Hawkmoon: The Jewel in the Skull

by Michael Moorcock

  "Prove that, and perhaps I'll help you;" Malagigi said. "Drive the invaders from the city and then return."

  "By then it will be too late. The Jewel has its life. At any moment—"

  "Prove it," said Malagigi, and sank back on the couch.

  Hawkmoon half-raised his sword. In his wild rage and desperation he was ready to strike the old man down. But then he turned and ran back down the stairs and out into the courtyard, unbarring the gate and leaping into the saddle of his horse again.

  At length he found Oladahn. "How does the battle go?" he yelled over the heads of fighting swordsmen.

  "Not too well, I think. Meliadus and Nahak have regrouped and hold a good half of the city. Their main force is in the central square, where the Palace stands. Queen Frawbra and your armored friend are already leading an attack there, but I fear it's hopeless."

  "Let's see for ourselves," Hawkmoon said, yanking at his mount's bridle and forcing his way through the embattled warriors, striking here and there at friend or foe, depending on which stood in his path.

  Oladahn followed, and they came eventually into the great central square, to find the armies drawn up facing each other.

  Horsed at the head of their men were Meliadus and the rather foolish-faced Nahak, who was plainly a tool of the Dark Empire Baron. Opposite them were Queen Frawbra in her battered war chariot and the Warrior in Jet and Gold.

  As Hawkmoon and Oladahn entered the square, they heard Meliadus call through the flickering torchlight that illumi-nated the armies, "Where is that treacherous coward Hawkmoon? Skulking in hiding, perhaps?"

  Hawkmoon broke through the line of warriors, noticing that their ranks were thin. "Here I am, Meliadus. I have come to destroy you!"

  Meliadus laughed. "Destroy me? Know you not that you live only by my whim? Do you feel the Black Jewel, Hawkmoon, ready to nibble at your mind?"

  Involuntarily, Hawkmoon put his hand to his throbbing forehead, feeling the evil warmth of the Black Jewel, knowing that Meliadus spoke the truth. "Then why do you wait?" he said grimly.

  "Because I am ready to offer you a bargain. Tell these fools their cause is hopeless. Tell them to throw down their arms - and I will spare you the worst."

  Now Hawkmoon fully realized that he did, indeed, retain his mind only at the pleasure of his enemies. Meliadus had restrained his desire for immediate vengeance in the hope of forcing Hawkmoon to save Granbretan further losses.

  Hawkmoon paused, unable to answer, trying to debate the issues. There was silence from his own ranks as they waited tensely to hear his decision. He knew that the whole fate of Hamadan might now depend on him. As he sat there, his mind in confusion, Oladahn nudged his arm and murmured,

  "Lord Dorian, take this." Hawkmoon glanced down at the thing the mountain man offered him. It was a helmet. At first he did not recognize it. Then he saw that it was the helm that had been wrenched from the skull of Agonosvos. He remembered the disgusting head that had once reposed in it and shuddered.

  "Why? The thing is befouled."

  "My father was a sorcerer," Oladahn reminded him. "He taught me secrets. This helm has certain properties. There are circuits built into it which will protect you for a short time from the full force of the Black Jewel's power. Put it on, my lord, I beg you."

  "How can I be sure . . . ?"

  "Put it on - and find out."

  Gingerly Hawkmoon removed his own helmet and donned the sorcerer's. It was a tight fit and he felt stifled by it, but he realized that the Jewel no longer pulsed so fast. He smiled, and a wild feeling of elation filled him. He drew his sword.

  "This is my answer, Baron Meliadus!" he yelled, and charged full at the startled Lord of Granbretan.

  Meliadus cursed and struggled to get his own sword from its scabbard. He had scarcely done so before Hawkmoon's sword had knocked his wolf helm clean from his head and his scowling, bewildered face was revealed. Behind Hawkmoon came the cheering soldiers of Hamadan, led by Oladahn, Queen Frawbra, and the Warrior in Jet and Gold. They clashed with the enemy, forcing them back to the gates of the Palace.

  From the corner of his eye, Hawkmoon saw Queen Frawbra lean from her chariot and encircle her brother's throat with her arm, dragging him from his saddle. Her hand rose and fell twice, bearing a bloody dagger, and Nahak's corpse dropped to the ground, to be trampled by the horsemen who followed the Queen.

  Hawkmoon was still driven by wild despair, knowing that the helm of Agonosvos could not protect him for long. He swung his sword rapidly, striking blow after blow at Meliadus, who parried as swiftly. Meliadus's face was twisted in an expression resembling that of the wolf helmet he had lost, and a hatred burned from his eyes that matched Hawkmoon's own.

  Their swords clanged rhythmically in warlike harmony, each blow blocked, each blow returned, and it seemed that they would continue in this way until one dropped from weariness. But then a group of fighting warriors backed against Hawkmoon's horse and caused it to rear, throwing him backward so that he lost his footing in his stirrups, and Meliadus grinned and thrust at Hawkmoon's undefended chest. The blow lacked force, but it was enough to push Hawkmoon from his saddle. He fell to the ground below the hooves of Meliadus's horse.

  He rolled away as the Baron tried to trample him, dragged himself to his feet, and did his best to defend himself from the volley of blows rained down on him by the triumphant Granbretanian.

  Twice Meliadus's sword struck the helmet of Agonosvos, denting it badly. Hawkmoon felt the Jewel begin to pulse afresh. He shouted wordlessly and dashed in close.

  Astonished by this unexpected move, Meliadus was taken off-guard, and his attempt to block Hawkmoon's thrust was only half-successful. Hawkmoon's sword cut a great furrow along one side of Meliadus's unprotected head, and his whole face seemed to open up and gush blood, his mouth crooked with pain and paralysis. He tried to wipe the blood from his eyes, and Hawkmoon grasped bis sword arm and hauled him down to the ground. Meliadus wrenched himself free, stumbled backward, then rushed at Hawkmoon, his sword a blur of metal, striking Hawkmoon's blade with such force that both swords snapped.

  For a moment the panting antagonists stood still, glaring at one another; then each drew a long dirk from his belt, and they began to circle, poised to strike. Meliadus's handsome features were handsome no longer, and if he lived, would always bear the mark of Hawkmoon's blow. Blood still came plentifully from the wound, trickling down his breastplate.

  Hawkmoon, for his part, was wearying rapidly. The wound he had sustained the day before was beginning to trouble him, and his head was on fire with the pain the Jewel caused.

  He could hardly see for it, and twice he staggered, only to right himself as Meliadus feinted with his dagger.

  Then both men moved and were instantly locked together, grappling desperately to stab the single mortal blow that would end their feud.

  Meliadus struck at Hawkmoon's eye but misjudged his blow, and the dagger scraped down the side of the helmet.

  Hawkmoon's dagger sliced toward Meliadus's throat, but but the Baron's hand came up, caught Hawkmoon's wrist, and turned it.

  The dance of death went on as they wrestled, chest to chest, to deal the finishing cut. Their breath groaned from their throats, their bodies ached with weariness, but fierce hatred glared from both pairs of eyes still and would glare on until one or both became glazed in death.

  Around them the battle continued, with Queen Frawbra's forces driving the enemy farther and farther back. Now none fought near the two men and only corpses surrounded them.

  Dawn was beginning to touch the sky.

  Meliadus's arm trembled as Hawkmoon tried to force it back and make the hand release his wrist. His own free hand was weakening on Meliadus's forearm, for this was his wounded side. Despairingly, Hawkmoon brought his armored knee up into Meliadus's armored groin and shoved. The Baron staggered. His foot caught in the harness of one of the fallen, and he fell. Trying to struggle up, he became worse entangled, and his eyes filled with fear as
Hawkmoon slowly advanced, himself only barely able to remain upright.

  Hawkmoon raised his dagger. Now his head was swimming. He flung himself down at the Baron, then felt a great weakness seize him, and the dagger dropped from his hand.

  Blindly, he groped for the weapon, but consciousness was going. He gasped with anger, but even that emotion was ebbing. Fatalistically he knew that Meliadus would now be able to kill him at his very moment of triumph.

  Chapter Six - SERVANT OF THE RUNESTAFF

  HAWKMOON PEERED through the eyeslits of the helmet, blinking in the bright light. His head still burned, but the anger and desperation seemed to have left him. He turned his neck and saw Oladahn and the Warrior in Jet and Gold staring down at him. Oladahn's face was concerned, but the warrior's face was still hidden by that enigmatic helm.

  "I am not . . . dead?" Hawkmoon said weakly.

  "It does not seem so," replied the warrior laconically. "Though perhaps you are."

  "Merely exhausted," Oladahn said hastily, darting a disapproving glance at the mysterious warrior. "The wound in your arm has been dressed and is likely to heal quickly."

  "Where am I?" Hawkmoon asked now. "A room. . . ."

  "A room in Queen Frawbra's palace. The city is hers again and the enemy slain, captured, or fled. We found your body sprawled across that of Baron Meliadus. We thought you both dead at first."

  "So Meliadus is dead!"

  "It is likely. When we returned to look for his corpse it had vanished. Doubtless it was borne away by some of his fleeing men."

  "Ah, dead at last," said Hawkmoon thankfully. Now that Meliadus had paid for his crimes, he felt suddenly at peace, in spite of the pain that still pulsed in his brain. Another thought came to him. "Malagigi. You must find him. Tell him . . ."

  "Malagigi is on his way. When he heard of your exploits he decided to call at the palace."

  "Will he help me?"

  "I do not know," Oladahn said, glancing again at the Warrior in Jet and Gold.

  A little later Queen Frawbra entered, and behind her was the wizen-faced sorcerer carrying an object covered by a cloth. It was about the size and shape of a man's head.

  "Lord Malagigi," Hawkmoon murmured, trying to rise from his bed.

  "You are the young man who has been pursuing me in recent days? I cannot see your face in that helmet." Malagigi spoke waspishly, and Hawkmoon began to despair again.

  "I am Dorian Hawkmoon. I proved my friendship to Hamadan. Meliadus and Nahak are destroyed, their forces gone."

  "Hm?" Malagigi frowned. "I have been told of this jewel thing in your head. I know about such creations and their properties. But whether it is possible to remove its power I cannot say. . . ."

  "I was told you were the only man who could do it," Hawkmoon said.

  "Could-yes. Can? I do not know. I am growing old. Physically, I am not sure if ..."

  The Warrior in Jet and Gold stepped forward and touched Malagigi upon the shoulder. "You know me, sorcerer?"

  Malagigi nodded. "Aye, I do."

  "And you know the Power I serve?"

  "Aye." Malagigi frowned, glancing from one to the other.

  "But what has that to do with this young man?"

  "He, too, serves that Power, though he knows it not."

  Malagigi's expression became resolute. "Then I will help him," he said firmly, "even if it means risking my own life."

  Again Hawkmoon raised himself on the bed. "What does all this mean? Whom do I serve? I was unaware . . ."

  Malagigi withdrew the cloth from the object he carried. It was a globe covered with little irregularities, each of which glowed a different color. The colors shifted constantly, making Hawkmoon blink rapidly.

  "First you must concentrate," Malagigi told him, holding the strange globe close to his head. "Stare into the device. Stare hard. Stare long. Stare, Dorian Hawkmoon, at all the colors. . . ."

  Hawkmoon now found that he was no longer blinking, found that he could not tear his gaze away from the rapidly changing colors in the globe. A peculiar feeling of weightless-ness overcame him. A great sensation of well-being. He began to smile, and then all became misty and it seemed he hung in a soft, warm mist, beyond space, beyond time. He was still absolutely conscious in one way, and yet he was unaware of the world around him.

  For a long time he remained in this state, knowing vaguely that his body, which no longer seemed much a part of him, was being moved from one place to another.

  The delicate colors of the mist changed sometimes, from a shade of rose-red to shades of sky-blue and buttercup-yellow, but that was all he saw, and he felt nothing at all. He felt at peace, as he had never felt before, save perhaps as a small child in his mother's arms.

  Then the pastel shades began to be shot through with veins of darker, grimmer colors, and the sense of peace was gradually lost as lightnings of black and blood-red zigzagged across his eyes. He felt a wrenching sensation, one of terrible agony, and he screamed aloud.

  Then he opened his eyes to stare in horror at the machine before him. It was identical with the one he had seen so long ago in the palace laboratories of King Huon.

  Was he back in Londra?

  The webs of black, gold, and silver murmured to him, but they did not caress him as they had done before; instead, they contracted, moving away from him, growing tighter and tighter together until they filled only a fraction of the space.

  Hawkmoon stared around him and saw Malagigi and beyond him the laboratory where, earlier, he had rescued the sorcerer from the Dark Empire's men.

  Malagigi looked exhausted, but there was an expression of great self-satisfaction on his old face.

  He stepped forward with a metal box, gathered up the machine of the Black Jewel, and tossed it into the box, closing the lid firmly and locking it.

  "The machine," Hawkmoon said thickly. "How did you get it?"

  "I made it," Malagigi smiled. "Made it, Duke Hawkmoon, aye! It took a week of intensive effort while you lay there, partly protected from the other machine - the one in Londra -

  by my spells. I thought for a while that I had lost the struggle, but this morning the machine was complete, save for one element. . . ."

  "What was that?"

  "Its life force. That was the crucial issue - whether I could time the spell aright. You see, I had to let the whole of the life of the Black Jewel come through and fill your mind, then hope that this machine would absorb it before it could begin to eat."

  Hawkmoon smiled in relief. "And it did!"

  "It did. You are now free from that fear, at any rate."

  "Human dangers I can accept and meet cheerfully," Hawkmoon said, lifting himself from the couch. "I am in your debt, Lord Malagigi. If I can do you any service . . ."

  "Nay - nothing," Malagigi said, almost with a smirk. "I am glad to have this machine here." He tapped the box. "Perhaps it will be of use to me sometime. Besides . . ." He frowned, staring thoughtfully at Hawkmoon.

  "What is it?"

  "Ah, nothing." Malagigi shrugged.

  Hawkmoon touched his forehead. The Black Jewel was still imbedded there, but it was cold. "You did not remove the Jewel?"

  "No, though it could be done if you desire. It offers you no danger. It would be a simple matter of surgery to cut it from your head."

  Hawkmoon was about to ask Malagigi how this could be arranged, when a thought came to him. "No," he said at length. "No, let it remain - a symbol of my hatred for the Dark Empire. I hope they will soon learn to fear that symbol."

  "You intend to carry on the fight against them, then?"

  "Aye - with redoubled effort now that you have freed me."

  "It is a force that should be countered," Malagigi said. He drew a deep breath. "Now I must sleep. I am very tired. You will find your friends awaiting you in the courtyard."

  Hawkmoon walked down the steps of the house into the bright, warm sunshine of the early day, and there was Oladahn, a smile splitting his furry face almost in two. Beside him
was the tall figure of the Warrior in Jet and Gold.

  "You are completely well?" asked the warrior.

  "Completely."

  "Good. Then I will leave you. Farewell, Dorian Hawkmoon."

  "I thank you for your help," Hawkmoon said as the warrior began to stride toward his great white battle charger. Then, as the warrior began to mount, a memory returned and he said,

  "Wait."

  "What is it?" The helmed head turned to regard him.

  "It was you who convinced Malagigi he should remove the power of the Black Jewel. You told him that I serve the Power that you serve. Yet I know of no Power that is my master."

  "You will know of it one day."

  "What is the Power you serve?"

  "I serve the Runestaff," said the Warrior in Jet and Gold, and he rattled the white horse's heavy bridge, urging his mount through the gate and away before Hawkmoon could ask him further questions.

  "The Runestaff, is it?" Oladahn murmured, frowning. "A myth, I thought . . ."

  "Aye, a myth. I believe that warrior enjoys mysteries.

  Doubtless he jokes with us." Hawkmoon grinned, slapping Oladahn on the shoulder. "If we see him again, we'll get the truth from him. I'm hungry. A good dinner . . ."

  "There's a banquet prepared at Queen Frawbra's palace."

  Oladahn winked. "The finest I've seen. And I think Queen's interest in you is not sparked merely by gratitude."

  "Say you so? Well, I hope I do not disappoint her, friend Oladahn, for I am pledged to a fairer maid than Frawbra."

  "Is it possible?"

  "Aye. Come, little friend - let's enjoy the Queen's food and make preparations to return to the West."

  "Must we leave so soon? We're heroes here, and besides, we deserve a rest, surely?"

  Hawkmoon smiled. "Stay yourself, if you will. But I've a wedding to attend - my own."

  "Oh, well," sighed Oladahn in mock grief, "I could not miss that event. I suppose I will have to cut short my stay in Hamadan."

  Queen Frawbra herself escorted them to the gates of Hamadan the next morning. "You'll not think again, Dorian Hawkmoon? I offer you a throne - the throne my brother died trying to win."