The Mad God's Amulet
- Автор: Муркок Майкл
- Серия: The History of the Runestaff #2
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Фэнтези
Электронная книга - «The Mad God's Amulet». Краткое содержание книги:
Hawkmoon smiled slightly, once again admiring the Frenchman's coolness. Evidently the food had tasted as foul to him as it had to them, but his hunger had been so great that he had eaten the stuff anyway, and with panache.
Now D'Averc stretched, his rippling muscles belying his claim to invalidism. "Ah," he yawned. "If you will forgive me, gentlemen, I will sleep now. I have had a trying and tiring few days."
"Take my bed," Hawkmoon said, indicating his cramped bunk. He did not mention that earlier he had noticed what had seemed to be a whole tribe of bugs nesting in it. I'll see if the skipper has a hammock."
"I am grateful," D'Averc said, and there seemed to be a surprising seriousness about his tone that made Hawkmoon wheel away from the door.
"For what?"
D'Averc began to cough ostentatiously, then looked up and said in his old, mocking tone, "Why, my dear Duke, for saving my life, of course."
In the morning the storm had died down, and though the sea was still rough it was much calmer than the previous day.
Hawkmoon met D'Averc on deck. The man was dressed in coat and britches of green velvet but was without his armor. He bowed when he saw Hawkmoon.
"You slept well?" asked Hawkmoon.
"Excellently." D'Averc's eyes were full of humor, and Hawkmoon guessed that he had been bitten a good many times.
"Tonight we should make port," Hawkmoon told him. "You will be my prisoner-my hostage, if you like."
"Hostage? Do you think the Dark Empire cares if I live or die once I have lost my usefulness?"
"We shall see," said Hawkmoon, fingering the jewel in his skull. "If you attempt to escape, I shall certainly kill you-as coolly as you killed your men."
D'Averc coughed into the handkerchief he carried.
"I owe you my life," he said. "So it is yours to take if you would."
Hawkmoon frowned. D'Averc was far too devious for him to understand properly. He was beginning to regret his decision. The Frenchman might prove more of a liability than he had bargained for.
Oladahn came hurrying along the deck. "Duke Dorian," he panted, pointing forward. "A sail-and it's heading directly toward us."
"We're in little danger," Hawkmoon smiled.
"We're no prize for a pirate."
But moments later Hawkmoon noticed signs of panic among the crew, and as the captain stumbled past, he caught his arm. "Captain Mouso-what is it?"
"Danger, sir," rasped the skipper. "Great danger.
Did you not read the sail?"
Hawkmoon peered toward the horizon and saw that the ship carried a single black sail. On it was painted an emblem of some kind, but he could not make out what it was. "Surely they'll not trouble us," he said. "Why should they risk a fight for a tub like this-and you said yourself we're carrying no cargo."
"They care not what we carry or don't carry, sir.
They attack anything on the ocean on sight. They're like killer whales, Duke Dorian-their pleasure is not in taking treasure but in destruction!"
"Who are they? Not a Granbretanian ship by the look of it," D'Averc said.
"Even one of those would probably not bother to attack us," stuttered Captain Mouso. "No-that is a ship crewed by those belonging to the Cult of the Mad God. They are from Muskovia and in recent months have begun to terrorize these waters."
"They definitely seem to have the intention of attacking," D'Averc said lightly. "With your permission, Duke Dorian, I'll go below and don my sword and armor."
"I'll get my weapons, too," Oladahn said. "I'll bring your sword for you."
"No point in fighting!" It was the mate, gesticulating with his bottle. "Best throw ourselves in the sea now."
"Aye," Captain Mouso nodded, looking after D'Averc and Oladahn as they went to fetch their weapons. "He's right. We'll be outnumbered, and they'll tear us to pieces. If we're captured, they'll torture us for days."
Hawkmoon started to say something to the captain, then turned as he heard a splash. The mate had gone -as good as his word. Hawkmoon rushed to the side but could see nothing.
"Don't bother to help him-follow him," the skipper said, "for he's the wisest of us all."
The ship was bearing down on them now, its black sail painted with a pair of great red wings, and in the center of them was a huge, bestial face, howling as if in the throes of maniacal laughter. Crowding the decks were scores of naked men wearing nothing but sword belts and metal-studded collars. Drifting across the water came a weird sound that Hawkmoon could not at first make out. Then he glanced at the sail again and knew what it was.
It was the sound of wild, insane laughter, a sound as if the damned of hell were moved to merriment.
"The Mad God's ship," said Captain Mouso, his eyes beginning to fill with tears. "Now we die."
Chapter Seven
THE RING ON THE FINGER
HAWKMOON, OLADAHN, and D'Averc stood shoulder to shoulder by the port rail of the ship as the weird vessel sped closer and closer.
The members of the crew had all clustered around their captain, as far as possible away from the attackers.
Looking at the rolling eyes and foaming mouths of the madmen in the ship, Hawkmoon decided that their chances were all but hopeless. Grappling irons snaked out from the Mad God's ship and bit into the soft wood of Smiling Girl's rail. Instantly the three men began to hack at the ropes, severing most of them.
Hawkmoon yelled to the captain, "Get your men aloft-try to turn the ship." But the frightened men did not move. "You'll be safer in the rigging!" Hawkmoon shouted. They began to stir but still did nothing.
Hawkmoon was forced to return his attention to the attacking ship and was horrified to see it looming over them, its insane crew clustering against the rail, some already beginning to climb over, ready to leap onto Smiling Girl's deck, cutlasses drawn. Their laughter filled the air, and bloodlust shone on their twisted faces.
The first came flying down on Hawkmoon, naked body gleaming, sword raised. Hawkmoon's own blade came up to skewer the man as he fell; another twist of the sword and the corpse dropped down through the narrow gap between the ships, into the sea. Within moments the air was full of naked warriors swinging on ropes, jumping wildly, clambering hand over hand across the grappling lines. The three men stopped the first wave, hacking about them until everything seemed bloodred, but gradually they were forced away from the rail as the madmen swarmed onto the deck, fighting without skill but with a chilling disregard for their own lives.
Hawkmoon became separated from his comrades, did not know if they lived or had been killed. The prancing warriors flung themselves at him, but he clutched his battle blade in both hands and swung it about him in a great arc, this way and that, surrounding himself with a blur of bright steel. He was covered in blood from head to foot; only his eyes gleamed, blue and steady, from the visor of his helmet.
And all the while the Mad God's men laughedlaughed even as their heads were chopped from their necks, their limbs from their bodies.
Hawkmoon knew that eventually weariness would overcome him. Already the sword felt heavy in his hands and his knees shook. His back against a bulkhead, he hacked and stabbed at the seemingly ceaseless wave of giggling madmen whose swords sought to slash the life from him.
Here a man was decapitated, there another dismembered, but every blow drained more energy from Hawkmoon.
Then, as he blocked two swords that struck at him at once, his leg buckled and he went down to one knee. The laughter grew louder, triumphant, as the Mad God's men moved in for the kill.
He hacked upward desperately, gripping the wrist of one of his attackers and wrenching the sword away from him so that now he had two blades. Using the madman's sword to thrust and his own to swing, he managed to regain his footing, kicked out at another man, and scrambled away, to rush up the companionway to the bridge. At the top of the companionway he turned to fight again, this time with an increased advantage over the howling madmen who crowded up the steps toward him. He saw now that both D'Averc and Oladahn were in the rigging, managing to keep their attackers at bay. He glanced toward the Man God's ship. It was still held fast by grappling ropes, but it was deserted. Its entire crew was on board the Smiling Girl. Hawkmoon at once had an idea.