The History of the Runestaff

by Michael Moorcock

  They camped that evening on relatively dry ground, and although Hawkmoon made some attempt to help Oladahn build a fire, he was soon forced to lie with his back against a tree trunk, panting and clutching his head while the little man finished the work.

  The next morning they moved on through the forest, Oladahn leading Hawkmoon's mount, for the Duke of Koln was now slumped across its neck. Toward the latter part of the morning they heard human voices and turned their beasts toward the sound.

  It was a caravan of sorts, laboring through the mud and water between the trees. Some fifteen wagons, with rain-soaked silk canopies of scarlet, yellow, blue, and green. Mules and oxen strained to haul them, and their feet slipped in mud, and their muscles bulged and rippled as they were goaded on by their drivers, who stood beside them with whips and spiked sticks. At the wheels of the wagons other men sweated to help turn them, and at the backs of the wagons leaned more who pushed with all their might. Yet in spite of all this great effort, the wagons hardly moved.

  It was not so much this sight that made the two travelers wonder, but the nature of the people of the caravan. Through his clouded eyes, Hawkmoon saw them and wondered.

  Without exception they were grotesque. Dwarves and midgets, giants and fat men, men with fur growing all over them (rather like Oladahn, save that the fur of these was un-pleasant to look upon), others pale and hairless, one man with three arms, another with one, two cloven-footed people-a man and a woman - children with beards, hermaphrodites with the organs of both sexes, others with mottled skins like snakes, and others with tails, misshapen limbs and warped bodies, faces with features missing or else abnormally proportioned; some hunchbacked, some without necks, some with foreshortened arms and legs, one with purple hair and a horn growing from his forehead. And only in their eyes was there any similarity, for every expression was one of dull despair as the bizarre band toiled to move the caravan a few feet through the wooded marsh.

  It seemed that they were in hell and looked upon the damned.

  The forest smell of damp bark and wet mold was now mingled with other scents, harder to identify. There was the stink of men and beasts, of heavy perfume and rich spices, but besides these there was something else that lay over them all and made Oladahn shudder. Hawkmoon had raised himself up from his mount's neck and sniffed the air like a wary wolf.

  He glanced at Oladahn, frowning. The deformed creatures did not seem to notice the newcomers but continued to work in silence. There was only the sound of the wagons creaking and the animals snorting and splashing in their yokes.

  Oladahn tugged at his reins, as if to pass the caravan by, but Hawkmoon did not follow his example. He continued to stare thoughtfully at the weird procession.

  "Come," said Oladahn. "There is danger here, Lord Hawkmoon."

  "We must get our bearings - find out where we are and how far we must travel over this plain," Hawkmoon said in a harsh whisper. "Besides, our provisions are almost gone..."

  "We might come upon some game in the forest."

  Hawkmoon shook his head. "No. Also I think I know to whom this caravan belongs."

  "Who?"

  "A man I have heard of but never encountered. A countryman of mine - a kinsman even - who left Koln some nine centuries ago."

  "Nine centuries? Impossible!"

  "Not so. Agonosvos is immortal - or nearly. If it be he, then he could help us, for I am still his rightful ruler. . . ."

  "He would have loyalty to Koln, after nine hundred years?"

  "Let us see." Hawkmoon urged his beast toward the head of the caravan, where a tall wagon swayed, its canopy of golden silk, its carriage carved in complicated patterns, painted in bright primaries. Ill at ease, Oladahn followed less rapidly. In the front of the wagon, seated well back to avoid the greater part of the drifting rain, was a figure huddled in a rich bearskin cloak, a plain black helm covering its whole face save for the eyes. It moved as it saw Dorian Hawkmoon regarding it and a thin, hollow sound came from the helm.

  "Lord Agonosvos," Hawkmoon said. "I am the Duke von Koln, last of the line begun a thousand years since."

  The figure answered in a low, laconic tone. "A Hawkmoon, I can see that. Landless now, eh? Granbretan took Koln, did it not?"

  "Aye . . ."

  "And so we are both banished; myself by your ancestor, and you by the conqueror."

  "Be that as it may, I am still the last of my line and thus your master." Hawkmoon's tormented face stared hard at the figure.

  "Master, is it? Authority over me was renounced when I was sent to the wild lands by Duke Dietrich."

  "Not so, as you well know. No man of Koln can ever refuse his prince's will."

  "Can he not?" Agonosvos laughed quietly. "Can he not?"

  Hawkmoon made to turn away, but Agonosvos raised a thin, slim-fingered hand that was bone-white. "Stay. I have offended you and must make amends. How can I serve you?"

  "You admit your loyalty to me?"

  "I admit to impoliteness. You seem weary. I will stop my caravan and entertain you. What of your servant?"

  "He is not my servant but my friend. Oladahn of the Bulgar Mountains."

  "A friend? And not of your race? Still, let him join us."

  Agonosvos leaned from his wagon to call languidly to his men to stop their labors. Instantly, they relaxed, standing where they were, their bodies limp and their eyes still full of dumb despair.

  "What do you think of my collection?" Agonosvos asked when they had dismounted and climbed into the gloom of the wagon's interior. "Such curiosities once amused me, but now I find them dull and they must work to justify their existence.

  I have one at least of almost every type." He glanced at Oladahn. "Including yours. Some I cross-bred myself."

  Oladahn shifted his position uncomfortably. It was unnaturally warm within the confines of the wagon; yet there was no sign of a stove or any other heating apparatus. Agonosvos poured them wine from a blue gourd. The wine, too, was a deep, lustrous blue. The ancient exile of Koln still wore his black, featureless helm, and his black, sardonic eyes looked at Hawkmoon a trifle calculatingly.

  Hawkmoon was making a great effort to appear in good health, but it was plain that Agonosvos guessed the truth when he handed him a golden goblet of wine and said, "This will make you feel better, my lord."

  The wine did, in fact, revive him, and soon the pain had gone again. Agonosvos asked him how he had come to be in these parts, and Hawkmoon told him a considerable part of his tale. "So," said Agonosvos, "you want my help, eh? For the sake of our ancient kinship, hm? Well, I will brood upon that. In the meantime I will set a wagon aside so that you may rest. We will discuss the matter further in the morning."

  Hawkmoon and Oladahn did not sleep immediately. They sat up in the silks and furs Agonosvos had lent them and discussed the strange sorcerer. "He reminds me uncommon much of those Dark Empire Lords you told me of," Oladahn said. "I think he means us ill. Perhaps he wishes to be avenged on you for the wrong he thinks your forefather did him - perhaps he wants to add me to his collection." He shuddered.

  "Aye," Hawkmoon said thoughtfully. "But it would be unwise to anger him without reason. He could be useful to us.

  We'll sleep on it."

  "Sleep warily," Oladahn cautioned.

  But Hawkmoon slept deeply and awakened to find himself bound in tight leather thongs that had been wrapped round and round his body and then tugged to secure him. He straggled, glaring up at the enigmatic helm that covered the face of his immortal kinsman. There came a soft chuckle from Agonosvos.

  "You knew of me, last of the Hawkmoons - but you did not know as much as you should. Know you not that many of my years were spent in Londra, teaching the Lords of Granbretan my secrets? We have long had an alliance, the Dark Empire and I. Baron Meliadus spoke of you when last I saw him. He will pay me anything I desire for your living body."

  "Where is my companion?"

  "The furry creature? Scampered into the night when he heard our ap
proach. They are all the same, these beast folk - timid and faint-hearted friends."

  "So you intend to deliver me to Baron Meliadus?"

  "You heard me perfectly. Aye, that is just what I intend.

  I'll leave this clumsy caravan to wend its way as best it can till I return. We'll move on swifter steeds - special steeds I have kept for such a time as this. I have already sent a messenger ahead of me to tell the Baron of my catch. You - bear him forth!"

  At Agonosvos's command, two midgets hurried forward to pick Hawkmoon up in their long, well-muscled arms and clamber out of the wagon with him into the gray light of early dawn.

  A drizzle still fell, and through it Hawkmoon saw two great horses, both with coats of lustrous blue, intelligent eyes, and powerful limbs. He had never seen such fine beasts. "I bred them myself," Agonosvos said, "not for strangeness, in this case, but for speed. We shall soon be in Londra, you and I." He chuckled again as Hawkmoon was slung over the back of one of the steeds and roped to the stirrups.

  He climbed into the saddle of the second horse, took the bridle of Hawkmoon's, and spurred forward. Hawkmoon was alarmed at the swift movement of the horse. It moved easily, galloping almost as fast as his flamingo had flown. But where the bird had borne him toward salvation, this horse took him closer to his doom. In an agony of mind, Hawkmoon decided that his lot was hopeless.

  They galloped for a long time through the slushy earth of the forest. Hawkmoon's face became coated with mud, and he could see only by blinking heavily and craning his neck up.

  Then, much later, he heard Agonosvos curse and shout.

  "Out of my way - out of my way!" Hawkmoon tried to peer forward but could see nothing but the hindquarters of Agonosvos's horse and a little of the man's cloak. Dimly, he heard another voice but could not distinguish what it said.

  "Aaah! May Kaldreeen eat your eyes!" Agonosvos now seemed to be reeling in his saddle. The two horses slowed their pace, then halted. Hawkmoon saw Agonosvos sway forward and then fall into the mud, crawling through it and trying to rise. There was an arrow in his side. Helpless, Hawkmoon wondered what new danger had arisen. Was he to be killed here rather than at the Court of King Huon?

  A small figure came into view, skipping over the struggling body of Agonosvos and slashing Hawkmoon's bonds. Hawkmoon dropped from the saddle, holding on to the pommel and rubbing at his numbed arms and legs. Oladahn grinned at him. "You'll find your sword in the sorcerer's baggage," he said.

  Hawkmoon grinned in relief. "I thought you'd fled back to your mountains."

  Oladahn began to reply, but Hawkmoon gasped a warning.

  "Agonosvos!" The sorcerer had risen to his feet, clutching at the arrow in his side and staggering toward the little mountain man. Hawkmoon forgot his own pain, ran to the sorcerer's horse, and tore at the man's rolled goods until he found his sword. Oladahn was now wrestling in the mud with Agonosvos.

  Hawkmoon sprang at them but dared not risk stabbing at the sorcerer lest he harm his friend. He leaned down and hauled on Agonosvos's shoulder, dragging the enraged man backward. He heard a snarl issue from the helm, and Agonosvos drew his own sword from its scabbard. It whistled through the air as he struck at Hawkmoon. Hawkmoon, still hardly able to stand, met the blow and staggered backward.

  The sorcerer struck again.

  Hawkmoon deflected the blade, swung his sword somewhat weakly at Agonosvos's head, missed, and saw just in time to parry the next stroke. Then he saw an opening and drove the blade point-first into the sorcerer's belly. The man shrieked and backed away, curiously stiff-legged, his hands clutching Hawkmoon's sword, which had been wrenched from the Duke of Koto's hands. Then he spread his arms wide, began to speak, and fell sprawling into the dark water of a shallow pool.

  Panting, Hawkmoon leaned against the bole of a tree, the pain in his limbs increasing as the circulation returned.

  Oladahn rose from the mud, hardly recognizable. A quiver of arrows had been torn loose from his belt, and he picked it up now, inspecting the fletchings. "Some are ruined, but I'll soon replace 'em," he said.

  "Where did you get them?"

  "Last night, I decided to make my own inspection of Agonosvos's camp. I found the bow and arrows in one of the wagons and thought they might be useful. Returning, I saw Agonosvos enter our wagon and guessed his business, so I remained hidden and followed you."

  "But how could you follow such fast horses?" Hawkmoon asked.

  "I found an even faster ally," Oladahn grinned, and pointed through the trees. Coming toward them was a grotesque creature with incredibly long legs, the rest of his body of normal size. "This is Vlespeen. He hates Agonosvos and willingly aided me."

  Vlespeen peered down at them. "You killed him," he said.

  "Good."

  Oladahn inspected Agonosvos's baggage. He brandished a roll of parchment. "A map. And enough provisions to get us all to the coast." He unrolled the map. "It's not far. Look."

  They gathered around the map, and Hawkmoon saw that it was scarcely more than a hundred miles to the Mermian Sea. Vlespeen wandered away to where Agonosvos had fallen; perhaps to gloat over the corpse. A moment later they heard him scream and turned to see the body of the sorcerer, brandishing the sword that had slain him, walking stiffly toward the long-legged man. The sword ripped upward into Vlespeen's stomach, and his legs collapsed under him, jerked like a puppet's, and then were still. Hawkmoon was horrified.

  From within the helm came a dry chuckle. "Fools! I have lived for nine hundred years. In that tune I have learned how to cheat all forms of death."

  Without thinking, Hawkmoon leaped at him, knowing it was his one chance to save his life. Even though he had survived a blow that should have been mortal, Agonosvos had evidently been weakened. The two struggled on the edge of the pool, while Oladahn danced around them, jumping at last upon the sorcerer's back and wrenching the tight helm from his head. Agonosvos howled, and Hawkmoon felt nausea overcome him as he stared at the white, fleshless head that was revealed. It was the face of an ancient corpse; a corpse that the worms had chewed upon. Agonosvos covered the face in his hands and staggered away.

  As Hawkmoon picked up his sword and made to mount the great blue horse, he heard a voice come calling to him through the woods.

  "I shall not forget this, Dorian Hawkmoon. You'll yet make sport for Baron Meliadus - and I shall be there to watch!"

  Hawkmoon shuddered and urged the horse southward, where the map had shown the Mermian Sea to lie.

  Within two days the sky had lightened and a yellow sun shone in a blue sky, and ahead of them was a town beside the glinting sea, where they might take ship for Turkia.

  Chapter Three - THE WARRIOR IN JET AND GOLD

  THE HEAVY TARKIAN MERCHANTMAN clove through the calm waters of the ocean, foam breaking over its bow, its single lateen sail stretched like a bird's wing as it took the strong wind. The captain of the vessel, in golden tasseled hat and braided jacket, his long skirts held to his ankles by bands of gold, stood with Hawkmoon and Oladahn in the stern of the ship. The captain jerked his thumb at the two huge blue horses corralled on the lower deck. "Fine beasts, masters. I've never seen the like in these parts." He scratched at his pointed beard. "You would not sell them? I'm part owner of this vessel and could afford a good price."

  Hawkmoon shook his head. "Those horses are worth more to me than any riches."

  "I can believe it," replied the captain, missing his meaning.

  He looked up as the man in the topmast yelled and waved, stretching his arm to the west.

  Hawkmoon glanced in the same direction and saw three small sails rising over the horizon. The captain raised his spyglass. "By Rakar-Dark Empire ships!" He passed the glass to Hawkmoon. Hawkmoon saw the black sails of the vessels clearly now. Each was emblazoned with the shark symbol of the Empire's warfleet.

  "Do they mean us harm?" he asked.

  "They mean harm to all not of their own kind," the captain said grimly. "We can only pray they haven't seen us. T
he sea's becoming thick with their craft. A year ago . . ." he paused to yell orders to his men. The ship jumped forward as stay-sails were added forward. "A year ago there were few of them, and trading peacefully for the most part. Now they dominate the seas. You'll find their armies in Turkia, Syria, Persia-everywhere - spreading insurrection, aiding local revolts. My guess is they'll have the East under their heel as they have the West - give 'em a couple of years."

  Soon the Dark Empire ships were below the horizon again, and the captain breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll not be comfortable," said he, "till port's in sight."

  The Tarkian port was seen at sunset, and they were forced to lie offshore until morning, when they sailed in on the tide and docked.

  Not much later, the three Dark Empire warships came into the harbor, and Hawkmoon and Oladahn deemed it expedient to purchase what provisions they could and follow the map eastward, for Persia.

  A week later, the great horses had borne them well past Ankara and across the Kizilirmac River, and they were riding through hill country where all seemed turned to yellow and brown by the burning sun. On several occasions they had seen armies pass by but had avoided them. The armies consisted of local troops, often augmented by masked warriors of Granbretan. Hawkmoon was disturbed by this, for he had not expected the Dark Empire's influence to stretch this far. Once, they witnessed a battle from a distance, seeing the disciplined forces of Granbretan easily defeat the opposing army. Now Hawkmoon rode desperately toward Persia.

  A month later, as their horses trotted along the shores of a vast lake, Oladahn and Hawkmoon were suddenly surprised by a force of some twenty warriors who appeared over the crest of a hill and came charging toward them. The warriors' masks flashed in the sun, adding to their fierce appearance - the masks of the Order of the Wolf.

  "Ho! The two our master seeks!" cried one of the leading horsemen. "The reward is large for the tall one if taken alive."