoped his child would be born even if he did not live.

MELIADUS SMILED BEHIND his mask and his hand tightened on Flana Mikosevaar's shoulder as the towers of Londra came in sight upriver.

"It is going so well," he murmured. "Soon, my dear, you will be Queen. They do not suspect. They cannot suspect. There has been no uprising such as this for hundreds of centuries! They are unprepared. How they will curse the architects who sited the barracks on the waterfront!" He laughed softly.

Flana was tired of the thrumming of the engines and the rumble of the paddle wheel as it pushed the ship along. One of the virtues of a sailing ship, she now realised, was that it was silent. These noisy things would not be allowed in sight of Londra once their purpose was served and she ruled. But the irritation was slight and the decision unimportant. Again she turned her thoughts inward and forgot Meliadus, forgot that the only reason she had agreed to his plan was because she, did not care what became of her. She was thinking again of D'Averc.

The captains on board the leading ships knew what to do. As well as Kalan's engines, they were now equipped with Kalan's flame cannon and they knew their targets—the military barracks of the Orders of the Pig and the Rat and the Fly and others lining the river close to the outskirts of Londra.

Softly Baron Meliadus instructed his ship's captain to raise the appropriate colour, the flag that would give the signal to begin the bombardment.

Londra was silent and still in the morning, as gloomy as ever, as darkly bizarre as usual, with her crazy towers leaning into the sky, like the clutching fingers of a million madmen.

It was early. None but the slaves would be awake.

None, that is, save Taragorm and Kalan, waiting for the sounds of strife so that they could move their men into position. The intention was to slay as many as possible, then drive the rest towards the palace, bottling them in, containing them so that they should have not several ob-jectives but, by the afternoon, one.

Meliadus knew that even if they succeeded in this plan the real fighting would begin with the attack on the palace "and they would be hard put to take it before reinforcements arrived.

Meliadus's breathing quickened. His eyes gleamed, from the bronze snouts of the cannon flame spewed, shrieking towards the unsuspecting barracks. Within the first few seconds the morning air was split by a tremen-dous explosion as the first of the buildings blew up.

"What luck!" Meliadus exclaimed. "This is a splendid omen. I had not thought to have such success so soon!"

A second explosion—a barracks on the other side of the water—and from the remaining buildings ran terri-fied men, some so alarmed that they had even left their masks behind! As they scurried out the flame cannon caught them, burning them to cinders. Their yells and screams echoed among the sleeping towers of Londra—the first warning most of the citizens had had.

Wolf mask turned to Vulture helm in expressions of silent satisfaction as they witnessed the carnage on the banks. Pigs and Rats scuttled for cover—Flies flung themselves behind the nearest buildings and the few who had managed to bring flame lances with them opened fire.

The beasts had begun to squabble.

It was part of that pattern of destiny fixed by Meliadus when, on leaving Castle Brass in disgrace, he had called upon the Runestaff.

Yet none could say how finally that pattern would resolve itself and who would be the ultimate victor—Huon, Meliadus or Hawkmoon.

BY MID MORNING the barracks had been completely wiped out and the survivors were fighting in the streets near the centre of the city. They had been reinforced with several thousand Mantis warriors. It was probable that Huon still had no idea of what was really happening. Perhaps he thought the attack was by Asiacommunistans disguised as Granbretanians. Meliadus smiled as he disembarked with Flana Mikosevaar and made his way to the Palace of Time on foot, flanked by a dozen Vultures and Wolves. The surprise had been complete.

His men had remained in the few open streets and had not ventured into the maze of corridors linking most of the towers. As the warriors had emerged, Meliadus's men had picked them off. Now they were bottling them in, for there were few windows from which Huon's soldiers could fight. Windows were not a feature of Londra's architecture, for the Granbretanians had little liking for fresh air or daylight. What windows there were tended to be placed so high as to be useless to snipers.

Even the ornithopters, unequipped for fighting in a city such as Londra, were proving to be a smaller threat than Meliadus had anticipated. He was well pleased as he entered the Palace of Time and discovered Taragorm in a small chamber.

"Brother! Our plans go well—better than I had expected."

"Aye," answered Taragorm with a nod to Flana to whom, like Meliadus, he had been married for a short time. "My Ferrets have hardly needed to do anything as yet. But doubtless they'll be useful in flushing out those who stay in the tunnels: I plan to use them to come up on the enemy from behind as soon as we have properly located the main pockets."

Meliadus nodded his approval. "But you sent a message for me to meet you here. Why is that?"

"I believe I have discovered the means of bringing your friends of Castle Brass back to their natural envi-ronment," Taragorm murmured, his voice full of quiet satisfaction.

Meliadus gave a deep groan and it was a moment before Flana realised he was voicing his extreme pleasure.

"Oh, Taragorm! At last the rabbits are mine!"

Taragorm laughed. "I am not entirely certain that my machine will work, but I feel it might since it is based on an old formula I discovered in the same book as the one which mentioned the crystal machine of Soryandum. Would you care to see it?"

"Aye! Lead me to it, brother, I beg you!"

"This way."

Taragorm led Meliadus and Flana through two short corridors full of the noise of clocks and arrived at last outside a low door which he opened with a small key.

"In here." He took a torch from the bracket outside and used it to light the dungeon he had opened.

"There. It is on roughly the same level as the crystal machine at Castle Brass. Its voice can carry through the dimensions."

"I hear nothing," Meliadus said with some disappointment.

"You hear nothing because there is nothing to hear-in this dimension. But it makes a goodly sound, I guarantee, in some other space and time."

Meliadus moved towards the object. It was like a great brass skeleton clock the size of a man. Its pendulum swung beneath it, working the escapement lever moving the hands. It had springs and cogs and looked in every respect like an ordinary clock made huge. On its back was mounted a gong-like affair with a striking arm.

Even as they watched the hands touched the half-hour and the arm moved slowly up to fall suddenly upon the gong. They could see the gong vibrating but did not hear a whisper of sound.

"Incredible!" whispered Meliadus. "But how does it work?"

"I have still to adjust it a little to ensure that it is operating in exactly the correct dimension of space and time which, with the help of Tozer, I have managed to locate. When midnight comes, our friends at Castle Brass should experience something of an unwelcome surprise."

Meliadus sighed with pleasure. "Oh, noble brother!

You shall be the richest and most honoured man in the Empire!"

Taragorm's weird clock mask bowed slightly in recogni-tion of Meliadus's promise. "It is only fitting," he murmured, "but I thank you brother."

"You are sure it will work?"

"If it does not, then I shall not be the richest and most honoured man in the Empire," Taragorm said with some humour. "Doubtless, in fact, you shall see to it that I am rewarded in a less pleasant fashion."

Meliadus flung his arms around his brother-in-law's shoulders. "Do not speak of such a thing, brother! Oh, do not speak of it!"

"WELL, WELL, GENTLEMEN. Some sort of civil disturbance, we gather." The golden voice came from the wizened throat and the sharp black eyes darted this way and that at the gathered masks before them.

"It is treason, Noble Monarch," a Mantis mask said.

His uniform was untidy and his mask singed by a flame lance.

"Civil war, Great Emperor," another emphasised.

"And very nearly a fait accompli," murmured the man next to him, almost to himself. "We were totally unprepared, Excellent Ruler."

"Indeed you were, gentlemen. We blame you all—and ourselves. We were deceived."

The eyes moved more slowly over the assembled captains. "And is Kalan amongst you?"

"He is not, Grand Sire."

"And Taragorm?" purred the sweet voice.

"Taragorm is not present, King of All."

"So ... And some thought you saw Meliadus on the flagship..."

"With Countess Flana, Magnificent Emperor."

"That is logical Yes, we have been very much deceived. But no matter—the palace is well defended, we assume?"

"Only a very large force could possibly hope to take it, Lord of the World."

"But perhaps they have a very large force? And if they have Kalan and Taragorm with them, they have other powers. Were we prepared for siege, captain?"

Huon addressed the Captain of the Mantis Guard who bowed his head.

"After a fashion, Excellent Prince. But such a thing is without precedent."

"Indeed it is. Perhaps we should seek reinforcements, then?"

"From the Continent," said a captain. "All the loyal barons are there—Adaz Promp, Brenal Farun, Shenegar Trott..."

"Shenegar Trott is not on the Continent," King Huon said politely.

". . . Jerek Nankenseen. Mygel Hoist.. ."

"Yes, yes, yes—we know the names of our barons. But can we be sure that these are loyal?"

"I would assume so, Great King Emperor, for their men perished today. If they were in league with Meliadus, they would have given him those loyal to their Order, surely?"

"Your guess is probably accurate. Very well—recall the Lords of Granbretan. Tell them to bring all available troops to squash this uprising as quickly as possible. Tell them that it is inconvenient to us. The messenger had best leave from the roof of the palace. We understand that several ornithopters are available."

From somewhere, muffled and distant, there was a roar as if from a flame cannon and the Throne Room seemed to tremble very slightly.

"Extremely inconvenient," sighed the King Emperor.

"What did you estimate as Meliadus's gains in the past hour?"

"Almost the entire city save the palace, Excellent Monarch."

"I always knew he was the best of my generals."

BARON MELIADUS SAT in his own chambers watching the fires of the city. He especially enjoyed the spectacle of an ornithopter crashing in flames over the palace.

The night sky was clear and the stars were bright. It was an exceptionally pleasant evening. To make it perfect he had a quartette of girl slaves, once well-known musi-cians in their own lands, play him the music of Londen Johne, Granbretan's finest composer.

The counterpoint of explosions, of screams and the clash of metal was exquisite to Meliadus's ear. He sipped his wine and consulted his maps, humming to the music.

There was a knock on his door and a slave opened it His Chief of Infantry, Vrasla Beli, entered and bowed.

"Captain Beli?"

"I must report, sir, that we are becoming very short of men. We have achieved a miracle on very few, sir, but we cannot ensure our gains without reinforcements. Either that, or we must regroup..."