Hawkmoon: The Jewel in the Skull

by Michael Moorcock

  "Brother! Our plans go well—better than I had expected."

  "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 message 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 before 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 Soryandum. 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 disappointment.

  "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 pendulum 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 operating 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 murmured, "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 disturbance, 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 all—and ourselves. We were deceived."

  The eyes moved more slowly over the assembled captains. "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 deceived. But no matter—the 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 there—Adaz Promp, Brenal Farun, Shenegar Trott..."

  "Shenegar Trott is not on the Continent," King Huon said politely.

  ". . . Jerek Nankenseen. Mygel Hoist.. ."

  "Yes, yes, yes—we 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 Meliadus, they would have given him those loyal to their Order, surely?"

  "Your guess is probably accurate. Very well—recall 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. Either that, or we must regroup..."

  "Or leave the city altogether and choose the ground on which we fight—is 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 suggested. "They can see that we are winning and might wish to join a new Order."

  Beli saluted. "King Huon's palace is superbly defended, sir."

  "And it will be superbly taken, captain, I am sure."

  The music of Johne continued and the firing continued 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.
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  He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearing eleven o'clock. He got up and clapped his hands, silencing 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 consolidate—but 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 working so perfectly.

  Book Three

  And now the resolution was imminent. The Heroes of the Kamarg plotted in Castle Brass—Baron Meliadus plotted in Taragorm's Palace of Time—the King Emperor Huon plotted in his Throne Room—and 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 divided—divided 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 then—when Meliadus had chosen Hawkmoon to use against Castle Brass—that the Runestaff had made its first move. It was a tightly woven drama—so 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 staining 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 dimensions. 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 reminded 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 enemy's resistance."

  Count Brass nodded. "What you say is true, but I am still doubtful"

  "With respect, sir, you are used to fighting classic battles," 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, therefore—from 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 planning 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 campaigns carefully." He studied the map of the Kamarg.

  "There is a chance there is a permanent camp surrounding the place where Castle Brass stood—perhaps 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 elsewhere, since there seems to be some sort of contention at the Court of Londra as to whether we are very important 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 something more substantial. He glanced at the rack at the far end of the hall. The rack contained spears, bows, arrows, maces, swords—and his own broadsword, and his armour of brass. His great, bronzed face was clouded.

  Again a tremor shook the building and the arms decorating the walls rattled.

  Hawkmoon glanced at Bowgentle, noticing in the philosopher's eyes the same sense of inexplicable doom he felt. "A mild earthquake, perhaps?"

  "Perhaps," murmured Bowgentle, plainly unconvinced.

  Now they heard a sound—a 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 audible. 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 pale—every face tense. Hawkmoon began to stride back into the hall, walking with arm outstretched 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 Empire—or 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 still—a 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 increased. "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? Father—what'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. Yisselda began to fall, but Hawkmoon managed to save her, hanging on to a pillar to stop himself from toppling. 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 everythi
ng.

  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 Yisselda 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: "Hawkmoon—look 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 shuddered 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 making 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 terrible than the rest. The stones of the castle threatened to crack. The wood of the table split and the thing collapsed 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 another—a high-pitched scream—and colours began to flood the hall. First came violet, then purple, then black. A million 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.