The History of the Runestaff

by Michael Moorcock

  "The Palace of Time," said Meliadus, indicating the superbly ornamented palace that was also a giant clock, and then: "My own palace." This was brooding black, faced with silver. "The river you see is, of course, the River Tayme." The river was thick with traffic. Its blood-red waters bore barges of bronze, ebony and teak ships emblazoned with precious metal and semi-precious jewels, with huge white sails on which designs had been sewn or printed.

  "Further to your left," said Baron Meliadus, deeply resenting this silly task, "is our Hanging Tower. You will see that it appears to hang from the sky and is not rooted upon the ground. This was the result of an experiment of one of our sorcerers who managed to raise the tower a few feet but could raise it no further. Then, it appeared, he could not recall it to Earth—so it has remained thus ever since."

  He showed them the quays where the great, garnet-burnished battleships of Granbretan dispensed their stolen goods; the Quarter of the Unmasked where lived the scum of the city; the dome of the huge theatre where once Tozer's plays had been performed; the Temple of the Wolf, headquarters of his own order, with a monstrous and grotesque stone wolf head dominating the curve of the roof, and the various other temples with similarly grotesque beast heads carved in stone and weighing many tons.

  For a dull day they flew over the city, stopping only to refuel the ornithopter and change pilots, with Meliadus growing hourly impatient. He showed them all the wonders that filled that ancient and unpleasant city, seeking, as his King Emperor had demanded, to impress the visitors with the Dark Empire's might.

  As evening came and the setting sun stained the city with unhealthy shades, Baron Meliadus sighed with relief and instructed the pilot to direct the ornithopter to the landing stage on the roof of the palace.

  It landed with a great flurry of metal wings, a wheezing and a clattering and the two emissaries climbed stiffly out; like the machine, they remained semblances of natural life.

  They walked to the hooded entrance of the palace and moved down the winding ramp until they were at last again in the corridors of shifting light, to be met by their guard of honor, six high-ranking warriors of the Order of the Mantis, their insect masks reflecting the brightness from the walls, who escorted them back to their own chambers where they would rest and eat.

  Leaving them at the door of their apartments, Baron Meliadus bowed and hurried away, having promised that tomorrow they should discuss matters of science, and compare the progress of Asiacommunista with the achievements of Granbretan.

  Flinging himself through the hallucinatory passages he almost bowled over the King Emperor's relative, Flana, Countess of Kanbery.

  "My lord!"

  He paused, made to pass her, stopped. "My lady—my apologies."

  "You are in a hurry, my lord!"

  "I am, Flana."

  "You are in uneven temper, it seems."

  "My temper is poor."

  "You would console yourself?"

  "I have business to attend to ..."

  "Business should be conducted with a cool head, my lord?"

  "Perhaps."

  "If you would cool your passion ..."

  He started to continue his progress, then stopped again. He had experienced Flana's methods of consolation before. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he did need her. On the other hand he needed to make preparations for his expedition to the West as soon as the emissaries had departed. Still, they would be here for some days at least. Also, the previous night had proved unsatisfactory and his morale was low. At least he could prove himself a lover.

  "Perhaps . . ." he said again, this time more thoughtfully.

  "Then let us make haste to my apartments, my lord," said she with a trace of eagerness.

  With mounting interest, Meliadus took her arm.

  "Ah, Flana," he murmured. "Ah, Flana."

  Chapter Eleven - THOUGHTS OF THE COUNTESS FLANA

  FLANA'S MOTIVES in seeking the company of Meliadus had been mixed, for it was not the baron in whom she was chiefly interested, but in his charges, the two stiff-limbed giants from the East.

  She asked him about them as they lay in their sweat in her enormous bed and he confided his frustrations, his hatred of his task and his hatred of the emissaries, told her of his real ambition, which was to avenge himself of his enemies, the slayers of her husband, the inhabitants of Castle Brass, told her of his discovery that Tozer had found an old man in the West, in the forgotten province of Yel, who might have the secret of reaching his foes.

  And he murmured of his fears that he was losing his power, his prestige (though he knew he should not speak such secret thoughts to Flana of all women) and that the King Emperor was these days trusting others, such as Shenegar Trott, with the knowledge that he once only gave to Meliadus.

  "Oh, Flana," he said, shortly before he fell into a moody sleep, "if you were Queen, together we could fulfill our Empire's mightiest destiny."

  But Flana scarcely heard him, was scarcely thinking, merely lay there and moved her heavy body from time to time, for Meliadus had failed to ease the aching in her soul, had barely eased the craving in her loins and her mind was on the emissaries who lay sleeping only two tiers above her head.

  At length she rose from the bed, leaving Meliadus snoring and moaning in his sleep, and dressed herself again in gown and mask, and slipped from her room to glide along the corridors, up the ramps, until she came at last to the doors that were guarded by the Mantis warriors. The insect masks turned questioningly.

  "You know who I am," said she.

  They did know and they withdrew from the doors.

  She chose one and pressed it open, entering the exciting darkness of the emissaries' apartments.

  Chapter Twelve - A REVELATION

  MOONLIGHT ALONE ILLUMINATED the room, falling on a bed in which a figure stirred, showing her the discarded ornaments, armor and mask of the man who lay there.

  She moved closer.

  "My lord?" she whispered.

  Suddenly the figure shot up in the bed and she saw his startled face, saw his hands fly up to cover his features, and she gasped in recognition.

  "I know you!"

  "Who are you?" He leapt from beneath the silken sheets, naked in the moonlight, ran forward to seize her. "A woman!"

  "Aye . . ." purred she. "And you are a man." She laughed softly. "Not a giant at all, though of goodly height. Your mask and armor made you seem more than a foot taller."

  "What do you want?"

  "I sought to entertain you, sir—and be entertained.

  But I am disappointed, for I believed you to be other than human. Now I know you to be the man I saw in the Throne Room two years ago—the man Meliadus brought before the King-Emperor."

  "So you were there that day." His grip tightened on her and his hand rose to yank off her mask and cover her mouth. She nibbled the fingers; stroked the muscles of the other arm. The hand on her mouth relaxed.

  "Who are you?" he whispered. "Do others know?"

  "I am Flana Mikosevaar, Countess of Kanbery.

  None suspects you, daring German. And I will not call in the guards, if that is what you expect, for I have no interest in politics and no sympathy with Meliadus.

  Indeed, I am grateful to you, for you rid me of a troublesome spouse."

  "You are Mikosevaar's widow?"

  "I am. And you I knew immediately by the black jewel in your forehead which you sought to hide when I entered. You are Duke Dorian Hawkmoon von Koln, here in disguise, no doubt, to learn the secrets of your enemies."

  "I believe I shall have to kill you, madam."

  "I have no intention of betraying you, Duke Dorian. At least, not at once. I came to offer myself for your pleasure, that is all. You have rid me of my mask."

  She turned her golden eyes upward to regard his handsome face. "Now you may rid me of the rest of my garb ..."

  "Madam," he said hoarsely. "I cannot. I am married."

  She laughed. "As am I—I have been married countless times." />
  There was sweat on his forehead as he returned her gaze and his muscles tensed. "Madam—I—I cannot .. ."

  There was a sound and they both turned.

  The door separating the apartments opened and there stood a gaunt, good-looking man who coughed a little ostentatiously and then bowed. He, too, was completely naked.

  "My friend, madam," said Huillam D'Averc, "is of a somewhat rigid moral disposition. However, if I can assist..."

  She moved toward him, looking him up and down.

  "You seem a healthy fellow," she said.

  He turned his eyes away. "Ah, madam, it is kind of you to say so. But I am not, not a well man. On the other hand," he reached out and took her shoulder, guiding her into his chamber, "I will do what little I can to please you before this failing heart gives up on me..."

  The door closed, leaving Hawkmoon trembling.

  He sat on the edge of his bed, cursing himself for not having slept in his cumbersome disguise, but the exhausting tour of the day had made him dispense with caution of that kind. When the Warrior in Jet and Gold had put the plan to them, it had seemed un-necessarily dangerous. The logic had been sound enough—they must discover if the old man from Yel had been found before they went off searching for him in Western Granbretan. But now it seemed their chances of getting such information were dashed.

  The guards must have seen the countess enter. Even if they killed her or imprisoned her, the guards would suspect something. They were in a city that was, to a man, totally dedicated to their destruction. They had no allies and there was no possible hope of escape once their real identities became known.

  Hawkmoon racked his brains for a plan that would at least enable them to flee the city before it became alerted, but all seemed hopeless.

  Hawkmoon began to pile on his heavy robes and armour. The only weapon he had was the golden baton which the Warrior had given him to complete the impression of a noble dignitary from Asiacommunista.

  He hefted it, wishing he had a sword.

  Pacing the room, he continued to try to think of a feasible plan of escape, but nothing came.

  He was still pacing when morning came and Huillam D'Averc put his head through the door and grinned.

  "Good morning, Hawkmoon? Have you had no rest, man? I sympathize. Neither have I. The countess is a demanding creature. However I am glad to see you ready for a journey. We must hurry."

  "What do you mean, D'Averc? I have tried all night to conceive a plan, but I can think of nothing . . ."

  "I have been questioning Flana of Kanbery and she has told me everything we need to know, for Meliadus, apparently, has confided much in her. She has also agreed to help us escape."

  "How?"

  "Her private ornithopter. It is ours for the taking."

  "Can you trust her?"

  "We must. Listen—Meliadus has not yet had time to seek out Mygan of Llandar. By good fortune, it was our arrival kept him here. But he knows of him—

  knows, at least, that Tozer learned his secret from an old man in the West—and means to find him. We have the chance to find Mygan first. We can go part of the way by Flana's ornithopter which I will fly and continue the rest of the journey on foot."

  "But we are weaponless—without proper clothes!"

  "Weapons and clothes I can obtain from Flana—masks also. She has a thousand trophies of past conquests in her chambers."

  "We must go to her chambers now!"

  "No. We must wait for her to return here."

  "Why?"

  "Because, my friend, Meliadus may still be sleeping in her apartments. Have patience. We are in luck.

  Pray that it will hold!"

  Not much later Flana returned, took off her mask and kissed D'Averc almost hesitantly, as a young girl might kiss a lover. Her features seemed softer and her eyes less haunted, as if she had found some quality in D'Averc's lovemaking that she had not experienced before—possibly gentleness, which was not a quality of the men of Granbretan.

  "He is gone," she said. "And I have half a mind, Huillam, to keep you here, for myself. For many years I have contained a need which I could not express, never satisfy. You have come close to satisfying it . . ."

  He bent and kissed her lightly on the lips and his voice seemed sincere when he said: "And you, too, Flana, have given me something . . ." He straightened stiffly, having donned his heavy, built-up garments.

  He placed his tall mask upon his head. "Come, we must hurry, before the palace wakes."

  Hawkmoon followed D'Averc's example, donning his own helmet, and once again the two resembled strange, half-human creatures, the emissaries from Asiacommunista.

  Now Flana led them from the apartments, past the Mantis guards, who fell in behind them, and through the twisting, shining corridors until her own apartments were reached. They ordered the guards to remain outside.

  "They will report that they followed us here,"

  D'Averc said. "You will be suspected, Flana!"

  She doffed her heron mask and smiled. "No," she said and crossed the deep carpet to a polished chest set with diamonds. She raised the lid and took out a long pipe, at the end of which was a soft bulb. "This bulb contains a poison spray," she said. "Once inhaled, the poison turns the victim mad so that he runs wild and berserk before dying. The guards will run through many corridors before they perish. I have used it before. It always works."

  She spoke so sweetly of murder that Hawkmoon was forced to shudder.

  "All I need do, you see," she continued, "is to push the hollow rod through the keyhole and squeeze the bulb."

  She placed the apparatus on the lid of the chest and led them through several splendid, eccentrically furnished rooms, until they came to a chamber with a huge window that looked out onto a broad balcony.

  There on the balcony, its wings neatly folded, fashioned to resemble a beautiful scarlet and silver heron, was Flana's ornithopter.

  She hurried to another part of the room and drew back a curtain. There, in a great pile, was her booty—

  clothes, masks and weapons of all her departed lovers and husbands.

  "Take what you need," she murmured, "and hurry."

  Hawkmoon selected a doublet of blue velvet, hose of black doe-skin, a sword-belt of brocaded leather which held a long, beautifully balanced blade and a poignard. For his mask he took one of his slain enemy's—Asrovaak Mikosevaar's—glowering vulture masks.

  D'Averc dressed himself in a suit of deep yellow with a cloak of lustrous blue, boots of deerhide and a blade similar to Hawkmoon's. He, too, took a vulture mask, reasoning that two of the same Order would be likely to be travelling together. Now they looked truly great nobles of Granbretan.

  Flana opened the window and they stepped out into the cold, foggy morning.

  "Farewell," whispered Flana. "I must get back to the guards. Farewell, Huillam D'Averc. I hope we shall meet again."

  "I hope so, also, Flana," replied D'Averc with unusual gentleness of tone. "Farewell."

  He climbed into the cockpit of the ornithopter and started the motor. Hawkmoon hastily got in behind him.

  The thing's wings began to beat at the air and with a clatter of metal it rose into the gloomy sky of Londra, turning West.

  Chapter Thirteen - KING HUON'S DISPLEASURE

  MANY EMOTIONS CONFLICTED in Baron Meliadus as he entered the Throne Room of his King Emperor, abased himself and began the long trudge toward the Throne Globe.

  The white fluid of the globe surged more agitatedly than usual, alarming the Baron. He was at once furious that the emissaries had disappeared, nervous of his monarch's wrath, anxious to pursue his quest for the old man who could give him the means of reaching Castle Brass. Also he feared lest he lose his power and his pride and (the king had been known to do it before) be banished to the Quarter of the Unmasked. His nervous fingers brushed his wolf-helm and his step fal-tered as he neared the Throne Globe and looked anxiously up at the foetus-like shape of his monarch.

  "Great King
Emperor. It is your servant Meliadus."

  He fell to his knees and bowed to the ground.

  "Servant? You have not served us very well, Meliadus!"

  "I am sorry, Noble Majesty, but..."

  "But?"

  "But I could have no knowledge that they planned to leave last night, returning by the means with which they came..."

  "It should have been your business to sense their plans, Meliadus."

  "Sense? Sense their plans, Mighty Monarch... ?"

  "Your instinct is failing you, Meliadus. Once it was exact—you acted according to its dictates. Now your silly plans for vengeance fill your brain and being and make you blind to all else. Meliadus, those emissaries slew six of my best guards. How they killed them, I know not—perhaps a mental spell of some land—but kill them they did, somehow leaving the palace and returning to whatever machine brought them here. They have discovered much about us—and we, Meliadus, have discovered virtually nothing about them."

  "We know a little of their military equipment..."

  "Do we? Men can lie, you know, Meliadus. We are displeased with you. We charged you to perform a duty and you performed it only partially and without your full attention. You spent time at Taragorm's palace, left the emissaries to their own devices when you should have been entertaining them. You are a fool, Meliadus. A fool!"

  "Sire, I—"

  "It is your stupid obsession with that handful of outlaws who dwell in Castle Brass. Is it the girl you desire? Is that why you seek them with such single-minded-ness?"

  "I fear they threaten the Empire, noble sire ..."

  "So does Asiacommunista threaten our Empire, Baron Meliadus—with real swords and real armies and real ships that can travel through the earth. Baron, you must forget your vendetta against Castle Brass or, we warn you, you had best be wary of our displeasure."

  "But, sire..."

  "We have warned you, Baron Meliadus. Put Castle Brass from your mind. Instead, try to learn all you can of the emissaries, discover where their machine met them, how they managed to leave the city. Redeem yourself in our eyes, Baron Meliadus—restore yourself to your old prestige ..."