The Jewel in the Skull

by Michael Moorcock

  Hawkmoon looked into her face and felt a great flood of emotion fill him.'Lady Yisselda . . .'

  'Yes, my lord?'

  'I . . . thank you . . .'

  He looked about the room in bewilderment. From behind him he heard a voice speak urgently. It was Count Brass's voice. 'Say nothing more. Rest. Control your thoughts. Sleep if you can.'

  Hawkmoon had not realized Count Brass was in the room. Now Yisselda put a glass to his lips. He drank the cool liquid and was soon asleep again.

  The next day the fever was gone, and rather than an absence of emotion, Dorian Hawkmoon felt as if he were numbed physically and spiritually. He wondered if he had been drugged.

  Yisselda came to him as he was finishing breakfast and asked if he were ready to accompany her on a walk through the gardens, since the day was fine for the season.

  He rubbed his head, feeling the strange warmth of the Black Jewel beneath his hand. With some alarm, he dropped his hand.

  Do you still feel ill, my lord?' asked Yisselda.

  'No . . . I . . .' Hawkmoon sighed. 'I don't know. I feel odd - it's unfamiliar . . .'

  'Some fresh air, perhaps, will clear your head.'

  Passively, Hawkmoon got up to go with he^ into the gardens. The gardens were scented with all kinds of pleasant smells, and the sun was bright, making the shrubs and trees stand out sharply in the clear winter air.

  The touch of Yisselda's arm linked in his stirred Hawkmoon's feelings further. It was a pleasant sensation, as was the bite of the wind in his face and the sight of the terraced gardens and the houses below. As well as these, he felt fear and distrust — fear of the Black Jewel, for he was sure that it would destroy him if he betrayed any sign of what he was now going through; and distrust of Count Brass and the rest, for he felt that they were in some way deceiving him and had more than an inkling of his purpose in coming to Castle Brass. He could seize the girl now, steal a horse, and perhaps stand a good chance of escaping. He looked at her suddenly.

  Sweetly, she smiled up at him. 'Has the air made you feel better, my lord Duke?'

  He stared down into her face while many emotions conflicted within him. 'Better?' he said hoarsely. 'Better? I am not sure ...'

  'Are you tired?'

  'No.' His head had begun to ache, and again he felt afraid of the Black Jewel. He reached out and grasped the girl.

  Thinking that he was falling from weakness, she took his arms and tried to support him. His hands went limp and he could do nothing. 'You are very kind,' he said.

  'You are a strange man,' she replied, half to herself. 'You are an unhappy man.'

  'Aye ...' He pulled away from her and began to walk over the turf to the edge of the terrace. Could the Lords of Granbretan know what was going on within him? It was unlikely. It was likely, on the other hand, that they were suspicious and might give the Black Jewel its life at any moment. He took a deep breath of the cold air and straightened his shoulders, remembering the voice of Count Brass from the night before. 'Control your thoughts,' he had said.

  The pain in his head was increasing. He turned. "I think we had better return to the castle,' he told Yisselda. She nodded and took his arm again, and they walked back the way they had come.

  In the main hall, Count Brass met them. His expression was one of kindly concern, and there was nothing in his face to confirm the urgency of tone Hawkmoon had heard last night. Hawkmoon wondered if he had dreamed that or if Count Brass had guessed the nature of the Black Jewel and was acting to deceive it and the Dark Lords who even now watched this scene from the palace laboratories in Londra.

  'The Duke von Koln is feeling unwell,' Yisselda said.

  'I am distressed to hear it,' Count Brass answered. 'Is there anything you need, my lord?'

  'No,' Hawkmoon replied thickly. 'No - I thank you'. He walked as steadily as he could toward the stairs. Yisselda went with him, supporting one arm, until they reached his rooms. At the door he paused and looked down at her. Her eyes were wide and full of sympathy; she lifted a soft hand to touch his cheek for an instant. The touch sent a shudder through him and he gasped. Then she had turned and half-run down the passage.

  Hawkmoon entered the room and flung himself on his bed, his breathing shallow, his body tense, desperately trying to understand what was happening to him and what was the source of the pain in his head. At length he slept again.

  He awoke in the afternoon, feeling weak. The pain had nearly gone, and Bowgentle was beside the bed, placing a bowl of fruit on a nearby table. 'I was mistaken in believing the fever had left you,' he said.

  'What is happening to me?' Hawkmoon murmured.

  'As far as I can tell, a mild fever brought about by the hardships you have suffered and, I am afraid, by our hospitality. Doubtless it was too soon for you to eat rich food and drink so much wine. We should have realized that. You will be well enough in a short time, however, my lord.'

  Privately, Hawkmoon knew this diagnosis to be wrong, but he said nothing. He heard a cough to his left and turned his head but saw only the open door leading to the dressing room. Someone was within that room. He looked questioningly back at Bowgentle, but the man's face was blank as he pretended an interest in Hawkmoon's pulse.

  'You must not fear,' said the voice from the next room. 'We wish to help you.' The voice was Count Brass's. "We understand the nature of the Jewel in your forehead. When you feel rested, rise and go to the main hall, where Bowgentle will engage you in some sort of trivial conversation. Do not be surprised if his actions seem a little strange.'

  Bowgentle pursed his lips and straightened up. 'You will soon be fit again, my lord. I take my leave of you now.'

  Hawkmoon watched him leave the room and heard another door close also - Count Brass leaving. How could they have discovered the truth? And how would it affect him? Even now the Dark Lords must be wondering about the odd turn of events and suspecting something. They might release the full life of the Black Jewel at any moment. For some reason, this knowledge disturbed him more.

  Hawkmoon decided that there was nothing he could do but obey Count Brass's command, though it was just as likely that the count, if he had discovered the purpose of Hawkmoon's presence here, would be as vengeful as the Lords of Granbretan. Hawkmoon's situation was an unpleasant one in all its possibilities.

  When the room darkened and evening came, Hawkmoon got up and walked down to the main hall. It was empty. He looked around him in the flickering firelight, wondering if he had not been induced to enter some sort of trap.

  Then Bowgentle came through the far door and smiled at him. He saw Bowgentle's lips move, but no sound came from them. Bowgentle then pretended to pause as if listening to Hawkmoon's reply, and Hawkmoon realized then that this was a deception for the benefit of those who watched through the power of the Black Jewel.

  When he heard a footfall behind him, he did not turn, but instead pretended to reply to Bowgentle's conversation.

  Then Count Brass spoke from behind him. 'We know what the Black Jewel is, my lord Duke. We understand that you were induced by those of Granbretan to come here, and we believe we know the purpose of your visit. I will explain . . .'

  Hawkmoon was struck by the oddness of the situation as Bowgentle mimed speech and the count's deep voice came as if from nowhere.

  'When you first arrived here at Castle Brass,' Count Brass continued, 'I realized that the Black Jewel was something more than you said it was - even if you did not yourself realize it. I am afraid that those of the Dark Empire do me little credit, for I have studied quite as much sorcery and science as they, and I have a grimoire in which the machine of the Black Jewel is described. However, I did not know whether you were a knowing or unknowing victim of the Jewel, and I had to discover this without the Granbretanians realizing it.'

  'Thus on the night of the banquet I asked Sir Bowgentle there to disguise a rune as a pretty set of verses. The purpose of this rune would be to rob you of consciousness -and thus rob the Jewel also - so that we
could study you without the Lords of the Dark Empire realizing it. We hoped that they would think you drunk and not connect Bowgentle's pretty rhymes with your own sudden infirmity.'

  'The rune speaking began, with its special rhythms and cadences designed for your ears. It served its purpose, and you passed into a deep coma. While you slept, Bowgentle and I managed to reach through to your inner mind, which was buried deeply — like a frightened animal that digs a burrow so far underground that it begins to stifle to death. Already certain events had brought your inner mind a little closer to the surface than it had been in Granbretan, and we were able to question it. We discovered most of what had happened to you in Londra, and when I learned of your mission here I almost dispatched you. But then I realized that there was a conflict in you — which even you were scarcely aware of. If this conflict had not been evident, I would have killed you myself or let the Black Jewel do its work.'

  Hawkmoon, pretending to reply to Bowgentle's nonexistent conversation, shuddered in spite of himself.

  'However,' Count Brass went on, 'I realized that you were not to blame for what had occurred and that in killing you I might destroy a potentially powerful enemy of Granbretan. Though I remain neutral, Granbretan has done too much to offend me for me to let such a man die. Thus, we worked out this scheme in order to inform you of what we know and also to say that there is hope. I have the means of temporarily nullifying the power of the Black Jewel. When I have finished, you will accompany Bowgentle down to my chambers, where I will do what must be done. We have little time before the Lords of Granbretan lose patience and release the Jewel's full life into your skull.'

  Hawkmoon heard Count Brass's footfalls leave the hall, and then Bowgentle smiled and said aloud, 'So if you would care to accompany me, my lord, I will show you some parts of the castle you have not as yet visited. Few guests have seen Count Brass's private chambers.'

  Hawkmoon realized that these words were spoken for the benefit of the watchers in Granbretan. Doubtless Bowgentle was hoping to whet their curiosity and thus gain time.

  Bowgentle led the way out of the main hall and into a passage that ended at what appeared to be a solid wall hung with tapestries. Pushing the tapestries aside, Bowgentle touched a small stud set in the stone of the wall, and immediately a section of it began to glow brightly and then faded, to reveal a portal through which, by stooping, a man could pass. Hawkmoon went through, followed by Bowgentle, and found himself in a small room, the walls hung with old charts and diagrams. This room was left and another entered, larger than the first. It contained a great mass of alchemical apparatus and was lined with bookshelves full of huge old volumes of chemistry, sorcery and philosophy.

  'This way,' murmured Bowgentle, drawing aside a curtain to reveal a dark passage.

  Hawkmoon's eyes strained as he tried to peer through the darkness, but it was impossible. He stepped cautiously along the passage, and then it was suddenly alive with blinding white light.

  Revealed in silhouette was the looming figure of Count Brass, a strangely wrought weapon in his hands pointed at Hawkmoon's head.

  Hawkmoon gasped and tried to leap aside, but the passage was too narrow. There was a crack that seemed to burst his eardrums, a weird, melodious humming sound, and he fell back, losing consciousness.

  Awakening in golden half light, Hawkmoon had a sense of astonishing physical well-being. His whole mind and body felt alive as if it had never been alive before. He smiled and stretched. He was lying on a metal bench, alone. He reached up and touched his forehead. The Black Jewel was still there, but its texture had changed. No longer did it feel like flesh; no longer did it possess an unnatural warmth. Instead it felt like any ordinary jewel, hard and smooth and cold.

  A door opened, and Count Brass entered, looking down at him with an expression of satisfaction.

  "I am sorry if I alarmed you yesterday evening,' he said, but I had to work rapidly, paralysing the Black Jewel and capturing the life force in it. I now possess that life force, imprisoned by means both physical and sorcerous, but I cannot hold it forever. It is too strong. At some time, it will escape and flow back into the Jewel in your forehead, no matter where you are.'

  'So I am reprieved but not saved,' Hawkmoon said. 'How long does the reprieve last?'

  'I am not sure. Six months, almost certainly - perhaps a year — perhaps two. But then again, it could be a matter of hours. I cannot deceive you, Dorian Hawkmoon, but I can give you extra hope. There is a sorcerer in the East who could remove the Black Jewel from your head. He is opposed to the Dark Empire and might help you if you could ever find him.'

  'What is his name?'

  'Malagigi of Hamadan.'

  'Of Persia, then, this sorcerer?'

  'Aye,' nodded Count Brass. 'So far away as to be almost out of your reach.'

  Hawkmoon sighed and sat up.' Well, then, I must hope your sorcery lasts long enough to sustain me for just a little while. I will leave your lands, Count Brass, and go to Valence to join the army there. It gathers against Granbretan and cannot win, but at least I will take a few of the King-Emperor's dogs with me, by way of vengeance for all they did to me.'

  Count Brass smiled wryly. 'I give you back your life and you immediately decide to sacrifice it. I would suggest that you think for a while before you take any action of any kind. How do you feel, my lord Duke?'

  Dorian Hawkmoon swung his legs off the bench and stretched again. 'Awake,' he said, 'a new man ...' He frowned. 'Aye - a new man . . .' he murmured thoughtfully. 'And I agree with you, Count Brass. Vengeance can wait until a subtler scheme presents itself.'

  'In saving you,' Count Brass said almost sadly, 'I took away your youth. You will never know it again.'

  6

  The Battle of the Kamarg

  'They spread neither to east nor west,' said Bowgentle one morning some two months later, 'but carve their way directly south. There is no doubt, Count Brass, that they realize the truth and plan revenge upon you.'

  'Perhaps their vengeance is directed at me,' Hawkmoon said from where he sat in a deep armchair on one side of the fire. 'If I were to go to meet them, they might be satisfied. No doubt they think of me as a traitor.'

  Count Brass shook his head. 'If I know Baron Meliadus, he wants the blood of all of us now. He and his wolves lead the armies. They will not stop until they reach our boundaries.'

  Von Villach turned from the window where he had been looking out over the town. 'Let them come. We will blow them away as the mistral blows the leaves from the trees.'

  'Let us hope so,' said Bowgentle doubtfully. 'They have massed their forces. For the first time they seem to have ignored their usual tactics.'

  'Aye, the fools,' muttered Count Brass. 'I admired them for the way they spread out in a widening semicircle. That way they could always strengthen their rear before advancing. Now they have unconquered territory on both flanks and enemy armies capable of closing off their rear. If we beat them, they'll have a hard time retreating. Baron Meliadus's vendetta against us robs him of his good sense.'

  'But if they win,' Hawkmoon said softly, 'they will have built a road from ocean to ocean, and their conquering will be the easier for that.'

  'Possibly that is how Meliadus justifies his action,' Bowgentle agreed. 'I fear he could be right in anticipating such an outcome.'

  'Nonsense!' von Villach grumbled. 'Our towers will resist Granbretan.'

  'They were designed to withstand an attack from land,' Bowgentle pointed out. 'We did not reckon for the aerial navies of the Dark Empire.

  'We have our own army of the air,' Count Brass said.

  'The flamingoes are not made of metal,' Bowgentle replied.

  Hawkmoon rose. He still wore the black leather doublet and breeches given him by Meliadus. The leather creaked as he moved. 'Within a few weeks at most, the Dark Empire will be at our door,' he said. 'What preparations must be made?'

  Bowgentle tapped the large map he had rolled under his arm. 'First, we should study
this.'

  Count Brass pointed. 'Spread it on yonder table.'

  As Bowgentle spread the map, using wine-cups to keep the edges down, Count Brass, von Villach, and Hawkmoon gathered round. The map showed the Kamarg and the land surrounding it for some hundred miles.

  'They are more or less following the river along its eastern bank,' Count Brass said, indicating the Rhone.

  'From what the messenger said, they should be here' - his finger touched the foothills of the Cevennes - 'within a week. We must send out scouts and make sure we know their movements from moment to moment. Then, when they reach our borders, we must have our main force grouped at exactly the right position.'

  'They might send in their ornithopters ahead,' Hawkmoon said. 'What then?'

  'We'll have our own air scouts circling and be able to anticipate them,' von Villach growled. 'And the towers will be able to deal with them if the air riders cannot.'

  'Your actual forces are small,' Hawkmoon put in, 'so you will be depending heavily on these towers, fighting an almost entirely defensive action.'

  'That is all we shall need to do, Count Brass told him. 'We shall wait at our own borders, with ranks of infantry filling in the spaces between the towers, using helio-graphers and other signallers to direct the towers to where their power will be most needed.'

  'We seek only to stop their attack on us,' Bowgentle said with a hint of sarcasm. 'We have no intention of doing more than withstand them.'

  Count Brass glanced at him and frowned. 'Just so, Bowgentle. We should be fools to press an attack — our few against their many. Our only hope of survival is to depend on the towers and show the King-Emperor and his minions that the Kamarg can resist anything he cares to try — whether open battle or long siege - attack from land, sea, or air. To expend men on warfare beyond our borders would be senseless.'

  'And what say you, friend Hawkmoon?' Bowgentle asked. 'You have had experience of battle with the Dark Empire.'