Hawkmoon: The Jewel in the Skull

by Michael Moorcock

  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 table—relatively 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 automatically to their swords while their faces assumed expressions of angry astonishment.

  It was Hawkmoon who got the words out at last, between 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 Sussex—one 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 matter. Since they do not at the moment concern us, then I suggest we behave in a civilised manner—and not insult our young host here ..."

  Hawkmoon glowered. "How did you come to Dnark, Count Shenegar?"

  "By ship, Duke of Koln. Our Baron Kalan—whom 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 impossible 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 together 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 prepared—for he is considered 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 fleet—only 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 unprepared 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 intention 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 appearance, 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. "Why—how 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 here—exiles 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 wink—almost a comradely wink—which 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 Meliadus. Though I am loyal to my motherland and my leader, I do not agree with everything done in their names—indeed, what I myself have done. I follow my orders. 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 epitaphs—and 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 cause—that 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 attempted to rape and carry off his daughter Yisselda!"

  "I have already disassociated myself from Baron Meliadus," Count Shenegar said. "Every court must have its fool, every great ideal must attract some who are motivated 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. Now—you 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 return to my ship tonight. I will rejoin you here tomorrow."

  "As you wish," the boy said.

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

  Hawkmoon said. "But again let us warn you that Shenegar 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 come—or 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 themselves chillingly around the two men and they felt themselves whisked from the cubicle, through the room in which they had eaten, and along the corridors" at incredible speed until they broke out of the building altogether 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.

  See—there 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.

  "Aye—but if the Sword of the Dawn will again summon 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 warriors—members 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 anticipation 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 attacked.

  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, Jehemia 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." Shenegar 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, addressing the boy. "I warned you of his perfidy!"

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

  "I fear I should have—paid more—attention to you, sir."

  Count Shenegar laughed, his mask flashing in the golden light "Now—tell 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 you—follow me."

  Shenegar Trott disappeared once more into the tower and six of the Falcon warriors stayed to guard Hawkmoon 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 him—and the Runestaff—from 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, carrying 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 colours—waves and rays making strange configurations in the air—and 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 patterns—stars, circles, cones and more complex figures—shifted 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 colours—but that thing he could carry in one hand!

  Suddenly, from the side of the hall, men thrust themselves 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 sm
ell 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 Ones—those 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 freedom—not 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!"

  "Aye—it 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 constantly 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 affairs."

  "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.