Book 4 of The High History of The Runestaff

The Runestaff

by Michael Moorcock

Contents

BOOK ONE

1.An Episode in King Huon's Throne Room10

2.Human Thoughts of the Countess Flana14

3.Hawkmoon Alters his Course16

4.Orland Frank22

5.A City of Glowing Shadows31

6.Jehamia Cohnahlias35

7.A Well-Known Traveler38

8.An Ultimatum44

9.The Runestaff48

10.Spirit of the Runestaff51

11.A Brother Slain55

BOOK TWO

1.Whispering in Secret Rooms62

2.Conversation Beside the Mentality Machine67

3.Taragorm of the Palace of Time71

4.A Mission for Meliadus74

5.The Fleet at Deau-Vere77

6.The Return to Castle Brass82

7.The Beasts Begin to Squabble86

8.Taragorm's Invention89

9.Huon Confers with his Captains92

10.Almost Midnight94

BOOK THREE

1.The Striking of the Clock98

2.The Blackened Marsh104

3.Dark Empire Carnage107

4.New Helms110

5.Five Heroes and a Heroine115

6.A New Ally118

7.The Battle for Huon's Palace124

8.Flana Observes the Battle128

9.The Slaying of King Huon130

10.The Heroes Ride Out133

11.News of Several Sorts135

12.The New Queen137

13."What do you see?"139

14.The Power Returns143

15.The Gates of Londra146

16.The Final Flight152

17.The Sad Queen155

BOOK ONE

Tacticians and warriors of ferocious courage

and skill; careless of their own lives; corrupt

of soul and mad of brain; haters of all that

was not in decay; wielders of power without

moralityforce without justice; the Barons of

Granbretan carried the standard of their King

Emperor Huon across the continent of Eu-

rope and made that continent their property;

carried the banner to West and East to other

continents to which they also laid claim. And

it seemed that no force, either natural or

supernatural, was strong enough to halt the

insane and deadly tide. Indeed, none now

resisted them at all. With chuckling pride

and cold contempt they demanded whole

nations as tribute and the tribute was paid.

In all the subdued lands few hoped. Of those,

fewer dared express hopeand among those

few hardly a single soul possessed the courage

to murmur the name symbolizing that hope.

The name was Castle Brass.

Those who spoke the name understood its

implications, for Castle Brass was the only

stronghold to remain unvanquished by the

warlords of Granbretan, and Castle Brass

housed heroes; men who had fought the Dark

Empire, whose names were loathed and hated

by the brooding Baron Meliadus, Grand Con-

stable of the Order of the Wolf, Commander

of the Army of Conquest, for it was known

that Baron Meliadus fought a private feud

with those heroes, particularly the legendary

Dorian Hawkmoon von Koln who was mar-

ried to the woman Meliadus desired, Yis-

selda, daughter of Count Brass of Castle Brass.

But Castle Brass had not defeated the armies

of Granbretan, it had merely evaded them,

disappearing by means of a strange, ancient

crystal machine into another dimension of

the Earth, where those heroes, Hawkmoon,

Count Brass, Huillam D'Averc, Oladahn of

the Bulgar Mountains and their handful of

Kamargian men-at-arms, now sheltered, and

most folk felt that the heroes of the Kamarg

had deserted them forever. They did not

blame them, but their hope waned fainter

with every day that passed and the heroes

did not return.

In that other Kamarg, sundered from its

original by mysterious dimension of time and

space, Hawkmoon and the rest were faced

with fresh problems, for it seemed that the

sorcerer-scientists of the Dark Empire were

close to discovering means either of breaking

through into their dimension or of recalling

them. The enigmatic Warrior in Jet and

Gold had sent Hawkmoon and D'Averc on a

quest to a strange new land to seek the

legendary Sword of the Dawn, which would

be of aid to them in their struggle, and which

would in turn aid The Runestaff, which, the

Warrior insisted, Hawkmoon, manifestation

of the Champion Eternal, served. Having

won the rosy sword, Hawkmoon was then

informed he must travel by sea around the

coast of Amarehk to the city of Dnark, where

the services of the blade were required. But

Hawkmoon demurred. He was anxious to

return to the Kamarg and see his beautiful

wife Yisselda again. In a ship supplied by

Bewchard of Narleen, Hawkmoon set sail for

Europe, against the dictates of the Warrior

in Jet and Gold who had told him that his

duty to The Runestaff, that mysterious arte-

fact said to control all human destinies, was

greater than his duty to his wife, friends and

adopted homeland. With the foppish Huil-

lam D'Averc by his side, Hawkmoon headed

out to sea.

Meanwhile in Granbretan Baron Meliadus

fumed at what he considered his King-Emper-

or's foolishness in not allowing him to pur-

sue his vendetta against Castle Brass. When

Shenegar Trott, Count of Sussex, seemed to

be favoured over him by a King-Emperor

growing steadily more mistrustful of his un-

stable conquistador, Meliadus became rebel-

lious, pursuing his prey to the Wastes of Yel,

losing them, and returning with redoubled

hatred to Londra, there to scheme not only

against the heroes of Castle Brass, but also

against his immortal ruler, Huon, the King

Emperor...

The High History of the Runestaff

Chapter One

An Episode in

King Huon's Throne Room

THE VAST DOORS parted and Baron Meliadus, but

lately returned from Yel, walked into the throne room

of his King-Emperor, to report his failures and his dis-

coveries.

As Meliadus entered the room, whose roof seemed so

tall as to be one with the heavens and whose walls were

so distant as to seem to encompass an entire country, his

way was blocked by a double line of guards. These

guards, members of the King Emperor's own Order of

the Mantis and wearing the great jewelled insect-masks

belonging to that Order, seemed reluctant to let him

pass through.

Meliadus controlled himself with difficulty and waited

while the ranks drew back to admit him.

Then he strode on into the hall of blazing colour,

whose galleries were hung with the gleaming banners of

Granbretan's five hundred greatest families and whose

walls were encrusted with a mosaic of precious gems de-

picting Granbretan's might and history, along an aisle

made up on either side by a thousand mantis warriors,

each statue-still, towards the Throne Globe more than a

mile distant

Half-way to the Globe, he abased himself in a some-

what peremptory fashion.

The solid black sphere seemed to shudder momentar-

ily as Baron Meliadus rose, then the black became shot

through with veins of scarlet and white which slowly

spread through the darker shade until it had vanished

altogether. The mixture like milk and blood swirled and

cleared to reveal a tiny foetus-like shape curled in the

centre of the sphere. From this twisted figure peered

eyes that were hard, black and sharp, containing an

oldindeed, an immortalintelligence. This was Huon,

King Emperor of Granbretan and the Dark Empire,

Grand Constable of the Order of the Mantis, wielder of

absolute power over tens of millions of souls, the ruler

who would live forever and in whose name Baron Meli-

adus had conquered the whole of Europe and beyond.

The voice of a golden youth now issued from the

Throne Globe (the golden youth to whom it had be-

longed had been dead a thousand years):

"Ah, our impetuous Baron Meliadus..."

Again Meliadus bowed and murmured. "Your servant.

Prince of All."

"And what have you to report to us, hasty lord?"

"Success, Great Emperor. Proof of my suspicions..."

"You have found the missing emissaries from Asia-

communista?"

"I regret not, Noble Sire..."

Baron Meliadus did not know that it had been in this

disguise that Hawkmoon and D'Averc had penetrated

the capital of the Dark Empire. Only Flana Mikosevaar,

who had helped them escape, knew that.

"Then why are you here, baron?"

"I discovered that Hawkmoon, whom I insist is still

the greatest threat to our security, has been visiting our

island. I went to Yel and there found him and the trai-

tor Huillam D'Averc, as well as the magician Mygan of

Llandar. They know the secret of travelling through the

dimensions." Baron Meliadus did not mention that they

had escaped from him. "Before we could apprehend

them they vanished before our eyes. Mighty Monarch, if

they can come and go from our land at will, surely it is

plain that we can never be safe until they are destroyed.

I would suggest we begin immediately to direct all the

efforts of our scientistsof Taragorm and Kalan in par-

ticularto finding these renegades and finishing them.

They threaten us from within..."

"Baron Meliadus. What news of the emissaries from

Asiacommunista?"

"None, so far. Mighty King Emperor, but..."

"A few guerillas, Baron Meliadus, this empire may

contend with, but if our shores are threatened by a force

as great, if not greater, than our own, by a force, more-

over that is possessed of scientific secrets unknown to us,

that we may not survive, you see ..." The golden voice

spoke with acid patience.

Meliadus frowned. "We have no proof that such an

invasion is planned, Monarch of the World ..."

"Agreed. Neither have we proof, Baron Meliadus,

that Hawkmoon and his band of terrorists have the

power to do us any great harm." Streaks of ice blue sud-

denly appeared in the Throne Globe's fluid.

"Great King Emperor. Give me the time and the

resources..."

"We are an expanding empire, Baron Meliadus; We

wish to expand still further. It would be pessimistic,

would it not, to stand still? That is not our way. We are

proud of our influence upon the Earth. We wish to ex-

tend it. You seem uneager to carry out the principles of

our ambition which is to spread a great, laughing terror

to the corners of the world. You are becoming small-

minded, we fear ..."

"But by refusing to counter those subtle forces that

might wreck our schemes, Prince of All, we could betray

our destiny also!"

"We resent dissension, Baron Meliadus. Your personal

hatred of Hawkmoon and, we have heard, your desire

for Yisselda of Brass, represent dissension. We have your

self-interest at heart, baron, for if you continue in this

course, we shall be obliged to elect another over you, to

dismiss you from our serviceaye, even to dismiss you

from your Order..."

Instinctively, Baron Meliadus's gauntleted hands leapt

fearfully to his mask. To be unmasked! The greatest dis-

gracethe greatest horror of them all! For that was what

the threat implied. To join the ranks of the lowest scum

in Londrathe caste of the unmasked ones! Meliadus

shuddered and could hardly bring himself to speak.

At last he murmured. "I will reflect on your words,

Emperor of the Earth..."

"Do so, Baron Meliadus. We would not wish to see

such a great conqueror destroyed by a few clouded

thoughts. If you would regain all our favour, you will

find for us the means by which the Asiacommunistan

emissaries left."

Baron Meliadus fell to his knees, his great wolf-mask

nodding, his arms outspread. Thus the conqueror of Eu-

rope abased himself before his Lord, but his brain flared

with a dozen rebellious thoughts and he thanked the

spirit of his Order that the mask hid his face so that his

fury did not show.

He backed away from the Throne Globe while the

beady, sardonic eyes of the King Emperor regarded him.

Huon's prehensile tongue darted out to touch a jewel

floating near the shrunken head and the milky fluid

swirled, flashed with rainbow colours, then gradually

turned black once more.

Meliadus wheeled and began the long march back to

the gigantic doors, feeling that every eye behind the un-

moving mantis masks watched him with malevolent hu-

mour.

When he had passed through the doors, he turned to

the left and strode through the corridors of the twisted

palace, seeking the apartments of the Countess Flana

Mikosevaar of Kanbery, widow of Asrovak Mikosevaar,

the Muskovian renegade who had once headed the Vul-

ture Legion. Countess Flana not only was now titular

head of the Vulture Legion, but also cousin to the King

Emperorhis only surviving kin.

Chapter Two

Human Thoughts of

The Countess Flana

THE HERON MASK of spun gold lay on the lacquered

table before her as she stared through the window, over

the curling, crazy spires of the city of Londra, her pale,

beautiful face full of sadness and confusion.

As she moved, the rich silks and jewels of her gown

caught the light from the red sun. She went to a closet

and opened it. There were the strange costumes she had

kept since those two visitors had left her apartments so

many days before. The disguises that Hawkmoon and

D'Averc had used when posing as princes from Asiacom-

munista. Now she wondered where they wereparticu-

larly D'Averc whom she knew loved her.

Flana, Countess of Kanbery, had had a dozen hus-

bands and more lovers, had disposed of them in one way

or another as a woman might dispose of a useless pair of

stockings. She had never experienced love, never had

the emotion known to most others, even the rulers of

Granbretan.

But somehow D'Averc, that dandified renegade who

claimed to be permanently ill, had aroused these

feelings in her. Perhaps she had remained so remote

heretofore because she was sane, while those surround-

ing her at court were not, because she was gentle and ca-

pable of selfless love, whereas the lords of the Dark Empire

understood nothing of such feelings. Perhaps D'Averc,

gentle, subtle, sensitive, had awakened her from an

apathy induced not by lack of soul, but by a greatness of

soulsuch greatness that it could not bear to exist in the

mad, selfish, perverse world of the Court of King Huon.

But now that the Countess Flana was awake, she

could not ignore the horror of her surroundings, the

despair she felt that her lover of a single night might

never return, that he might even be already dead.

She had taken to her apartments, avoiding contact

with the rest, but while this ruse afforded her some sur-

cease from understanding of her circumstances, it only

allowed her sorrow silence in which to grow.

Tears fell down Flana's perfect cheeks and she

stopped their flow with a scented silken scarf.

A maidservant entered the room and hesitated on the

threshold. Automatically Flana reached for her heron

mask.

"What is it?"

"The Baron Meliadus of Kroiden, my lady. He says

he has to speak with you. A matter of paramount ur-

gency."

Flana slipped her mask over her head and settled it

on her shoulders.

She considered the girl's words for a moment and

then shrugged. What did it matter if she saw Meliadus

for a few moments? Perhaps he had some news of

D'Averc, whom she knew he hated. By subtle means she

might discover what he knew.

But what if Meliadus wished to make love to her, as

he had on previous occasions?

Why, she would turn him away, as she had turned

him away before.

She inclined the lovely heron mask a fraction.

"Admit the baron," she said.

Chapter Three

Hawkmoon Alters

His Course

THE GREAT SAILS curved in the wind as the ship

sped over the surface of the sea. The sky was clear and

the sea was calm, a vast expanse of azure. Oars had been

shipped and the helmsman now looked to the main deck

for his course. The bosun, clad in orange and black,

climbed to the deck where Hawkmoon stood staring

across the ocean.

Hawkmoon's golden hair streamed in the wind and

his cloak of wine-coloured velvet whipped out behind

him. His handsome features were battle-hardened and

weather beaten and were only marred by the existence,

embedded in his forehead, of a dull, black stone. Grave-

ly, he acknowledged the bosun's salute.

"I've given orders to sail around the coast, heading

due East, sir," the bosun said.

"Who gave you that course, bosun?"

"Why, nobody, sir. I just assumed that since we were

heading for Dnark..."

"We are not heading for Dnark, tell the helmsman."

"But that strange warriorthe Warrior in Jet and

Gold you called himhe said..."

"He is not my master, bosun. Nowe sail out to sea

now. For Europe."

"For Europe, sir! You know that after you saved Nar-

leen we would take you anywhere, follow you anywhere,

but have you any understanding of the distances we

must sail to reach Europethe seas we should have to

cross, the storms...?"

"Aye, I understand. But we still sail for Europe."

"As you say, sir." Frowning, the bosun turned away to

give his orders to the helmsman.

From his cabin below the main deck, D'Averc now

emerged and began to climb the ladder. Hawkmoon

grinned at him. "Did you sleep well, friend D'Averc?"

"As well as possible aboard this rocking tub. I am in-

clined to suffer from insomnia at the best of times,

Hawkmoon, but I snatched a few moments. The most, I

suppose, I may expect."

Hawkmoon laughed. "When I looked in on you an

hour ago, you were snoring."

D'Averc raised his eyebrows. "So! You heard me

breathing heavily, eh? I tried to keep as quiet as pos-

sible, but this cold of minecontracted since coming

aboardis giving me a certain amount of difficulty." He

raised a tiny square of linen to the tip of his nose.

D'Averc was dressed in silk, with a loose blue shirt,

flowing scarlet breeks, a heavy broad leather belt sup-

porting his sword and a dirk. Around his bronzed throat

was wound a long scarf of purple and his long hair was

held back by a band matching his breeks. His fine, al-

most ascetic features, bore their usual sardonic ex-

pression.

"Did I hear aright below?" D'Averc asked. "Were you

instructing the bosun to head for Europe?"

"I was."

"So you still intend to try to reach Castle Brass and

forget what the Warrior in Jet and Gold said of your

destinythat it was to take that blade there," D'Averc

pointed to the great red broadsword at Hawkmoon's

side, "to Dnark, thus serving the Runestaff?"

"I owe allegiance to myself and my kin before I will

serve an artefact in whose existence I gravely doubt."

"You would not have believed before in the powers of

the Sword of the Dawn," D'Averc remarked wryly, "yet

you saw it summon warriors from thin air to save our

lives."

An obstinate look passed over Hawkmoon's features.

"Aye," he agreed reluctantly. "But I still intend to re-

turn to Castle Brass, if that is possible."

"There's no telling if it's in this dimension or an-

other."

"I can only hope that it is in this dimension."

Hawkmoon spoke with finality, showing his un-

willingness to discuss the matter further. D'Averc raised

his eyebrows for a second time, then descended to the

deck and strolled along it whistling.

For five days they sailed on through the calm ocean,

every sail unfurled to give them maximum speed.

On the sixth day the bosun came up to Hawkmoon,

who was standing in the prow of the ship, and pointed

ahead.

"See the dark sky on the horizon, sir. We're heading

straight for a storm."

Hawkmoon peered in the direction the bosun indi-

cated. "A storm, you say. Yet it has a peculiar look to

it."

"Aye, sir. Shall I reef the sails?"

"No, bosun. We sail on until we have a better idea of

what we are heading into."

"As you say, sir." The bosun walked back down the

deck, shaking his head.

A few hours later the sky ahead became a lurid wall

across the sea, from horizon to horizon, its predominant

colours, dark red and purple. It towered upwards and

yet the sky above them was as blue as it ever had been

and the sea was perfectly calm. Only the wind had

dropped slightly. It was as if they sailed in a lake, en-

closed on all sides by mountains whose peaks disap-

peared into the heavens. The crew was disconcerted and

there was a note of fear in the bosun's voice when he

next confronted Hawkmoon.

"Do we sail on, sir? I have never heard of such a phe-

nomenon as this before; I've never experienced any-

thing like it. The crew's nervous, sir, and I'll admit that

I am, also."

Hawkmoon nodded sympathetically. "It's peculiar,

right enough, seeming to be more supernatural than

natural."

"That's what the crew's saying, sir."

Hawkmoon's own instinct was to press on and face

whatever it was, but he had a responsibility to the crew,

each member of which had volunteered to sail with him

in gratitude for his ridding their home city, Narleen, of

the power of the Pirate Lords.

Hawkmoon sighed. "Very well, bosun. We'll take in

all sail and wait the night. With luck, the phenomenon

will have passed by morning."

The bosun was relieved. "Thank you, sir."

Hawkmoon acknowledged his salute then turned to

stare up at the huge walls. Were they cloud or were they

something else? A chill had come into the air and al-

though the sun still shone down, its rays did not seem to

touch the massed clouds.

All was still. Hawkmoon wondered if he had made a

wise decision in heading away from Dnark. None, to his

knowledge, save the ancients had ever sailed these

oceans. Who was to tell what uncharted terrors in-

habited them?

Night fell, and in the distance the vast, lurid walls

could still be seen, their dark reds and purples piercing

the blackness of the night. And yet the colours hardly

seemed to have the usual properties of light.

Hawkmoon began to feel perturbed.

In the morning the walls seemed to have drawn in

much closer and the area of blue sea seemed much

smaller. Hawkmoon wondered if they had not been

caught in a trap set by giants.

Clad in a thick cloak that did not keep out much of

the chill, he paced the deck at dawn.

D'Averc was next to emerge, wearing at least three

cloaks and shivering ostentatiously. "A fresh morning,

Hawkmoon."

"Aye," murmured the Duke of Koln. "What do you

make of it, D'Averc?"

The Frenchman shook his head. "It's a grim sort of

stuff, isn't it? Here comes the bosun."

They both turned to greet the bosun. He, too, was

wrapped up heavily in a great leather cloak normally

used for protection when sailing through a storm.

"Any thoughts on this, bosun?" D'Averc asked.

The bosun shook his head and addressed Hawkmoon.

"The men say that whatever happens, sir, they are yours.

They will die in your service if necessary."

"They're in a gloomy mood, I gather," smiled D'Averc.

"Well, who's to blame them?"

"Who indeed, sir." The bosun's round, honest face

looked despairing. "Shall I give the order to sail on,

sir?"

"It would be better than waiting here while the stuff

closes in," Hawkmoon said. "Let go the sails, bosun."

The bosun shouted orders and men began to climb

through the rigging, letting down the sails and securing

their lines. Gradually the sails filled and the ship began

to move, seemingly reluctantly, towards the strange cliffs

of clouds.

Yet even as they moved forward, the cliffs began to

swirl and become agitated. Other, darker colours crept

in and a wailing noise drifted towards the ship from all

sides. The crew could barely contain its panic, many

men standing frozen in the rigging as they watched.

Hawkmoon peered forward anxiously.

Then, instantly, the walls had vanished!

Hawkmoon gasped.

Calm sea lay on all sides. Everything was as before.

The crew began to cheer, but Hawkmoon noticed that

D'Averc's face was bleak. Hawkmoon, too, felt that per-

haps the danger was not past. He waited, poised at the

rail.

Then from the sea erupted a huge beast.

The crew's cheers changed to screams of fear.

Other beasts began to emerge all around them. Gigan-

tic, reptilian monsters with gaping red jaws and triple

rows of teeth, the water streaming from their scales and

their blazing eyes full of mad, rolling evil.

There was a deafening flapping noise and one by one

the giant reptiles climbed into the air.

"We are done for, Hawkmoon," said D'Averc philo-

sophically as he drew his sword. "It's a pity not to have

had one last sight of Castle Brass, nor one last kiss from

the lips of those women we love."

Hawkmoon barely heard him. He was full of bitter-

ness at the fate which had decided he should meet his

end in this wet and lonely place. Now none would know

where or how he had died...

Chapter Four

Orland Fank

THE SHADOWS OF the gigantic beasts swept back and

forth over the deck and the noise of their wings filled

the air. Looking upwards in cold detachment as a mon-

ster dropped towards him, its maw distended the Duke

of Koln knew his life had ended. But then the monster

had soared again, having snapped once at the high mast.

Nerves tense, muscles taut, Dorian Hawkmoon drew

the Sword of the Dawn, the blade which no other man

could wield and live. Even this supernatural broadsword

would be useless against the dreadful beasts; they need

not even attack the crew directly, need only strike the

ship a few blows to send those aboard to the bottom.

The ship rocked in the wind created by the vast wings

and the air stank of their foetid breath.

D'Averc frowned. "Why are they not attacking? Are

they playing a game with us?"

"It seems likely." Hawkmoon spoke between clenched

teeth. "Maybe it pleases them to play with us for a while

before destroying us."

As a great shadow descended, D'Averc leapt up and

slashed at a creature which had flapped into the air

again before D'Averc's feet returned to the deck. He

wrinkled his nose. "Ugh! The stink! It can do my lungs

no good."

Now, one by one, each of the creatures descended and

struck the ship a few thwacks with its leathery wings.

The ship shuddered. Men screamed as they were flung

from the rigging to the deck. Hawkmoon and D'Averc

staggered, clinging to the rail to save themselves from

toppling.

"They're turning the ship!" D'Averc cried in puzzle-

ment. "We're being forced round!"

Hawkmoon stared grimly at the terrifying monsters

and said nothing. Soon the ship had been turned by

about eighty degrees. Then the beasts rose higher into

the sky, wheeling above the ship as if debating their

next action. Hawkmoon looked at their eyes, trying to

discern intelligence there, trying to discover some hint

of their intentions, but it was impossible. The creatures

began to flap away until they were far to sternward. And

then they began to come back.

In formation the beasts flapped their wings until such

a wind was created that Hawkmoon and D'Averc could

no longer keep their footing and they were pressed

down to the planks of the deck.

The sails of the ship bent in this wind and D'Averc

cried out in astonishment. "They're driving the ship the

way they want it to go! It's incredible!"

"We're heading towards Amarehk," Hawkmoon said,

struggling to rise. "I wonder..."

"What can their diet be?" D'Averc shouted. "Cer-

tainly they eat nothing intended to sweeten the breath!

Phew!"

Hawkmoon grinned in spite of their plight.

The crew were now all huddled in the oar-wells, star-

ing up fearfully at the monstrous reptiles as they flapped

overhead, filling the sails with wind.

"Perhaps their nest is in this direction," Hawkmoon

suggested. "Perhaps their young are to be fed and they

prefer live meat?"

D'Averc looked offended. "What you say is likely,

friend Hawkmoon. But it was still tactless of you to sug-

gest it..."

Again Hawkmoon gave a wry grin.

"There's a chance, if their nests are on land, of get-

ting to grips with them," he said. "On the open sea we

had no chance of survival at all."

"You're optimistic, Duke of Koln ..."

For more than an hour the extraordinary reptiles pro-

pelled the ship over the water at breakneck speed. Then

at last Hawkmoon pointed ahead, saying nothing.

"An island!" exclaimed D'Averc. "You were right

about that, at any rate!"

It was a small island, apparently bare of vegetation,

its sides rising sharply to a peak, as if the tip of a

drowned mountain had not been entirely engulfed.

It was then that a fresh danger alerted Hawkmoon!

"Rocks! We're heading straight for them! Crew! To

your positions. Helmsman . . ." But Hawkmoon was al-

ready dashing for the helm, had grabbed it, was desper-

ately trying to save the ship from running aground.

D'Averc joined him, lending his own strength to turn

the craft. The island loomed larger and larger and the

sound of the surf boomed in their earsa drumbeat to

herald disaster.

Slowly the ship turned as the cliffs of the island tow-

ered over them and the spray drenched them, but then

they heard a terrible scraping sound which became a

scream of tortured timbers and they knew that the rocks

were ripping into the starboard side beneath the water-

line.

"Every man for himself!" Hawkmoon cried and ran

for the rail. D'Averc closely behind him. The ship

lurched and reared like a living thing and all were flung

back against the port rails of the craft. Bruised but still

conscious, Hawkmoon and D'Averc pulled themselves to

their feet, hesitated for a moment, then dived into the

black and seething waters of the sea.

Weighted by his great broadsword, Hawkmoon felt

himself being dragged to the bottom. Through the swirl-

ing water he saw other shapes drifting and the noise of

the surf was now dull in his ears. But he would not re-

lease the Sword of the Dawn. Instead he fought to scab-

bard it and then use all his energy to strike up to the

surface, dragging the heavy blade with him.

At last he broke through the waves and got a dim im-

pression of the ship above him. The sea seemed much

Calmer and eventually the wind dropped altogether, the

boom of the surf diminished to a whisper and a strange

silence took the place of the cacophony of a few mo-

ments earlier. Hawkmoon headed for a flat rock,

reached it, and dragged himself on to land.

Then he looked back.

The reptilian monsters were still wheeling in the sky,

but so high they did not disturb the air with their wing

beats. Suddenly they rose still higher, hovered for a mo-

ment, then dived headlong toward the sea.

One by one they struck the waves with a great smash-

ing noise. The ship groaned as the wash hit it and

Hawkmoon was almost sluiced from his place of safety.

Then the monsters were gone.

Hawkmoon wiped water from, his eyes and spat out

the brine from his mouth.

What would they do next? Was it their intention to

keep their prey alive, to pick them off when they needed

fresh meat? There was no way of telling.

Hawkmoon heard a cry and saw D'Averc and half-a-

dozen others come staggering along the rocks toward

him.

D'Averc looked bewildered. "Did you see the beasts

leave, Hawkmoon?"

"Aye. Will they be back, I wonder?"

D'Averc glanced grimly in the direction in which the

beasts had disappeared. He shrugged.

"I suggest we strike inland, saving what we can from

the ship," Hawkmoon said. "How many of us left alive?"

He turned enquiringly to the bosun who stood behind

D'Averc.

"Most of us, I think, sir. We were lucky. Look." The

bosun pointed beyond the ship to where the major part

of the crew was assembling on the shore.

"Send some men back to her before she breaks up,"

Hawkmoon said. "Rig lines to the shore and start get-

ting provisions to dry land."

"As you say, sir. But what if the monsters return?"

"We'll have to deal with them when we see them,"

Hawkmoon said.

For several hours Hawkmoon watched as everything

possible was carried from the ship and piled on the

rocks of the island.

"Can the ship be repaired, do you think?" D'Averc

asked.

"Maybe. Now that the sea is calm, there's little chance

of her breaking up. But it will take time." Hawkmoon

fingered the dull, black stone in his forehead. "Come,

D'Averc, let's explore inland."

They began to climb up over the rocks, heading up

the slope to the summit of the island. The place seemed

completely devoid of life. The best they could hope to

find would be pools of fresh water and there might be

shellfish on the shore. It was a bleak place. Their hopes

of survival, if the ship could not be refloated, seemed

very slight, particularly with the prospect of the mon-

sters returning.

They reached the summit at last and paused, breath-

ing heavily from their exertions.

"The other side's as barren as this," D'Averc said, ges-

turing downward. "I wonder . . ." He broke off and

gasped. "By the Eyes of Berezenath! A man!"

Hawkmoon looked in the direction D'Averc indicated.

Sure enough, a figure was strolling along the shore be-

low. As they stared, he looked up and waved cheerfully,

gesturing them towards him.

Certain they were suffering hallucinations, the two be-

gan slowly to climb down until they were close to the

him. He stood there, fists on his hips, feet wide apart,

grinning at them. They paused.

The man was dressed in a peculiar and archaic fash-

ion. Over his brawny torso was stretched a jerkin of

leather, leaving his arms and chest bare. He wore a

woollen bonnet on his mop of red hair and a pheasant's

tailfeather was stuck jauntily into it. His breeks were of

a strange chequered design and he wore battered

buckled boots on his feet. Secured over his back by a

cord was a gigantic battle-axe, its steel blade streaked

with dirt and battered by much use. His face was bony

and red and his pale blue eyes were sardonic as he

stared at them.

"Well, nowyou'd be the Hawkmoon and the D'Averc,"

he said in a strange accent. "I was told you'd likely

come."

"And who are you, sir?" D'Averc asked somewhat

haughtily.

"Why, I'm Orland Fank, didn't you know? Orland

Fankhere at your service, good sirs."

"Do you live on this island?" Hawkmoon asked.

"I have lived on it, but not at the moment, don't you

know." Fank removed his bonnet and wiped his fore-

head with his arm. "I'm a travelling man, these days.

Like yourselves, I understand."

"And who told you of us?" Hawkmoon asked.

"I've a brother. Given to wearing somewhat fancy

metal of black and gold ..."

"The Warrior in Jet and Gold!" Hawkmoon ex-

claimed.

"He's called some such foppish title, I gather. He

would not have mentioned his rough and ready brother

to you, I don't doubt."

"He did not. Who are you?"

"I'm called Orland Fank. From Skare Braein the

Orkneys, you know..."

"The Orkneys!" Hawkmoon's hand went to his sword.

"Is that not part of Granbretan? Island to the far

north!"

Fank laughed. "Tell an Orkney man that he belongs

to the Dark Empire, and he'll tear the throat from you

with his teeth!" He gestured apologetically, and as if in

explanation said, "It's the favourite way of dealing with

a foe out there, you know. We're not a sophisticated

folk."

"So the Warrior in Jet and Gold is also from the

Orkneys ..." D'Averc began.

"Save you, no man! Him from the Orkneys, with his

fancy suit of armour and his fine manner!" Orland Fank

laughed heartily. "No. He's no Orkney man!" Fank

wiped tears of laughter from his eyes with his battered

bonnet. "Why should you think that?"

"You said he was your brother."

"So he is. Spiritually, you might say. Perhaps even

physically. I've forgotten. It's been many years, you see,

since we first came together."

"What brought you together?"

"A common cause, you might say. A shared ideal."

"And would the Runestaff be the source of that cause?"

Hawkmoon murmured, his voice hardly louder than the

whisper of the surf below them.

"It might."

"You seem close-mouthed, suddenly, friend Fank,"

said D'Averc.

"Aye. In Orkney, we're a close-mouthed folk," smiled

Orland Fank. "Indeed, I'm considered something of a

babbler there." He did not seem offended.

Hawkmoon gestured behind him. "Those monsters.

The strange clouds we saw earlier. Would that be to do

with the Runestaff?"

"I saw no monsters. No clouds. I've but recently ar-

rived here myself."

"We were driven to this island by gigantic reptiles,"

Hawkmoon said. "And now I begin to see why. They,

too, served the Runestaff, I do not doubt."

"That's as may be," Fank replied. "It's not my business

you see, Lord Dorian."

"Was it the Runestaff that caused our boat to be

wrecked?" Hawkmoon asked fiercely.

"I could not say," Fank replied, replacing his bonnet

on his mop of red hair and scratching at his bony chin.

"I only know that I'm here to give you a boat and tell

you where you might find the nearest habitable land."

"You have a boat for us?" D'Averc was astonished.

"Aye. Not a splendid one, but a seaworthy craft none-

theless. It should take the two of you."

"We have a crew of fifty!" Hawkmoon's eyes blazed.

"Oh, if the Runestaff wishes me to serve it, it should ar-

range things better! All it has succeeded in doing so far

is to anger me fiercely!"

"Your anger will only weary you," Orland Fank re-

plied mildly. "I had thought you bound for Dnark in

the Runestaff's service. My brother told me ..."

"Your brother insisted I go to Dnark. But I have

other loyalties, Orland Fankloyalties to the wife I have

not seen for months, to the father-in-law who awaits my

return, to my friends..."

"The folk of Castle Brass? Aye, I've heard of them.

They are safe, for the moment, if that comforts you."

"You know this for certain?"

"Aye. Their lives are pretty much without event, save

for the trouble with one Elvereza Tozer."

"Tozer! What of the renegade?"

"He has vanished from the Komarg, I gather." Or-

land Fank made a flying gesture with his hand.

"For where?"

"Who knows?"

"They are well rid of Tozer, at any rate."

"I do not know the man."

"A talented playwright," Hawkmoon said, "with the

morals of aof a ..."

"A Granbretanian?" offered Fank.

"Exactly." Hawkmoon frowned then and stared hard

at Orland Fank. "You would not deceive me? My kin

and friends are safe?"

"Their security is not for the moment threatened."

Hawkmoon sighed. "Where is this boat? And what of

my crew?"

"I have some small skill as a shipwright. I'll help

them mend their ship so that they can return to Nar-

leen."

"Why cannot we go with them?" D'Averc asked.

"I understood you were an impatient pair," Fank said

innocently, "and that you would be off the island as

soon as you could. It will take many days to repair the

large craft."

"We'll take your little boat," Hawkmoon said. "It

seems that if we did not, the Runestaffor whatever

power it was that really sent us herewould see to it

that we were further inconvenienced."

"I understand that would be likely," Fank agreed,

smiling a little to himself.

"And how will you leave the island if we take your

boat?" D'Averc asked.

"I'll sail with the seamen of Narleen. I have a great

deal of time to spare."

"How far is it to the mainland?" Hawkmoon asked.

"And by what shall we sail? Have you a compass to lend

us?"

Fank shrugged. "It's of no great distance and you'll

not need a compass. You need only wait for the right

sort of wind."

"What do you mean?"

"The winds in these parts are somewhat peculiar. You

will understand what I mean."

Hawkmoon shrugged in resignation.

They followed as Orland Fank led the way around

the shore.

"It would seem that we are not quite as much the

masters of our destinies as we should like," murmured

D'Averc sardonically as the small boat came in sight.

Chapter Five

A City of Glowing Shadows

HAWKMOON LAY SCOWLING in the small boat and

D'Averc whistled a tune as he stood in the prow, the

spray lashing his face. For a whole day now the wind

had guided the craft, blowing them on what was plainly

a particular course.

"Now I understand what Fank meant about the

wind," growled Hawkmoon. "This is no natural breeze.

I resent the feeling of being the puppet of some super-

natural agency."

D'Averc grinned and pointed ahead. "Well, perhaps

we'll have a chance to voice our complaints to the

agency itself. Seeland in sight."

Hawkmoon rose reluctantly. There were faint signs of

land on the horizon.

"And so we return to Amarehk!" D'Averc laughed.

"If only it were Europe and Yisselda were there."

Hawkmoon sat down again.

"Or even Londra, and Flana to comfort me." D'Averc

shrugged and began to cough theatrically. "Still, it is

best this way, lest she find herself pledged to a sick and

dying creature..."

Gradually they made out features on the shoreline: ir-

regular cliffs, hills and beaches; some trees. Then, to the

south, they saw a peculiar aura of golden lightlight

which throbbed as if in concert to a gigantic heart.

"More disturbing phenomena." D'Averc frowned.

The wind blew harder and the little boat turned

toward the golden light.

"And we're heading directly for it," groaned Hawk-

moon. "I am becoming tired of such things!"

Now it was clear they sailed into a bay formed by the

mainland and a long island jutting out between the two

shores. It was from the far end of this island that the

golden light was pulsing.

The land on either side seemed pleasant, consisting of

beaches and wooded hills, though there were no signs of

habitation.

As they neared the source of the light, it began to

fade until only a faint glow filled the sky and the boat's

speed diminished. They still sailed directly towards the

light. They saw it, then, and were amazed ...

It was a city of such grace and beauty it robbed them

of speech. As huge as Londra, if not larger, its buildings

were symmetrical spires and domes and turrets, all glow-

ing with the same strange light, but coloured in delicate,

pale shades that lurked behind the goldpink, yellow,

blue, green, violet and ceriselike a painting created in

light and then washed with gold. Its magnificent beauty

did not seem a proper habitation for human creatures,

but for gods.

Now the ship sailed into a harbour stretching out

from the city, its quays shifting with the same subtle

shades of the buildings.

"It is like a dream..." Hawkmoon murmured.

"A dream of heaven." D'Averc's cynicism had van-

ished before the vision.

The little boat drifted to a set of steps that led down

to the water, which was dappled with the reflections of

the colours, and came to a halt.

D'Averc shrugged. "I suppose this is where we disem-

bark. The boat could have borne us to a less pleasant

place."

Hawkmoon nodded gravely and then said: "Are the

Rings of Myggan still in your pouch, D'Averc?"

D'Averc patted his pouch. "They are safe. Why?"

"I wanted to know that if the danger was too great for

us to face with our swords and there was time to use the

rings, we could use them."

D'Averc nodded his understanding and then his fore-

head creased. "Strange that we did not think of using

them on the island..."

Hawkmoon's face showed his astonishment. "Aye-

aye . . ." And then he pursed his lips in disgust. "Doubt-

less that was the result of supernatural interference with

our brains! How I hate the supernatural!"

D'Averc merrily put his fingers to his lips and put on

an expression of mock disapproval. "What a thing to say

in a city such as this!"

"Ayewell, I hope its inhabitants are as pleasant as its

appearance."

"If it has any inhabitants," replied D'Averc glancing

around him.

Together they climbed the steps and reached the

quayside. The strange buildings were ahead of them and

between the buildings ran wide streets.

"Let's enter the city," Hawkmoon said resolutely,

"and find out why we have been taken here as soon as

we can. Then, perhaps, we shall be allowed to return to

Castle Brass!"

Entering the nearest street, it seemed to them that the

shadows cast by the buildings actually glowed with a life

and a colour of their own. At close hand the tall towers

were hardly tangible and when Hawkmoon reached out

to touch one the substance of it was unlike anything he

had touched before. It was not stone and it was not tim-

ber; not steel even, for it gave slightly under his fingers

and made them tingle. He was also surprised by the

warmth that ran through his arm and suffused his body.

He shook his head. "It is more like flesh than stone!"

D'Averc reached out now and was equally astonished.

"Ayeor like vegetation of some kind. Organicliving

stuff!"

They moved on. Every so often the long streets would

broaden out into squares. They crossed the squares,

choosing another street at random, looking up at the

building which gave the appearance of infinite height,

which disappeared into the strange, golden haze.

Their voices were hushed; they feared to disturb the

silence of the great city.

"Have you noticed," murmured Hawkmoon, "that

there are no windows?"

"And no doors." D'Averc nodded. "I am certain that

this city was not built for human useand that humans

did not build it!"

"Perhaps some beings created in the Tragic Millen-

nium," Hawkmoon suggested. "Beings like the Wraith

Folk of Soryandum."

D'Averc nodded his head in agreement.

Now ahead of them the strange shadows seemed to

gather closer together and they passed into them, an

impression of great well-being overcoming them.

Hawkmoon smiled in spite of his fears, and D'Averc,

too, answered his smile. The glowing shadows swam

around them. Hawkmoon began to wonder if perhaps

these shadows were, in fact, the inhabitants of the city.

They passed out of the street and stood in a huge

square without doubt the very centre of the city. Rising

from the middle of this square was a cylindrical build-

ing. In spite of being the largest building in the city it

also seemed the most delicate. Its walls moved with

coloured light and Hawkmoon noticed something at its

base.

"Look, D'Avercsteps leading to a door!"

"What should we do, I wonder," whispered his friend.

Hawkmoon shrugged. "Enter, of course. What have

we to lose?"

"Perhaps we shall discover the answer to that question

within. After you, Duke of Koln!"

The two mounted the steps and climbed until they

reached the doorway. It was relatively smallof human

size in fact and within it they could see more of the

glowing shadows.

Hawkmoon stepped bravely forward with D'Averc im-

mediately behind him.

Chapter Six

Jehamia Cohnahlias

THEIR FEET SEEMED to sink into the floor and the

glowing shadows wrapped themselves around them as

they advanced into the scintillating darkness of the

tower.

A sweet sound now filled the corridorsa gentle sound

like an unearthly lullaby. The music increased their

sense of well-being. They pressed deeper into the

strangely organic construction.

And then suddenly they stood in a small room, full of

the same golden, pulsing radiance they had seen earlier

from the boat.

And the radiance came from a child.

He was a boy, of oriental appearance, with a soft,

brown skin, clad in robes on to which jewels had

been stitched so that the fabric was completely hid-

den.

He smiled and his smile matched the gentle radiance

surrounding him. It was impossible not to love him.

"Duke Dorian Hawkmoon von Koln," he said sweetly,

bowing his head, "and Huillam D'Averc. I have ad-

mired both your painting and your buildings, sir."

D'Averc was astonished. "You know of those?"

"They are excellent. Why do you not do more?"

D'Averc coughed in embarrassment. "II lost the

knack, I suppose. And then the war..."

"Ah, of course. The Dark Empire. That is why you

are here."

"I would gather so"

"I am called Jehamia Cohnahlias." The boy smiled

again. "And that is the only direct information about

myself I can offer you, in case you were going to ask me

anything further. This city is called Dnark and its in-

habitants are called in the outer world The Great Good

Ones. You have encountered some of them already, I be-

lieve."

"The glowing shadows?" Hawkmoon asked.

"Is that how you perceive them?"

"Are they sentient?" Hawkmoon queried.

"They are indeed. More than sentient, perhaps."

"And this city, Dnark," Hawkmoon said. "It is the leg-

endary City of the Runestaff."

"It is."

"Strange that all those legends should place its posi-

tion not on the continent of Amarehk, but in Asiacom-

munista, said D'Averc.

"Perhaps it is not a coincidence," smiled the boy. "It

is convenient to have such legends."

"I understand."

Jehamia Cohnahlias smiled quietly.

"You have come to see the Runestaff, I gather?"

"Apparently," said Hawkmoon, unable to feel anger

in the presence of the child. "First the Warrior in Jet

and Gold told us to come here and then when we de-

murred we were introduced to his brotherone Orland

Fank..."

"Ah, yes," smiled Jehamia Cohnahlias. "Orland Fank.

I have a special affection for that particular servant of

the Runestaff. Well, let us go." He frowned slightly.

"Ah, first you will want to refresh yourselves and meet a

fellow traveller. One who preceded you here by only a

matter of hours."

"Do we know him?"

"I believe you have had some contact in the past"

The boy seemed almost to float down from his chair.

"This way."

"Who can it be?" murmured D'Averc to Hawkmoon.

"Who would we know who would come to Dnark?"

Chapter Seven

A Well-Known Traveller

THEY FOLLOWED JEHEMIA Cohnahlias through the

winding, organic corridors of the building. Now they

were lighter, for the glowing shadowsthe Great Good

Ones as the boy had described themhad vanished. Pre-

sumably their task had been to help guide Hawkmoon

and D'Averc to the child.

At last they entered a larger hall in which had been

set a long table, presumably made of the same substance

as the walls, and benches, also of the same stuff. Food

had been laid on the tablerelatively simple fare: fish,

bread and green vegetables.

But it was the figure at the far end of the hall who

attracted their attention, who made their hands go auto-

matically to their swords while their faces assumed ex-

pressions of angry astonishment.

It was Hawkmoon who got the words out at last, be-

tween clenched teeth.

"Shenegar Trott!"

The fat figure moved heavily towards them, -his plain,

silver mask apparently a parody of the features beneath

it.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Dorian Hawkmoon and

Huillam D'Averc, is it not?"

Hawkmoon turned to the boy. "Do you realise who

this creature is?"

"An explorer from Europe," he said.

"He is the Count of Sussexone of King Huon's

righthand men. He has raped half Europe! He is second

only to Baron Meliadus in the evil he has wrought!"

"Come now," Trott said, his voice soft and amused.

"Let us not begin by insulting each other. We are on

neutral ground here. The issues of war are another mat-

ter. Since they do not at the moment concern us, then I

suggest we behave in a civilised mannerand not insult

our young host here ..."

Hawkmoon glowered. "How did you come to Dnark,

Count Shenegar?"

"By ship, Duke of Koln. Our Baron Kalanwhom I

understand you have met . . ." Trott chuckled as

Hawkmoon automatically put his hand to the black

jewel Kalan had earlier placed there . . . "he invented a

new kind of engine to propel our ships at great speed

over the sea. Based on the engine that gives power to

our ornithopters, I gather, but more sophisticated. I was

commissioned by our wise King Emperor to journey to

Amarahk, there to make friendly advances to the powers

dwelling here ..."

"To discover their strengths and weaknesses before

you attacked, you mean!" Hawkmoon shouted. "It is im-

possible to trust a servant of the Dark Empire!"

The boy spread his hands and a look of sorrow

crossed his face. "Here in Dnark we seek only equilib-

rium. That, after all, is the goal and reason for existence

of the Runestaff, which we are here to protect. Save

your disputes, I beg you, for the battlefield and join to-

gether to eat the food we have prepared."

"But I must warn you," Huillam D'Averc said in a

lighter tone than Hawkmoon had used, "that Shenegar

Trott is not here to bring peace. Wherever he goes, he

brings evil and disruption. Be preparedfor he is con-

sidered to be the most cunning lord in all Granbretan."

The boy seemed embarrassed and merely gestured

again to the table. "Please be seated."

"And where is your fleet, Count Shenegar?" D'Averc

asked as he sat down on the bench and pulled a plate of

fish towards him.

"Fleet?" Trott replied innocently. "I did not mention

a fleetonly my ship, which is moored with its crew a

few miles away from the city."

"Then it must be a large ship indeed," murmured

Hawkmoon, biting at a hunk of bread, "for it is unlike a

count of the Dark Empire to make a journey un-

prepared for conquest."

"You forget that we are scientists and scholars, too, in

Granbretan," Trott said, as if mildly offended. "We seek

knowledge and truth and reason. Why, our whole inten-

tion in uniting the warring states of Europe was to

bring a rational peace to the world, so that knowledge

could progress the faster."

D'Averc coughed ostentatiously, but said nothing.

Trott now did something that in a Dark Empire

noble was virtually unprecedented, for he cheerfully

pushed back his mask and began to eat. In Granbretan

it was considered gross indecency both to display the

face and to eat in public. Trott, Hawkmoon knew, had

always been thought eccentric in Granbretan, tolerated

by the other nobles only by virtue of his vast private for-

tune, his skill as a general and, in spite of his flabby ap-

pearance, a warrior of considerable personal courage.

The face revealed was the one caricatured on the

mask. It was white, plump and intelligent. The eyes

were without expression, but it was plain Shenegar

Trott could put whatever expression he chose into

them.

They ate in relative silence. Only the boy touched

none of the food, though he sat with them.

At length Hawkmoon gestured to the count's bulky

silver armour. "Why do you travel in such heavy ac-

coutrement, Count Shenegar, if you are on a peaceful

mission of exploration?"

Shenegar Trott smiled. "Whyhow was I to anticipate

what dangers I should have to face in this strange city?

Surely it is logical to travel well-prepared?"

D'Averc changed the subject as if he realised they

would receive nothing but smooth answers from the

Granbretanian. "How goes the war in Europe?" he

asked.

"There is no war in Europe," Trott answered.

"No war! Then why should we be hereexiles from

our own lands?" Hawkmoon said.

"There is no war, because all of Europe is now at

peace under the patronage of our good King Huon,"

Shenegar Trott said, and then he gave a faint winkal-

most a comradely winkwhich made it impossible for

Hawkmoon to reply.

"Save for the Kamarg, that is," Trott continued. "And

that, of course, has vanished altogether. My fellow peer

Baron Meliadus was quite enraged by that."

"I'm sure he was," said Hawkmoon. "And does he still

continue his vendetta against us?"

Indeed he does. In fact when I left Londra, he was in

danger of becoming a laughing stock at court."

"You seem to feel little affection for Baron Meliadus,"

D'Averc suggested.

"You understand me well," Count Shenegar told him.

"You see we are not all such insane and greedy men as

you would think. I have many disputes with Baron Meli-

adus. Though I am loyal to my motherland and my

leader, I do not agree with everything done in their

namesindeed, what I myself have done. I follow my or-

ders. I am a patriot." Shenegar Trott shrugged his bulky

shoulders. "I would prefer to stay at home, reading and

writing. I was once thought a promising poet, you

know."

"But now you write only epitaphsand those in blood

and fire," Hawkmoon said.

Count Shenegar did not seem hurt. Instead he replied

reasonably. "You have your point of view, I have mine.

I believe in the ultimate sanity of our causethat the

unification of the world is of maximum importance, that

personal ambitions, no matter how noble, must be sacri-

ficed to the larger principles."

"That is the usual bland Granbretanian answer,"

Hawkmoon said, unconvinced. "It is the argument that

Meliadus used to Count Brass shortly before he attempt-

ed to rape and carry off his daughter Yisselda!"

"I have already disassociated myself from Baron Meli-

adus," Count Shenegar said. "Every court must have its

fool, every great ideal must attract some who are mo-

tivated only by self-interest."

Shenegar Trott's answers seemed more directed at the

quietly listening boy than at Hawkmoon and D'Averc

themselves.

The meal finished, Trott pushed back his plate and

resettled his silver mask over his face. He turned to the

boy. "I thank you, sir, for your hospitality. Nowyou

promised me I might look upon and admire the

Runestaff. It will give me great joy to stand before that

legendary artefact..."

Hawkmoon and D'Averc glanced warningly at the

boy, but he did not appear to notice.

"It is late, now," said Jehemia Cohnahlias. "We shall

all visit the Hall of the Runestaff tomorrow. Meanwhile

rest here. Through that little door," he gestured across

the room, "you will find sleeping accommodation. I will

call for you in the morning."

"Shenegar Trott rose and bowed. "I thank you for your

offer, but my men will become agitated if I do not re-

turn to my ship tonight. I will rejoin you here tomor-

row."

"As you wish," the boy said.

"We would be grateful to you for your hospitality,"

Hawkmoon said. "But again let us warn you that Shene-

gar Trott may not be what he would have you believe."

"You are admirable in your tenacity," Shenegar Trott

said. He waved a gauntleted hand in a cheerful salute

and strode jauntily from the hall.

"I fear we shall sleep poorly knowing that our enemy

is in Dnark," said D'Averc.

The boy smiled. "Fear not. The Great Good Ones

will help you rest and protect you from any harm.

Goodnight, gentlemen. I shall see you tomorrow."

The boy walked lightly from the room and D'Averc

and Hawkmoon went to inspect the cubicles containing

bunks and bedding that were let into the side of the

walls.

"Shenegar Trott means the boy harm," Hawkmoon

said.

"We had best make it our business to look after him,

if we can," D'Averc replied. "Goodnight, Hawkmoon."

After D'Averc had ducked into his cubicle, Hawkmoon

entered his own. It was full of glowing shadows and the

soft music of the unearthly lullaby he had heard earlier.

Almost immediately he was sound asleep.

Chapter Eight

An Ultimatum

HAWKMOON AWOKE LATE feeling thoroughly rested,

but then he noticed that the glowing shadows seemed

agitated. They had turned to a cold, blue colour and

were swirling around as if in fear!

Hawkmoon rose quickly and buckled on his sword

belt. He frowned. Was the danger he had anticipated

about to comeor had it come already? The Great Good

Ones seemed incapable of human communication.

D'Averc came running into Hawkmoon's cubicle.

"What do you think is the matter, Hawkmoon?"

"I do not know. Is Shenegar Trott scheming invasion?

Is the boy in trouble?"

All at once the glowing shadows had wrapped them-

selves chillingly around the two men and they felt them-

selves whisked from the cubicle, through the room in

which they had eaten, and along the corridors" at incred-

ible speed until they broke out of the building alto-

gether and were whirled upward into the golden light.

Now the speed of the Great Good Ones decreased and

Hawkmoon and D'Averc, still breathless at the sudden

action of the glowing shadows, hovered in the air high

above the main square.

D'Averc looked pale, for his feet were planted on

nothing and the glowing shadows seemed had taken on

even less substance. Yet they did not fall.

Down in the square tiny figures could be seen moving

in towards the cylindrical tower.

"It is an entire army!" Hawkmoon gasped. "There

must be thousands of them. So much for Shenegar

Trott's claims for the peaceful nature of his mission. He

has invaded Dnark! But why?"

"Isn't it obvious to you, my friend," said D'Averc

grimly. "He seeks the Runestaff itself. With that in his

power, he would doubtless rule the world!"

"But he does not know its location!"

"That is probably why he is attacking the tower.

Seethere are warriors already inside!"

Surrounded by the flimsy shadows, and with golden

light on all sides, the two men looked at the scene in dis-

may.

"We must descend," Hawkmoon said finally.

"But we are only two against a thousand!" D'Averc

pointed out.

"Ayebut if the Sword of the Dawn will again sum-

mon the Legion of the Dawn, then we might succeed

against them!" Hawkmoon reminded him.

As if they had understood his words, the Great Good

Ones began to descend. Hawkmoon felt his heart enter

his throat as they dropped rapidly towards the square,

now thickly clustered with masked Dark Empire war-

riorsmembers of the terrible Falcon Legion which, like

the Vulture Legion, was a mercenary force made up of

renegades who were, if anything, more evil than the

native Granbretanians. Had Falcon eyes stared up in an-

ticipation of the feast of blood Hawkmoon and D'Averc

offered; they had beaks ready to tear the flesh of the two

enemies of the Dark Empire, and their swords, maces,

axes and spears were like talons poised to rend.

As the glowing shadows deposited D'Averc and the

Duke of Koln near the entrance to the tower they just

had time to draw their blades before the Falcons at-

tacked.

But then Shenegar Trott appeared at the entrance of

the tower and called to his men.

"Stop, my falcons. There is no need for bloodshed. I

have the boy!"

Hawkmoon and D'Averc saw him lift the child, Jehe-

mia Cohnahlias, by his robes and hold him struggling

before them.

"I know that this city is full of supernatural creatures

who would seek to stop us," the Count announced, "and

thus I have taken the liberty of insuring our safety while

we are here. If we are attacked. If one of us is touched,

I shall slit the little boy's throat from ear to ear." Shene-

gar Trott chuckled. "I take this step only to avoid un-

pleasantness on all sides..."

Hawkmoon made to move, to summon the Legion of

the Dawn, but Trott wagged his finger chidingly.

"Would you be the cause of a child's death, Duke of

Koln?"

Glowering, Hawkmoon dropped his swordarm, ad-

dressing the boy. "I warned you of his perfidy!"

"Aye ..." the boy struggled, half-choking in his robes.

"I fear I should havepaid moreattention to you, sir."

Count Shenegar laughed, his mask flashing in the

golden light "Nowtell me where the Runestaff is

kept."

The boy pointed back into the tower. "The Hall of

the Runestaff is within."

"Show me!" Shenegar Trott turned to his men.

"Watch this pair. I'd rather have them alive, since the

King Emperor will be well-pleased if we can return with

two as well as Heroes of Kamarg the Runestaff. If they

move, shout to me and I'll take off an ear or two." He

drew his dirk and held it near the boy's face. "Most of

youfollow me."

Shenegar Trott disappeared once more into the tower

and six of the Falcon warriors stayed to guard Hawk-

moon and D'Averc while the rest followed their leader.

Hawkmoon scowled. "If only the boy had paid heed

to what we said!" He moved slightly and the Falcons

stirred warningly. "Now how are we to save himand

the Runestafffrom Trott?"

Suddenly the Falcons looked upward in astonishment

and D'Averc's gaze followed theirs.

"It seems we are to be rescued," smiled D'Averc.

The glowing shadows were returning.

Before the Falcons could move or speak, the shadows

had wrapped themselves around the two men and were

once again lifting them upwards.

Disconcerted, the Falcons slashed at their feet as they

ascended, and then turned to run into the tower, to

warn their leader of what had happened.

Higher and higher rose the Great Good Ones, carry-

ing Hawkmoon and D'Averc with them. Into the golden

haze that became a thick, golden mist so that they could

no longer see each other, let alone the buildings of the

city.

They seemed to travel for hours before they became

aware of the golden mist thinning.

Chapter Nine

The Runestaff

As THE GOLDEN mist diminished, Hawkmoon blinked

his eyes, for they were now assailed by all manner

of colourswaves and rays making strange configurations

in the airand all emanating from a central source.

Narrowing his eyes against the light, he peered

around him. They hovered near the roof of a hall whose

walls seemed constructed of sheets of translucent emer-

ald and onyx. At the centre of the hall rose a dais,

reached by steps from all sides. It was from the object

on this dais that the configurations of light originated.

The patternsstars, circles, cones and more complex fig-

uresshifted constantly, but their source was always the

same. It was a small staff, about the length of a short

sword, of a dense black, dull and apparently discoloured

in a few places. The discolorations were of a deep,

mottled blue.

Could this be the Runestaff? Hawkmoon wondered. It

seemed unimpressive for an object of such legendary

powers. He had imagined it taller than a man, of bril-

liant coloursbut that thing he could carry in one

hand!

Suddenly, from the side of the hall, men thrust them-

selves in. It was Shenegar Trott and his Falcon Legion.

The little boy still struggled in Trott's grasp and now

the laughter of the Count of Sussex began to fill the

hall.

"At last! And it is mine! Even the King Emperor will

not dare to deny me anything once the Runestaff itself is

in my hands."

Hawkmoon sniffed. There was a fragrant, bitter-sweet

smell in the air. And now a mellow humming sound

filled the hall. The Great Good Ones began to lower

himself and D'Averc until they stood high on the steps,

just below the Runestaff. And then Count Shenegar saw

them.

"How...?"

Hawkmoon glared down at him, raised his left arm to

point directly at him. "Release the child, Shenegar

Trott!"

The Count of Sussex chuckled again, recovering

quickly from his astonishment. "First tell me how you

arrived here before me."

"By means of the help of the Great Good Onesthose

supernatural creatures you feared. And we have other

friends, Count Shenegar."

Trott's dirk leapt to within a hairsbreadth of the boy's

nose. "I would be a fool, then, to release my only chance

of freedomnot to say success!"

Hawkmoon lifted up the Sword of the Dawn. "I warn

you, Count, this blade I bear is no ordinary instrument!

See how it glows with rosy light!"

"Ayeit is very pretty. But can it stop me before I

pluck one of the boy's eyes from his skull, like a plum

from the jar?"

D'Averc glanced about the strange room, at the con-

stantly changing patterns of light, at the peculiar walls,

and the glowing shadows now high above and seemingly

looking on. "It's stalemate, Hawkmoon," he murmured.

"We can get no further help from the glowing shadows.

Evidently they are powerless to take a part in human af-

fairs."

"If you'd release the boy, I'd consider letting you

leave Dnark unharmed," Hawkmoon said.

Shenegar Trott laughed. "Indeed? And you would

chase an army from the city, you two?"

"We are not without allies," Hawkmoon reminded

him.

"Possibly. But I suggest you lay down your own

swords and let me up to the Runestaff there. When I

have that, you may have the boy."

"Alive?"

"Alive."

"How can we trust Shenegar Trott of all men?"

D'Averc said. "He will kill the boy and then dispose of

us. It is not the way of the nobles of Granbretan to keep

their word."

"If only we had some guarantee," whispered

Hawkmoon desperately.

At that moment a familiar voice spoke from behind

them and they turned in surprise.

"You have no choice but to release the child, Shene-

gar Trott!" The voice boomed from within a helm of

jet and gold.

"Aye, my brother speaks the truth . . ." From the

other side of the dais Orland Fank now emerged, his

gigantic war-axe on his leather-clad shoulder.

"How did you get here?" Hawkmoon asked in aston-

ishment.

"I might ask the same," grinned Fank. "At least you

now have friends with whom to debate this dilemma."

Chapter Ten

Spirit of The Runestaff

SHENEGAR TROTT, COUNT of Sussex, chuckled again

and shook his head. "Well, there are now four of you,

but it does not alter the situation a scrap. I have thou-

sands at my back. I have the boy. You will kindly step

aside, gentlemen, while I take the Runestaff for my

own."

Orland Fank's rawboned face split in a huge grin,

while the Warrior in Jet and Gold merely shifted his ar-

moured feet a little. Hawkmoon and D'Averc look ques-

tioningly at them. "I think there is a weakness in your

argument, my friend," said Orland Fank.

"Oh, no sirthere is none." Shenegar Trott began to

move forward.

"AyeI'd say that there was."

Trott paused. "What is it, then?"

"You are assuming you can hold yon boy, are you

not?"

"I could kill him before you could take him."

"Ayebut you're assuming the child has no means of

escaping from you, are you not?"

"He can't wriggle free!" Shenegar Trott held the

child up by the slack of his garments and began to

laugh loudly. "See!"

And then the Granbretanian yelled in astonishment as

the boy seemed to flow from his grasp, streaking out

across the hall in a long strip of light, his features still

visible but oddly elongated. The music swelled in the

hall and the odour increased.

Shenegar Trott made ineffectual grabbing motions at

the boy's thinning substance but it was as impossible to

grasp him as it was to grasp the glowing shadows now

pulsing in the air above them.

"By Huon's Globehe is not human!" screamed Trott

in frustrated anger. "He is not human!"

"He did not claim to be," Orland Fank said mildly

and winked cheerfully at Hawkmoon. "Are you and

your friend ready for a good fight?"

"We are," grinned Hawkmoon. "We are indeed!"

Now the boyor whatever it waswas stretching out

over their heads to touch the Runestaff. The configura-

tions changed rapidly and many more of them filled the

hall so that all their faces were crossed with shifting bars

of colour.

Orland Fank watched this with great attention and it

seemed that as the boy was actually absorbed into the

Runestaff the Orkneyman's face flooded with regret.

Soon there was no trace of the boy in the hall and the

Runestaff glowed a brighter black, seemed to have sen-

tience.

Hawkmoon gasped. "Who was he, Orland Fank?"

Fank blinked. "Who? Why, the spirit of the Runestaff.

He rarely materialises in human form. You were es-

pecially honoured."

Shenegar Trott was screaming in fury. Then he broke

off as a great voice boomed from the closed helm of the

Warrior in Jet and Gold. "Now you must prepare your-

self for death, Count of Sussex."

Trott laughed crazily. "You are still mistaken. There

are four of youthousands of us. You shall die, and then

I shall claim the Runestaff!"

The Warrior turned to Hawkmoon. "Duke of Koln,

would you care to summon some aid?"

"With pleasure," grinned Hawkmoon and he raised

the rosy sword high in the air. "I summon the Legion of

the Dawn!"

A rosy light filled the hall, flooding over the colourful

patterns in the air. And there stood a hundred fierce

warriors, framed each in his own scarlet aura.

The warriors had a barbaric appearance, as if they

came from an earlier, more primitive age. They bore

great spiked clubs decorated with ornate carvings, lances

bound with tufts of dyed hair. Their brown bodies and

faces were smeared with paint and clad in loincloths of

bright stuff. On their arms and legs were strapped

wooden discs for protection. Their large black eyes were

full of a remote sorrow and they gave voice to a mourn-

ful, moaning dirge.

These were the Warriors of the Dawn.

Even the hardened members of the Falcon Legion

cried out in horror as the warriors appeared from

nowhere. Shenegar Trott took a step backward.

"I would advise you to lay down your weapons and

make yourselves our prisoners," Hawkmoon advised

grimly.

Trott shook his head. "Never. There are still more of

us than there are of you!"

"Then we must begin our battle," Hawkmoon said,

and he moved down the steps towards his enemies.

Now Shenegar Trott drew his own great battleblade

and dropped to a fighting position. Hawkmoon swung at

him with the Sword of the Dawn, but Trott dodged

aside, swinging at Hawkmoon and barely missing goug-

ing a line across his stomach. Hawkmoon was at a disad-

vantage, for Trott was fully armoured, while Hawkmoon

wore only silk.

The dirge of the Soldiers of the Dawn changed to a

great howl as they rushed down the steps behind

Hawkmoon and began to hack and stab about them

with clubs and lances. The fierce Falcon fighters met

them valiantly, giving as good as they received, but were

plainly demoralised when they discovered that for every

Warrior of the Dawn that they slew another appeared

from nowhere to take his place.

D'Averc, Orland Fank and the Warrior in Jet and

Gold moved more slowly down the steps, swinging their

blades in unison before them and driving back the Fal-

cons with three pendulums of steel.

Shenegar Trott struck again at Hawkmoon and

ripped the sleeve of his shirt. Hawkmoon flung out his

swordarm and the Sword of the Dawn met Trott's mask,

denting it so that the features took on an even more gro-

tesque appearance.

But then, as Hawkmoon leapt backward, poised to

continue the fight, he felt a sudden blow on the back of

his head, half-turned and saw a Falcon warrior had

struck him with the haft of an axe. He tried to recover,

but then began to fall. As he lost his senses, he saw the

Warriors of Dawn fade into oblivion. Desperately he

tried to recover, for the Warriors of Dawn, it seemed,

could not exist unless he had control of his senses.

But it was too late. As he fell to the steps, he heard

Shenegar Trott chuckling.

Chapter Eleven

A Brother Slain

HAWKMOON HEARD THE distant din of battle, shook

his head and peered through a haze of red and black.

He tried to rise, but at least four corpses pinned him

down. His friends had taken good account of themselves.

Struggling up, he saw that Shenegar Trott had

reached the Runestaff. And there stood the Warrior in

Jet and Gold, evidently badly wounded, hacked at by a

hundred blades, attempting to stop the Granbretanian.

But Shenegar Trott raised a huge mace and brought it

down on the Warrior's helm. He staggered and the helm

crumpled.

Hawkmoon gathered his breath to cry hoarsely:

"Legion of the Dawn! Return to me! Legion of the

Dawn!"

At last the barbaric warriors reappeared, lashing

about them at the startled Falcons.

Hawkmoon staggered up the steps to the Warrior's

aid, unable to see if any of the others lived. But then

the huge weight of the jet and gold armour began to

fall towards him, knocking him backwards. He support-

ed it as best he could, but he knew by the feel of it that

there was no life in the body within.

He forced back the visor, weeping for the man he had

never considered a friend until now, curious to see the

features of the one who had guided his destiny for so

long, but the visor would hardly move an inch, Shene-

gar Trott's mace had buckled it so.

"Warrior..."

"The Warrior is dead!" Shenegar Trott had flung off

his mask and was reaching for the Runestaff, tri-

umphantly staring over his shoulder at Hawkmoon. "As

shall you be in a trice, Dorian Hawkmoon!"

With a shout of fury, Hawkmoon dropped the War-

rior's corpse and flew up the steps towards his enemy.

Disconcerted, Trott turned, raising the mace again.

Hawkmoon ducked the blow and closed with Trott,

grappling with him on the topmost step while red car-

nage spread all around them.

As he struggled with the count, he saw D'Averc, half-

way up the steps, his shirt a mass of bloody rags, one

arm limp at his side, tackling five of the Falcon war-

riorsand higher up Orland Fank was still alive, whirl-

ing his battle-axe around his head and giving voice to a

strange, skirling cry.

Trott's breath wheezed from between his fat lips and

Hawkmoon was astonished at his strength. "You will

die, Hawkmoonyou must die if the Runestaff is to be

mine!"

Hawkmoon panted as he wrestled with the Count. "It

will never be yours. It can be possessed by no man!"

With a sudden heave, he broke Trott's guard and

punched him full in the face. The Count screamed and

came forward again, but Hawkmoon raised his booted

foot and kicked him in the chest, sending him reeling

back against the dais. Then Hawkmoon recovered his

sword and when Shenegar Trott ran at him again, blind

with anger, he ran directly on to the point of the Sword

of the Dawn, dying with an obscene curse on his lips

and one last, backward look at the Runestaff.

Hawkmoon tugged the sword free and looked about

him. His Legion of the Dawn were finishing their work,

clubbing down the last of the Falcons, and D'Averc and

Fank were leaning exhaustedly against the dais beneath

the Runestaff.

Soon a few groans were cut short as spiked clubs fell

on heads, and then there was silence save for the faint,

melodic humming and the heavy breathing of the three

survivors.

As the last Granbretanian died, the Legion of the

Dawn vanished.

Hawkmoon stared down at the fat corpse of Shenegar

Trott and he frowned. "We have slain onebut if one

has been sent here, then others will follow. Dnark is no

longer safe from the Dark Empire."

Fank sniffed and wiped his nose with his forearm. "It

is for you to make sure that Dnark is safethat the rest

of the world is safe."

Hawkmoon smiled sardonically. "And how may I do

that?"

Fank began to speak and then his eyes lighted on the

huge corpse of the Warrior in Jet and Gold and he

gasped: "Brother!" and began to stagger down the steps,

to drop his battle axe and gather the armoured figure in

his arms. "Brother...?"

"He is dead," Hawkmoon said softly. "He died by

Shenegar Trott's hand, defending the Runestaff. I slew

Trott.. ."

Fank wept.

At length they stood together, the three of them, look-

ing about at the carnage. The whole hall of the Rune-

staff was full of corpses. Even the patterns in the air

seemed to have taken on a reddish colouring and the

bitter-sweet odour could not disguise the stink of death.

Hawkmoon scabbarded the Sword of the Dawn.

"What now, I wonder?" he said. "We've done the work

we were asked to do. We've defended the Runestaff suc-

cessfully. Now do we return to Europe."

Then a voice spoke from behind them; it was the

sweet voice of the child, Jehemia Cohnahlias. Turning,

Hawkmoon saw that he stood beside the Runestaff,

holding it in one hand.

"Duke of Koln you take what you have rightfully

earned," said the boy, his slanting eyes full of warm hu-

mour. "You take the Runestaff with you back to Europe,

there to decide the destiny of the Earth."

"To Europe! I thought it could not be removed from

its place."

"You, as the chosen one of the Runestaff, may take

it." The boy stretched out towards Hawkmoon, and in

his hand was the Runestaff. "Defend it. And pray it de-

fends you."

"And how shall we use it?" D'Averc enquired.

"As your standard. Let all men know that the

Runestaff rides with youthat the Runestaff is on your

side. Tell them that it was the Baron Meliadus who

dared swear an oath on the Runestaff and thus set into

motion these events which will destroy completely one

protagonist or the other. Whatever happens, it will be fi-

nal. Carry your invasion to Granbretan if you can, or

else die in the effort. The last great battle between Meli-

adus and Hawkmoon is soon to be fought, and over it

the Runestaff will preside!"

Hawkmoon mutely accepted the staff. It felt cold,

dead and very heavy, though the patterns still blazed

about it.

"Put it inside your shirt, or wrap it in a cloth," ad-

vised the boy, "and none will observe those betraying

forces until you should wish them revealed."

"Thank you," said Hawkmoon quietly.

"The Great Good Ones will help you return to your

home," the boy continued. "Farewell, Hawkmoon."

"Farewell? Where do you go now?"

"Where I belong."

And suddenly the boy began to change again, turning

into a streamer of golden light still bearing some sem-

blance of human shape, pouring itself into the

Runestaff which immediately became warm, vital and

light in Hawkmoon's grasp.

With a slight shudder, Hawkmoon tucked the

Runestaff inside his shirt.

As they walked out of the hall, D'Averc observed that

Orland Fank was still weeping softly.

"What disturbs you, Fank?" D'Averc asked. "Do you

still grieve for the man who was your brother."

"Ayebut I grieve for my son the more."

"Your son? What of him?"

Orland Fank jerked his thumb at Hawkmoon, who

wandered behind, his head bowed in thought. "He has

him."

"What do you mean?"

Fank sighed. "It must be, I know that. But still, I am a

man, I can weep. I speak of Jehemia Cohnahlias."

"The boy! The spirit of the Runestaff?"

"Aye. He was my sonor myselfI have never quite

understood these things..."

BOOK TWO

As it is written: "Those who swear by the

Runestaff must then benefit or suffer from

the consequences of the fixed pattern of

destiny that they set in motion." And Baron

Meliadus of Kroiden had sworn such an oath,

had sworn vengeance against all of Castle

Brass, had sworn that Yisselda, Count Brass's

daughter, would be his. On that day, many

months earlier, he had fixed the pattern of

fate; a pattern that had involved him in

strange, destructive schemes, that had in-

volved Dorian Hawkmoon in wild and un-

canny adventures in distant places, and that

was now nearing its terrible resolution.

The High History of the Runestaff

Chapter One

Whispering in Secret Rooms

THE VERANDAH OVERLOOKED the blood-red river

Tayme making its sluggish way through the very heart

of Londra, between gloomy, crazy towers.

Above them the occasional ornithopter, a bright bird

of metal, clanked past, and on the river the barges of

bronze and ebony carried cargo to and from the coast.

Those cargoes were rich; full of stolen goods and stolen

men, women and children brought as slaves to Londra.

An awning of heavy purple velvet hung with tassels of

scarlet silk protected the occupants of the veranda from

view from above and the awning's shadow made it im-

possible for them to be seen from the river.

A table of brass and two golden chairs upholstered in

blue plush stood on the verandah. A richly decorated

platinum tray on the table bore a wine jug of dark

green glass and two matching goblets. On either side of

the door leading on to the verandah stood a naked girl,

with face, breasts and genitals heavily rouged. Anyone

familiar with the Court of Londra would have recog-

nised the slave girls as belonging to Baron Meliadus of

Kroiden, for he had only female slaves and their only

livery was the rouge he insisted they wear. Of the girls,

who stared fixedly out at the river, one was a blonde, al-

most certainly from Koln in Germany, the Baron's pos-

session by right of conquest. The other girl was dark,

doubtless from some province in the Middle East Baron

Meliadus had added, by means of a bloodied sword, to

his estates.

In one golden chair sat a woman, clad from head to

foot in rich brocade and wearing a silver mask, deli-

cately fashioned to resemble a heron. Next to her sat a

figure dressed in bulky black leather, his shoulders

crowned by a huge mask representing a black, snarling

wolf. He inserted a golden tube into his goblet and

stuck the other end through a tiny aperture in the mask,

sucking slowly at the wine.

There was silence between the pair and the only

sound came from beyond the verandahfrom the wake

of the barges slapping at the wall, from a distant tower

as someone screamed and laughed at once, from an orni-

thopter high above, its metal wings flapping slowly as it

sought to land on the flat top of one of the towers.

And then, at length, the figure in the wolf mask began

to speak in a low, thrilling voice. The other figure did

not move its head or appear to hear but continued to

stare out over the blood red water whose strange colour

was attributed to the effluvia which poured from outlets

near its bed.

"You are under some slight suspicion yourself, you

know, Flana. King Huon thinks you might have had

something to do with the mysterious madness which

overwhelmed the guards the night the Asiacommu-

nistans escaped. Doubtless I am not helping my own

cause by seeing you thus, but I think only of our be-

loved homelandonly of the glory of Granbretan."

The speaker paused as if expecting a reply. He re-

ceived none.

"It is plain, Flana, that the present situation of the

Court is not in the best interests of the Empire. I delight

in eccentricity, of course, as a true son of Granbretan,

but there is a difference between eccentricity and senil-

ity. You take my meaning?"

Flana Mikosevaar said nothing.

"I am suggesting," continued the other, "that we need

a new ruleran Empress. There is only one alive who is

a direct blood relative of Huononly one all would ac-

cept as rightful liege; legal inheritor to the throne of

the Dark Empire."

Again no reply.

The figure in the wolf mask bent forward. "Flana?"

The heron mask turned to regard the snarling wolf

visage.

"Flanayou could be Queen-Empress of Granbretan.

With myself as Regent, we could ensure the security of

our nation and our territories, make Granbretan greater

make the whole world ours!"

"And what would be done with the world once we

owned it, Meliadus?" For the first time Flana Mikose-

vaar spoke.

"Enjoy it, Flana! Use it!"

"Cannot one tire of rape and murder? Of torture and

destruction?"

Meliadus seemed puzzled by her comment. "One can

become bored by anything, of course, but there are

other thingsthere are Kalan's experimentsand Tar-

agorm's for that matter. With the resources of the world

at their disposal, our scientists could make anything.

Why, they could build us ships to sail through space, as

the ancients did. We could journey to new worlds and

conquer thempitting wits and skill against a universe!

Granbretan's adventure could last a million years!"

"And is adventure and sensation all we should seek,

Meliadus?"

"Ayewhy not? All is chaos, there is no meaning to

existence, there is only one advantage to living one's life

and that is to discover all the sensations the human

mind and body is capable of feeling. That will take at

least a million years, surely?"

Flana nodded. "That is our creed, true." She ap-

peared to sigh. "Therefore I suppose I can agree to your

plans, Meliadus, for what you suggest I do is doubtless

no more boring than anything else." She shrugged.

"Very well, I will be your Queen when you need me

and if Huon discovers our perfidy, why, it will be a re-

lief to die."

Slightly unnerved by this, Meliadus rose from the

table. "You will say nothing to anyone until the time

comes, Flana?"

"I will say nothing."

"Good. Now I must visit Kalan. He is attracted to my

scheme, since it means more scope for his experiments if

we succeed. Taragorm, too, is with me..."

"You trust Taragorm? Your rivalry is well-known."

"Aye I hate Taragorm, it is true, and he hates me,

but it is a mellow sort of hatred now, for you'll remem-

ber that our rivalry began over Taragorm's marriage to

my sister whom I had previously intended to wed my-

self. But my sister compromised herselfwith a jackass, I

heardand Taragorm discovered it. Whereupon, as you

no doubt heard, my sister had her slaves slaughter her

and the ass in some strange manner. Taragorm and I

disposed of the slaves jointly and during that episode we

rediscovered something of our old comradeship. My

brother-in-law may be trusted. He feels Huon hampers

his researches too much."

All this time their voices had not risen above a mur-

mur so that even the slavegirls by the door could not

hear them.

Meliadus bowed to Flana, snapped his fingers at the

girls so that they ran to prepare his litter and carry him

back through the corridors to his own home, and left.

Flana continued to stare out over the water, hardly

thinking of Meliadus's scheme, but dreaming instead of

the handsome D'Averc and of days in the future when

they might meet again and D'Averc would take her

away from Londra and all its intriguestake her per-

haps to his own rural estates in France which she, if she

were Queen, would be able to give back to him.

Perhaps there would be an advantage to her becom-

ing Queen Empress, then? That way she could choose

her husband and that husband would be, of course,

D'Averc. She could pardon him for his crimes against

Granbretan, perhaps even pardon his companions-

Hawkmoon and the rest.

But no, Meliadus might agree to D'Avrec's reprieve-

he would not agree to sparing all the rest.

Perhaps her scheme was foolish. She sighed. She did

not altogether care. There was even doubt that D'Averc

was still alive. In the meantime she saw no reason for

not taking at least a passive part in Meliadus's treason,

although even she had some inkling of the awful conse-

quences of failure, of the magnitude of Meliadus's

scheme. He must be desperate indeed to consider over-

throwing his hereditary ruler. In all the two thousand

years of his rule, no Granbretanian had previously

dared think of deposing Huon. Flana did not even know

if it were possible.

She shuddered. If she were made Queen, she would

not choose immortalityparticularly if it meant becom-

ing a wizened thing like Huon.

Chapter Two

Conversation Beside The

Mentality Machine

KALAN OF VITALL fingered his serpent mask with

pale, old hands on which the veins stood out, resem-

bling, themselves, so many curling blue snakes. Ahead

was the main laboratorya great, low-ceilinged hall in

which many experiments were being performed by men

dressed in the uniforms and masks of the Order of the

Serpent, of which Baron Kalan was Grand Constable.

Strange machines gave off stranger sounds and stenches

and miniature coloured lightnings flashed and cracked

around them so that the entire area resembled some hell-

ish workshop presided over by devils. Here and there

human beings of both sexes and varying ages had been

strapped out or fitted into machines as the scientists

tested their experiments on the human mind and body.

Most had been silenced in some way, but a few screamed

or moaned or cried out in peculiar insane voices, often

to the annoyance of the distracted scientists who would

stuff rags into the mouths or sever vocal chords or find

some other swift method of achieving a measure of quiet

while they worked.

KalanputonehandonMeliadus'sshoulderand

pointed to a machine standing unattended nearby.

"You'll remember the mentality machine? The one we

used to test Hawkmoon's mind?"

"Aye," Meliadus grumbled. "That's the one led you to

believe we could trust Hawkmoon."

"We reckoned without factors we could not antici-

pate," Kalan said by way of defence. "Well, that is not

why I mentioned my little invention. I was asked to use

it this morning."

"By whom?"

"By the King Emperor himself. He summoned me to

the Throne Room and told me he wished to test a mem-

ber of the Court."

"Who?"

"Who d'you think, my lord?"

"Myself!" Meliadus spoke with outrage.

"Exactly. I think he suspects your loyalty in some way,

Lord Baron ..."

"How much, do you think?"

"Not much. All that appears to be in Huon's mind is

that you may be concentrating too much on your per-

sonal schemes and not enough on the interests of his

own plans. I think he would merely like to know how

strong your loyalty is and if you have given up your per-

sonal plans..."

"Do you intend to obey his orders, Kalan?"

Kalan shrugged. "Do you suggest I ignore them?"

"Nobut what shall we do?"

"I will have to put you in the mentality machine, of

course, but I think I can obtain the results that would

be most in our interest." Kalan chuckled, a hollow whis-

per of sound from within his mask. "Shall we begin, Me-

liadus?"

Meliadus moved reluctantly forward, looking ner-

vously at the gleaming machine of red and blue metal,

with its mysterious projections, its heavy, jointed arms

and attachments of unknown application. Its main fea-

ture, however, was the huge bell hanging above the rest

of the machine, depending from an intricate scaffold.

Kalan threw a switch and gestured apologetically.

"We once kept this machine in a hall of its own, but

space has become so limited of late. That is one of my

chief complaints. We are asked for so much and given so

little room in which to achieve it." From the machine

came a sound like the breathing of some gigantic beast.

Meliadus took a step backward. Kalan chuckled again

and signalled for serpent-masked servitors to come to

help him operate the device.

"If you will kindly stand beneath the bell, Meliadus,

we will lower it at once," Kalan suggested.

Slowly, suspiciously, Meliadus took his place. The bell

began to descend until it had covered him, its fleshy

sides writhing until they had moulded themselves com-

pletely to his body. Then Meliadus felt as if hot wires

had been inserted into his skull and that they were

probing into his brain. He tried to yell, but was muffled.

Hallucinations beganvisions and memories of his past

lifemainly of battles and bloodshed, though the hated

face of Dorian Hawkmoon, twisted into a million fearful

shapes, swam often before his eyes, as did the sweetly

beautiful face of the woman he desired above every-

thing, Yisselda of Brass. Gradually, through an eternity,

his whole life began to be built up until he had recalled

all that had ever happened to him, everything he had

ever thought or dreamed of, not sequentially, but in or-

der of importance. Riding over everything was his desire

for Yisselda, his hatred of Hawkmoon and his schemes

for ousting Huon from power.

Then the bell was rising and Meliadus looked once

again upon the mask of Kalan. Meliadus felt mentally

purged and in high spirits.

"Well, Kalan, what did you discover?"

"Nothing, at this stage, that I did not already know.

The full results will take an hour or two to process." He

giggled. "The emperor would be much amused to see

them."

"Aye. He will not see them, I hope."

"He will see something, Meliadus, that will show that

your hatred for Hawkmoon is diminishing and that your

love for the emperor is abiding and deep. Do not they

tell us that love and hate are close together. Therefore

your hatred of Huon will become love, with a little doc-

toring on my part."

"Good. Now let us discuss the rest of our project. First

we must find a way of bringing Castle Brass back to this

dimensionor else of finding a way through ourselves

secondly we must discover a means of re-activating the

Black Jewel in Hawkmoon's skull and thus getting him

into our power again. Lastly we must devise weapons

and so forth to enable us to overcome Huon's forces."

Kalan nodded. "Of course. There are already the new

engines I invented for the ships..."

"The ships that Trott left with?"

"Aye. The engines drive vessels faster and farther

than anything ever before invented. Trott's ships are the

only ones so far equipped with them. Trott should be

reporting to us soon."

"Where did he go?"

"I am not sure. Only he and King Huon knewbut it

must have been a good distance awayseveral thousand

miles at the least. Perhaps to Asiacommunista."

"That seems likely," Meliadus agreed. "Still, let us

forget Trott and discuss the details of our plan. Tar-

agorm, also, is working on a device which might help us

reach Castle Brass."

"Perhaps it would be best for Taragorm to concen-

trate on that line of research, since it is his speciality,

while I try to find a means of activating the Black

Jewel," Kalan suggested.

"Perhaps," murmured Meliadus. "First, I think, I will

consult my brother-in-law. I'll leave you now and return

shortly."

With that, Meliadus summoned his slaves who

brought his litter. He climbed into it, waved farewell to

Kalan, and directed the girls to take him to the Palace

of Time.

Chapter Three

Taragorm of The

Palace of Time

IN TARAGORM'S STRANGE palace, shaped like a gigan-

tic clock, the air was full of clanks and whirrs and the

whistling of pendula and balance wheels and Taragorm,

in his huge clock mask which told the time as accurately

as the other clocks in the palace, took Meliadus's arm

and guided him through the Hall of the Pendulum

where, a short distance above Meliadus's head, the huge

brass bob, made to resemble an ornate, blazing sun,

flung its fifty ton weight back and forth across the hall.

"Well, brother," Meliadus shouted above the noise,

"you sent me a message that you said I would be pleased

to hear, but the message only told me to come to see

you."

"Aye. I felt it best to tell you in private. Come." Tar-

agorm led Meliadus through a short passage and into a

small room in which stood only one ancient clock. Tar-

agorm closed the door and there was relative silence. He

indicated the clock. "It is probably the oldest clock in

the world, brothera 'grandfather' it was called and it

was made by Thomas Tompion."

"I have not heard the name."

"A master craftsmanthe greatest of his age. He lived

well before the onset of the Tragic Millennium."

"Indeed? And has this something to do with your

message?"

"Of course not." Taragorm clapped his hands and a

side door opened. A lean, ragged figure stepped

through, his face covered by a cracked, plain leather

mask. He bowed extravagantly to Meliadus.

"Who is this?"

"It is Elvereza Tozer, brother. You remember the

name?"

"Of course! The man who stole Mygan's ring and

then vanished!"

"Exactly. Tell my brother Baron Meliadus where you

have been, Master Tozer..."

Again Tozer bowed and then sat himself down on the

edge of the table, spreading his arms wide. "Why, I've

been to Castle Brass, my lord!"

Suddenly Meliadus sprang across the room to grab the

startled Tozer by the slack of his shirt. "You've been

where!" he growled.

"C-castle B-Brass, your honour..."

Meliadus shook Tozer, lifting him clear of the

ground. "How?"

"I reached the place by accidentI was captured by

Hawkmoon of KolnI was held prisonermy ring taken

from mewithout ring could not remainescapedar-

rived b-back here..." Tozer gasped in fright.

"He brought some information with him that's more

interesting," Taragorm said. "Tell him, Tozer."

"The machine which protects themwhich keeps

them in that other dimensionit's in the dungeons of

the castlekept carefully protected. A crystal thing they

got from a place called Soryandum. It took them there

and it ensures their safety."

Taragorm laughed. "It is true, Meliadus. I've tested

him a dozen times. I've heard of this crystal machine

but did not suspect it existed still. And with the rest of

the information Tozer has given me, I think I can

achieve some results."

"You can get us through to Castle Brass?"

"Oh,muchmoreconvenientthanthat,brother

within a short time I am fairly certain that I will bring

Castle Brass back to us."

Meliadus looked silently at Taragorm for a moment

and then began to laugh. His laughter was so great then

that it threatened to drown the noise of the clocks.

"At last! At last! Thank you, brother! Thank you,

Master Tozer! Destiny is patently upon my side!"

Chapter Four

A Mission For Meliadus

IT WAS ON the following day, however, that Melia-

dus was summoned to King Huon's Throne Room.

As he made his way to the palace, Meliadus scowled

in concentration. Had Kalan betrayed him? Had the

scientist told King Huon the true results of the mental-

ity machine's test? Or had King Huon guessed for him-

self? After all, the monarch was immortal. He had lived

for two thousand years and had doubtless learned much.

Were Kalan's faked records too clumsy to deceive Huon?

Meliadus felt panic rise within him. Was this the end of

everything? When he arrived in the Throne Room

would Huon order the Mantis Guard to destroy him?

The great gates swung open. The mantis warriors con-

fronted him. At the far end was the Throne Globe,

black and mysterious.

Meliadus began to walk towards the Throne Globe.

Eventually he reached it and bowed before it, but for

a long while it remained solid, mysterious black. Was

Huon playing with him?

At length it began to swirl dark blue, then green, then

pink and then white, revealing the foetus shape with its

sharp, malevolent eyes staring down at Meliadus.

"Baron..."

"Noblest of Rulers."

"We are pleased with you."

Meliadus looked up in astonishment. "Great Em-

peror?"

"We are pleased with you and we wish to honour

you."

"Noble Prince?"

"You know of course that Shenegar Trott left on a

special expedition."

"I do, Mighty Monarch."

"And you know where he went."

"I do not, Light of the Universe."

"He went to Amarehk, there to discover what he

could about the continentto see if we should meet

resistance if we landed a force there."

"It would seem, then, that he did meet resistance, Im-

mortal Ruler...?"

"Aye. He should have reported back a week or more

ago. We are concerned."

"You think he is dead, Noble Emperor?"

"We should like to discover thatand also discover

who slew him if that is the case. Baron Meliadus. We

wish to entrust you with the second expedition."

At first Meliadus was filled with fury. Meliadus play

second to that fat buffoon Trott! Meliadus waste time

questing about on the coasts of a continent in the hope

of discovering Trott's droppings! He would have none

of it! He would attack the Throne Globe now, if that

senile fool above him would not be sure to have him cut

down in an instant. He swallowed his temper and a new

scheme began to form in his skull.

"I am honoured, King of All!" he said with mock hu-

mility. "Do I choose my crews?"

"If you wish."

"Then I'll take men who I can be sure of. Members

of the Order of the Wolf and the Order of the Vulture."

"But these are not sailors. They are not even ma-

rines!"

"The Vultures have sailors among them, Emperor of

the World, and those are the men I will select."

"As you say, Baron Meliadus."

Meliadus was astonished to discover Trott had sailed

to Amarehk. It made him even more resentfulHuon

had entrusted the Court of Sussex with an assignment

rightfully his. Another score to settle, he told himself.

He was glad now that he had bided his time and ac-

ceptedor appeared to have acceptedthe king's orders.

His opportunity, in fact, seemed to have been handed to

him by the creature he now considered to be his arch

enemy after Hawkmoon.

Meliadus pretended to think for a moment. "If you

believe the Vultures to be untrustworthy, Monarch of

Space and Time, then may I suggest I take with me

their chief...?"

"Their chief? Asrovak Mikosevaar is deadkilled by

Hawkmoon!"

"But his widow inherited the Constabulary ..."

"Flana! A woman!"

"Aye, Great Emperor. She will control them."

"I would not have thought that the Countess of Kan-

bery could control a rabbit, she is so vague, but if that is

your wish, my lord, then so be it."

For a further hour they discussed the details of the

plan and the king gave Meliadus all possible informa-

tion relating to Trott's first expedition.

Then Meliadus left, his hidden eyes full of triumph.

Chapter Five

The Fleet at Deau-vere

OVERLOOKED BY THE turreted city of Deau-Vere,

flanked on three sides by quays of scarlet stone, the

small fleet lay at anchor in a livid sea. On the wide roofs

of the buildings stood thousands of ornithopters, fanci-

fully fashioned to resemble birds and mythical beasts,

their wings folded; and in the streets below their pilots

swaggered in masks of Crow and Owl, mingling with the

sailors in their Fish and Sea Serpent helms and the in-

fantry and cavalryPig, Skull, Hound, Goat and Bull

who were preparing to cross the Channel not by ship

but by the famed Silver Bridge Across The Sea which

could be seen on the other side of the city, its great

curve disappearing into the distance, all delicate and

shining and loaded constantly with traffic coming to and

from the Continent.

The men-o'-war in the harbour were crowded with

soldiers clad in Wolf and Vulture helms and armed to

the teeth with swords, spears, bows, quivers of arrows

and flame lances and the flagship bore the banners both

of the Grand Constable of the Order of the Wolf and of

the Grand Constable of the Order of Vulture which had

once been simply the Vulture Legion but which had

been raised to the status of an Order by King Huon, for

the fighting it had done in Europe and to honour the

death of its bloodthirsty chieftain Asrovak Mikosevaar.

The ships themselves were remarkable in that they

had no sails but were instead mounted with huge pad-

dlewheels at their sterns. They were built of a mixture

of wood and metalthe wood ornately carved and the

metal wrought in baroque designs. There were panels in

their sides, each carrying an intricate painting depicting

some earlier sea victory for Granbretan. Gilded figure-

heads decorated the forward parts of the ships, represent-

ing the terrifying ancient gods of GranbretanJhone,

Jhorg, Phowl, Rhunga, who were said to have ruled the

land before the Tragic MillenniumChirshil, the Howl-

ing God; Bjrin Adass, the Singing God; Jeajee Blad, the

Groaning God; Jh'Im Slas, the Weeping God and Aral

Vilsn, the Roaring God, Supreme God, father of Skvese

and Blansacredid the gods of Doom and Chaos.

The Aral Vilsn was the flagship and on the flagship's

bridge stood the brooding figure of Baron Meliadus,

beside him Countess Flana Mikosevaar. Below the bridge,

in Wolf and Vulture masks, the captains of the ships

began to assemble, having been summoned to the flagship

by Meliadus.

They looked up expectantly as Meliadus cleared his

throat.

"You are doubtless wondering about our destination

gentlemenand wondering, too, about the nature of

these strange ships we sail in. The ships are no mys-

terythey are equipped with engines similar to those

powering our ornithopters, and are the invention of

that genius of Granbretan, Baron Kalan of Vitall. They

can bear us swifter than sail across continents of water

and do not need to wait on the will of the wind. As to

our destination, that I will reveal in private. This ship

is the Aral Vilsn, named after the supreme god of an-

cient Granbretan, who made this nation into what she is

today. Her sister ships are the Skvese and the Blan-

sacredid, which are the old words for Doom and for

Chaos. But they are also the sons of Aral Vilsn and

represent the glory of Granbretan, the old dark glory,

the gloomy glory, the bloody and terrible glory of our

land. A glory of which I am sure you are all rightly

proud." Meliadus paused. "Would you see it lost, gentle-

men?"

The answer roared back. No! No! By Aral Vilsn, by

Skvese and BlansacredidNo! NO!"

"And would you do anything to make sure that Gran-

bretan retained her black might and her lunatic glory?"

"AYE! AYE! AYE!"

"And would you all unite with me in an insane ad-

venture such as those embarked upon by Aral Vilsn and

his peers?"

"AYE! Tell us what is it! Tell us!"

"You would not shrink from it? You would follow it

through to the end?"

"AYE!" shouted more than a score of voices.

"Then follow me to my cabin and I will detail the

plan. But be warned, once you have entered that cabin,

you will have to follow me forever. Any who holds back

will not leave the cabin alive."

Then Meliadus swung down from the bridge and

strode into his cabin below it. He was followed by every

one of the captains who stood before him and every one

of them was to leave the cabin alive.

Baron Meliadus stood before them, his dark cabin

lighted only by a dim lamp. There were maps on his

table, but he did not consult them. He spoke in a low,

vibrant voice to his men.

"I shall not waste time further, gentlemen, but will

tell you at once the nature of this adventure. We are

embarking upon treason ..." He cleared his throat. "We

are about to rebel against our hereditary ruler, Huon

the King Emperor."

There were many gasps from around the cabin as the

Wolf and Vulture masks stared intently at Baron Melia-

dus.

"King Huon is insane," Meliadus told them quickly.

"It is not personal ambition drives me to this scheme,

but a love for our nation. Huon is madhis two thou-

sand years of life, has clouded his brain rather than

given him wisdom. He is trying to make us expand too

rapidly. This expedition, for instance, was to go to

Amarehk to see if the land could be conquered, while

we have barely crushed the whole Middle East and there

are still parts of Muskovia that are not entirely ours."

"And you would rule in Huon's place, eh, baron?" a

Vulture captain suggested cynically.

Meliadus shook his head. "Not at all. Flana Mikose-

vaar would be your Queen. Vulture and Wolf would

take the place of the Mantis in the royal favour. Yours

would be the supreme Orders..."

"But the Vultures are a mercenary Order," a Wolf

captain pointed out.

Meliadus shrugged. "They have proved loyal to Gran-

bretan. And it could be argued that many of our own

Orders are moribund, that fresh blood is needed in the

Dark Empire."

Another Vulture captain spoke thoughtfully. "So

Flana would be our Queen Empressand you, baron?"

"Regent and Consort. I shall marry Flana and aid her

rule."

"You would be the King Emperor in all but name,"

said the same Vulture captain.

"I would be powerful, it is truebut Flana is of the

Royal blood, not I. She is your Queen Empress by right

of ancestry. I shall be merely Supreme Warlord and

leave the other affairs of state to herfor war's my life,

gentlemen, and I seek only to improve the manner in

which our wars are conducted."

The captains seemed satisfied.

Meliadus continued: "So instead of sailing to Amarehk

on the morning tide, we sail around the coast a little,

biding our time, then make for the Tayme estuary, sail-

ing upriver to Londra and arriving in the heart of the

city before anyone can guess our intent."

"But Huon is well-protected. His palace is impossible

to storm. There will be legions in the city loyal to him,

surely," said another Wolf captain.

"We will have allies in the city. Many of the legions

will be with us. Taragorm is on our side and he is he-

reditary commander of several thousand warriors since

his cousin's death. The Order of the Ferret is a small

one, to be sure, but it has many legions in Londra, while

other legions are in Europe, defending our possessions.

All the nobles likely to remain loyal to Huon are abroad

at this moment. It is a perfect time to strike. Baron Ka-

lan is also with ushe can aid us with new weapons and

his Serpents to operate them. If we achieve a swift vic-

toryor at least make quick gainsthen it is likely that

many others will join us, for few will discover love for

King Huon once Flana is on the throne."

"I feel a loyalty for King Huon ..." admitted a Wolf

captain. "It is bred into us."

"And so is a loyalty to the spirit of Aral Vilsnto all

that Granbretan stands for. Is that not a loyalty even

more deeply bred into us?"

The captain deliberated for a moment before nod-

ding. "Ayeyou are right. With a new ruler of the blood

royal on the throne, then perhaps our whole greatness

will come to us."

"Oh, it will, it will!" promised Meliadus fiercely, his

black eyes gleaming from his snarling helm.

Chapter Six

The Return to Castle Brass

IN THE GREAT hall of Castle Brass Yisselda, Count

Brass's daughter, wept and wept.

She wept for joy, hardly able to believe that the man

before her was her husband whom she loved with such

passion, hardly daring to touch him lest he prove a

phantom. Hawkmoon laughed and strode forward, put-

ting his arms around her and kissing at her tears. Then

she, too, began to laugh, her face becoming radiant.

"Oh, Dorian! Dorian! We feared you killed in Gran-

bretan!"

Hawkmoon grinned. "Considering everything, Gran-

bretan was the safest place we saw in our travels! Is that

not so, D'Averc?"

D'Averc coughed into his kerchief. "Ayeand maybe

the healthiest, too."

The thin and kindly-faced Bowgentle shook his head

in mild astonishment. "But how did you return from

Amarekh in that dimension to the Kamarg in this?"

Hawkmoon shrugged his shoulders. "Ask me not, Sir

Bowgentle. The Great Good Ones brought us here, that

is all I know. The journey was swift, taking but a few

minutes."

"The Great Good Ones! Never heard of 'em!" Count

Brass spoke gruffly, stroking his red moustachios and try-

ing to hide the tears in his eyes. "Spirits of some sort,

eh?"

"Aye of some sort, father." Hawkmoon stretched out

his hand to his father-in-law. "You are looking well,

Count Brass. Your hair's as red as ever."

"That's not a sign of youth," Count Brass complained.

"That's rust! I'm rotting here while you enjoy yourself

chasing about the world."

Oladahn, the little son of a giantess of the Bulgar

Mountains, stepped shyly forward. "I'm glad to see you

back, friend Hawkmoon. And in good health, it seems."

He grinned, offering Hawkmoon a goblet of wine.

"Heredrink this as a welcome cup!"

Hawkmoon smiled back and accepted the goblet,

quaffing it in a single draft. "Thanks, friend Oladahn.

How's it with you?"

"Boring. We are all boredand afraid you would not

return."

"Well, I am back and I think I have enough stories of

my adventures to dispel your boredom for a few hours.

And I have news of a mission for us all which will bring

you relief from the inactivity you have been suffering."

"Tell us!" Count Brass roared. "For all our sakestell

us at once!"

Hawkmoon laughed easily. "Ayebut give me a mo-

ment to look at my wife." He turned and stared into Yis-

selda's eyes and he saw that they were now perturbed.

"What is it, Yisselda?"

"I see something in your manner," said she. "Some-

thing that tells me, my lord, that you are soon to risk

your life again."

"Perhaps."

"If it must be, then it must be." She took a deep

breath and smiled at him. "But it will not be tonight, I

hope."

"Nor for several nights. We have many plans to

make."

"Aye," she said softly, glancing at the stones of the

hall. "And I have much to tell you."

Count Brass stepped forward gesturing to the far end

of the hall where the servants were laying the table with

food. "Let's eat. We have saved our best for this home-

coming."

Later as they sat with full bellies by the fire and

Bowgentle had finished recounting now Tozer had sud-

denly vanished, Hawkmoon showed them the Sword of

the Dawn and the Runestaff, which he drew from his

shirt. At once the hall was illuminated with whirling

flames making patterns in the air and the strange bitter-

sweet scent filled the hall.

The others looked at the thing in silent awe until

Hawkmoon replaced it. "That is our standard, my

friends. That is what we now serve when we go out to

fight the whole Dark Empire."

Oladahn scratched at the fur on his face. "The whole

Dark Empire, eh?"

Hawkmoon smiled gently. "Aye."

"Are there not several million warriors on the side of

Granbretan?" Bowgentle asked innocently.

"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 knowperhaps 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 sideis 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.

Chapter Seven

The Beasts Begin to Squabble

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 real-

ised, 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 tar-

getsthe 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 mil-

lion 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 explosiona barracks on the other side of

the waterand 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 coverFlies 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 Melia-

dus 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.

Chapter Eight

Taragorm's Invention

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 happen-

ing. Perhaps he thought the attack was by Asiacommu-

nistans 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 sol-

diers could fight. Windows were not a feature of Lon-

dra'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 wellbetter than I had ex-

pected."

"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 mes-

sage 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 be-

fore 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 Soryan-

dum. 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 disappoint-

ment.

"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 pendu-

lum 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 op-

erating 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 mur-

mured, "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!"

Chapter Nine

Huon Confers

With His Captains

"WELL, WELL, GENTLEMEN. Some sort of civil distur-

bance, 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 alland

ourselves. We were deceived."

The eyes moved more slowly over the assembled cap-

tains. "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 de-

ceived. But no matterthe 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 thereAdaz Promp, Brenal Farun, Shenegar

Trott..."

"Shenegar Trott is not on the Continent," King Huon

said politely.

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

"Yes, yes, yeswe 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 Melia-

dus, they would have given him those loyal to their Or-

der, surely?"

"Your guess is probably accurate. Very wellrecall 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."

Chapter Ten

Almost Midnight

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. Ei-

ther that, or we must regroup..."

"Or leave the city altogether and choose the ground

on which we fightis that it, Captain Beli?"

"Exactly, sir."

Meliadus rubbed at his mask. "There are detachments

of Wolves, Vultures and even Ferrets on the mainland.

Perhaps if they were recalled..."

"Would there be time, sir?"

"Well, we should have to make time, captain."

"Aye, sir."

"Offer all prisoners a change of mask," Meliadus sug-

gested. "They can see that we are winning and might

wish to join a new Order."

Beli saluted. "King Huon's palace is superbly defend-

ed, sir."

"And it will be superbly taken, captain, I am sure."

The music of Johne continued and the firing contin-

ued and Meliadus felt sure that all was going perfectly.

It would take time to capture the palace, but he was

confident that it would be taken, Huon destroyed, Flana

put in his place and Meliadus the most powerful man in

the land.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearing

eleven o'clock. He got up and clapped his hands, silenc-

ing the girls. "Fetch my litter," he ordered. "I journey to

the Palace of Time."

The same four girls returned with his litter and he

climbed in to sink among the cushions.

As they moved slowly along the corridors, Meliadus

could still hear the music of the flame cannon, the

shouts of men in conflict. Admittedly victory had not yet

been accomplished and even if he slew King Huon there

might be barons who would not accept Flana as Queen

Empress. He would need a few months in which to con-

solidatebut it would help if he could unite them all

into turning then: hatred against the Kamarg and Castle

Brass.

"Hurry," he called to the naked girls. "Faster! We

must not be late!"

If Taragorm's machine worked, then he would have

the double advantage of being able to reach his enemies

and unite his nation.

Meliadus sighed with pleasure. Everything was work-

ing so perfectly.

BOOK THREE

And now the resolution was imminent. The

Heroes of the Kamarg plotted in Castle

BrassBaron Meliadus plotted in Taragorm's

Palace of Timethe King Emperor Huon

plotted in his Throne Roomand all the

plots that were made began to influence each

other. The Runestaff, too, centrepiece of the

drama, was beginning to exert its influence

upon the players. And now the Dark Empire

was divideddivided because of Meliadus's

hatred of Hawkmoon whom he had planned

to use as his puppet but who had been strong

enough to turn against him. Perhaps it was

thenwhen Meliadus had chosen Hawkmoon

to use against Castle Brassthat the Rune-

staff had made its first move. It was a tightly

woven dramaso tightly woven that certain

threads were close to snapping . ..

The High History of the Runestaff

Chapter One

The Striking of The Clock

THERE WAS A chill in the air. Hawkmoon drew his

heavy cloak about him and turned his sombre head to

regard his comrades. Each face looked at the table. The

fire in the hall was burning low, but the objects on the

table could be clearly seen.

First there was the Red Amulet, its ruddy light stain-

ing their faces as if with blood. This was Hawkmoon's

strength, giving its owner more than natural energy.

Then there were the crystal Rings of Mygan which

could transport those who wore them through the di-

mensions. These were their passports back to their own

space and time. Beside the rings was the scabbarded

Sword of the Dawn. In this lay Hawkmoon's army. And

finally, wrapped in a length of cloth, there was the

Runestaff, Hawkmoon's standard and his hope.

Count Brass cleared his throat. "Even with all these

powerful objects can we defeat an Empire as great as

Granbretan?"

"We have the security of our castle," Oladahn remind-

ed him. "From it we can go through the dimensions at

will and return at will. By this means we can fight a pro-

longed guerilla action until we have worn down the en-

emy's resistance."

Count Brass nodded. "What you say is true, but I am

still doubtful"

"With respect, sir, you are used to fighting classic bat-

tles," D'Averc reminded him. D'Averc's pale face was

framed by the collar of a dark leather cloak. "And you

would be happier with a direct confrontation, drawn up

in ranks of lancers, archers, cavalry, infantry and so on.

But we have not the men to fight such battles. We must

strike from the dark, thereforefrom behind, from cover

at least initially."

"You are right, I suppose, D'Averc." Count Brass

sighed.

Bowgentle poured wine for them all. "Perhaps we

should get to our beds, my friends. There is more plan-

ning to do and we should be fresh..."

Hawkmoon strode to the far end of the table where

the maps had been laid out. He rubbed at the Black

Jewel in his forehead. "Aye, we must plan our first cam-

paigns carefully." He studied the map of the Kamarg.

"There is a chance there is a permanent camp surround-

ing the place where Castle Brass stoodperhaps waiting

for its return."

"But did you not feel that perhaps Meliadus's power

is waning?" D'Averc said. "Shenegar Trott seemed to

think so."

"If that is the case," Hawkmoon agreed, "then it is

possible that Meliadus's legions are now deployed else-

where, since there seems to be some sort of contention at

the Court of Londra as to whether we are very impor-

tant as a threat or not."

Bowgentle made a movement to speak but then

cocked his head to one side. Now they all felt a slight

tremor run through the floor.

"It's damned cold," Count Brass grumbled and went

to the fire to fling on another log. Sparks flew and the

log caught quickly, the flames sending red shadows skip-

ping through the hall. Count Brass had wrapped his

bull-like body in a simple woollen robe and now he

tugged at this as if regretting he had not worn some-

thing more substantial. He glanced at the rack at the far

end of the hall. The rack contained spears, bows, ar-

rows, maces, swordsand his own broadsword, and his

armour of brass. His great, bronzed face was clouded.

Again a tremor shook the building and the arms deco-

rating the walls rattled.

Hawkmoon glanced at Bowgentle, noticing in the phi-

losopher's eyes the same sense of inexplicable doom he

felt. "A mild earthquake, perhaps?"

"Perhaps," murmured Bowgentle, plainly uncon-

vinced.

Now they heard a sounda distant sound like the

booming of a gong, so low as to be almost inaudible.

They rushed to the doors of the hall and Count Brass

hesitated for a moment before flinging them open and

looking up at the night.

They sky was black, but the clouds seemed dark blue,

swirling in considerable agitation as if the dome of the

sky were about to crack.

The reverberation came again, this time plainly au-

dible. The voice of a huge, low bell or a gong. It

hummed in their ears.

"It is like being in the bell-tower of the castle as the

clock strikes," Bowgentle said, his eyes full of alarm.

Every face was paleevery face tense. Hawkmoon be-

gan to stride back into the hall, walking with arm out-

stretched towards the Sword of the Dawn. D'Averc

called to him. "What do you suspect, Hawkmoon? Some

kind of attack by the Dark Empire?"

"By the Dark Empireor by something supernatural,"

Hawkmoon answered.

A third stroke sounded filling the night, echoing over

the flat marshes of the Kamarg, over the lagoons and

the reeds. Flamingoes, disturbed by the noise, began to

squawk from the darkness.

A fourth followed, louder stilla great booming bell

of doom.

A fifth. And Count Brass went to the rack and took

up his broadsword.

A sixth. D'Averc covered his ears as the sound in-

creased. "This is sure to bring on at least a mild mi-

graine," he complained languidly.

A seventh. Yisselda ran down the stairs in her night-

clothes. "What is it, Dorian? Fatherwhat's the sound?

It is like the striking of a clock. It threatens to burst my

eardrums..."

Oladahn looked up gloomily. "It seems to me that it

threatens our very existence," he said. "Though I do not

know why I think that ..." A seventh stroke sounded

and plaster fell from the ceiling as the castle shook to its

foundations.

"We had better close the doors," Count Brass said as

the echo died sufficiently for him to make himself heard.

Slowly they moved inside and Hawkmoon helped Count

Brass push the doors together and replace the heavy

iron bar.

An eighth stroke filled the hall and made them all

press their palms to their ears. A huge shield, there since

time immemorial, clattered from the wall, fell to the

flagstones and rolled about noisily until it crashed to

rest near the table.

In panic, the servants came running into the hall.

A ninth stroke and windows cracked, the glass splin-

tering. This time Hawkmoon felt as if he were on a ship

at sea that had struck suddenly a hidden reef, for the

whole Castle shuddered and they were flung about. Yis-

selda began to fall, but Hawkmoon managed to save

her, hanging on to a pillar to stop himself from top-

pling. The sound made him feel sick and his vision was

blurred.

For the tenth time the great gong reverberated, as if

the whole world shook, as if the universe itself were

filled with the sound signalling the end of everything.

Bowgentle keeled over and fell upon the flagstones in

a faint. Oladahn reeled about, his palms pressing at his

head. He collapsed to the floor. Hawkmoon clung to Yis-

selda grimly, barely able to retain his grip. He was filled

with nausea and his head pounded. Count Brass and

D'Averc had staggered across the room to the table and

were hanging on to it as it shook. The stroke died.

Hawkmoon heard D'Averc call: "Hawkmoonlook at

this!"

Supporting Yisselda, Hawkmoon managed to reach

the table and stared down at the Rings of Mygan. He

gasped. Every one of the crystals had shattered.

"So much for our scheme of guerilla raids," D'Averc

said hoarsely. "So much, perhaps, for all our schemes..."

The eleventh stroke sounded. It was deeper and

louder than the one before and the whole castle shud-

dered and flung them to the floor. Hawkmoon screamed

in pain as the sound roared in his skull and seemed to

sear his brain, but he could not hear his scream above

the noise. Everything, was shaking and he rolled about

on the floor at the mercy of whatever force it was mak-

ing the castle quake.

As it faded, he crawled on his hands and knees

towards Yisselda, desperately trying to reach her. Tears

of pain streamed down his face and he knew by the

warmth that his ears were bleeding. Dimly he saw Count

Brass trying to rise by clutching at the table. The

count's ears gouted gore that matched his hair. "We are

destroyed," he heard the old man say: "Destroyed by

some cowardly enemy we cannot even see! Destroyed by

a force against which our swords are useless!"

Hawkmoon continued to crawl towards Yisselda who

lay prone on the floor.

Now the twelfth stroke sounded, louder and more ter-

rible than the rest. The stones of the castle threatened

to crack. The wood of the table split and the thing col-

lapsed with a crash. Flagstones suddenly broke in twain

or shattered to fragments. The castle was tossed like a

cork in a gale and Hawkmoon roared with pain as the

tears in his eyes were now replaced with blood, as the

veins in his body threatened to burst.

Then the deep note was counterpointed by anothera

high-pitched screamand colours began to flood the

hall. First came violet, then purple, then black. A mil-

lion tiny bells seemed to ring in unison and this time it

was possible to locate the sound as it came from below

them, from the dungeons.

Weakly, Hawkmoon attempted to rise and then fell

face down on the stones. The note boomed gradually

away, the colours began to fade, the ringing sound sub-

sided quite suddenly.

So there was silence.

Chapter Two

The Blackened Marsh

"THE CRYSTAL is destroyed..."

Hawkmoon shook his head and blinked his eyes.

"Eh?"

"The crystal is destroyed, "D'Averc knelt beside him

trying to help him to his feet.

"Yisselda?" Hawkmoon said. "How is she?"

"No worse than you. We have put her to bed. The

crystal is destroyed."

Hawkmoon dug dried blood from ears and nostrils.

"You mean the Rings of Mygan?"

"D'Averctell him more clearly." It was Bowgentle's

voice. "Tell him that the machine of the wraith folk is

broken."

"Broken?" Hawkmoon heaved himself to his feet.

"Was that the final shattering sound I heard?"

"That was it." Now Count Brass stood nearby, leaning

wearily on a table and mopping at his face. "The vibra-

tions destroyed the crystals."

"Then?" Hawkmoon glanced questioningly at Count

Brass who nodded.

"Ayewe're back in our own dimension."

"And not under attack?"

"It does not seem so."

Hawkmoon took a deep breath and began to walk

slowly to the main doors of the hall. Painfully he drew

back the iron bar and tugged the doors open.

It was still night. The stars in the sky remained the

same but the swirling blue clouds had vanished and

there was an uncanny silence hanging over the area, a

strange smell in the air. But no flamingoes squawked, no

wind sighed through the reeds.

Slowly, thoughtfully, Hawkmoon closed the doors

again.

"Where are the legions?" D'Averc asked. "One would

have thought they were waiting for usat least a few!"

Hawkmoon frowned. "We'll have to wait until morn-

ing before we can guess the answer to that. Perhaps they

are out there, planning to take us by surprise."

"Do you think that sound was sent by the Dark Em-

pire?" Oladahn asked.

"Without doubt," Count Brass answered. "They have

succeeded in their object. They have brought us back to

our own dimension." He sniffed the air. "I wish I could

identify that smell."

D'Averc was sorting things from the wreckage of the

table. "It is a miracle that we are alive," he said.

"Aye," said Hawkmoon. "That noise seemed to affect

inanimate things worse than us."

"Two of the older servants are dead," Count Brass

said quietly. "Their hearts could not stand it, I suppose.

They are being buried now, in case it is not possible in

the morning. In the inner courtyard."

"What of the castle?" Oladahn asked.

Count Brass shrugged. "It's hard to tell. I've been

down to the dungeons. The crystal machine is com-

pletely smashed and some of the stonework is cracked.

But this is a strong old castle. She seems to have fared

not too badly. No window glass, of course. No glass of

any sort intact. Otherwise . . ." He shrugged as if his be-

loved castle had ceased to matter to him, "... otherwise

we are still standing as firm as we did before."

"Let's hope so," murmured D'Averc. He held the

Sword of the Dawn by its scabbard and the Red Amulet

by its chain. He offered them to Hawkmoon. "You'd

best don these for it is certain that you will soon have

need of them."

Hawkmoon put the amulet around his neck and

buckled the scabbard to his belt. Then he stopped and

picked up the swaddled Runestaff.

"This does not seem to be bringing us the luck I had

hoped," he said and sighed.

Dawn came at last. It came slowly and it came grey

and chill, the horizon white as an old corpse and the

clouds the colour of bone.

Five heroes watched it rise. They stood outside the

gates of Castle Brass, on the hill, and their hands were

On their swords, their grips tightening as they saw the

scene below.

It was the Kamarg they had left, but it was a Kamarg

wasted by war. The smell they had spoken of earlier was

the smell of carnage, of a burnt land. For as far as they

could see, all was black ruin. The marshes and lagoons

had all been dried up by the fire of the flame cannon.

The flamingoes, the horses and the bulls had been de-

stroyed or fled. The watchtowers which had guarded the

borders were flattened. It seemed as if the whole world

were a sea of grey ash.

"It is all gone," said Count Brass in a low voice. "All

gone, my beloved Kamarg, my people, my animals. I was

their elected Lord Guardian and I failed in my task.

Now there is nothing to live for save vengeance. Let me

reach the gates of Londra and see the city taken. Then I

will die. But not before."

Chapter Three

Dark Empire Carnage

BY THE TIME they reached the borders of the Ka-

marg, Hawkmoon and Oladahn were covered from head

to foot in clinging ash which stung their nostrils and

was harsh in their throats. Their horses, too, were cov-

ered in the stuff and their eyes were as red as their

riders'.

Now the sea of ash gave way to sparse, yellow

grassland and still they had found no sign of the legions

of the Dark Empire.

A little watery sunshine broke through the layers of

cloud as Hawkmoon drew his horse to a halt and consult-

ed his map. He pointed due East. "The village of Verlin

lies yonder. Let's ride cautiously and see if Granbre-

tanian troops still occupy it."

The village came in sight at last and when he saw it

Hawkmoon began to gallop faster. Oladahn called from,

behind him:

"What is it, Duke Dorian? What has happened?"

Hawkmoon did not reply for, as they neared the vil-

lage, it could be seen that half the buildings lay in ruins,

that corpses choked the streets. And still no sign of

the Dark Empire troops.

Many of the buildings had been blackened by flame

lance fire and some of the corpses had been slain by

Same lances. Here and there lay the body of a Granbre-

tanian, an armoured figure with its mask tilting skyward.

"They were all Wolves here, by the look of it,"

Hawkmoon murmured. "Meliadus's men. It seems they

fell upon the villagers and the villagers attacked them

back. Seethat Wolf was stabbed by a reaping hook-

that one died from the blow of the spade still in his

neck..."

"Maybe the villagers rose up against them," Oladahn

suggested, "and the Wolves retaliated."

"Then why did they leave the village?" Hawkmoon

pointed out. "They were garrisoned here."

They guided their horses over the bodies of the fallen.

The stink of death was still heavy in the air. It was

plain that this carnage had been wreaked only recently.

Hawkmoon pointed out gutted stores and the corpses of

cattle, horses, even dogs.

"They left nothing alive. Nothing which could be

used for food. It is as if they were in retreat from some

more powerful enemy!"

"Who is more powerful than the Dark Empire?"

Oladahn said with a shudder. "Have we some new en-

emy to face, friend Hawkmoon?"

"I hope not. Yet this sight is puzzling."

"And disgusting," Oladahn added. There were not

only men dead in the streets, but children too and every

woman, young or old, bore signs of having been raped

before she had been slain, mostly by means of a cut

throat, for the Granbretanian soldiery liked to slay their

victims as they raped them.

Hawkmoon sighed. "It is the sign of the Dark Empire,

everywhere you venture."

He looked up, bending his head to catch a small

sound carried on the chill wind. "A cry! Someone still

lives, perhaps."

He turned his horse and followed the sound until he

entered a sidestreet. Here a door had been broken open

and a girl's body lay half in the doorway, half in the

street. The cry was stronger. Hawkmoon dismounted

and walked cautiously towards the house. It came from

the girl. Quickly he knelt down and raised her in his

arms. She was almost naked, her body covered with a

few strips of torn clothing. There was a red line across

her throat as if a blunt dagger had been drawn across it.

She was about fifteen, with tangled fair hair and glazed

blue eyes. Her body was a mass of blue-black bruises.

She gasped as Hawkmoon lifted her.

Hawkmoon lowered her gently and went to his

saddle, returning with a flask of wine. He put the flask

to her lips and she drank, gasping, her eyes suddenly

widening in alarm.

"Do not fear," Hawkmoon said softly. "I am an en-

emy of the Dark Empire."

"And you live?"

Hawkmoon smiled sardonically. "AyeI live. I am

Dorian Hawkmoon, the Duke of Koln."

"Hawkmoon von Koln? But we thought you deador

flown forever..."

"Well I have returned and your village shall be re-

venged, I swear. What happened here?"

"I am not altogether sure, my lord, save that the

beasts of the Dark Empire intended to leave none

alive." She looked up suddenly. "My father and mother

my sister..."

Hawkmoon glanced inside the house and shuddered.

"Dead," he said. It had been an understatement. They

had been disgustingly mutilated. He picked up the girl

as she sobbed and took her to his horse. "I will carry

you back to Castle Brass," he said.

Chapter Four

New Helms

SHE LAY IN the softest bed in Castle Brass, tended by

Bowgentle, comforted by Yisselda and Hawkmoon who

sat beside her bed. But she was dying. She was dying not

from her injuries but from sorrow. She wished to die.

They respected that wish.

"For several months," she murmured, "the Wolf

troops occupied our village. They took everything while

we starved. We heard that they were part of an army

left to guard the Kamarg, though we could not think

what there was to guard of that wasteland ..."

"They were awaiting our return most likely," Hawk-

moon told her.

"That would seem likely," the girl said gravely.

She continued: "Then yesterday an ornithopter ar-

rived at the village and its pilot went straight to the

commander of the garrison. We heard it rumoured that

the soldiers were being recalled to Londra and we were

overjoyed. An hour later the soldiers of the garrison fell

upon the village, killing, looting, raping. They had or-

ders to leave nothing alive so that when they returned

they would not meet resistance, so that any others who

came upon the village should not find food. An hour af-

terwards, they were gone."

"So they plan to return," Hawkmoon mused. "But I

wonder why they left..."

"Some invading enemy, perhaps?" Bowgentle suggest-

ed, bathing the girl's brow.

"That was my guessand yet it does not seem to fit."

Hawkmoon sighed. "It is puzzlingfrightening that we

know so little."

There came a knock upon the door and D'Averc en-

tered. "An old friend is here, Hawkmoon."

"An old friend? Who?"

"The Orkneyman-Orland Fank."

Hawkmoon rose. "Perhaps he can enlighten us."

As he walked towards the door Bowgentle spoke qui-

etly. "The girl is dead, Duke Dorian."

"She knows she will be avenged," Hawkmoon said

flatly and he left to descend the stairs to the hall.

"Something is in the wind, I agree, friend," Orland

Fank was saying to Count Brass as they stood together

beside the fire. He waved his hand as Hawkmoon joined

them. "And how d'you fare, Duke Dorian?"

"Well enough, in the circumstances. Do you know

why the legions are leaving, Master Fank?"

"I was telling the good Count Brass here that I do

not..."

"Ah, and I thought you omniscient, Master Fank."

Fank grinned sheepishly, tugging off his bonnet to

wipe his face with it. "I still need time to gather in-

formation and I've been busy the while since you left

Dnark. I've brought gifts for all the heroes of Castle

Brass."

"You are kind."

"They're not from me, you understand, but from

well, the Runestaff, I suppose. I'll give you them later.

They've little practical use, you might think, but then

it's hard to say what is practical and what is not in the

fight against the Dark Empire.

Hawkmoon turned to D'Averc. "What did you dis-

cover on your ride?"

"Much the same as you," D'Averc replied. "Razed vil-

lages, all the inhabitants hastily slain. Signs of an over-

swift departure on the part of the troops. I gather that

there are still some garrisons in the large towns, but

they are skeleton staffedmainly artillery and no cavalry

at all."

"This seems insane," murmured Count Brass.

"If they are insane, then we may yet take advantage of

their lack of rationality," Hawkmoon said with a grim

smile.

"Well spoken, Duke Dorian," Fank clapped his red,

brawny hand on Hawkmoon's shoulder. "Now can I

bring in the gifts."

"By all means, Master Fank."

"Lend me a couple of servants to help, if you will, for

there's six of 'em and they're powerful heavy. I brought

them on two horses."

A few moments later the servants came in, each hold-

ing two wrapped objects, one in each hand. Fank him-

self brought in the remaining two. He laid them on the

flagstones at their feet. "Open them, gentlemen."

Hawkmoon bent and pulled back the cloth that

wrapped one of the gifts. He blinked as the light struck

his eyes and he saw his own face reflected perfectly back

at him. He was puzzled, dragging off the rest of the

cloth to stare in astonishment at the object before him.

The others, too, were murmuring in surprise.

The objects were battle helmets designed to cover the

whole head and rest on the shoulders. The metal of

their manufacture was unfamiliar, but it was polished

more finely than the finest mirror Hawkmoon had ever

seen. With the exception of two eye slits the fronts of

the helms were completely smooth, without decoration

of any sort so that whoever stared at them saw a com-

plete image of himself. The backs were crested in the

same metal, with clean, simple decoration. It struck

Hawkmoon how useful they could be in battle, for the

enemy would be confused by his own reflection, would

have the impression that he was fighting himself!

Hawkmoon laughed aloud. "Why, whoever invented

these must be a genius! They are the finest helms I have

ever seen."

"Try them on," Fank said, grinning back. "You'll find

they fit well. They are the Runestaffs answer to the

beast masks of the Dark Empire."

"How do we know which is ours," Count Brass said.

"You will know," Fank told him. "The one you have

opened. The one with the crest the colour of brass."

Count Brass smiled and lifted the helm to place it

upon his shoulders. Hawkmoon looked at him and saw

his own face, the dull black jewel in the centre of his

forehead, staring back in amused surprise. Hawkmoon

lifted his helm over his head. His had a golden crest.

Now when he turned to regard Count Brass it seemed at

first that the count's helm gave no reflection, until

Hawkmoon realised that there were an infinity of reflec-

tions.

The others had put their helms on their shoulders.

D'Averc's had a blue crest and Oladahn's a scarlet one.

They laughed with pleasure.

"A goodly gift, Master Fank," Hawkmoon said, remov-

ing his helmet. "An excellent gift. But what of the other

two helms?"

Fank smiled mysteriously. "Ahah, yesthey would

be for those who would desire them."

"For yourself?"

"Not for myself, noI must admit I tend to disdain

armour. It is cumbersome stuff and it makes it harder

for me to wield my old battle-axe here." He jerked his

thumb behind him at the axe secured by a cord on his

back.

"Then who are the other two helms for?" Count Brass

said, removing his own helm.

"You will know when you know," Fank said. "And

then it will seem obvious to you. How are the folk of

Castle Brass faring?"

"You mean the villagers of the hill?" Hawkmoon said.

"Well, some of them were slain by the striking of the

great gong recalling us to our own dimension. A few

buildings fell, but all in all they survived well enough.

The remaining Kamargian cavalry has survived."

"About five hundred men," said D'Averc. "Our army."

"Aye,"Fanksaidwithasidelongglanceatthe

Frenchman. "Aye. Well, I must be away about my

business."

"And what business would that be, Master Fank?"

Oladahn asked.

Fank paused. "In the Orkneys, my friend, we are not

asking of each other's business," he said chidingly.

"Thank you for the gifts," Oladahn said with a bow,

"and forgive my curiosity."

"I accept your apology," Fank said.

"Before you leave, Master Fank, I thank you on be-

half of us all for these welcome gifts," Count Brass told

him. "And could we bother you with a final question?"

"You are all prone to too much questioning in my

own opinion," Fank said. "But then we're close-mouthed

in the Orkneys. Ask away, friend, and I'll do my level

best to answer, if the question is not too personal."

"Do you know how the crystal machine came to be

shattered?" Count Brass asked. "What caused it?"

"I would gather that Lord Taragorm, Master of the

Palace of Time in Londra, discovered the means of

breaking your machine once he understood its source.

He has many old texts which would tell him such

things. Doubtless he built a clock whose striking would

travel through the dimensions and be of such a pitch

and volume as to shatter the crystal. It was, I believe,

the one remedy of the enemies of the folk of Soryandum

who gave you the machine."

"So it was the Dark Empire brought us back," Hawk-

moon said. "But if that was so, then why were they not

waiting for us?"

"Perhaps a domestic crisis of some sort," Orland Fank

said. "We shall see. Farewell, my friends. I have the

feeling we will meet again shortly."

Chapter Five

Five Heroes and A Heroine

As THE GATES closed behind Fank, Bowgentle de-

scended the stairs and there was an odd expression on

his kindly features. He walked stiffly, and his eyes had a

distant look.

"What is it, Bowgentle," Count Brass said in concern,

moving forward to grip his old friend by the arm. "You

seem disturbed."

Bowgentle shook his head. "Not disturbedresolute. I

have reached a decision. It is many years since I have

wielded a weapon larger than a pen, borne anything

weightier than a difficult problem in philosophy. Now I

will bear arms against Londra. I will ride with you

when you set out against the Dark Empire."

"But Bowgentle," Hawkmoon said, "you are not a

warrior. You comfort us, sustain us with your kindness

and your wisdom. All these things give us strength and

are as useful as any comrade in arms."

"Ayebut this fight will be the last fight, win or lose,"

Bowgentle reminded him. "If you do not return, then

you'll have no need of wisdomand if you do return,

you'll have but little inclination to seek my advice, for

you'll be the men who broke the Dark Empire. So I will

take up a blade. One of yonder mirror helms will fit me,

I know. The one with the black crest"

He stood aside as Bowgentle went to the helm and

picked it up. Slowly he lowered it over his head. It fitted

perfectly. Reflected in the helm they could see what

Bowgentle sawtheir own faces at once admiring and

grim.

D'Averc was the first to step forward with his hand

outstretched. "Very well, Bowgentle. It will be a pleasure

to ride with someone of sophisticated wit for a change!"

Hawkmoon frowned. "It is agreed. If you wish to,

Bowgentle, we shall all be happier for your riding with

us. But who is the other helm for, I wonder?"

"It is for me."

The voice was low, firm, sweet. Hawkmoon turned

slowly to stare at his wife.

"No, it is not for you, Yisselda..."

"How can you be sure?"

"Well. ..."

"Look at itthe helm with the white crest. Is it not

smaller than the others. Suitable for a boyor a woman."

"Aye," Hawkmoon answered reluctantly.

"And am I not Count Brass's daughter?"

"You are."

"And cannot I ride as well as any of you?"

"You can."

"And did I not fight in the bullring as a girland win

honour there? And did I not train with the guardians of

the Kamarg in the arts of the axe, the sword and the

Same lance? Father?"

"It is true, she was proficient in all these arts," Count

Brass said soberly. "But proficiency is not all that is re-

quired of a warrior..."

"Am I not strong?"

"Ayefor a woman . . ." answered the Lord of Castle

Brass. "Soft and as strong as silk, I believe a local poet

said," he glanced sardonically at Bowgentle, who

blushed.

"Is it stamina, then, that I lack?" Yisselda asked, her

eyes flashing with a mixture of defiance and humour.

"Noyou have more than enough stamina," Hawk-

moon said.

"Courage? Do I lack courage?"

"There is none more courageous than you, my child,"

Count Brass agreed.

"Then what quality do I lack that a warrior has?"

Hawkmoon shrugged his shoulders. "None, Yisselda

save that you are a woman andand..."

"And women do not fight. They merely remain at the

fireside to mourn their lost kin, is that it?"

"Or welcome them back..."

"Or welcome them back. Well, I have no patience

with that scheme of things. Why should I remain behind

at Castle Brass. Who will protect me?"

"We will leave guards."

"A few guardsguards you will need in your battle.

You know very well that you will want every man with

you."

"Aye, that's true," Hawkmoon said. "But there is one

other factor, Yisselda. Do you forget that you carry our

child?"

"I do not forget. I carry our child. Aye, and I'll carry

it into battlefor if we are defeated there will be noth-

ing for it to inherit save disasterand if we win then it

will know the thrill of victory even before it comes into

the world. But if we are all slainthen we shall die to-

gether. I'll not be Hawkmoon's widow and I'll not bear

Hawkmoon's orphan. I will not be safe at Castle Brass

alone, Dorian, I'll ride with you." She went to the mir-

ror helm with the white crest and she picked it up. She

drew it over her head and spread her soft arms tri-

umphantly.

"Seeit fits perfectly. It was plainly made for me. We

will ride together, the six of us, and lead the Kamar-

gians against the massed might of the Dark Empirefive

heroesand, I hope, one heroine!"

"So be it," murmured Hawkmoon moving forward to

embrace his wife. "So be it"

Chapter Six

A New Ally

THE WOLVES AND the Vultures had fought their way

back from the Continent and were now pouring into Lon-

dra. Coming into Londra, too, were the Flies, the Rats,

the Goats and the Hounds and all the other bloodthirsty

beasts of Granbretan.

From a high tower, now his command headquarters,

Meliadus of Kroiden watched them arrive, flooding in

by every gate and battling as they came. One group

puzzled him and he strained his eyes to see it better. It

was a large detachment of troops riding under a black

and white striped banner signifying neutrality. The ban-

ner carried beside it now became easier to see.

Meliadus frowned.

The banner was that of Adaz Promp, Grand Con-

stable of the Order of the Hound. Did the neutral flag

mean that he had not yet decided on whose side to

fight? Or did it mean he planned a complicated trick?

Meliadus rubbed his lips thoughtfully. With Adaz

Promp on his side he could begin an assault on the

palace itself. He reached for his wolf helm and stroked

the metal head.

For the past few days as the battle for Londra had

reached deadlock Meliadus had become pensivethe

more so because he did not know if Taragorm's device

had succeeded and brought Castle Brass back to its own

dimension. His earlier good humour, based on his

success in the initial fighting, had been replaced by a

nervousness resulting from several uncertainties.

The door opened. Automatically Meliadus reached

for his helm, donning it as he turned.

"Ah, it's you, Flana. What do you want?"

"Taragorm is here."

"Taragorm, eh? Has he something positive to tell

me."

The clock mask appeared behind Flana's heron mask.

"I had hoped that you would have some positive

news, brother," Taragorm said acidly. "After all, we

have made no great gains for the past few days."

"The reinforcements are arriving," Meliadus said pet-

ulantly, waving his gauntletted hand at the window.

"Wolves and Vultures pouring inand even some Fer-

rets."

"Ayereinforcements for Huon, tooand seemingly in

larger numbers than ours."

"Kalan should have his new weapons ready soon,"

Meliadus said defensively. "They will give us an ad-

vantage."

"If they work." Taragorm spoke sardonically. "I am

beginning to wonder if I have not made a mistake, join-

ing you. You struck too impetuously..."

"Brother! We must not quarrel, or we're finished.

There is no time now!"

"Aye, that I'll grant you. If Huon wins we're all

doomed."

"Huon will not win."

"We need a million men to attack the palace and

succeed."

"We'll find a million men. If only we can make a

little headway, others will come over to our side."

Taragorm ignored this statement and turned instead

to Flana. "It is a shame, Flana. You would have made a

beautiful queen ..."

"She will still make a queen," Meliadus said savagely,

restraining himself from striking Taragorm. "Your

pessimism amounts to treachery, Taragorm!"

"And will you slay me for my treachery, brother?

With all my knowledge. Only I know all the secrets of

Time."

Meliadus shrugged. "Of course I will not slay you. Let

us cease this arguing and concentrate instead on win-

ning the palace."

Bored by the quarrel, Flana left the room.

"I must see Kalan," Meliadus said. "He has suffered a

setback, having to remove all his equipment to a new

site so hastily. Come, Taragorm, we'll visit him to-

gether."

They summoned their litters, climbed in and had

their slaves carry them through the dimly lit corridors of

the tower, down twisting ramps to the rooms Kalan had

adapted as laboratories. A door opened and foul-smell-

ing heat struck their bodies. Meliadus could feel it

through his mask. He coughed as he left his litter and

walked into the chamber where Kalan stood, his

scrawny body naked to the waist and only his mask on

his head, supervising the serpent-masked scientists who

toiled for him.

Kalan greeted them impatiently. "What do you want?

I have no time for conversation!"

"We wondered what progress you were making,

Baron." Meliadus yelled over the boiling sound.

"Good progress, I hope. The facilities are ridiculously

primitive. The weapon is almost ready."

Taragorm glanced at the tangle of tubes and wires

from which all the noise and heat and stink was issuing.

"That's a weapon?"

"It will be, it will be."

"What will it do?"

"Bring me men to mount it on our roof and I'll show

you in a few hours."

Meliadus nodded. "Very well. You realise what de-

pends on your success, Kalan?"

"Aye, that I do. I'm beginning to curse myself for

joining you, Meliadus, but I'm in with you now and can

only continue. Please leaveI'll send word when the

weapon's ready."

Meliadus and Taragorm walked back through the cor-

ridors, their litters following behind.

"I hope Kalan has not lost all sanity," Taragorm said

icily. "For if he has, that thing might destroy us."

"Or destroy nothing," Meliadus said gloomily.

"Now who is the pessimist, brother?"

Returning to his apartments, Meliadus discovered

that he had a visitor. A fat visitor clad in gaudy silk-cov-

ered armour with a brightly painted helm representing

a savage and grinning hound.

"Baron Adaz Promp," said Flana Mikosevaar, emerg-

ing from another room. "He arrived shortly after you

left, Meliadus."

"Baron," Meliadus said, bowing formally. "I am

honoured."

Adaz Promp's smooth tones came from the helm.

"What are the issues, Meliadus? What are the goals?"

"The issuesour plans of conquest. The goalsto put

a more rational monarch on the throne of Granbretan.

One who will respect the advice of experienced warriors

such as ourselves."

"Respect your advice, you mean!" Promp chuckled.

"Well, I have to admit that I thought you insane, my

lord, not Huon. Your pursuing this wild vendetta

against Hawkmoon and Castle Brass, for instance. I sus-

pected that it was motivated only by your private lust

and vengeance."

"You no longer believe that?"

"I do not care. I am beginning to share your opinion

that they represent the greatest danger to Granbretan

and that they should be exterminated before we think of

anything else."

"Why have you changed your mind, Adaz?" Meliadus

leaned forward eagerly. "Why? You have some evidence

not known to me?"

"More a suspicion or two," Adaz Promp said slowly,

fatly. "A hint of this, a hint of that."

"What sort of hints?"

"A ship we encountered and boarded in the northern

seas as we were returning from Scandia to answer our

emperor's call. A rumour from France. Nothing more."

"What of the ship? What ship was it?"

"One like those anchored on the river, only much

largerwith the strange contraption on its arse and no

sails. It was battered, drifting and had two men aboard,

both wounded. They died before we could transfer them

to our own vessel."

"Shenegar Trott's ship. From Amarehk."

"Ayethat's what they told us."

"But what has it to do with Hawkmoon?"

"It appears they met Hawkmoon in Amarehk. It

seems they received their wounds from Hawkmoon in

some bloody battle in a city called Dnark. According to

these menand they were ravingthe issue of the dis-

pute was the Runestaff itself."

"And Hawkmoon won the dispute."

"Indeed he did. There were two thousand of them, we

were toldTrott's men, that isand only four, including

Hawkmoon, against them."

"And Hawkmoon won!"

"Ayeaided by supernatural warriors according to he

who lived long enough to babble the tale. It all sounds

like truth mixed with fantasy, but it is plain that

Hawkmoon defeated a force much larger than his own

and that he personally slew Shenegar Trott. It does

seem, also, that he has certain scientific powers at his

disposal of which we know little. This is confirmed by

the manner in which they managed to escape from us

the last time. Which brings me to my second tale, picked

up from one of your own Wolves as we marched to Lon-

dra."

"What's that,"

"He had heard that Castle Brass has reappeared, that

Hawkmoon and the rest took a town to the north of the

Kamarg and destroyed every man of ours occupying it.

It's a rumour and hard to believe. Where could Hawk-

moon have raised an army at such short notice?"

"Such rumours are common in times of war," Melia-

dus mused, "but it is possible. You believe Hawkmoon a

larger threat than Huon thought?"

"It's a guessbut I feel it's an informed one. I'm mo-

tivated by other considerations, Meliadus. I think that

the sooner we end this fight the better, for if Hawkmoon

has an armyrecruited, perhaps, in Amarehkthen the

sooner we should clear it up. I'm with you, Meliadus. I

can put half a million Hounds at your disposal within

the next day."

"Have you enough now to take the palace with those

that I command?"

"Possibly, with artillery cover."

"That you shall have."

Meliadus pumped Promp's hand. "Oh, Baron Adaz, I

believe we shall have victory by the morrow!"

"But how many of us will be alive to see it, I wonder,"

Promp said. "To take the palace will cost a few thousand

livesperhaps even a few hundred thousand."

"It will be worth it, Baron. Believe me.

Meliadus's spirits were rising at the prospect of victory

over Huon, but mainly he gloated that he might soon

have Hawkmoon in his power againparticularly if Ka-

lan could really find a way of re-activating the Black

Jewel as he had promised he would.

Chapter Seven

The Battle for Huon's

Palace

MELIADUS WATCHED THEM mount the contraption on

the roof of his headquarters. They were high above the

streets and close to the palace where the fighting raged.

Promp had not yet brought up his Hounds but was wait-

ing to see what Kalan's machine would do before he

made an open attack on the palace gates. The huge

building seemed capable of withstanding any attackit

looked as if it could survive the end of the world. It

rose, tier upon magnificent tier, into the lowering sky.

Flanked by four vast towers glowing with a peculiar

golden light, encrusted with grotesque bas-reliefs depict-

ing Granbretan's ancient glory, shining with a million

clashing colours, protected by gigantic gates of steel

thirty foot thick, the palace appeared to look down con-

temptuously at the embattled factions.

Even Meliadus felt momentary doubt as he stared at

it, then returned his attention to Kalan's weapon. From

the mass of wires and tubes projected a great funnel,

like the bell of a monstrous trumpet and this was turned

toward the palace walls crowded with hosts of soldiers,

primarily of the Orders of the Mantis, the Pig and the

Fly. Outside the city the ranks of other Orders were

preparing to assault Meliadus's forces from the rear and

he knew the time element was crucial, that if he won a

victory at the palace gates others would come over to his

side.

"It is ready," Kalan told him.

"Then use it," Meliadus growled. "Use it on the

troops manning the walls."

Kalan nodded and his Serpents trained the weapon.

Kalan stepped forward and seized a great lever. He

turned his masked face to the lurid skies as if in prayer,

then he pulled the lever down.

The machine trembled. Steam rose from it. It rum-

bled and quivered and roared and from the trumpet

grew a gigantic, pulsing green bubble that gave off in-

tense heat. The thing broke loose from the muzzle of the

weapon and began to move slowly down towards the

walls.

Fascinated, Meliadus watched it drift, watched it

reach the wall and settle upon a score of warriors. With

satisfaction he heard their screams break off as they

writhed in the hot, green stuff and then vanished com-

pletely. The ball of green heat began to roll along the

wall, gobbling its human prey until suddenly it burst

and green liquid boiled down the sides of the wall in

viscous streamers.

"It has broken. It does not work!" Meliadus yelled in

rage.

"Patience, Meliadus," Kalan shouted. His men were

repositioning the weapon by a few degrees. "Watch!"

Again he pulled down the lever, again the machine

shook and hissed and slowly another gigantic green

bubble formed at its snout. The bubble drifted to the

wall, rolled over another group of men and rolled again.

This one rolled longer until there was hardly a warrior

left on the wall when it eventually burst.

"Now we send them over the wall," Kalan chuckled

and pulled the lever once more. This time he did not

wait. As one boiling green bubble left the muzzle, he

would bring another into being until at least a score of

the things had drifted over the walls and into the court-

yard beyond. He worked furiously, totally absorbed in

his work, as the machine shuddered and hissed and

threw off almost unbearable heat.

"That mixture will corrode anything!" Kalan yelled

excitedly. "Anything!" He paused for a moment to

point. "Look what it is doing to the walls!"

Sure enough the viscous stuff was eating its way into

the stone. Huge pieces of highly decorated rock fell into

the street below, forcing the attackers to back off. The

mixture ate through the stone as boiling oil might eat

through ice, leaving huge jagged gaps in the defences.

"But how will our men get through?" Meliadus com-

plained. "That stuff will not care what it eats!"

"Have no fear," Kalan chuckled. "The mixture only

has a potency of a few minutes." Again he pulled the

lever, sending another huge green bubble of heat over

the wall. As he did so, a whole section of the wall near

the gates collapsed completely and when the smoke from

the rubble cleared, Meliadus could see that there was

now a way through. He was elated.

A sudden whine now came from Kalan's machine and

Kalan began to fiddle with the improved controls-

leaping about from part to part giving hasty directions

to his men.

Taragorm emerged on the roof and saluted Meliadus.

"I underestimated Kalan, I see." He moved towards the

Serpent scientist. "Congratulations, Kalan."

Kalan was waving his arms and screaming with

pleasure. "You see, Taragorm! You see! Herewhy don't

you try it. You merely depress this lever."

Taragorm gripped the lever in both hands, his clock

mask turning to look at the wall through which it was

now possible to see Huon's troops retreating into the

palace itself, pursued by the rolling spheres of death.

But then suddenly from the palace a flame cannon

roared. Huon's men had at last succeeded in positioning

their artillery within the palace itself. Several bolts of

fire shot over their heads and others splashed harmlessly

on the walls below. Kalan chuckled in triumph. "Those

things are useless against my weapon. Aim it at them.

Taragorm. Send a bubblethere!" and his finger stabbed

towards the windows where the guns were positioned.

Taragorm seemed as absorbed in the machine as Ka-

lan and it amused Meliadus to watch the two scientists

playing like schoolboys with a new toy. He felt in a

tolerant mood now. It was obvious Kalan's weapon was

turning the battle in his favour. It was time to join Adaz

Promp and lead in the troops.

He descended the steps that took him to the interior

of the tower and called for his litter. Once in it, he

leaned back comfortably, feeling already a certain sweet

triumph.

Then overhead he heard a mighty explosion that

shook the whole tower. He leapt from his litter and be-

gan to run back the way he had come. As he neared the

roof he was driven back by an intense heat and saw Ka-

lan, his mask twisted and buckled, staggering through

the steam towards him. "Get back!" Kalan screamed.

"The machine exploded. I was near the entrance or I

should have been killed. It's spilling my mixture all over

the tower. Get away or we'll all be eaten by the stuff."

"Taragorm!" Meliadus said. "What of Taragorm?"

"There can be nothing left of him," Kalan said.

"Quicklywe'll have to leave the tower as fast as we can.

Hurry, Meliadus!"

"Taragorm dead? And so soon after he had served my

purpose?" Meliadus followed Kalan down the ramps. "I

had known he would give me trouble after Huon was

defeated. I had wondered how to cope with him. But

now my problem is solved! My poor brother!"

Meliadus roared with laughter as he ran.

Chapter Eight

Flana Observes The Battle

FROM THE SAFETY of her own tower, Flana Mikose-

vaar watched the soldiers pour through the breached

wall of the palace as the tower which had lately been

Meliadus's headquarters toppled, tilted and fell with a

crash upon the lower sections of the city.

For a moment she had thought Meliadus destroyed

when the tower fell, but now she could see his banner

leading the warriors into battle. She also saw the banner

of Adaz Promp beside it and knew that Wolf and Hound,

traditional rivals, attacked King Huon together.

She sighed. The noise of the battle had intensified

and she could find no escape from it. The flame-cannon

vainly attempted to shorten range, to fire down into the

courtyard at the warriors as they rushed towards the

great gates of the palace in which the green bubbles had

eaten gaping holes. But the artillery was useless. It had

been positioned anticipating a long siege and now it

could not be moved down in time. A few flame lances

fired from the broken gates, but no large artillery.

The sound of the battle seemed to fade, as did the

sight of it, as Flana thought again of D'Averc and won-

dered if he would come. Adaz Promp's news had raised

her hopes, for if Hawkmoon were alive then D'Averc

was likely to be, also.

But would she ever see D'Averc Would he die in

some skirmish, vainly attempting to resist the might of

Granbretan? Even if he did not die at once he was des-

tined to live the life of a hunted bandit, for none could

ever hope to do battle with the Dark Empire and

succeed. She supposed that Hawkmoon, D'Averc and the

rest would die on some distant battlefield. They might

reach the coast before they were destroyed, but they

could not possibly come close to her, for the sea sep-

arated them and the Silver Bridge Across the Sea would

not be open to the Kamargian guerillas.

Flana considered taking her own life, but it did not

seem worth it at present. When all hope was gone, then

she would kill herself, but not before. And if she were

Queen, she would have some power. There was a slight

chance that Meliadus would spare D'Averc, for D'Averc

in some ways was the least of Meliadus's hates, though

the Frenchman was considered a traitor.

She heard a great shout go up and looked again

towards the palace.

Meliadus and Adaz Promp were riding into Castle

Huon. Victory was clearly in sight.

Chapter Nine

The Slaying of King Hum

BARON MELIADUS RODE his black charger full tilt

through the echoing corridors of King Huon's palace.

He had been here many times before and always in hu-

mility or apparent humility. Now his snarling wolf visor

was proud and a battle-cry roared from Meliadus's

throat as he drove his way through the Mantis Guards

whom once he had been forced to fear. He struck about

him with the great black broadsword he had wielded so

Well in Huon's service. He made his horse rear and its

hooves, which had trampled the ground of a score of

conquered lands, struck down on insect helms and made

long necks snap.

Meliadus laughed. Meliadus roared. Meliadus gal-

loped for the Throne Room where the remnants of the

defenders were gathering. He saw them at the far end of

the corridor attempting to bring up a flame cannon.

With a dozen mounted Wolves behind him he did not

pause but struck directly at the cannon before its sur-

prised operators could move. Six heads flew from their

necks in as many seconds and all the artillerymen were

dead. Flame lance beams shrieked around the black wolf

helm, but Meliadus ignored them. The eyes of his horse

were red with battle-madness and it plunged forward at

the foe.

Meliadus pressed back the Mantis Guards, hacking

them down. They died convinced that he had supernat-

ural powers.

But it was wild energy, the elation of war, driving Me-

liadus of Kroiden through the massive gates of the

Throne Room to find the few remaining guards in con-

fusion. All possible men had been used to defend the

gates. Now as the Mantis warriors advanced cautiously,

spears outraised, Meliadus shouted his laughter at them

and rode through them before they could move, gal-

loping towards the Throne Globe where earlier he had

crawled.

The black globe shimmered and gradually the

wizened shape of the immortal King Emperor became

visible. The little foetus shape wriggled like a mal-

formed fish, dashing back and forth across the confining

bowl that was its life. It was undefended. It was helpless.

It had never believed that it would need to protect itself

against such treachery. Even it, in all its two thousand

years of wisdom, had not been able to conceive that a

Granbretanian noble would turn against his hereditary

ruler.

"Meliadus . . ." There was fear in the golden voice.

"Meliadusyou are insane. Listenit is your King Em-

peror speaking to you. I order you to leave this place, to

withdraw your troops, to swear your loyalty to me. Meli-

adus!"

The black eyes, once so sardonic, were now full of ani-

mal fear. The prehensile tongue flickered like that of a

snake, the enfeebled, useless hands and feet flapped.

"Meliadus!"

Shaking with triumphant laughter Meliadus drew

back his great broadsword and struck at the Throne

Globe. He felt a shock run the length of his body as the

blade crashed into the globe. There was a white ex-

plosion, a wailing cry, a sound of shards falling to the

floor and the splattering of fluid against Meliadus's

body.

He blinked his eyes, expecting to look down upon the

twisted, tiny frame of his slain King Emperor. He says

nothing but deep blackness.

His laughter changed to a scream of terror.

"By Huon's Teeth! I AM BLIND!"

Chapter Ten

The Heroes Ride Out

"THE FORT BURNS well," said Oladahn, turning back

in his saddle to look for the last time upon the garrison.

It had contained a force of Rat infantry but now not

one lived save the commander who would take his time

in dying for the citizens of the town had crucified him

on the scaffold where he had crucified so many of their

husbands, wives and children.

Six mirror helms now looked forward to the horizon

as Hawkmoon, Yisselda, Count Brass, D'Averc, Oladahn

and Bowgentle rode away from the town at the head of

five hundred Kamargian name lancers.

Their first encounter since leaving Kamarg had been

a complete victory. With surprise on their side they had

wiped out the skeleton garrison in less than half an

hour.

Feeling little elation, but with no sense of exhaustion,

Hawkmoon led his comrades on towards the next town

where they had heard they might find more Granbre-

tanians to kill.

But then he reined his horse as he saw a rider gal-

loping towards them and realised that it was Orland

Fank, his battle-axe bouncing on his brawny back.

"Greetings, friends! I have some news for youan ex-

planation. The beasts have fallen upon each other.

There is civil war in Granbretan. Londra itself is the

main battleground with Baron Meliadus in arms against

King Huon. Thousands have been slain so far."

"So that is why there are so few here," Hawkmoon

said, removing his mirror helm and wiping his forehead

with a silken kerchief. He had worn armour rarely in

the past months and he had not yet got used to the dis-

comfort. "They have all been recalled to defend King

Huon."

"Or to fight with Meliadus. It is to our advantage,

don't you think?"

"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."

"Luckor fateor destiny," Fank said lightly, "call it

what you will."

"Then had we best not ride swiftly to the sea?" Yis-

selda said.

"Aye," Hawkmoon said. "Swiftlyto take advantage of

their confusion."

"A sensible idea," Fank nodded. "And being a sensi-

ble man myself, I believe I will ride with you."

"You are most welcome, Master Fank."

Chapter Eleven

News of Several Sorts

MELIADUS LAY GASPING on the stretcher as Kalan

bent over him probing at his blind eyes with his instru-

ments. 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 plansmy plansare

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 himbut Farnu virtu-

ally 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. "AyeI

suppose so..."

Now he sat upright on the stretcher. "But I must jus-

tify the deaths of those who fell, Kalan. I did it for

Granbretanto rid the world of Hawkmoon and the

scum from Castle Brass. I must succeed or, Kalan, I can-

not 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,

Kalanat 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 en-

joy 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, care-

less 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.

Chapter Twelve

The New Queen

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. Un-

der Queen Flana you will be greatgreater than you

have dreamed. Under Queen Flana a new age will

blooman age of laughing madness and roaring plea-

sure, 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 rewardcommand

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. Ka-

lan, how do you manage with the machine?"

"It is almost ready, my lord."

"Good. Now we must set off for Deau-Vere to wel-

come 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 gatesthe

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 strifeall 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 thou-

sand, she knew that the Dark Empire was doomed.

She prayed that something better would emerge to

take its place.

Chapter Thirteen

''What Do You See?"

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 fleenot Hawk-

moonnot now. Can you see them yet?"

"I see a flash like silverlike a heliograph signal-

onetwothree, fourfivesix. 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. II 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 saidthat 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 amI am uncertain, my lordwhat with the flash-

ing of those helmets and somethere is a peculiar red

light spreading over the scenethere seem to be more

men in Hawkmoon's army than we at first thought. In-

fantryand some cavalry. By Huon's TeethI beg your

pardon, my lordby Flana's Breasts! They are the

strangest warriors I have ever seen!"

"What do they look like?"

"Barbaricprimitiveand yet so fierce! They are driv-

ing 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, pilotto 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 men-

tioned, he could see the slaughtered legions he had

known would destroy Hawkmoon's force, he saw the re-

mains 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 sol-

diers. 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. "Hurrywe must re-

turn 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.

Chapter Fourteen

The Power Returns

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 re-

treating 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 dur-

ing 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 hor-

ror. 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 Jewelit 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.

"Oladahn, is he dead?" Yisselda cried in panic.

The little man shook his head. "Nohe lives. But for

how long, I cannot tell. Bowgentle! Sir Bowgentle!

Come quickly."

Bowgentle hurried up and took Hawkmoon in his

arms. This was not the first time he had seen the Duke

of Koln thus. He shook his head. "I can try to work a

temporary remedy, but I have not the materials that I

had at Castle Brass."

In panic, Yisselda and Oladahn, and later Count

Brass and D'Averc watched Bowgentle work. And at last

Hawkmoon stirred, opening his eyes.

"The jewel," he said. "I dreamt it was eating my brain

again..."

"So it will if we cannot find a way of blocking it

soon," murmured Bowgentle. "The power has gone for

the moment, but we do not know when it will return

again and in what force."

Hawkmoon hauled himself to his feet. He was pale

and could hardly stand. "We must press on, thento

Londra while there is time. If there is time."

"Aye, if there is time."

Chapter Fifteen

The Gates of Londra

THE TROOPS WERE massed outside the gates of Lon-

dra as the six riders mounted the crest of the hill at the

head of their cavalry.

Hawkmoon, ill with pain, fingered the Red Amulet.

This alone was keeping him alive, helping him fight the

power of the Black Jewel. Somewhere in the city Kalan

was operating the machine that fed life to the jewel. To

reach Kalan he had to take the city, had to beat the

multitude of warriors that, with Meliadus at their had,

now awaited them.

Hawkmoon did not hesitate. He knew he could not

hesitate, for every second of his life was precious. He

drew the rosy Sword of the Dawn and gave the order to

charge.

Gradually the Kamargian cavalry topped the hill and

began to thunder down on a force many times their

number.

Flame lances spat from the Granbretanian ranks and

were answered by the fire of the Kamargians. Hawkmoon

judged the moment right and flung his swordarm sky-

ward. "The Legion of the Dawn! I summon the Legion

of the Dawn!" and then he groaned as the pain filled

his skull and he felt the heat of the jewel in his forehead.

Yisselda beside him had time to cry out, "Are you all

right, my love?" but he could not give an answer.

And then they were in the thick of the battle.

Hawkmoon's eyes were so glazed with pain he could

hardly see the enemy, could not tell at first if the Legion

of the Dawn had materialised. But there they were now,

their rosy auras lighting the sky. He felt the power of

the Red Amulet fill him as it fought the power of the

Black Jewel and he felt his strength gradually returning.

But how long would it last?

Now he was in the middle of a mass of fear-crazed

horses, striking about him at Vulture helmeted warriors

who bore long-handled maces with heads like the

stretched claws of hunting birds. He blocked a blow and

struck back, his great sword cutting through the war-

rior's armour and into his chest. He swung in the saddle

to take another foe in the neck, ducked a whistling mace

and stabbed its owner in the groin.

The fight was noisy and the fighting hot and hysteri-

cal. The air stank of fear and Hawkmoon had soon de-

cided that this was the worst battle he had ever fought

for, in their shock at the appearance of the Legion of

the Dawn, the Dark Empire warriors had lost their

nerve and were fighting wildly, had broken their ranks,

had abandoned their commanders.

Hawkmoon knew that it was to be a messy fight and

one in which there would be few left alive at the end.

He began to suspect that he would not see the finish, for

the pain in his skull was growing stronger again.

Oladahn died unseen by his comrades, lonely and

without dignity, hacked to pieces by a dozen war axes

wielded by Pig infantry.

But Count Brass died in this manner:

He encountered three barons. Adaz Promp, Mygel

Hoist and Saka Gerden (the latter of the Order of the

Bull). They recognised him not by his helm, which was

plain save for its crest, but by his body and his armour

of brass. And they rode at him in a packHound, Goat

and Bullwith their swords raised to chop him down.

But Count Brass, looking up from the body of his last

opponent (who had slain his steed and thus left the

Count on foot), saw the three barons riding down on

him and took his broadsword in both hands and, as

their horses reached him he swung the sword, cutting

the legs of the horses from under them so that each baron

was flung forward over his horse's head and landed in

the churned mud of the battlefield, whereupon Count

Brass dispatched Adaz Promo in a very undignified posi-

tion in the rear, lopped off the head of Mygel Hoist

(whom he had almost slain once before) as the Goat

Baron begged to be spared, and by this time had only

the Bull, Saka Gerden, to deal with. Baron Saka had

time to get to his feet and assume a decent fighting

stance though he shook his head several times as Count

Brass's mirror mask blinded him. Upon seeing this,

Count Brass ripped off his silver helm and threw it to

one side, displaying his bristling red hair and moustache

in all its pride and battle-anger. "I took two in an un-

fair manner," growled the Count, "so it is only fair to

give you the chance to slay me.".

Saka Gerden charged like the fierce Bull of his Order

and Count Brass sidestepped him, bringing his sword

around in a swing to split Saka Gerden's helm down the

middle and split Saka Gerden's skull, also. As the Baron

fell, the Count smiled and a spear was driven completely

through his neck by a Goat rider. Even then Count

Brass turned, wrenching the spear from his assailant's

grasp, and flung his broadsword to catch the Goat in the

throat, thus giving as good as he had received. That was

how Count Brass died.

Orland Fank saw it happen. He had left the party be-

fore the battle but had joined them later and had done

considerable damage with his battle-axe. He saw how

Count Brass died. It was at about the moment when the

Dark Empire forces, lacking three of their leaders, began

to regroup closer to the gates and were only stopped

from retreating behind the gates by Baron Meliadus

who was most fearsome in his black armour, his black

Wolf helm and his great black broadsword.

But then even Baron Meliadus was pressed back as

Hawkmoon, Yisselda, D'Averc, Bowgentle and Orland

Fank led their few surviving Kamargians and the strange,

dirge-calling Legion of the Dawn, against the beasts of

Granbretan.

There was no time to close the gates before the heroes

of the Kamarg had entered the city and Baron Meliadus

realised he had always estimated Hawkmoon's power cor-

rectly and only now, over-confident, had under-estimated

it. There was nothing for it but to bring up as many

reinforcements as possible and get Kalan to increase the

power of the Black Jewel.

Then his heart lifted. He saw Hawkmoon sway in his

saddle, his hands going to the silver helm, saw the

strange man in the bonnet and the chequered breeks,

grasp him and then reach behind him for the roll of

cloth attached to his saddle.

Fank murmured to Hawkmoon. "Try to listen, man,

will you? It is time to use the Runestaff. Time to bring

out our standard. Do it now, Hawkmoon, or you'll live

less than a minute morel"

Hawkmoon felt the power gnawing at his brain like a

rat in a cage, but he grasped the Runestaff as Fank

handed it to him, raised it high in his left hand and saw

the waves and rays begin to fill the air around him.

Fank yelled: "The Runestaff I The Runestaff! We fight

for the Runestaff!" And Fank laughed and laughed as

the Granbretanians fell back in fear, so demoralised now

in spite of their numbers, that Hawkmoon already felt

the victor.

But Baron Meliadus was not prepared to be the con-

quered. He screamed at his men. "That is nothing! It is

only an object! It cannot harm you! You foolstake

them."

Then the heroes of the Kamarg rode forward with

Hawkmoon swaying in his saddle, managing to bear the

Runestaff aloft, through the gates of Londra and into

the city where still there were a million men to stop

them.

Now, as if in a dream, Hawkmoon led his supernatu-

ral legion against the enemy, the Sword of the Dawn in

one hand and the Runestaff in the other, guiding his

horse with his knees.

The press was so solid, as Pig and Goat infantry tried

to tear them from their saddles, they could hardly move

at all. Hawkmoon saw one of the mirror-helmed figures

fighting valiantly as a dozen beasts dragged it from its

horse and he feared it was Yisselda. Energy flooded into

him and he turned, trying to reach his comrade, but an-

other mirror-helmed horseman was already there, hack-

ing about it, and he realised it had not been Yisselda in

peril but Bowgentle and that Yisselda had come to his

rescue.

To no avail. Bowgentle disappeared and the weapons

of the beasts, of the Coats and the Pigs and the Hounds,

rose and fell above his body until eventually one held

aloft a bloodied silver helmheld it aloft only for a mo-

ment, for then Yisselda's slim sword had sliced off the

wrist so that blood fountained from the arm.

Another searing charge of pain. Kalan was increasing

the power. Hawkmoon gasped and his vision dimmed,

but he managed to protect himself from the weapons

whistling around him, managed to hold up the Runestaff

still.

As his vision cleared for the moment, he saw that

D'Averc was leaping his horse through the Granbretan-

ians, his sword whirling in all directions as he cut a road

through them. Then Hawkmoon realised where D'Averc

was going. To the palaceto reach the woman he loved,

Queen Flana.

And this is how D'Averc died:

D'Averc managed somehow to reach the palace which

was still in the half-ruined condition it had been in after

Meliadus had taken it, so he was able to ride through

the breach in the wall and dismount at the outer steps

to run at the guards on the door. They had flame lances.

He had only a sword. He flung himself flat as the flames

shrieked past his head, rolled over to take cover in a

ditch cut by the green fluid from one of Kalan's bubbles

and found a flame lance there which he poked over the

edge and used to cut down all the guards before they

could know what had happened.

D'Averc sprang up. He began to run through the tall

corridors, his boots echoing loudly. He ran until at last

he came to the doors of the Throne Room where a score

of guards saw him and turned their weapons upon him,

but he used his own flame lance again and cut them

down, being singed only slightly in his right shoulder.

He pushed open the doors a crack and looked into the

Throne Room. A mile away was the dais, but he could

not see if Flana sat on it. Otherwise the hall was empty.

D'Averc began to run towards the distant throne.

And he shouted her name as he ran. "Flana! Flana!"

Flana had been day-dreaming on her throne and

looked up to see the tiny figure advancing. She heard

her name taken up by a thousand echoes in the huge

hall. "Flana! Flana! Flana!"

And she recognised the voice but thought that she

had probably not yet woken up.

The figure came closer and it had a helmet that shone

like polished silver, like a mirror, But the bodywas the

body not recognisable?

"Huillam?" she murmured uncertainly. "Huillam

D'Averc."

"Flana!" The figure wrenched off its mask and flung

it from him so that it clattered across the great marble

floor. "Flana!"

"Huillam!" She stood up and began to descend the

steps towards him.

He opened his arms, smiling with joy.

But they never touched in life again, for a flame beam

descended like a stroke of lightning from a gallery high

above and burned off his face so that he screamed in ag-

ony and fell to his knees; burned into his back so that

he slumped forward and died at her feet while she

sobbed great, strangled sobs that shook her body.

And a voice of a guard from the gallery called in

great self-approval. "You are safe now, madam."

Chapter Sixteen

The Final Fight

THE DARK EMPIRE forces were still swarming from

every rathole in their maze city and Hawkmoon noted

with despair that the Legion of the Dawn was getting

thinner. Now when a warrior was slain another did not

always take his place. Around him the air was full of the

bitter-sweet scent of the Runestaff and strange patterns

in the air.

Then, as Hawkmoon saw Meliadus, a wave of pain

gnawed again at his brain and he fell from his horse.

Meliadus dismounted from his black charger and

walked slowly towards Hawkmoon. The Runestaff had

fallen from his hand and the Sword of the Dawn was

only loosely held.

Hawkmoon stirred, groaning. Around him the battle

still raged, but it did not seem to be anything to do with

him. He felt the energy leaving him, felt the pain in-

creasing, opened his eyes and saw Meliadus ap-

proaching, the helm snarling as if in triumph. Hawk-

moon's throat was dry and he tried to move, tried to

reach the Runestaff which lay on the cobbles of the

street.

Meliadus said softly. "Ah, Hawkmoon, at last And

you are in pain, I see. You are weak, I see. My only dis-

appointment is that you will not live to witness your

ultimate defeat and Yisselda in my power." Meliadus

spoke almost with pity, with concern. "Can you not rise,

Hawkmoon? Is the jewel eating your brain behind that

silver mask of yours? Shall I let it finish you, or shall I

give myself the pleasure? Can you answer, Hawkmoon?

Would you care to beg for mercy?"

Hawkmoon grabbed convulsively for the Runestaff.

His hand went around it and tightened. Almost immedi-

ately power seemed to flow into himnot much, but

enough to enable him to stagger to his feet and stand

there swaying His body was bowed. His breathing came

in great panting sobs. He stared blearily at Meliadus as

the Baron lifted his sword to finish him.

Hawkmoon tried to raise his own sword, but failed.

Meliadus hesitated. "So you cannot fight. I grieve for

you, Hawkmoon." He reached forward. "Give me that

little staff, Hawkmoon. It was upon it I swore my oath

of vengeance upon Castle Brass. And my vengeance is al-

most complete now. Let me hold it, Hawkmoon."

Hawkmoon took two staggering paces backward, shak-

ing his head, unable to speak for the weakness in his

body.

"Hawkmoongive it to me."

"Youshallnothaveit . . ." croaked the Duke of

Koln.

"Then I shall have to kill you first." Meliadus raised

his battle blade. The Runestaff suddenly pulsed with

brighter light and Meliadus stared full into his own

Wolf-helmed eyes as Hawkmoon's mask reflected his

image back. It startled Meliadus. He hesitated.

And Hawkmoon, drawing further energy from the

Runestaff, raised his sword knowing he had only enough

strength for one blow and that blow must slay the man

who stood transfixed before him, mesmerised by his own

image.

And Hawkmoon brought up the Sword of the Dawn

and he brought it down again and Meliadus gave a

great, agonised cry as the blade bit through his shoulder

bone and down into his heart. And his last words, which

came with his last painful breath, were:

"Curse the Runestaff I It has brought ruin upon Gran-

bretan!"

And Hawkmoon collapsed to the ground knowing

that now he would die: That Yisselda would die and

that Orland Fank would die; for there were few Kamarg

warriors left and the Dark Empire soldiers were many.

Chapter Seventeen

The Sad Queen

HAWKMOON AWOKE IN alarm, staring full into the

Serpent mask of Baron Kalan of Vitall. He sprang up-

right on the bench, groping for a weapon.

Kalan shrugged, turning to the group of people who

stood in the shadows. "I told you I could do it. His

brain is restored, his energy is restored, his whole foolish

personality is restored and now, Queen Flana, I would

beg your permission to continue with what I was doing

when you interrupted me."

Hawkmoon recognised the heron mask. It nodded

once and Kalan shuffled into the next room and care-

fully closed the door. The figures stepped forward and

Hawkmoon saw with joy that one of them was Yis-

selda. He hugged her in his arms and kissed her soft

cheek.

"Oh, I feared that Kalan would trick us," she said. "It

was Queen Flana who found you, after she had ordered

her troops to cease fighting. We were the last alive, Or-

land Fank and I, and we thought you dead. But Kalan

brought you back to life, removed the jewel from your

skull and dismantled the machine so that none may ever

fear the power of the Black Jewel again."

"And what business did you interrupt him in, Queen

Flana?" Hawkmoon asked. "Why was he so disgruntled?"

"He was about to kill himself," Flana said flatly. "I

threatened to keep him alive forever if he did not do

what he did."

"D'Averc?" Hawkmoon said, puzzled. "Where is

D'Averc?"

"Dead," said the sad queen in the same flat voice.

"Slain in the Throne Room by an over-zealous guard."

Hawkmoon's joy turned to gloom. "And are they all

dead, thenCount Brass, Oladahn, Bowgentle?"

"Aye," said Orland Fank, "but they died for a great

cause and they freed millions from slavery. Until this

day Europe has known only strife. Now perhaps people

will seek peace, for they can see where strife leads."

"Count Brass wished for peace in Europe more than

anything," Hawkmoon said. "But I wish he could have

lived to see it."

"Perhaps his grandson will see it," Yisselda said.

"You need fear nothing from Granbretan as long as I

am queen," Flana told them, "I intend to leave Londra

dismantled and meanwhile make my own town of Kan-

bery the capital. The wealth of Londrawhich is almost

certainly greater than all the wealth of the rest of the

worldshall be used in rebuilding the towns of Europe,

in restocking the farms, of making good, as best we can,

the evil we have done." She drew off her mask, revealing

that great, sad, beautiful head. "And, also, I shall abol-

ish the wearing of masks."

Orland Fank seemed sceptical, but he said nothing.

"The power of Granbretan is broken for ever," he said,

"and the Runestaffs work is done." He patted the bun-

dle under his arm. "I'm taking the Sword of the Dawn,

the Red Amulet and the Runestaff itself into safe-keep-

ing, but if there should ever come a time, friend Hawk-

moon, when you have a mutual need to rejoin each other,

then you shall rejoin each other, I promise."

"I hope the time does not come, Orland Fank."

Fank sighed. "The world does not change, Dorian

Hawkmoon. There is merely the occasional shift in equi-

librium and if that shift goes too far in one direction,

then the Runestaff attempts to right it. Perhaps the days

of extremes are over for a century or two? I do not

know."

Hawkmoon laughed. "But you shouldyou are omni-

scient."

Fank smiled. "Not I, my friend, but that which I

servethe Runestaff."

"Your sonJehemiah Cohnahlias..."

"Ah, there's the mystery even the Runestaff will not

answer." Fank rubbed his long nose and looked at them,

over it. "Well, I'll say farewell, what's left of you. You

fought well and you fought for justice."

"Justice?" Hawkmoon called after him as he left the

room. "Is there such a thing?"

"It can be manufactured in small quantities," Fank

told him. "But we have to work hard, fight well and use

great wisdom to produce just a tiny amount."

"Aye," Hawkmoon nodded. "Perhaps you are right."

Fank laughed. "I know I am right." And then he was

gone. And his voice came back to Hawkmoon with just

one last observation. "Justice is not The Law, it is not

Order, as human beings normally speak of it; it is Equi-

librium, the Correction of the Balance. Remember that,

Sir Champion Eternal!"

Hawkmoon put his arm around Yisselda's shoulders.

"Aye, I will," he murmured. "And now we return to

Castle Brass, to make the springs flow again, to bring

back the reeds and the lagoons, to bring back the bulls

and the horses and the flamingoes. To make it our Ka-

marg once more."

"And the power of the Dark Empire will never

threaten it again." Queen Flana smiled.

Hawkmoon nodded. "I am sure of that. But if some

other evil should come to Castle Brass, I shall be ready

for it, no matter how powerful it shall be, or in what

form it will come. The world is still wild. The justice

Fank spoke of has hardly been manufactured at all. We

must try to see that we can make a little more. Farewell,

Flana."

Flana watched them leave and she was weeping.

THE END

of the High History of the

Runestaff