The Runestaff

And now the resolution was imminent. The Heroes of the Kamarg plotted in Castle BrassBaron Meliadus plotted in Taragorm's Palace of Timethe King Emperor Huon plotted in his Throne Roomand 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 divideddivided 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 thenwhen Meliadus had chosen Hawkmoon to use against Castle Brassthat the Runestaff had made its first move. It was a tightly woven dramaso 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 prolonged 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, thereforefrom 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 stoodperhaps 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 skipping 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, ar rows, maces, swordsand 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 sounda 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 paleevery 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 Empireor 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 stilla 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 migraine," he complained languidly.

A seventh. Yisselda ran down the stairs in her nightclothes. "What is it, Dorian? Fatherwhat'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 splintering. 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 everything.

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: "Hawkmoonlook 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 anothera high-pitched screamand 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.

Weakly, Hawkmoon attempted to rise and then fell face down on the stones. The note boomed gradually away, the colours began to fade, the ringing sound subsided quite suddenly. So there was silence.

Chapter Two The Blackened Marsh

"THE CRYSTAL is destroyed…"

Hawkmoon shook his head and blinked his eyes. "Eh?"

"The crystal is destroyed, "D'Averc knelt beside him trying to help him to his feet.

"Yisselda?" Hawkmoon said. "How is she?"

"No worse than you. We have put her to bed. The crystal is destroyed."

Hawkmoon dug dried blood from ears and nostrils. "You mean the Rings of Mygan?"

"D'Averctell him more clearly." It was Bowgentle's voice. "Tell him that the machine of the wraith folk is broken."

"Broken?" Hawkmoon heaved himself to his feet. "Was that the final shattering sound I heard?"

"That was it." Now Count Brass stood nearby, leaning wearily on a table and mopping at his face. "The vibrations destroyed the crystals."

"Then?" Hawkmoon glanced questioningly at Count Brass who nodded.

"Ayewe're back in our own dimension."

"And not under attack?"

"It does not seem so."

Hawkmoon took a deep breath and began to walk slowly to the main doors of the hall. Painfully he drew back the iron bar and tugged the doors open.

It was still night. The stars in the sky remained the same but the swirling blue clouds had vanished and there was an uncanny silence hanging over the area, a strange smell in the air. But no flamingoes squawked, no wind sighed through the reeds.

Slowly, thoughtfully, Hawkmoon closed the doors again.

"Where are the legions?" D'Averc asked. "One would have thought they were waiting for usat least a few!"

Hawkmoon frowned. "We'll have to wait until morning before we can guess the answer to that. Perhaps they are out there, planning to take us by surprise."

"Do you think that sound was sent by the Dark Empire?" Oladahn asked.

"Without doubt," Count Brass answered. "They have succeeded in their object. They have brought us back to our own dimension." He sniffed the air. "I wish I could identify that smell."

D'Averc was sorting things from the wreckage of the table. "It is a miracle that we are alive," he said.

"Aye," said Hawkmoon. "That noise seemed to affect inanimate things worse than us."

"Two of the older servants are dead," Count Brass said quietly. "Their hearts could not stand it, I suppose. They are being buried now, in case it is not possible in the morning. In the inner courtyard."

"What of the castle?" Oladahn asked.

Count Brass shrugged. "It's hard to tell. I've been down to the dungeons. The crystal machine is completely smashed and some of the stonework is cracked. But this is a strong old castle. She seems to have fared not too badly. No window glass, of course. No glass of any sort intact. Otherwise…" He shrugged as if his beloved castle had ceased to matter to him, "… otherwise we are still standing as firm as we did before."

"Let's hope so," murmured D'Averc. He held the Sword of the Dawn by its scabbard and the Red Amulet by its chain. He offered them to Hawkmoon. "You'd best don these for it is certain that you will soon have need of them."

Hawkmoon put the amulet around his neck and buckled the scabbard to his belt. Then he stopped and picked up the swaddled Runestaff.

"This does not seem to be bringing us the luck I had hoped," he said and sighed.

Dawn came at last. It came slowly and it came grey and chill, the horizon white as an old corpse and the clouds the colour of bone.

Five heroes watched it rise. They stood outside the gates of Castle Brass, on the hill, and their hands were On their swords, their grips tightening as they saw the scene below.

It was the Kamarg they had left, but it was a Kamarg wasted by war. The smell they had spoken of earlier was the smell of carnage, of a burnt land. For as far as they could see, all was black ruin. The marshes and lagoons had all been dried up by the fire of the flame cannon. The flamingoes, the horses and the bulls had been destroyed or fled. The watchtowers which had guarded the borders were flattened. It seemed as if the whole world were a sea of grey ash.

"It is all gone," said Count Brass in a low voice. "All gone, my beloved Kamarg, my people, my animals. I was their elected Lord Guardian and I failed in my task. Now there is nothing to live for save vengeance. Let me reach the gates of Londra and see the city taken. Then I will die. But not before."

Chapter Three Dark Empire Carnage

BY THE TIME they reached the borders of the Kamarg, Hawkmoon and Oladahn were covered from head to foot in clinging ash which stung their nostrils and was harsh in their throats. Their horses, too, were covered in the stuff and their eyes were as red as their riders'.

Now the sea of ash gave way to sparse, yellow grassland and still they had found no sign of the legions of the Dark Empire.

A little watery sunshine broke through the layers of cloud as Hawkmoon drew his horse to a halt and consulted his map. He pointed due East. "The village of Verlin lies yonder. Let's ride cautiously and see if Granbretanian troops still occupy it."

The village came in sight at last and when he saw it Hawkmoon began to gallop faster. Oladahn called from, behind him:

"What is it, Duke Dorian? What has happened?"

Hawkmoon did not reply for, as they neared the village, it could be seen that half the buildings lay in ruins, that corpses choked the streets. And still no sign of the Dark Empire troops.

Many of the buildings had been blackened by flame lance fire and some of the corpses had been slain by Same lances. Here and there lay the body of a Granbre tanian, an armoured figure with its mask tilting skyward.

"They were all Wolves here, by the look of it," Hawkmoon murmured. "Meliadus's men. It seems they fell upon the villagers and the villagers attacked them back. Seethat Wolf was stabbed by a reaping hookthat one died from the blow of the spade still in his neck…"

"Maybe the villagers rose up against them," Oladahn suggested, "and the Wolves retaliated."

"Then why did they leave the village?" Hawkmoon pointed out. "They were garrisoned here."

They guided their horses over the bodies of the fallen. The stink of death was still heavy in the air. It was plain that this carnage had been wreaked only recently. Hawkmoon pointed out gutted stores and the corpses of cattle, horses, even dogs.

"They left nothing alive. Nothing which could be used for food. It is as if they were in retreat from some more powerful enemy!"

"Who is more powerful than the Dark Empire?" Oladahn said with a shudder. "Have we some new enemy to face, friend Hawkmoon?"

"I hope not. Yet this sight is puzzling."

"And disgusting," Oladahn added. There were not only men dead in the streets, but children too and every woman, young or old, bore signs of having been raped before she had been slain, mostly by means of a cut throat, for the Granbretanian soldiery liked to slay their victims as they raped them.

Hawkmoon sighed. "It is the sign of the Dark Empire, everywhere you venture."

He looked up, bending his head to catch a small sound carried on the chill wind. "A cry! Someone still lives, perhaps."

He turned his horse and followed the sound until he entered a sidestreet. Here a door had been broken open and a girl's body lay half in the doorway, half in the street. The cry was stronger. Hawkmoon dismounted and walked cautiously towards the house. It came from the girl. Quickly he knelt down and raised her in his arms. She was almost naked, her body covered with a few strips of torn clothing. There was a red line across her throat as if a blunt dagger had been drawn across it. She was about fifteen, with tangled fair hair and glazed blue eyes. Her body was a mass of blue-black bruises. She gasped as Hawkmoon lifted her.

Hawkmoon lowered her gently and went to his saddle, returning with a flask of wine. He put the flask to her lips and she drank, gasping, her eyes suddenly widening in alarm.

"Do not fear," Hawkmoon said softly. "I am an enemy of the Dark Empire."

"And you live?"

Hawkmoon smiled sardonically. "AyeI live. I am Dorian Hawkmoon, the Duke of Koln."

"Hawkmoon von Koln? But we thought you deador flown forever…"

"Well I have returned and your village shall be revenged, I swear. What happened here?"

"I am not altogether sure, my lord, save that the beasts of the Dark Empire intended to leave none alive." She looked up suddenly. "My father and mother my sister…"

Hawkmoon glanced inside the house and shuddered. "Dead," he said. It had been an understatement. They had been disgustingly mutilated. He picked up the girl as she sobbed and took her to his horse. "I will carry you back to Castle Brass," he said.

Chapter Four New Helms

SHE LAY IN the softest bed in Castle Brass, tended by Bowgentle, comforted by Yisselda and Hawkmoon who sat beside her bed. But she was dying. She was dying not from her injuries but from sorrow. She wished to die. They respected that wish.

"For several months," she murmured, "the Wolf troops occupied our village. They took everything while we starved. We heard that they were part of an army left to guard the Kamarg, though we could not think what there was to guard of that wasteland…"

"They were awaiting our return most likely," Hawkmoon told her.

"That would seem likely," the girl said gravely.

She continued: "Then yesterday an ornithopter arrived at the village and its pilot went straight to the commander of the garrison. We heard it rumoured that the soldiers were being recalled to Londra and we were overjoyed. An hour later the soldiers of the garrison fell upon the village, killing, looting, raping. They had orders to leave nothing alive so that when they returned they would not meet resistance, so that any others who came upon the village should not find food. An hour afterwards, they were gone."

"So they plan to return," Hawkmoon mused. "But I wonder why they left…"

"Some invading enemy, perhaps?" Bowgentle suggested, bathing the girl's brow.

"That was my guessand yet it does not seem to fit." Hawkmoon sighed. "It is puzzlingfrightening that we know so little."

There came a knock upon the door and D'Averc entered. "An old friend is here, Hawkmoon."

"An old friend? Who?"

"The Orkneyman-Orland Fank."

Hawkmoon rose. "Perhaps he can enlighten us."

As he walked towards the door Bowgentle spoke quietly. "The girl is dead, Duke Dorian."

"She knows she will be avenged," Hawkmoon said flatly and he left to descend the stairs to the hall.

"Something is in the wind, I agree, friend," Orland Fank was saying to Count Brass as they stood together beside the fire. He waved his hand as Hawkmoon joined them. "And how d'you fare, Duke Dorian?"

"Well enough, in the circumstances. Do you know why the legions are leaving, Master Fank?"

"I was telling the good Count Brass here that I do not…"

"Ah, and I thought you omniscient, Master Fank."

Fank grinned sheepishly, tugging off his bonnet to wipe his face with it. "I still need time to gather information and I've been busy the while since you left Dnark. I've brought gifts for all the heroes of Castle Brass."

"You are kind."

"They're not from me, you understand, but from well, the Runestaff, I suppose. I'll give you them later. They've little practical use, you might think, but then it's hard to say what is practical and what is not in the fight against the Dark Empire.

Hawkmoon turned to D'Averc. "What did you discover on your ride?"

"Much the same as you," D'Averc replied. "Razed villages, all the inhabitants hastily slain. Signs of an overswift departure on the part of the troops. I gather that there are still some garrisons in the large towns, but they are skeleton staffedmainly artillery and no cavalry at all."

"This seems insane," murmured Count Brass.

"If they are insane, then we may yet take advantage of their lack of rationality," Hawkmoon said with a grim smile.

"Well spoken, Duke Dorian," Fank clapped his red, brawny hand on Hawkmoon's shoulder. "Now can I bring in the gifts."

"By all means, Master Fank."

"Lend me a couple of servants to help, if you will, for there's six of 'em and they're powerful heavy. I brought them on two horses."

A few moments later the servants came in, each holding two wrapped objects, one in each hand. Fank himself brought in the remaining two. He laid them on the flagstones at their feet. "Open them, gentlemen."

Hawkmoon bent and pulled back the cloth that wrapped one of the gifts. He blinked as the light struck his eyes and he saw his own face reflected perfectly back at him. He was puzzled, dragging off the rest of the cloth to stare in astonishment at the object before him. The others, too, were murmuring in surprise.

The objects were battle helmets designed to cover the whole head and rest on the shoulders. The metal of their manufacture was unfamiliar, but it was polished more finely than the finest mirror Hawkmoon had ever seen. With the exception of two eye slits the fronts of the helms were completely smooth, without decoration of any sort so that whoever stared at them saw a complete image of himself. The backs were crested in the same metal, with clean, simple decoration. It struck Hawkmoon how useful they could be in battle, for the enemy would be confused by his own reflection, would have the impression that he was fighting himself!

Hawkmoon laughed aloud. "Why, whoever invented these must be a genius! They are the finest helms I have ever seen."

"Try them on," Fank said, grinning back. "You'll find they fit well. They are the Runestaffs answer to the beast masks of the Dark Empire."

"How do we know which is ours," Count Brass said.

"You will know," Fank told him. "The one you have opened. The one with the crest the colour of brass."

Count Brass smiled and lifted the helm to place it upon his shoulders. Hawkmoon looked at him and saw his own face, the dull black jewel in the centre of his forehead, staring back in amused surprise. Hawkmoon lifted his helm over his head. His had a golden crest. Now when he turned to regard Count Brass it seemed at first that the count's helm gave no reflection, until Hawkmoon realised that there were an infinity of reflections.

The others had put their helms on their shoulders. D'Averc's had a blue crest and Oladahn's a scarlet one. They laughed with pleasure.

"A goodly gift, Master Fank," Hawkmoon said, removing his helmet. "An excellent gift. But what of the other two helms?"

Fank smiled mysteriously. "Ahah, yesthey would be for those who would desire them."

"For yourself?"

"Not for myself, noI must admit I tend to disdain armour. It is cumbersome stuff and it makes it harder for me to wield my old battle-axe here." He jerked his thumb behind him at the axe secured by a cord on his back.

"Then who are the other two helms for?" Count Brass said, removing his own helm.

"You will know when you know," Fank said. "And then it will seem obvious to you. How are the folk of Castle Brass faring?"

"You mean the villagers of the hill?" Hawkmoon said. "Well, some of them were slain by the striking of the great gong recalling us to our own dimension. A few buildings fell, but all in all they survived well enough. The remaining Kamargian cavalry has survived."

"About five hundred men," said D'Averc. "Our army."

"Aye," Fank said with a sidelong glance at the Frenchman. "Aye. Well, I must be away about my business."

"And what business would that be, Master Fank?" Oladahn asked.

Fank paused. "In the Orkneys, my friend, we are not asking of each other's business," he said chidingly.

"Thank you for the gifts," Oladahn said with a bow, "and forgive my curiosity."

"I accept your apology," Fank said.

"Before you leave, Master Fank, I thank you on behalf of us all for these welcome gifts," Count Brass told him. "And could we bother you with a final question?"

"You are all prone to too much questioning in my own opinion," Fank said. "But then we're close-mouthed in the Orkneys. Ask away, friend, and I'll do my level best to answer, if the question is not too personal."

"Do you know how the crystal machine came to be shattered?" Count Brass asked. "What caused it?"

"I would gather that Lord Taragorm, Master of the Palace of Time in Londra, discovered the means of breaking your machine once he understood its source. He has many old texts which would tell him such things. Doubtless he built a clock whose striking would travel through the dimensions and be of such a pitch and volume as to shatter the crystal. It was, I believe, the one remedy of the enemies of the folk of Soryandum who gave you the machine."

"So it was the Dark Empire brought us back," Hawkmoon said. "But if that was so, then why were they not waiting for us?"

"Perhaps a domestic crisis of some sort," Orland Fank said. "We shall see. Farewell, my friends. I have the feeling we will meet again shortly."

Chapter Five Five Heroes and A Heroine

As THE GATES closed behind Fank, Bowgentle descended the stairs and there was an odd expression on his kindly features. He walked stiffly, and his eyes had a distant look.

"What is it, Bowgentle," Count Brass said in concern, moving forward to grip his old friend by the arm. "You seem disturbed."

Bowgentle shook his head. "Not disturbedresolute. I have reached a decision. It is many years since I have wielded a weapon larger than a pen, borne anything weightier than a difficult problem in philosophy. Now I will bear arms against Londra. I will ride with you when you set out against the Dark Empire."

"But Bowgentle," Hawkmoon said, "you are not a warrior. You comfort us, sustain us with your kindness and your wisdom. All these things give us strength and are as useful as any comrade in arms."

"Ayebut this fight will be the last fight, win or lose," Bowgentle reminded him. "If you do not return, then you'll have no need of wisdomand if you do return, you'll have but little inclination to seek my advice, for you'll be the men who broke the Dark Empire. So I will take up a blade. One of yonder mirror helms will fit me, I know. The one with the black crest"

He stood aside as Bowgentle went to the helm and picked it up. Slowly he lowered it over his head. It fitted perfectly. Reflected in the helm they could see what Bowgentle sawtheir own faces at once admiring and grim.

D'Averc was the first to step forward with his hand outstretched. "Very well, Bowgentle. It will be a pleasure to ride with someone of sophisticated wit for a change!"

Hawkmoon frowned. "It is agreed. If you wish to, Bowgentle, we shall all be happier for your riding with us. But who is the other helm for, I wonder?"

"It is for me."

The voice was low, firm, sweet. Hawkmoon turned slowly to stare at his wife.

"No, it is not for you, Yisselda…"

"How can you be sure?"

"Well…"

"Look at itthe helm with the white crest. Is it not smaller than the others. Suitable for a boyor a woman."

"Aye," Hawkmoon answered reluctantly.

"And am I not Count Brass's daughter?"

"You are."

"And cannot I ride as well as any of you?"

"You can."

"And did I not fight in the bullring as a girland win honour there? And did I not train with the guardians of the Kamarg in the arts of the axe, the sword and the Same lance? Father?"

"It is true, she was proficient in all these arts," Count Brass said soberly. "But proficiency is not all that is required of a warrior…"

"Am I not strong?"

"Ayefor a woman…" answered the Lord of Castle Brass. "Soft and as strong as silk, I believe a local poet said," he glanced sardonically at Bowgentle, who blushed.

"Is it stamina, then, that I lack?" Yisselda asked, her eyes flashing with a mixture of defiance and humour.

"Noyou have more than enough stamina," Hawkmoon said.

"Courage? Do I lack courage?"

"There is none more courageous than you, my child," Count Brass agreed.

"Then what quality do I lack that a warrior has?"

Hawkmoon shrugged his shoulders. "None, Yisselda save that you are a woman andand…"

"And women do not fight. They merely remain at the fireside to mourn their lost kin, is that it?"

"Or welcome them back…"

"Or welcome them back. Well, I have no patience with that scheme of things. Why should I remain behind at Castle Brass. Who will protect me?"

"We will leave guards."

"A few guardsguards you will need in your battle. You know very well that you will want every man with you."

"Aye, that's true," Hawkmoon said. "But there is one other factor, Yisselda. Do you forget that you carry our child?"

"I do not forget. I carry our child. Aye, and I'll carry it into battlefor if we are defeated there will be nothing for it to inherit save disasterand if we win then it will know the thrill of victory even before it comes into the world. But if we are all slainthen we shall die together. I'll not be Hawkmoon's widow and I'll not bear Hawkmoon's orphan. I will not be safe at Castle Brass alone, Dorian, I'll ride with you." She went to the mirror helm with the white crest and she picked it up. She drew it over her head and spread her soft arms triumphantly.

"Seeit fits perfectly. It was plainly made for me. We will ride together, the six of us, and lead the Kamargians against the massed might of the Dark Empirefive heroesand, I hope, one heroine!"

"So be it," murmured Hawkmoon moving forward to embrace his wife. "So be it"

Chapter Six A New Ally

THE WOLVES AND the Vultures had fought their way back from the Continent and were now pouring into Londra. Coming into Londra, too, were the Flies, the Rats, the Goats and the Hounds and all the other bloodthirsty beasts of Granbretan.

From a high tower, now his command headquarters, Meliadus of Kroiden watched them arrive, flooding in by every gate and battling as they came. One group puzzled him and he strained his eyes to see it better. It was a large detachment of troops riding under a black and white striped banner signifying neutrality. The banner carried beside it now became easier to see.

Meliadus frowned.

The banner was that of Adaz Promp, Grand Constable of the Order of the Hound. Did the neutral flag mean that he had not yet decided on whose side to fight? Or did it mean he planned a complicated trick? Meliadus rubbed his lips thoughtfully. With Adaz Promp on his side he could begin an assault on the palace itself. He reached for his wolf helm and stroked the metal head.

For the past few days as the battle for Londra had reached deadlock Meliadus had become pensivethe more so because he did not know if Taragorm's device had succeeded and brought Castle Brass back to its own dimension. His earlier good humour, based on his success in the initial fighting, had been replaced by a nervousness resulting from several uncertainties.

The door opened. Automatically Meliadus reached for his helm, donning it as he turned.

"Ah, it's you, Flana. What do you want?"

"Taragorm is here."

"Taragorm, eh? Has he something positive to tell me."

The clock mask appeared behind Flana's heron mask.

"I had hoped that you would have some positive news, brother," Taragorm said acidly. "After all, we have made no great gains for the past few days."

"The reinforcements are arriving," Meliadus said petulantly, waving his gauntletted hand at the window. "Wolves and Vultures pouring inand even some Ferrets."

"Ayereinforcements for Huon, tooand seemingly in larger numbers than ours."

"Kalan should have his new weapons ready soon," Meliadus said defensively. "They will give us an advantage."

"If they work." Taragorm spoke sardonically. "I am beginning to wonder if I have not made a mistake, joining you. You struck too impetuously…"

"Brother! We must not quarrel, or we're finished. There is no time now!"

"Aye, that I'll grant you. If Huon wins we're all doomed."

"Huon will not win."

"We need a million men to attack the palace and succeed."

"We'll find a million men. If only we can make a little headway, others will come over to our side."

Taragorm ignored this statement and turned instead to Flana. "It is a shame, Flana. You would have made a beautiful queen…"

"She will still make a queen," Meliadus said savagely, restraining himself from striking Taragorm. "Your pessimism amounts to treachery, Taragorm!"

"And will you slay me for my treachery, brother? With all my knowledge. Only I know all the secrets of Time."

Meliadus shrugged. "Of course I will not slay you. Let us cease this arguing and concentrate instead on winning the palace."

Bored by the quarrel, Flana left the room.

"I must see Kalan," Meliadus said. "He has suffered a setback, having to remove all his equipment to a new site so hastily. Come, Taragorm, we'll visit him together."

They summoned their litters, climbed in and had their slaves carry them through the dimly lit corridors of the tower, down twisting ramps to the rooms Kalan had adapted as laboratories. A door opened and foul-smelling heat struck their bodies. Meliadus could feel it through his mask. He coughed as he left his litter and walked into the chamber where Kalan stood, his scrawny body naked to the waist and only his mask on his head, supervising the serpent-masked scientists who toiled for him.

Kalan greeted them impatiently. "What do you want? I have no time for conversation!"

"We wondered what progress you were making, Baron." Meliadus yelled over the boiling sound.

"Good progress, I hope. The facilities are ridiculously primitive. The weapon is almost ready."

Taragorm glanced at the tangle of tubes and wires from which all the noise and heat and stink was issuing. "That's a weapon?"

"It will be, it will be."

"What will it do?"

"Bring me men to mount it on our roof and I'll show you in a few hours."

Meliadus nodded. "Very well. You realise what depends on your success, Kalan?"

"Aye, that I do. I'm beginning to curse myself for joining you, Meliadus, but I'm in with you now and can only continue. Please leaveI'll send word when the weapon's ready."

Meliadus and Taragorm walked back through the corridors, their litters following behind.

"I hope Kalan has not lost all sanity," Taragorm said icily. "For if he has, that thing might destroy us."

"Or destroy nothing," Meliadus said gloomily.

"Now who is the pessimist, brother?"

Returning to his apartments, Meliadus discovered that he had a visitor. A fat visitor clad in gaudy silk-covered armour with a brightly painted helm representing a savage and grinning hound.

"Baron Adaz Promp," said Flana Mikosevaar, emerging from another room. "He arrived shortly after you left, Meliadus."

"Baron," Meliadus said, bowing formally. "I am honoured."

Adaz Promp's smooth tones came from the helm. "What are the issues, Meliadus? What are the goals?"

"The issuesour plans of conquest. The goalsto put a more rational monarch on the throne of Granbretan. One who will respect the advice of experienced warriors such as ourselves."

"Respect your advice, you mean!" Promp chuckled. "Well, I have to admit that I thought you insane, my lord, not Huon. Your pursuing this wild vendetta against Hawkmoon and Castle Brass, for instance. I suspected that it was motivated only by your private lust and vengeance."

"You no longer believe that?"

"I do not care. I am beginning to share your opinion that they represent the greatest danger to Granbretan and that they should be exterminated before we think of anything else."

"Why have you changed your mind, Adaz?" Meliadus leaned forward eagerly. "Why? You have some evidence not known to me?"

"More a suspicion or two," Adaz Promp said slowly, fatly. "A hint of this, a hint of that."

"What sort of hints?"

"A ship we encountered and boarded in the northern seas as we were returning from Scandia to answer our emperor's call. A rumour from France. Nothing more."

"What of the ship? What ship was it?"

"One like those anchored on the river, only much largerwith the strange contraption on its arse and no sails. It was battered, drifting and had two men aboard, both wounded. They died before we could transfer them to our own vessel."

"Shenegar Trott's ship. From Amarehk."

"Ayethat's what they told us."

"But what has it to do with Hawkmoon?"

"It appears they met Hawkmoon in Amarehk. It seems they received their wounds from Hawkmoon in some bloody battle in a city called Dnark. According to these menand they were ravingthe issue of the dispute was the Runestaff itself."

"And Hawkmoon won the dispute."

"Indeed he did. There were two thousand of them, we were toldTrott's men, that isand only four, including Hawkmoon, against them."

"And Hawkmoon won!"

"Ayeaided by supernatural warriors according to he who lived long enough to babble the tale. It all sounds like truth mixed with fantasy, but it is plain that Hawkmoon defeated a force much larger than his own and that he personally slew Shenegar Trott. It does seem, also, that he has certain scientific powers at his disposal of which we know little. This is confirmed by the manner in which they managed to escape from us the last time. Which brings me to my second tale, picked up from one of your own Wolves as we marched to Londra."

"What's that,"

"He had heard that Castle Brass has reappeared, that Hawkmoon and the rest took a town to the north of the Kamarg and destroyed every man of ours occupying it. It's a rumour and hard to believe. Where could Hawkmoon have raised an army at such short notice?"

"Such rumours are common in times of war," Melia dus mused, "but it is possible. You believe Hawkmoon a larger threat than Huon thought?"

"It's a guessbut I feel it's an informed one. I'm motivated by other considerations, Meliadus. I think that the sooner we end this fight the better, for if Hawkmoon has an armyrecruited, perhaps, in Amarehkthen the sooner we should clear it up. I'm with you, Meliadus. I can put half a million Hounds at your disposal within the next day."

"Have you enough now to take the palace with those that I command?"

"Possibly, with artillery cover."

"That you shall have."

Meliadus pumped Promp's hand. "Oh, Baron Adaz, I believe we shall have victory by the morrow!"

"But how many of us will be alive to see it, I wonder," Promp said. "To take the palace will cost a few thousand livesperhaps even a few hundred thousand."

"It will be worth it, Baron. Believe me.

Meliadus's spirits were rising at the prospect of victory over Huon, but mainly he gloated that he might soon have Hawkmoon in his power againparticularly if Kalan could really find a way of re-activating the Black Jewel as he had promised he would.

Chapter Seven The Battle for Huon's Palace

MELIADUS WATCHED THEM mount the contraption on the roof of his headquarters. They were high above the streets and close to the palace where the fighting raged. Promp had not yet brought up his Hounds but was waiting to see what Kalan's machine would do before he made an open attack on the palace gates. The huge building seemed capable of withstanding any attackit looked as if it could survive the end of the world. It rose, tier upon magnificent tier, into the lowering sky. Flanked by four vast towers glowing with a peculiar golden light, encrusted with grotesque bas-reliefs depicting Granbretan's ancient glory, shining with a million clashing colours, protected by gigantic gates of steel thirty foot thick, the palace appeared to look down contemptuously at the embattled factions.

Even Meliadus felt momentary doubt as he stared at it, then returned his attention to Kalan's weapon. From the mass of wires and tubes projected a great funnel, like the bell of a monstrous trumpet and this was turned toward the palace walls crowded with hosts of soldiers, primarily of the Orders of the Mantis, the Pig and the Fly. Outside the city the ranks of other Orders were preparing to assault Meliadus's forces from the rear and he knew the time element was crucial, that if he won a victory at the palace gates others would come over to his side.

"It is ready," Kalan told him.

"Then use it," Meliadus growled. "Use it on the troops manning the walls."

Kalan nodded and his Serpents trained the weapon. Kalan stepped forward and seized a great lever. He turned his masked face to the lurid skies as if in prayer, then he pulled the lever down.

The machine trembled. Steam rose from it. It rumbled and quivered and roared and from the trumpet grew a gigantic, pulsing green bubble that gave off intense heat. The thing broke loose from the muzzle of the weapon and began to move slowly down towards the walls.

Fascinated, Meliadus watched it drift, watched it reach the wall and settle upon a score of warriors. With satisfaction he heard their screams break off as they writhed in the hot, green stuff and then vanished completely. The ball of green heat began to roll along the wall, gobbling its human prey until suddenly it burst and green liquid boiled down the sides of the wall in viscous streamers.

"It has broken. It does not work!" Meliadus yelled in rage.

"Patience, Meliadus," Kalan shouted. His men were repositioning the weapon by a few degrees. "Watch!" Again he pulled down the lever, again the machine shook and hissed and slowly another gigantic green bubble formed at its snout. The bubble drifted to the wall, rolled over another group of men and rolled again. This one rolled longer until there was hardly a warrior left on the wall when it eventually burst.

"Now we send them over the wall," Kalan chuckled and pulled the lever once more. This time he did not wait. As one boiling green bubble left the muzzle, he would bring another into being until at least a score of the things had drifted over the walls and into the courtyard beyond. He worked furiously, totally absorbed in his work, as the machine shuddered and hissed and threw off almost unbearable heat.

"That mixture will corrode anything!" Kalan yelled excitedly. "Anything!" He paused for a moment to point. "Look what it is doing to the walls!"

Sure enough the viscous stuff was eating its way into the stone. Huge pieces of highly decorated rock fell into the street below, forcing the attackers to back off. The mixture ate through the stone as boiling oil might eat through ice, leaving huge jagged gaps in the defences.

"But how will our men get through?" Meliadus complained. "That stuff will not care what it eats!"

"Have no fear," Kalan chuckled. "The mixture only has a potency of a few minutes." Again he pulled the lever, sending another huge green bubble of heat over the wall. As he did so, a whole section of the wall near the gates collapsed completely and when the smoke from the rubble cleared, Meliadus could see that there was now a way through. He was elated.

A sudden whine now came from Kalan's machine and Kalan began to fiddle with the improved controlsleaping about from part to part giving hasty directions to his men.

Taragorm emerged on the roof and saluted Meliadus. "I underestimated Kalan, I see." He moved towards the Serpent scientist. "Congratulations, Kalan."

Kalan was waving his arms and screaming with pleasure. "You see, Taragorm! You see! Herewhy don't you try it. You merely depress this lever."

Taragorm gripped the lever in both hands, his clock mask turning to look at the wall through which it was now possible to see Huon's troops retreating into the palace itself, pursued by the rolling spheres of death. But then suddenly from the palace a flame cannon roared. Huon's men had at last succeeded in positioning their artillery within the palace itself. Several bolts of fire shot over their heads and others splashed harmlessly on the walls below. Kalan chuckled in triumph. "Those things are useless against my weapon. Aim it at them.

Taragorm. Send a bubblethere!" and his finger stabbed towards the windows where the guns were positioned.

Taragorm seemed as absorbed in the machine as Kalan and it amused Meliadus to watch the two scientists playing like schoolboys with a new toy. He felt in a tolerant mood now. It was obvious Kalan's weapon was turning the battle in his favour. It was time to join Adaz Promp and lead in the troops.

He descended the steps that took him to the interior of the tower and called for his litter. Once in it, he leaned back comfortably, feeling already a certain sweet triumph.

Then overhead he heard a mighty explosion that shook the whole tower. He leapt from his litter and began to run back the way he had come. As he neared the roof he was driven back by an intense heat and saw Kalan, his mask twisted and buckled, staggering through the steam towards him. "Get back!" Kalan screamed. "The machine exploded. I was near the entrance or I should have been killed. It's spilling my mixture all over the tower. Get away or we'll all be eaten by the stuff."

"Taragorm!" Meliadus said. "What of Taragorm?"

"There can be nothing left of him," Kalan said. "Quicklywe'll have to leave the tower as fast as we can. Hurry, Meliadus!"

"Taragorm dead? And so soon after he had served my purpose?" Meliadus followed Kalan down the ramps. "I had known he would give me trouble after Huon was defeated. I had wondered how to cope with him. But now my problem is solved! My poor brother!"

Meliadus roared with laughter as he ran.

Chapter Eight Flana Observes The Battle

FROM THE SAFETY of her own tower, Flana Mikosevaar watched the soldiers pour through the breached wall of the palace as the tower which had lately been Meliadus's headquarters toppled, tilted and fell with a crash upon the lower sections of the city.

For a moment she had thought Meliadus destroyed when the tower fell, but now she could see his banner leading the warriors into battle. She also saw the banner of Adaz Promp beside it and knew that Wolf and Hound, traditional rivals, attacked King Huon together.

She sighed. The noise of the battle had intensified and she could find no escape from it. The flame-cannon vainly attempted to shorten range, to fire down into the courtyard at the warriors as they rushed towards the great gates of the palace in which the green bubbles had eaten gaping holes. But the artillery was useless. It had been positioned anticipating a long siege and now it could not be moved down in time. A few flame lances fired from the broken gates, but no large artillery.

The sound of the battle seemed to fade, as did the sight of it, as Flana thought again of D'Averc and wondered if he would come. Adaz Promp's news had raised her hopes, for if Hawkmoon were alive then D'Averc was likely to be, also.

But would she ever see D'Averc Would he die in some skirmish, vainly attempting to resist the might of Granbretan? Even if he did not die at once he was destined to live the life of a hunted bandit, for none could ever hope to do battle with the Dark Empire and succeed. She supposed that Hawkmoon, D'Averc and the rest would die on some distant battlefield. They might reach the coast before they were destroyed, but they could not possibly come close to her, for the sea separated them and the Silver Bridge Across the Sea would not be open to the Kamargian guerillas.

Flana considered taking her own life, but it did not seem worth it at present. When all hope was gone, then she would kill herself, but not before. And if she were Queen, she would have some power. There was a slight chance that Meliadus would spare D'Averc, for D'Averc in some ways was the least of Meliadus's hates, though the Frenchman was considered a traitor.

She heard a great shout go up and looked again towards the palace.

Meliadus and Adaz Promp were riding into Castle Huon. Victory was clearly in sight.

Chapter Nine The Slaying of King Hum

BARON MELIADUS RODE his black charger full tilt through the echoing corridors of King Huon's palace. He had been here many times before and always in humility or apparent humility. Now his snarling wolf visor was proud and a battle-cry roared from Meliadus's throat as he drove his way through the Mantis Guards whom once he had been forced to fear. He struck about him with the great black broadsword he had wielded so Well in Huon's service. He made his horse rear and its hooves, which had trampled the ground of a score of conquered lands, struck down on insect helms and made long necks snap.

Meliadus laughed. Meliadus roared. Meliadus galloped for the Throne Room where the remnants of the defenders were gathering. He saw them at the far end of the corridor attempting to bring up a flame cannon. With a dozen mounted Wolves behind him he did not pause but struck directly at the cannon before its surprised operators could move. Six heads flew from their necks in as many seconds and all the artillerymen were dead. Flame lance beams shrieked around the black wolf helm, but Meliadus ignored them. The eyes of his horse were red with battle-madness and it plunged forward at the foe.

Meliadus pressed back the Mantis Guards, hacking them down. They died convinced that he had supernatural powers.

But it was wild energy, the elation of war, driving Meliadus of Kroiden through the massive gates of the Throne Room to find the few remaining guards in confusion. All possible men had been used to defend the gates. Now as the Mantis warriors advanced cautiously, spears outraised, Meliadus shouted his laughter at them and rode through them before they could move, galloping towards the Throne Globe where earlier he had crawled.

The black globe shimmered and gradually the wizened shape of the immortal King Emperor became visible. The little foetus shape wriggled like a malformed fish, dashing back and forth across the confining bowl that was its life. It was undefended. It was helpless. It had never believed that it would need to protect itself against such treachery. Even it, in all its two thousand years of wisdom, had not been able to conceive that a Granbretanian noble would turn against his hereditary ruler.

"Meliadus…" There was fear in the golden voice. "Meliadusyou are insane. Listenit is your King Emperor speaking to you. I order you to leave this place, to withdraw your troops, to swear your loyalty to me. Meliadus!"

The black eyes, once so sardonic, were now full of animal fear. The prehensile tongue flickered like that of a snake, the enfeebled, useless hands and feet flapped.

"Meliadus!"

Shaking with triumphant laughter Meliadus drew back his great broadsword and struck at the Throne Globe. He felt a shock run the length of his body as the blade crashed into the globe. There was a white explosion, a wailing cry, a sound of shards falling to the floor and the splattering of fluid against Meliadus's body.

He blinked his eyes, expecting to look down upon the twisted, tiny frame of his slain King Emperor. He says nothing but deep blackness.

His laughter changed to a scream of terror.

"By Huon's Teeth! I AM BLIND!"

Chapter Ten The Heroes Ride Out

"THE FORT BURNS well," said Oladahn, turning back in his saddle to look for the last time upon the garrison. It had contained a force of Rat infantry but now not one lived save the commander who would take his time in dying for the citizens of the town had crucified him on the scaffold where he had crucified so many of their husbands, wives and children.

Six mirror helms now looked forward to the horizon as Hawkmoon, Yisselda, Count Brass, D'Averc, Oladahn and Bowgentle rode away from the town at the head of five hundred Kamargian name lancers.

Their first encounter since leaving Kamarg had been a complete victory. With surprise on their side they had wiped out the skeleton garrison in less than half an hour.

Feeling little elation, but with no sense of exhaustion, Hawkmoon led his comrades on towards the next town where they had heard they might find more Granbretanians to kill.

But then he reined his horse as he saw a rider galloping towards them and realised that it was Orland Fank, his battle-axe bouncing on his brawny back.

"Greetings, friends! I have some news for youan explanation. The beasts have fallen upon each other. There is civil war in Granbretan. Londra itself is the main battleground with Baron Meliadus in arms against King Huon. Thousands have been slain so far."

"So that is why there are so few here," Hawkmoon said, removing his mirror helm and wiping his forehead with a silken kerchief. He had worn armour rarely in the past months and he had not yet got used to the discomfort. "They have all been recalled to defend King Huon."

"Or to fight with Meliadus. It is to our advantage, don't you think?"

"I do," Count Brass broke in gruffly, his voice more excited than usual, "for that means they are killing each other and improving the odds a little in our favour. While they battle, we move swiftly to the Silver Bridge, crossing it and reaching the very shores of Granbretan herself! Luck is with us, Master Fank."

"Luckor fateor destiny," Fank said lightly, "call it what you will."

"Then had we best not ride swiftly to the sea?" Yisselda said.

"Aye," Hawkmoon said. "Swiftlyto take advantage of their confusion."

"A sensible idea," Fank nodded. "And being a sensible man myself, I believe I will ride with you."

"You are most welcome, Master Fank."

Chapter Eleven News of Several Sorts

MELIADUS LAY GASPING on the stretcher as Kalan bent over him probing at his blind eyes with his instruments. His voice was a mixture of pain and fury. "What is it, Kalan?" he groaned. "Why am I blind?"

"Simply the intensity of the light released during the explosion," Kalan said. "Your sight should be restored in a day or so."

"In a day or so! I need to see. I need to consolidate my gains. I need to make sure that there are no counterplots hatched against me. I need to convince the other barons to swear loyalty to Flana now and then to find out what Hawkmoon is up to. My plansmy plansare they to be all destroyed!"

"Most of the barons have decided to support your Cause," Kalan told him. "There is little they can do. Only Jerek Nankenseen and the Flies represent a serious threat and Brenal Farnu is with himbut Farnu virtually has no Order left. Most of the Rats died in the early fighting. Adaz Promp is even now chasing Rats and Flies from the city."

"No Rats left," said Meliadus, suddenly thoughtful. "How many dead in all, d'you think, Kalan?"

"About half the fighting men of Granbretan."

"Half? Have I destroyed half our warriors? Half our strength?"

"Was it not worth it for the victory you have won?"

Meliadus's blind face stared up at the ceiling. "AyeI suppose so…"

Now he sat upright on the stretcher. "But I must justify the deaths of those who fell, Kalan. I did it for Granbretanto rid the world of Hawkmoon and the scum from Castle Brass. I must succeed or, Kalan, I cannot justify weakening the Dark Empire's fighting force to such a degree!"

"Have no fear on that score," Kalan told him with a faint smile, "for I have been working on another of my machines."

"A new weapon?"

"An old one, made to function again."

"What is that?"

Kalan chuckled. "The Machine of the Black Jewel, Baron Meliadus. Hawkmoon shall soon feel the power of the Black Jewel as it begins to eat his brain."

A slow, satisfied smile crossed Meliadus's lips. "Oh, Kalanat last!"

Kalan pressed Meliadus back against the stretcher. He began to rub ointment on the baron's blind eyes. "Rest now and dream of your revenge, old friend. We shall enjoy it together."

Kalan looked up suddenly. A courier had entered the small room. "What is it? What news?"

The courier was panting. "I have come from the mainland, your excellency. I have news of Hawkmoon and his men."

"What of them?" Again Meliadus rose up from the stretcher, the ointment dripping down his cheeks, careless that a minion should see him unmasked. "What of Hawkmoon?"

"They ride for the Silver Bridge, my lord."

"They plan to invade Granbretan?" Meliadus was incredulous. "How many men have they? What is the size of their army?"

"Five hundred horsemen, my lord."

Meliadus began to laugh.

Chapter Twelve The New Queen

KALAN LED MELIADUS up the steps towards a throne now replacing the sinister Globe. On the throne sat Flana Mikosevaar in a jewelled heron mask, a crown upon her head, the robes of state upon her body. And before Flana Mikosevaar kneeled all those nobles loyal to her.

"Behold," Meliadus said in a voice booming coarse and proud through the vast hall, "your new Queen. Under Queen Flana you will be greatgreater than you have dreamed. Under Queen Flana a new age will blooman age of laughing madness and roaring pleasure, the sort of pleasure we of Granbretan hold dear. The world shall be our toy!"

The ceremony progressed, with each noble in turn swearing his allegiance to Queen Flana. And when at length it was finished, Baron Meliadus spoke again. "Where is Adaz Promp, Chief Warlord of the Armies of Granbretan?"

Promp spoke up. "Here I am, my lord, and I thank you for the honour you do me." This was the first time Meliadus had mentioned Promp's rewardcommand over all other commanders, save Meliadus himself.

"Will you report how the rebels fare, Adaz Promp?"

"There are few left, my lord. Those Flies we have not swatted are dispersed and their Grand Constable, Jerek Nankenseen, is dead. I slew him myself. Brenal Farnu and the few remaining Rats have bolted into holes somewhere in Sussex and will soon be flushed out. All others have united in their loyalty to Queen Flana."

"That is satisfactory, Adaz Promp, and I am pleased. And what of Hawkmoon's laughable force. Does it still progress towards us?"

"So our ornithopter scouts report, my lord. They will soon be ready to cross the Silver Bridge."

Meliadus chuckled. "Let them cross. Let them come at least half the distance, then we shall wipe them out. Kalan, how do you manage with the machine?"

"It is almost ready, my lord."

"Good. Now we must set off for Deau-Vere to welcome Hawkmoon and his friends. Come, my captains, come."

And Meliadus was led back down the steps by Kalan and along the hall until he came to the great gatesthe gates guarded not by Mantis warriors, but by Wolves and Vultures. Meliadus regretted he could not see them and thus savour his triumph the more.

After the doors had closed behind him, Flana sat frozen on her throne and thought of D'Averc. She had tried to speak of him to Meliadus, but he had not heard her. Would he be killed? she wondered.

She thought, also, of what had befallen her. Alone among the nobles of Granbretan, save Shenegar Trott, she had read many old texts, some of which were legends and alleged histories of the years before the Tragic Millennium, She believed, whatever became of herself and Meliadus, that she now presided over a court entering its last stages of decadence. The wars of expansion, the internal strifeall were signs of a nation in its death throes, and though that death might not come for another two hundred years, or five hundred, or a thousand, she knew that the Dark Empire was doomed.

She prayed that something better would emerge to take its place.

Chapter Thirteen ''What Do You See?"

MELIADUS HELD THE reins of his herald's horse. "You must not leave me, boy. You must tell me what you see and I must plan the battle accordingly."

"I will tell you, my lord."

"Good. Are the troops all assembled?"

"They are, my lord. They await your signal."

"And is that cur Hawkmoon in sight yet?"

"Figures have been seen riding towards us across the Silver Bridge. They will ride directly into our ranks, unless they flee."

Meliadus grunted. "They will not fleenot Hawkmoonnot now. Can you see them yet?"

"I see a flash like silverlike a heliograph signalonetwothree, fourfivesix. The sun makes them shine so. Six silver mirrors. I wonder what it can mean?"

"The sun on polished spears?"

"I think not, my lord."

"Well, we shall soon know."

"Yes, my lord."

"What now?"

"Now I see six riders, my lord, at the head of a mass of cavalry. Each rider is crowned with flashing silver. Why, my lord, it is their helmets that shine!"

"Are they well-polished, then?"

"They are helms. They cover their faces. II can hardly bear to look upon them, they are so bright."

"Strange. Still, doubtless the helmets will break quickly enough beneath our weapons. You have told them that Hawkmoon must be taken alive but they can kill the rest?"

"I have, my lord."

"Good."

"And I told them what you saidthat if Hawkmoon should clutch at his head and begin to act strangely they should tell you at once."

"Excellent." Meliadus chuckled. "Excellent. I shall have my vengeance, either way."

"They have almost reached the end of the bridge, my lord. They have seen us but they are not stopping."

"Then give the signal to charge," Meliadus said. "Blow your trumpet, herald.

"Are they charging, herald?"

"They are, my lord."

"And what now? Have the armies met?"

"They have engaged, my lord,"

"And what is happening?"

"I amI am uncertain, my lordwhat with the flashing of those helmets and somethere is a peculiar red light spreading over the scenethere seem to be more men in Hawkmoon's army than we at first thought. Infantryand some cavalry. By Huon's TeethI beg your pardon, my lordby Flana's Breasts! They are the strangest warriors I have ever seen!"

"What do they look like?"

"Barbaricprimitiveand yet so fierce! They are driving into our forces like a coals through cream!"

"What? It cannot be. We have five thousand troops and they have five hundred. All the reports confirmed that number."

"There are more than five hundred, my lord. Many more."

"Have all the scouts lied, then? Or are we all going mad. These barbarian warriors, they must have come with Hawkmoon from Amarehk. What now? What now? Are our forces rallying?"

"They are not, my lord."

"What are they doing, then?"

"They are falling back, my lord."

"Retreating? Impossible!"

"They appear to be falling back rapidly, my lord. Those that live."

"What do you mean? How many remain of our five thousand?"

"I would say about five hundred infantry, my lord, and a scattered hundred of cavalry."

"Tell the pilot of my ornithopter to prepare his machine herald."

"I will, my lord."

"Is the pilot ready to fly, herald?"

"He is, my lord."

"And what of Hawkmoon and his band? What of the men in the silver helms?"

"They are pursuing the remains of our force, my lord."

"I have been deceived in some way, herald."

"As you say, my lord. There are many dead. But now the barbarian warriors slaughter the infantry. Only the cavalry escape."

"I cannot believe it. O, curse this blindness! I feel as if I dreamt"

"I will lead you to the ornithopter, my lord."

"Thank you, herald. No, pilotto Londra. Hurry. I must consider fresh plans!"

As the ornithopter beat its way up into the pale blue sky, Meliadus felt a great silver flash pass across his eyes and he blinked, looking down. And he could see. He could see the six flashing helmets the herald had mentioned, he could see the slaughtered legions he had known would destroy Hawkmoon's force, he saw the remains of his cavalry scurrying wildly for their lives. And he heard distant laughter he recognised as belonging to his most hated enemy.

He shook his fist. "Hawkmoon! Hawkmoon!"

Silver flashed as a helmet turned to look upward.

"No matter what tricks you use, Hawkmoon, you will perish by the night. I know you will. I know!"

He looked again, seething as Hawkmoon laughed on. He looked for the barbarians who had routed his soldiers. They had vanished.

It was a nightmare, he thought. Or had the herald been in league with Hawkmoon? Or were Hawkmoon's barbarians invisible to his eyes?

Meliadus rubbed at his face. Perhaps the blindness, so recently left him, was still troubling him in some obscure form. Perhaps the barbarians were on another part of the field.

But no, there were no barbarians.

"Hurry, pilot," he called through the sound of the metallic wings flapping at the air. "Hurrywe must return to Londra as fast as we can!"

Meliadus began to think that Hawkmoon's defeat was not going to be as easy as he had guessed. But then he remembered Kalan and the Machine of the Black Jewel, and he smiled.

Chapter Fourteen The Power Returns

SLIGHTLY OVERAWED BY a victory in which they had lost only twelve killed and twenty slightly wounded, the six removed their mirror helms and stared after the retreating horsemen.

"They were not expecting the Legion of the Dawn!" Count Brass smiled. "Unprepared, they were startled and could hardly resist. But they will be better prepared by the time we reach Londra."

"Aye," Hawkmoon said, "and Meliadus will put a good many more warriors in the field next time." He fingered the Red Amulet about his throat and glanced at Yisselda who was shaking out her blonde hair.

"You fought well, my lord," she said. "You fought like a hundred men."

"That is because this amulet gives me the strength of fifty men and your love gives me the strength of another fifty," he smiled.

She laughed lightly. "You never flattered me so during our courtship."

"Perhaps it is because I have come to love you even more than before," he replied.

D'Averc cleared his throat. "We'd best camp a mile or two on, away from all this death."

"I'll tend to the wounded," Bowgentle said and turned his horse back to where the Kamargian cavalry were grouped, squatting beside their horses and talking among themselves.

"You did well, lads," Count Brass called back. "It is like the old days, eh? When we fought across Europe! Now we fight to save Europe."

Hawkmoon started to speak and then gave a terrible shriek. The helmet fell from his grasp and he pressed both hands to his head, his eyes rolling in pain and horror. He swayed in his shadow and would have fallen had not Oladahn caught him.

"What is it, Duke Dorian?" Oladahn asked in alarm.

"Why do you cry, my love?" Yisselda dismounted swiftly, helping Oladahn support him.

Through clenched teeth and pale lips Hawkmoon managed to utter a few words. "The jewel… The Black Jewelit is gnawing at my brain again I The power has returned I" He swayed and fell into their arms, his limbs swinging loosely and his face a terrible white. As his hands dropped from his head they saw he spoke truth. The Black Jewel was crawling with life. It had regained its malevolent lustre.

"Oladahn, is he dead?" Yisselda cried in panic.

The little man shook his head. "Nohe lives. But for how long, I cannot tell. Bowgentle! Sir Bowgentle! Come quickly."

Bowgentle hurried up and took Hawkmoon in his arms. This was not the first time he had seen the Duke of Koln thus. He shook his head. "I can try to work a temporary remedy, but I have not the materials that I had at Castle Brass."

In panic, Yisselda and Oladahn, and later Count Brass and D'Averc watched Bowgentle work. And at last Hawkmoon stirred, opening his eyes.

"The jewel," he said. "I dreamt it was eating my brain again…"

"So it will if we cannot find a way of blocking it soon," murmured Bowgentle. "The power has gone for the moment, but we do not know when it will return again and in what force."

Hawkmoon hauled himself to his feet. He was pale and could hardly stand. "We must press on, thento Londra while there is time. If there is time."

"Aye, if there is time."

Chapter Fifteen The Gates of Londra

THE TROOPS WERE massed outside the gates of Londra as the six riders mounted the crest of the hill at the head of their cavalry.

Hawkmoon, ill with pain, fingered the Red Amulet. This alone was keeping him alive, helping him fight the power of the Black Jewel. Somewhere in the city Kalan was operating the machine that fed life to the jewel. To reach Kalan he had to take the city, had to beat the multitude of warriors that, with Meliadus at their had, now awaited them.

Hawkmoon did not hesitate. He knew he could not hesitate, for every second of his life was precious. He drew the rosy Sword of the Dawn and gave the order to charge.

Gradually the Kamargian cavalry topped the hill and began to thunder down on a force many times their number.

Flame lances spat from the Granbretanian ranks and were answered by the fire of the Kamargians. Hawkmoon judged the moment right and flung his swordarm skyward. "The Legion of the Dawn! I summon the Legion of the Dawn!" and then he groaned as the pain filled his skull and he felt the heat of the jewel in his forehead. Yisselda beside him had time to cry out, "Are you all right, my love?" but he could not give an answer.

And then they were in the thick of the battle. Hawkmoon's eyes were so glazed with pain he could hardly see the enemy, could not tell at first if the Legion of the Dawn had materialised. But there they were now, their rosy auras lighting the sky. He felt the power of the Red Amulet fill him as it fought the power of the Black Jewel and he felt his strength gradually returning. But how long would it last?

Now he was in the middle of a mass of fear-crazed horses, striking about him at Vulture helmeted warriors who bore long-handled maces with heads like the stretched claws of hunting birds. He blocked a blow and struck back, his great sword cutting through the warrior's armour and into his chest. He swung in the saddle to take another foe in the neck, ducked a whistling mace and stabbed its owner in the groin.

The fight was noisy and the fighting hot and hysterical. The air stank of fear and Hawkmoon had soon decided that this was the worst battle he had ever fought for, in their shock at the appearance of the Legion of the Dawn, the Dark Empire warriors had lost their nerve and were fighting wildly, had broken their ranks, had abandoned their commanders.

Hawkmoon knew that it was to be a messy fight and one in which there would be few left alive at the end. He began to suspect that he would not see the finish, for the pain in his skull was growing stronger again.

Oladahn died unseen by his comrades, lonely and without dignity, hacked to pieces by a dozen war axes wielded by Pig infantry.

But Count Brass died in this manner:

He encountered three barons. Adaz Promp, Mygel Hoist and Saka Gerden (the latter of the Order of the Bull). They recognised him not by his helm, which was plain save for its crest, but by his body and his armour of brass. And they rode at him in a packHound, Goat and Bullwith their swords raised to chop him down.

But Count Brass, looking up from the body of his last opponent (who had slain his steed and thus left the Count on foot), saw the three barons riding down on him and took his broadsword in both hands and, as their horses reached him he swung the sword, cutting the legs of the horses from under them so that each baron was flung forward over his horse's head and landed in the churned mud of the battlefield, whereupon Count Brass dispatched Adaz Promo in a very undignified position in the rear, lopped off the head of Mygel Hoist (whom he had almost slain once before) as the Goat Baron begged to be spared, and by this time had only the Bull, Saka Gerden, to deal with. Baron Saka had time to get to his feet and assume a decent fighting stance though he shook his head several times as Count Brass's mirror mask blinded him. Upon seeing this, Count Brass ripped off his silver helm and threw it to one side, displaying his bristling red hair and moustache in all its pride and battle-anger. "I took two in an unfair manner," growled the Count, "so it is only fair to give you the chance to slay me.".

Saka Gerden charged like the fierce Bull of his Order and Count Brass sidestepped him, bringing his sword around in a swing to split Saka Gerden's helm down the middle and split Saka Gerden's skull, also. As the Baron fell, the Count smiled and a spear was driven completely through his neck by a Goat rider. Even then Count Brass turned, wrenching the spear from his assailant's grasp, and flung his broadsword to catch the Goat in the throat, thus giving as good as he had received. That was how Count Brass died.

Orland Fank saw it happen. He had left the party before the battle but had joined them later and had done considerable damage with his battle-axe. He saw how Count Brass died. It was at about the moment when the Dark Empire forces, lacking three of their leaders, began to regroup closer to the gates and were only stopped from retreating behind the gates by Baron Meliadus who was most fearsome in his black armour, his black Wolf helm and his great black broadsword.

But then even Baron Meliadus was pressed back as Hawkmoon, Yisselda, D'Averc, Bowgentle and Orland Fank led their few surviving Kamargians and the strange, dirge-calling Legion of the Dawn, against the beasts of Granbretan.

There was no time to close the gates before the heroes of the Kamarg had entered the city and Baron Meliadus realised he had always estimated Hawkmoon's power correctly and only now, over-confident, had under-estimated it. There was nothing for it but to bring up as many reinforcements as possible and get Kalan to increase the power of the Black Jewel.

Then his heart lifted. He saw Hawkmoon sway in his saddle, his hands going to the silver helm, saw the strange man in the bonnet and the chequered breeks, grasp him and then reach behind him for the roll of cloth attached to his saddle.

Fank murmured to Hawkmoon. "Try to listen, man, will you? It is time to use the Runestaff. Time to bring out our standard. Do it now, Hawkmoon, or you'll live less than a minute morel"

Hawkmoon felt the power gnawing at his brain like a rat in a cage, but he grasped the Runestaff as Fank handed it to him, raised it high in his left hand and saw the waves and rays begin to fill the air around him.

Fank yelled: "The Runestaff I The Runestaff! We fight for the Runestaff!" And Fank laughed and laughed as the Granbretanians fell back in fear, so demoralised now in spite of their numbers, that Hawkmoon already felt the victor.

But Baron Meliadus was not prepared to be the conquered. He screamed at his men. "That is nothing! It is only an object! It cannot harm you! You foolstake them."

Then the heroes of the Kamarg rode forward with Hawkmoon swaying in his saddle, managing to bear the Runestaff aloft, through the gates of Londra and into the city where still there were a million men to stop them.

Now, as if in a dream, Hawkmoon led his supernatural legion against the enemy, the Sword of the Dawn in one hand and the Runestaff in the other, guiding his horse with his knees.

The press was so solid, as Pig and Goat infantry tried to tear them from their saddles, they could hardly move at all. Hawkmoon saw one of the mirror-helmed figures fighting valiantly as a dozen beasts dragged it from its horse and he feared it was Yisselda. Energy flooded into him and he turned, trying to reach his comrade, but another mirror-helmed horseman was already there, hacking about it, and he realised it had not been Yisselda in peril but Bowgentle and that Yisselda had come to his rescue.

To no avail. Bowgentle disappeared and the weapons of the beasts, of the Coats and the Pigs and the Hounds, rose and fell above his body until eventually one held aloft a bloodied silver helmheld it aloft only for a moment, for then Yisselda's slim sword had sliced off the wrist so that blood fountained from the arm.

Another searing charge of pain. Kalan was increasing the power. Hawkmoon gasped and his vision dimmed, but he managed to protect himself from the weapons whistling around him, managed to hold up the Runestaff still.

As his vision cleared for the moment, he saw that D'Averc was leaping his horse through the Granbretanians, his sword whirling in all directions as he cut a road through them. Then Hawkmoon realised where D'Averc was going. To the palaceto reach the woman he loved, Queen Flana.

And this is how D'Averc died:

D'Averc managed somehow to reach the palace which was still in the half-ruined condition it had been in after Meliadus had taken it, so he was able to ride through the breach in the wall and dismount at the outer steps to run at the guards on the door. They had flame lances. He had only a sword. He flung himself flat as the flames shrieked past his head, rolled over to take cover in a ditch cut by the green fluid from one of Kalan's bubbles and found a flame lance there which he poked over the edge and used to cut down all the guards before they could know what had happened.

D'Averc sprang up. He began to run through the tall corridors, his boots echoing loudly. He ran until at last he came to the doors of the Throne Room where a score of guards saw him and turned their weapons upon him, but he used his own flame lance again and cut them down, being singed only slightly in his right shoulder. He pushed open the doors a crack and looked into the Throne Room. A mile away was the dais, but he could not see if Flana sat on it. Otherwise the hall was empty.

D'Averc began to run towards the distant throne.

And he shouted her name as he ran. "Flana! Flana!"

Flana had been day-dreaming on her throne and looked up to see the tiny figure advancing. She heard her name taken up by a thousand echoes in the huge hall. "Flana! Flana! Flana!"

And she recognised the voice but thought that she had probably not yet woken up.

The figure came closer and it had a helmet that shone like polished silver, like a mirror, But the bodywas the body not recognisable?

"Huillam?" she murmured uncertainly. "Huillam D'Averc."

"Flana!" The figure wrenched off its mask and flung it from him so that it clattered across the great marble floor. "Flana!"

"Huillam!" She stood up and began to descend the steps towards him.

He opened his arms, smiling with joy.

But they never touched in life again, for a flame beam descended like a stroke of lightning from a gallery high above and burned off his face so that he screamed in agony and fell to his knees; burned into his back so that he slumped forward and died at her feet while she sobbed great, strangled sobs that shook her body.

And a voice of a guard from the gallery called in great self-approval. "You are safe now, madam."

Chapter Sixteen The Final Fight

THE DARK EMPIRE forces were still swarming from every rathole in their maze city and Hawkmoon noted with despair that the Legion of the Dawn was getting thinner. Now when a warrior was slain another did not always take his place. Around him the air was full of the bitter-sweet scent of the Runestaff and strange patterns in the air.

Then, as Hawkmoon saw Meliadus, a wave of pain gnawed again at his brain and he fell from his horse.

Meliadus dismounted from his black charger and walked slowly towards Hawkmoon. The Runestaff had fallen from his hand and the Sword of the Dawn was only loosely held.

Hawkmoon stirred, groaning. Around him the battle still raged, but it did not seem to be anything to do with him. He felt the energy leaving him, felt the pain increasing, opened his eyes and saw Meliadus approaching, the helm snarling as if in triumph. Hawkmoon's throat was dry and he tried to move, tried to reach the Runestaff which lay on the cobbles of the street.

Meliadus said softly. "Ah, Hawkmoon, at last And you are in pain, I see. You are weak, I see. My only disappointment is that you will not live to witness your ultimate defeat and Yisselda in my power." Meliadus spoke almost with pity, with concern. "Can you not rise, Hawkmoon? Is the jewel eating your brain behind that silver mask of yours? Shall I let it finish you, or shall I give myself the pleasure? Can you answer, Hawkmoon? Would you care to beg for mercy?"

Hawkmoon grabbed convulsively for the Runestaff. His hand went around it and tightened. Almost immediately power seemed to flow into himnot much, but enough to enable him to stagger to his feet and stand there swaying His body was bowed. His breathing came in great panting sobs. He stared blearily at Meliadus as the Baron lifted his sword to finish him.

Hawkmoon tried to raise his own sword, but failed.

Meliadus hesitated. "So you cannot fight. I grieve for you, Hawkmoon." He reached forward. "Give me that little staff, Hawkmoon. It was upon it I swore my oath of vengeance upon Castle Brass. And my vengeance is almost complete now. Let me hold it, Hawkmoon."

Hawkmoon took two staggering paces backward, shaking his head, unable to speak for the weakness in his body.

"Hawkmoongive it to me."

"Youshallnothaveit…" croaked the Duke of Koln.

"Then I shall have to kill you first." Meliadus raised his battle blade. The Runestaff suddenly pulsed with brighter light and Meliadus stared full into his own Wolf-helmed eyes as Hawkmoon's mask reflected his image back. It startled Meliadus. He hesitated.

And Hawkmoon, drawing further energy from the Runestaff, raised his sword knowing he had only enough strength for one blow and that blow must slay the man who stood transfixed before him, mesmerised by his own image.

And Hawkmoon brought up the Sword of the Dawn and he brought it down again and Meliadus gave a great, agonised cry as the blade bit through his shoulder bone and down into his heart. And his last words, which came with his last painful breath, were:

"Curse the Runestaff I It has brought ruin upon Granbretan!"

And Hawkmoon collapsed to the ground knowing that now he would die: That Yisselda would die and that Orland Fank would die; for there were few Kamarg warriors left and the Dark Empire soldiers were many.

Chapter Seventeen The Sad Queen

HAWKMOON AWOKE IN alarm, staring full into the Serpent mask of Baron Kalan of Vitall. He sprang upright on the bench, groping for a weapon.

Kalan shrugged, turning to the group of people who stood in the shadows. "I told you I could do it. His brain is restored, his energy is restored, his whole foolish personality is restored and now, Queen Flana, I would beg your permission to continue with what I was doing when you interrupted me."

Hawkmoon recognised the heron mask. It nodded once and Kalan shuffled into the next room and carefully closed the door. The figures stepped forward and Hawkmoon saw with joy that one of them was Yisselda. He hugged her in his arms and kissed her soft cheek.

"Oh, I feared that Kalan would trick us," she said. "It was Queen Flana who found you, after she had ordered her troops to cease fighting. We were the last alive, Orland Fank and I, and we thought you dead. But Kalan brought you back to life, removed the jewel from your skull and dismantled the machine so that none may ever fear the power of the Black Jewel again."

"And what business did you interrupt him in, Queen Flana?" Hawkmoon asked. "Why was he so disgruntled?"

"He was about to kill himself," Flana said flatly. "I threatened to keep him alive forever if he did not do what he did."

"D'Averc?" Hawkmoon said, puzzled. "Where is D'Averc?"

"Dead," said the sad queen in the same flat voice. "Slain in the Throne Room by an over-zealous guard."

Hawkmoon's joy turned to gloom. "And are they all dead, thenCount Brass, Oladahn, Bowgentle?"

"Aye," said Orland Fank, "but they died for a great cause and they freed millions from slavery. Until this day Europe has known only strife. Now perhaps people will seek peace, for they can see where strife leads."

"Count Brass wished for peace in Europe more than anything," Hawkmoon said. "But I wish he could have lived to see it."

"Perhaps his grandson will see it," Yisselda said.

"You need fear nothing from Granbretan as long as I am queen," Flana told them, "I intend to leave Londra dismantled and meanwhile make my own town of Kanbery the capital. The wealth of Londrawhich is almost certainly greater than all the wealth of the rest of the worldshall be used in rebuilding the towns of Europe, in restocking the farms, of making good, as best we can, the evil we have done." She drew off her mask, revealing that great, sad, beautiful head. "And, also, I shall abolish the wearing of masks."

Orland Fank seemed sceptical, but he said nothing. "The power of Granbretan is broken for ever," he said, "and the Runestaffs work is done." He patted the bundle under his arm. "I'm taking the Sword of the Dawn, the Red Amulet and the Runestaff itself into safe-keeping, but if there should ever come a time, friend Hawkmoon, when you have a mutual need to rejoin each other, then you shall rejoin each other, I promise."

"I hope the time does not come, Orland Fank."

Fank sighed. "The world does not change, Dorian Hawkmoon. There is merely the occasional shift in equi librium and if that shift goes too far in one direction, then the Runestaff attempts to right it. Perhaps the days of extremes are over for a century or two? I do not know."

Hawkmoon laughed. "But you shouldyou are omniscient."

Fank smiled. "Not I, my friend, but that which I servethe Runestaff."

"Your sonJehemiah Cohnahlias…"

"Ah, there's the mystery even the Runestaff will not answer." Fank rubbed his long nose and looked at them, over it. "Well, I'll say farewell, what's left of you. You fought well and you fought for justice."

"Justice?" Hawkmoon called after him as he left the room. "Is there such a thing?"

"It can be manufactured in small quantities," Fank told him. "But we have to work hard, fight well and use great wisdom to produce just a tiny amount."

"Aye," Hawkmoon nodded. "Perhaps you are right."

Fank laughed. "I know I am right." And then he was gone. And his voice came back to Hawkmoon with just one last observation. "Justice is not The Law, it is not Order, as human beings normally speak of it; it is Equilibrium, the Correction of the Balance. Remember that, Sir Champion Eternal!"

Hawkmoon put his arm around Yisselda's shoulders. "Aye, I will," he murmured. "And now we return to Castle Brass, to make the springs flow again, to bring back the reeds and the lagoons, to bring back the bulls and the horses and the flamingoes. To make it our Kamarg once more."

"And the power of the Dark Empire will never threaten it again." Queen Flana smiled.

Hawkmoon nodded. "I am sure of that. But if some other evil should come to Castle Brass, I shall be ready for it, no matter how powerful it shall be, or in what form it will come. The world is still wild. The justice Fank spoke of has hardly been manufactured at all. We must try to see that we can make a little more. Farewell, Flana." Flana watched them leave and she was weeping.

THE END of the High History of the Runestaff