Hawkmoon: The Jewel in the Skull (73 page)

"I do," Count Brass broke in gruffly, his voice more excited than usual, "for that means they are killing each other and improving the odds a little in our favour.

While they battle, we move swiftly to the Silver Bridge, crossing it and reaching the very shores of Granbretan herself! Luck is with us, Master Fank."

"Luck—or fate—or destiny," Fank said lightly, "call it what you will."

"Then had we best not ride swiftly to the sea?" Yisselda said.

"Aye," Hawkmoon said. "Swiftly—to take advantage of their confusion."

"A sensible idea," Fank nodded. "And being a sensible man myself, I believe I will ride with you."

"You are most welcome, Master Fank."

MELIADUS LAY GASPING on the stretcher as Kalan bent over him probing at his blind eyes with his instruments. His voice was a mixture of pain and fury. "What is it, Kalan?" he groaned. "Why am I blind?"

"Simply the intensity of the light released during the explosion," Kalan said. "Your sight should be restored in a day or so."

"In a day or so! I need to see. I need to consolidate my gains. I need to make sure that there are no counter-plots hatched against me. I need to convince the other barons to swear loyalty to Flana now and then to find out what Hawkmoon is up to. My plans—my plans—are they to be all destroyed!"

"Most of the barons have decided to support your Cause," Kalan told him. "There is little they can do. Only Jerek Nankenseen and the Flies represent a serious threat and Brenal Farnu is with him—but Farnu virtually has no Order left. Most of the Rats died in the early fighting. Adaz Promp is even now chasing Rats and Flies from the city."

"No Rats left," said Meliadus, suddenly thoughtful.

"How many dead in all, d'you think, Kalan?"

"About half the fighting men of Granbretan."

"Half? Have I destroyed half our warriors? Half our strength?"

"Was it not worth it for the victory you have won?"

Meliadus's blind face stared up at the ceiling. "Aye—I suppose so..."

Now he sat upright on the stretcher. "But I must justify the deaths of those who fell, Kalan. I did it for Granbretan—to rid the world of Hawkmoon and the scum from Castle Brass. I must succeed or, Kalan, I cannot justify weakening the Dark Empire's fighting force to such a degree!"

"Have no fear on that score," Kalan told him with a faint smile, "for I have been working on another of my machines."

"A new weapon?"

"An old one, made to function again."

"What is that?"

Kalan chuckled. "The Machine of the Black Jewel, Baron Meliadus. Hawkmoon shall soon feel the power of the Black Jewel as it begins to eat his brain."

A slow, satisfied smile crossed Meliadus's lips. "Oh, Kalan—at last!"

Kalan pressed Meliadus back against the stretcher. He began to rub ointment on the baron's blind eyes. "Rest now and dream of your revenge, old friend. We shall enjoy it together."

Kalan looked up suddenly. A courier had entered the small room. "What is it? What news?"

The courier was panting. "I have come from the mainland, your excellency. I have news of Hawkmoon and his men."

"What of them?" Again Meliadus rose up from the stretcher, the ointment dripping down his cheeks, careless that a minion should see him unmasked. "What of Hawkmoon?"

"They ride for the Silver Bridge, my lord."

"They plan to invade Granbretan?" Meliadus was in-credulous. "How many men have they? What is the size of their army?"

"Five hundred horsemen, my lord."

Meliadus began to laugh.

KALAN LED MELIADUS up the steps towards a throne now replacing the sinister Globe. On the throne sat Flana Mikosevaar in a jewelled heron mask, a crown upon her head, the robes of state upon her body. And before Flana Mikosevaar kneeled all those nobles loyal to her.

"Behold," Meliadus said in a voice booming coarse and proud through the vast hall, "your new Queen. Under Queen Flana you will be great—greater than you have dreamed. Under Queen Flana a new age will bloom—an age of laughing madness and roaring pleasure, the sort of pleasure we of Granbretan hold dear. The world shall be our toy!"

The ceremony progressed, with each noble in turn swearing his allegiance to Queen Flana. And when at length it was finished, Baron Meliadus spoke again.

"Where is Adaz Promp, Chief Warlord of the Armies of Granbretan?"

Promp spoke up. "Here I am, my lord, and I thank you for the honour you do me." This was the first time Meliadus had mentioned Promp's reward—command over all other commanders, save Meliadus himself.

"Will you report how the rebels fare, Adaz Promp?"

"There are few left, my lord. Those Flies we have not swatted are dispersed and their Grand Constable, Jerek Nankenseen, is dead. I slew him myself. Brenal Farnu and the few remaining Rats have bolted into holes somewhere in Sussex and will soon be flushed out. All others have united in their loyalty to Queen Flana."

"That is satisfactory, Adaz Promp, and I am pleased.

And what of Hawkmoon's laughable force. Does it still progress towards us?"

"So our ornithopter scouts report, my lord. They will soon be ready to cross the Silver Bridge."

Meliadus chuckled. "Let them cross. Let them come at least half the distance, then we shall wipe them out. Kalan, how do you manage with the machine?"

"It is almost ready, my lord."

"Good. Now we must set off for Deau-Vere to welcome Hawkmoon and his friends. Come, my captains, come."

And Meliadus was led back down the steps by Kalan and along the hall until he came to the great gates—the gates guarded not by Mantis warriors, but by Wolves and Vultures. Meliadus regretted he could not see them and thus savour his triumph the more.

After the doors had closed behind him, Flana sat frozen on her throne and thought of D'Averc. She had tried to speak of him to Meliadus, but he had not heard her. Would he be killed? she wondered.

She thought, also, of what had befallen her. Alone among the nobles of Granbretan, save Shenegar Trott, she had read many old texts, some of which were legends and alleged histories of the years before the Tragic Millennium, She believed, whatever became of herself and Meliadus, that she now presided over a court entering its last stages of decadence. The wars of expan-sion, the internal strife—all were signs of a nation in its death throes, and though that death might not come for another two hundred years, or five hundred, or a thousand, she knew that the Dark Empire was doomed.

She prayed that something better would emerge to take its place.

MELIADUS HELD THE reins of his herald's horse. "You must not leave me, boy. You must tell me what you see and I must plan the battle accordingly."

"I will tell you, my lord."

"Good. Are the troops all assembled?"

"They are, my lord. They await your signal."

"And is that cur Hawkmoon in sight yet?"

"Figures have been seen riding towards us across the Silver Bridge. They will ride directly into our ranks, unless they flee."

Meliadus grunted. "They will not flee—not Hawkmoon—not now. Can you see them yet?"

"I see a flash like silver—like a heliograph signal-one—two—three, four—five—six. The sun makes them shine so. Six silver mirrors. I wonder what it can mean?"

"The sun on polished spears?"

"I think not, my lord."

"Well, we shall soon know."

"Yes, my lord."

"What now?"

"Now I see six riders, my lord, at the head of a mass of cavalry. Each rider is crowned with flashing silver.

Why, my lord, it is their helmets that shine!"

"Are they well-polished, then?"

"They are helms. They cover their faces. I—I can hardly bear to look upon them, they are so bright."

"Strange. Still, doubtless the helmets will break quickly enough beneath our weapons. You have told them that Hawkmoon must be taken alive but they can kill the rest?"

"I have, my lord."

"Good."

"And I told them what you said—that if Hawkmoon should clutch at his head and begin to act strangely they should tell you at once."

"Excellent." Meliadus chuckled. "Excellent. I shall have my vengeance, either way."

"They have almost reached the end of the bridge, my lord. They have seen us but they are not stopping."

"Then give the signal to charge," Meliadus said.

"Blow your trumpet, herald.

"Are they charging, herald?"

"They are, my lord."

"And what now? Have the armies met?"

"They have engaged, my lord,"

"And what is happening?"

"I am—I am uncertain, my lord—what with the flashing of those helmets and some—there is a peculiar red light spreading over the scene—there seem to be more men in Hawkmoon's army than we at first thought. Infantry—and some cavalry. By Huon's Teeth—I beg your pardon, my lord—by Flana's Breasts! They are the strangest warriors I have ever seen!"

"What do they look like?"

"Barbaric—primitive—and yet so fierce! They are driving into our forces like a coals through cream!"

"What? It cannot be. We have five thousand troops and they have five hundred. All the reports confirmed that number."

"There are more than five hundred, my lord. Many more."

"Have all the scouts lied, then? Or are we all going mad. These barbarian warriors, they must have come with Hawkmoon from Amarehk. What now? What now?

Are our forces rallying?"

"They are not, my lord."

"What are they doing, then?"

"They are falling back, my lord."

"Retreating? Impossible!"

"They appear to be falling back rapidly, my lord.

Those that live."

"What do you mean? How many remain of our five thousand?"

"I would say about five hundred infantry, my lord, and a scattered hundred of cavalry."

"Tell the pilot of my ornithopter to prepare his machine herald."

"I will, my lord."

"Is the pilot ready to fly, herald?"

"He is, my lord."

"And what of Hawkmoon and his band? What of the men in the silver helms?"

"They are pursuing the remains of our force, my lord."

"I have been deceived in some way, herald."

"As you say, my lord. There are many dead. But now the barbarian warriors slaughter the infantry. Only the cavalry escape."

"I cannot believe it. O, curse this blindness! I feel as if I dreamt"

"I will lead you to the ornithopter, my lord."

"Thank you, herald. No, pilot—to Londra. Hurry. I must consider fresh plans!"

As the ornithopter beat its way up into the pale blue sky, Meliadus felt a great silver flash pass across his eyes and he blinked, looking down. And he could see. He could see the six flashing helmets the herald had mentioned, he could see the slaughtered legions he had known would destroy Hawkmoon's force, he saw the remains of his cavalry scurrying wildly for their lives. And he heard distant laughter he recognised as belonging to his most hated enemy.

He shook his fist. "Hawkmoon! Hawkmoon!"

Silver flashed as a helmet turned to look upward.

"No matter what tricks you use, Hawkmoon, you will perish by the night. I know you will. I know!"

He looked again, seething as Hawkmoon laughed on.

He looked for the barbarians who had routed his soldiers. They had vanished.

It was a nightmare, he thought. Or had the herald been in league with Hawkmoon? Or were Hawkmoon's barbarians invisible to his eyes?

Meliadus rubbed at his face. Perhaps the blindness, so recently left him, was still troubling him in some ob-scure form. Perhaps the barbarians were on another part of the field.

But no, there were no barbarians.

"Hurry, pilot," he called through the sound of the metallic wings flapping at the air. "Hurry—we must return to Londra as fast as we can!"

Meliadus began to think that Hawkmoon's defeat was not going to be as easy as he had guessed. But then he remembered Kalan and the Machine of the Black Jewel, and he smiled.

SLIGHTLY OVERAWED BY a victory in which they had lost only twelve killed and twenty slightly wounded, the six removed their mirror helms and stared after the retreating horsemen.

"They were not expecting the Legion of the Dawn!"

Count Brass smiled. "Unprepared, they were startled and could hardly resist. But they will be better prepared by the time we reach Londra."

"Aye," Hawkmoon said, "and Meliadus will put a good many more warriors in the field next time." He fingered the Red Amulet about his throat and glanced at Yisselda who was shaking out her blonde hair.

"You fought well, my lord," she said. "You fought like a hundred men."

"That is because this amulet gives me the strength of fifty men and your love gives me the strength of another fifty," he smiled.

She laughed lightly. "You never flattered me so during our courtship."

"Perhaps it is because I have come to love you even more than before," he replied.

D'Averc cleared his throat. "We'd best camp a mile or two on, away from all this death."

"I'll tend to the wounded," Bowgentle said and turned his horse back to where the Kamargian cavalry were grouped, squatting beside their horses and talking among themselves.

"You did well, lads," Count Brass called back. "It is like the old days, eh? When we fought across Europe! Now we fight to save Europe."

Hawkmoon started to speak and then gave a terrible shriek. The helmet fell from his grasp and he pressed both hands to his head, his eyes rolling in pain and horror. He swayed in his shadow and would have fallen had not Oladahn caught him.

"What is it, Duke Dorian?" Oladahn asked in alarm.

"Why do you cry, my love?" Yisselda dismounted swiftly, helping Oladahn support him.

Through clenched teeth and pale lips Hawkmoon managed to utter a few words. "The jewel . . . The Black Jewel—it is gnawing at my brain again I The power has returned I" He swayed and fell into their arms, his limbs swinging loosely and his face a terrible white. As his hands dropped from his head they saw he spoke truth. The Black Jewel was crawling with life. It had regained its malevolent lustre.