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:
As they had expected, the crew commanded by the pirate did not feel any great loyalty to him and, when their own skins were threatened, felt no great compulsion to come to his help. Yet they did not cast off the grappling irons but waited to see what the three men would do next.
Now Hawkmoon swung up into the crosstrees. He carried a rope with a noose already knotted. When he reached the top, he flung the rope over the arm so that it hung over the water, tied it firmly, and came down again to the deck.
Now there was silence as Shagarov slowly realized that he could expect no assistance from his men.
Up aft, the skiff with its burden of horses and provisions swung slightly in the still air, the davits creaking. The brands flared and sputtered in the hands of the three companions.
Shagarov shouted and tried to break away, but three swords stopped him, points at his throat, chest, and belly.
"You cannot…" Shagarov began, but then trailed off as he saw the determination on the faces of the three.
Oladahn reached out and hooked the dangling rope with is sword, bringing it to the rail. D'Averc pushed Shagarov forward. Hawkmoon took the noose and widened it to place it over Shagarov's neck. Then, as the noose settled around his neck, Shagarov bellowed and struck out at Oladahn, who was perched on the rail. With a shout of surprise, the little man toppled and plunged into the water. Hawkmoon gasped and rushed to see how Oladahn fared. Shagarov turned on D'Averc, knocking the brand from his hand, but D'Averc stepped back and flourished his sword under Shagarov's nose.
The pirate captain spat in his face and leaped to the rail, kicked out at Hawkmoon, who tried to stop him; then the captain leaped into space.
The noose tightened, the yardarm bent, then straightened, and Captain Shagarov's body danced wildly up and down. His neck snapped, and he died.
D'Averc dashed for the fallen brand, but it had already ignited the oil-soaked deck. He began stamping on the flames.
Hawkmoon rushed to fling a rope to Oladahn, who, dripping, began to climb up the side of the ship, looking none the worse for his swim.
Now the crew on the other boat began to mutter and move about, and Hawkmoon wondered why they did not cast off.
"Shove off!" he called, as Oladahn regained the deck. "You cannot save your captain now-and you're in danger from the fire!"
But they did not move.
"The fire, you fools!" Oladahn pointed to where D'Averc was retreating from the flames, which were now leaping high, touching the mast and superstructure.
D'Averc laughed. "Let's to our little boat."
Hawkmoon flung his own brand after D'Averc's and turned. "But why don't they get away?"
"The treasure," said D'Averc as they lowered the skiff to the water, the frightened horses snorting as they sniffed the fire. "They think the treasure's still aboard."
As soon as the skiff was afloat, they clambered down the lines into the boat and cut themselves adrift.
Now the black ship was a mass of flame and oily smoke. Outlined against the fire, the body of Shagarov swung, twisting this way and that as if trying to avoid the hellish heat.
They let loose the skiff's sail, and the breeze filled it, bearing them away from the blazing vessel. Now, beyond it, they could see the pirate's ship, a sail smoldering as sparks from the other ship caught it. Some of the crew were busy putting it out while others were reluctantly casting off the grappling lines. But now it was touch and go whether the fire would spread through their own ship.
Soon the skiff was too far away for them to see whether the pirate ship was safe or not, and in the other direction, land was in sight. The land of Crimia and beyond it, Ukrania.
And somewhere in Ukrania they would find the Mad God, his followers, and possibly Yisselda…
BOOK TWO
Now, WHILE Dorian Hawkmoon and his companions sailed for Crimia's mountainous shore, the armies of the Dark Empire pressed in upon the little land of the Kamarg, ordered by Huon, the King-Emperor, to spare no life, energy, and inspiration in the effort to crush and utterly destroy those upstarts who dared resist Granbretan. Across the Silver Bridge that spanned thirty miles of sea came the hordes of the Dark Empire, pigs and wolves, vultures and dogs, mantises and frogs, with armor of strange design and weapons of bright metal. And in his throne globe, curled fetuslike in the fluid that preserved his immortality, King Huon burned with hatred for Hawkmoon, Count Brass, and the rest who, somehow, he could not contrive to manipulate as he manipulated the rest of the world. It was as if some counterforce aided themperhaps manipulated them as he could not-and this thought the King-Emperor could not tolerate…
But much depended on those few beyond the power of King Huon's influence, those few free soulsHawkmoon, Oladahn, perhaps D'Averc, the mysterious Warrior in Jet and Gold, Yisselda, Count Brass, and a handful of others. For on these the Runestaff relied to work its own pattern of destiny…
- The High History of the Runestaff
Chapter One
THE WAITING WARRIOR
As THEY NEARED the bleak crags that marked the shore, Hawkmoon glanced curiously at D'Averc, who had flung back his boar-masked helm and was staring out to sea, a slight smile on his lips. D'Averc seemed to sense Hawkmoon's attention and glanced at him.
"You seem puzzled, Duke Dorian," he said. "Are you not a little pleased by the outcome of our plan?"
"Aye," Hawkmoon nodded. "But I wonder about you, D'Averc. You joined in this venture spontaneously; yet there is no gain in it for you. I am sure you felt no great interest in bringing Shagarov his deserts, and you certainly do not share my desperation in wanting to know Yisselda's fate. Also, you have not, to my knowledge, made any attempt to escape."
D'Averc's smile broadened a little. "Why should I?
You do not threaten my life. In fact, you saved my life. At this point, my fortunes seem linked closer to yours than the Dark Empire's."
"But your loyalty is not to me and my cause."
"My loyalty, my dear Duke, as I have already explained, is to the cause most likely to further my own ambition. I must admit I've changed my views about the hopelessness of your cause-you seem endowed with such monstrous good luck I am sometimes even inclined to think you might win against the Dark Empire. If that seems possible, I might well join you, and with great enthusiasm."
"You do not bide your time, perhaps, hoping to reverse our roles again and capture me for your masters?"
"No denial would convince you," D'Averc smiled,
"so I will not offer you one."
The enigmatic answer set Hawkmoon to frowning again.
As if to change the topic of conversation, D'Averc suddenly doubled up with a coughing fit and lay down, panting, in the boat.
Oladahn called out now from the prow. "Duke Dorian! Look-on the beach!"
Hawkmoon peered ahead. Now, under the looming cliffs, he could make out a narrow strip of shingle. A horseman could be seen on the beach, motionless, looking towards them as if he awaited them with some particular message.
The keel of the skiff scraped the shingle of the beach, and Hawkmoon recognized the horseman who waited in the shadow of the cliff.
Hawkmoon sprang from the boat and approached him. He was clad from head to foot in plate armor, his helmeted head bowed as if in brooding thought.
"Did you know I would be here?" Hawkmoon asked.
"It seemed that you might beach in this particular place," replied the Warrior in Jet and Gold. "So I waited."