Hawkmoon: The Jewel in the Skull (24 page)

There was no more time for talk. Hawkmoon barely managed to block D'Averc's next thrust. There was a look of astonishment in D'Averc's eyes too as he saw the living Oladahn.

Hawkmoon manager to break through the Frenchman's guard, piercing his shoulder armor, but again D'Averc swept the blade aside and resumed the attack.

But now Hawkmoon had lost the advantage of his position. The savage boar mask grinned at him as warriors poured down the stairs.

Hawkmoon and Oladahn backed toward the door, hoping to regain the advantage, but there was little chance of that. For another ten minutes they held their own against the overwhelming odds, killing two Granbretanians, wounding three more. But they were wearying rapidly. Hawkmoon could barely hold his sword.

His glazed eyes could hardly see his opponents as they closed in like brutes for the kill He heard D'Averc's triumphant 'Take them alive!' and then he went down beneath a tide of metal.

WRAPPED IN CHAINS so that they could barely breathe, Hawkmoon and Oladahn were borne down innumerable flights of stairs into the depths of the great tower, which seemed to stretch as far belowground as it did above.

At length the boar warriors reached a chamber that had evidently been a storeroom but that now served as an effective dungeon.

There they were flung face down on the coarse rock. They lay there until a booted foot turned them over to blink into the light of a guttering torch held by the squat Ecardo, whose battered mask seemed to snarl in glee. D'Averc, mask still pushed back to expose his face, stood between Ecardo and the huge, hairy warrior Hawkmoon had seen earlier. D'Averc had a brocade scarf to his lips, and he leaned heavily on the giant's arm.

D'Averc coughed theatrically and smiled down at his prisoners. "I fear I must leave you soon, gentlemen.

This subterranean air is not good for me. However, it should do little harm to two such robust young fellows as yourselves. You will not have to stay here more than a day, I assure you. I have sent a request for a larger ornithopter that will be able to bear the two of you back to Sicilia, where my main force is now encamped."

"You have taken Sicilia already?" Hawkmoon asked tonelessly. "You have conquered the isle?"

"Aye. The Dark Empire wastes little time. I, in fact"—D'Averc coughed with mock modesty into his scarf—"am the hero of Sicilia. It was my leadership that subjugated the island so swiftly. But that triumph was no special one, for the Dark Empire has many capable captains like myself. We have made many gains in Europe these past few months—and in the East, too."

"But the Kamarg still stands," Hawkmoon said. "That must irritate the KingEmperor."

"Oh, the Kamarg cannot last long besieged," said D'Averc airily. "We are concentrating our particular attention on that little province. Why, it may have fallen already...."

"Not while Count Brass lives," Hawkmoon smiled.

"Just so," D'Averc said. "I heard he was badly wounded and his lieutenant von Villach slain in a recent battle."

Hawkmoon could not tell whether D'Averc was lying. He let no emotion show on his face, but the news had shocked him. Was the Kamarg ready to fall—and if so, what would become of Yisselda?

"Plainly that news disturbs you," D'Averc murmured. "But fear not, Duke, for when the Kamarg falls it will be in my safekeeping if all goes well I plan to claim the province as my reward for capturing you.

And these, my boon companions," he continued, indicating his brutish servants, "I will elevate to rule the Kamarg when I cannot. They share all aspects of my life—my secrets, my pleasures. It is only fair that they should share my triumph. Ecardo I will make steward of my estates, and I think I shall make Peter here a Count."

From within the giant's mask came an animal grunt.

D'Averc smiled. "Peter has few brains, but his strength and his loyalty are without question. Perhaps I'll replace Count Brass with him."

Hawkmoon stirred angrily in his chains. "You are a wily beast, D'Averc, but I will not let you goad me to an outburst, if that's what you desire. I'll bide my time. Perhaps I'll escape you yet. And if I do—you may live in terror for the day when our roles are reversed and you are in my power."

"I fear you are too optimistic, Duke. Rest here, enjoy the peace, for you'll know none when you get to Granbretan."

With a mocking bow, D'Averc left, his men following. The torchlight faded, and Hawkmoon and Oladahn were left in darkness.

"Ah," came Oladahn's voice after a while. "I find it difficult to take my position seriously after all that has happened today. I am still not even sure whether this be dream, death, or reality."

"What did happen to you, Oladahn?" Hawkmoon asked. "How could you survive that great leap? I had imagined you dashed to death beneath the tower."

"By rights I should have been," Oladahn agreed. "If I had not been arrested by ghosts in midfall."

"Ghosts? You jest."

"Nay. These things—like ghosts—appeared from windows in the tower and bore me gently to earth. They were the size and shape of men but barely tangible...."

"You fell and knocked your head and dreamed this stuff!"

"You could be right." Suddenly Oladahn paused. "But if so, I am dreaming still. Look to your left."

Hawkmoon turned his head, gasping in astonishment at what he saw. There, quite plainly, he could see the figure of a man. Yet, as if through a pool of milk, he could see beyond the man and make out the wall behind him.

"A ghost of a classic sort," Hawkmoon said. "Strange to share a dream...."

Faint, musical laughter came from the figure standing over them. "You do not dream, strangers. We are men like you. The mass of our bodies is merely altered a little, that is all. We do not exist in quite the same dimensions as you. But we are real enough. We are the men of Soryandum."

"So you have not deserted your city," Oladahn said. "But how did you attain this . . . peculiar state of existence."

The wraithman laughed again. "By control of the mind, by scientific experiment, by a certain mastery of time and space. I regret that it would be impossible to describe how we came to this condition, for we reached it, among other ways, by the creation of an entirely new vocabulary, and the language I would use would mean nothing to you. However, be assured of one thing—we are still able to judge human character well enough and recognize you as potential friends and those others as actual enemies."

"Enemies of yours? How so?" Hawkmoon asked.

"I will explain later." The wraithman glided forward until he was leaning over Hawkmoon. The young Duke of Koln felt a strange pressure on his body, and then he was lifted up. The man might have looked intangible, but he seemed far stronger than an ordinary mortal. From the shadows two more of the wraithpeople drifted, one to pick up Oladahn and the other to raise his hand and somehow produce a radiance in the dungeon that was mellow yet adequate to illuminate the whole place. Hawkmoon saw that the wraithmen were tall and slender, with thin, handsome faces and blindseeming eyes.

Hawkmoon had supposed at first that the people of Soryandum were able to pass through solid walls, but now he saw that they had entered from above, for there was a large tunnel about halfway up the wall. Perhaps in the distant past this tunnel had been some land of chute down which sacks of stores had been rolled.

Now the wraithpeople rose into the air toward the tunnel and entered it, drifting up it until light could be seen far ahead—the light of moon and stars.

"Where are you taking us?" Hawkmoon whispered.

"To a safer place where we shall be able to free you of your chains," the man who carried him answered.

When they reached the top of the tunnel and felt the chill of the night air, they paused while the one who had no burden went ahead to make sure that there were no Granbretanian warriors about. He signed to the others to follow, and they drifted out into the ruined streets of the silent city until they came to a simple threestoried house that was in better condition than the rest but seemed to have no means of entrance at ground level.

The wraithfolk bore Hawkmoon and Oladahn upward again, to the second level, and passed through a wide window into the house.

In a room bare of any ornamentation they came to rest, setting the pair down gently.

"What is this place?" Hawkmoon asked, still unable to trust his senses.

"This is where we live," the wraithman replied.

"There are not many of us. Though we live for centuries, we are incapable of reproducing ourselves. That is what we lost when we became as we are."

Now through the door came other figures, several of them female. All were of the same beautiful and graceful appearance, all had bodies of milky opaqueness; none wore clothes. The faces and bodies were ageless, scarcely human, but they radiated such a sense of tranquillity that Hawkmoon immediately felt relaxed and secure.

One of the newcomers had brought with him a small instrument, scarcely larger than Hawkmoon's index finger, which he now applied to the several padlocks on the chains. One by one the locks sprang open, until at last Hawkmoon and then Oladahn were free.

Hawkmoon sat up, rubbing at his aching muscles.

"I thank you," he said. "You have saved me from an unpleasant fate."

"We are happy to have been of use," replied one of their number, slightly shorter than the rest. "I am Rinal, once Chief Councilor of Soryandum." He came forward smiling. "And we wonder if it would interest you that you could be of help to us, also."

"I would be glad to perform any service in repayment of what you have done for me," Hawkmoon said earnestly. "What is it?"

"We, too, are in great danger from those strange warriors with their grotesque beastmasks," Rinal told him. "For they plan to raze Soryandum."

"Raze it? But why? This city offers no threat to them—and it is too remote to be worth their annexing."

"Not so," Rinal said. "For we have listened to their conversations and know that Soryandum is of value to them. They wish to build a great structure here that will house scores and hundreds of their flying machines. The machines can then be sent out to all the surrounding lands to threaten and defeat them."

"I understand," Hawkmoon murmured. "It makes sense. And that is why D'Averc, the exarchitect, was chosen for this particular mission. Building materials already exist here and could be remodeled to form one of their ornithopter bases, and the spot is so remote that few, if any, would note the activity. The Dark Empire would have surprise on their side right up to the moment they wished to launch an attack. They must be stopped!"

"They must be, if only for our sake," Rinal continued. "You see, we are part of this city perhaps more than you can understand. It and we exist as the same thing. If the city were destroyed, we should perish also."

"But how can we stop them?" Hawkmoon said.

"And how can I be of use? You must have the resources of a sophisticated science at your disposal. I have only a sword—and even that is in the hands of D'Averc!"

"I told you that we are linked to the city," Rinal said patiently. "And that is exactly the case. We cannot move away from the city. Long ago we rid ourselves of such unsubtle things as machines. They were buried under a hillside many miles from Soryandum.

Now we have need for one particular machine, and we cannot ourselves obtain it. You, however, with your mortal mobility, could get it for us."

"Willingly," said Hawkmoon. "If you give us the exact location of the machine we shall bring it to you. Best if we left soon, before D'Averc realizes we have escaped."

"I agree that the thing should be accomplished as soon as possible," Rinal nodded, "but I have omitted to tell you one thing. The machines were placed there by us while we were still able to move short distances away from Soryandum. To make sure that they were not disturbed, we protected them with a beastmachine—a dreadful contraption designed to frighten off whoever should discover the store. But the metal creature can also kill—will kill any not of our race who dares enter the cavern."

"Then how may we nullify this beast?" Oladahn asked.

"There is but one way for you," Rinal said with a sigh. "You must fight it—and destroy it."

"I see." Hawkmoon smiled. "So I escape from one predicament to face another scarcely less dangerous."

Rinal raised his hand. "No. We make no demands on you. If you feel that your life would be more useful in the service of some other cause, forget us at once and go your way."

"I owe you my life," Hawkmoon said. "And my conscience would not be clear if I rode away from Soryandum knowing that your city would be destroyed, your race exterminated, and the Dark Empire given the opportunity to wreak even more havoc in the East than it has already. No—I will do what I can, though without weapons it will not be an easy task."

Rinal signed to one of the wraithfolk, who drifted from the room, to return at length with Hawkmoon's battered battleblade and Oladahn's bow, arrows, and sword. "We found it an easy matter to recover these,"

smiled Rinal. "And we have another weapon, of sorts, for you." He handed Hawkmoon the tiny device they had used earlier to open the padlocks. "This we retained when we put most of our other machines in store. It is capable of opening any lock—all you must do is point at it. It will help you gain entrance to the main storeroom where the mechanical beast guards the old machines of Soryandum."

"And what is the machine you desire us to find?" Oladahn asked.

"It is a small device, about the size of a man's head. Its colors are those of the rainbow, and it shines. It looks like crystal but feels like metal It has a base of onyx, and from this projects an octagonal object. There may be two in the storeroom. If you can, bring both."

"What does it do?" Hawkmoon inquired.

"That you will see when you return with it."

"If we return with it," said Oladahn in a tone of philosophical gloom.

HAVING REFRESHED THEMSELVES on food and wine stolen from D'Averc's men by the wraithfolk, Hawkmoon and Oladahn strapped on their weapons and prepared to leave the house.