Hawkmoon: The Jewel in the Skull

by Michael Moorcock

  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 surrounding her at court were not, because she was gentle and capable 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 soul—such 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 urgency."

  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. Gravely, 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 warrior—the Warrior in Jet and Gold you called him—he said..."

  "He is not my master, bosun. No—we sail out to sea now. For Europe."

  "For Europe, sir! You know that after you saved Narleen we would take you anywhere, follow you anywhere, but have you any understanding of the distances we must sail to reach Europe—the 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 inclined 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 possible, but this cold of mine—contracted since coming aboard—is 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 supporting 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, almost ascetic features, bore their usual sardonic expression.

  "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 destiny—that 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 return to Castle Brass, if that is possible."

  "There's no telling if it's in this dimension or another."

  "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 indicated. "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 disappeared 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 phenomenon as this before; I've never experienced anything 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 although 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 inhabited 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 pro
perties 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 perhaps 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. Gigantic, 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 monster 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. "Certainly 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, staring 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 suggest it..."

  Again Hawkmoon gave a wry grin.

  "There's a chance, if their nests are on land, of getting 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 already dashing for the helm, had grabbed it, was desperately 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 ears—a drumbeat to herald disaster.

  Slowly the ship turned as the cliffs of the island towered 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 swirling water he saw other shapes drifting and the noise of the surf was now dull in his ears. But he would not release the Sword of the Dawn. Instead he fought to scabbard it and then use all his energy to strike up to the surface, dragging the hea
vy blade with him.

  At last he broke through the waves and got a dim impression 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 moments 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 moment, then dived headlong toward the sea.

  One by one they struck the waves with a great smashing 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 getting 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.