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:
Stalnikov crept as high as he could. He shouted at the girl. "Yisselda-stop! Resume your former character. I command you, by the power of the Red Amulet!"
Hawkmoon turned and saw that Yisselda had paused, looking bemused. Her lips parted in horror as she stared at the things on her hands, the metal spikes that covered her body. "What has happened? What has been done to me?"
"You were hypnotized by this monster here," Hawkmoon rasped, waving his sword in the cringing Stalnikov's direction. "But I will avenge the wrongs he has done you."
"No," Stalnikov screamed. "It is not fair!"
Yisselda burst into tears.
Stalnikov looked this way and that. "Where are my minions-where my warriors?"
"You made them destroy one another for your own perverted sport," Hawkmoon told him. "And those not slain, we captured."
"My army of women! I wanted beauty to conquer all Ukrania. Get me back the Stalnikov inheritance…"
"That inheritance is here," said Hawkmoon, raising his sword.
Stalnikov leaped from the back of the chair and began to run toward the door but swerved aside as he saw that it was blocked by the Warrior in Jet and Gold.
He scuttled into the darkness of the hall, into a cranny where he disappeared from sight.
Hawkmoon got down from the chair and turned to look at Yisselda, who lay in a heap on the floor weeping. He went to her and gently removed the bloodstained talons from her slim, soft fingers.
She looked up. "Oh, Dorian. How did you find me? Oh, my love…"
"Thank the Runestaff," said the voice of the Warrior in Jet and Gold.
Hawkmoon turned, laughing in relief. "You are persistent in your claims, at least, Warrior."
The Warrior in Jet and Gold said nothing but stood like a statue, faceless and tall, by the doorway.
Hawkmoon found the fastenings of the grim, spiked suit and began to strip it off the girl.
"Find the Mad God," said the Warrior. "Remember, the Red Amulet is yours. It will give you power."
Hawkmoon frowned. "And turn me mad, perhaps?"
"No, fool, it is yours by right."
Hawkmoon paused, impressed by the Warrior's tone. Yisselda touched his hand. "I can do the rest," she said.
Hawkmoon hefted his sword and peered into the darkness wherein Stalnikov, the Mad God, had disappeared.
"Stalnikov!"
Somewhere in the deepest recesses of the hall a tiny spot of red light gleamed. Hawkmoon ducked his head and entered the alcove. He heard a sobbing sound. It filled his ears.
Closer and closer crept Hawkmoon to the source of the red brilliance. Greater and greater became the sound of the strange weeping. Then at last the red glow burned very bright, and by its light he saw the wearer of the amulet, standing against a wall of roughhewn stone, a sword in his hand.
"For thirty years I have waited for you, German,"
Stalnikov said suddenly, his voice calming. "I knew you must come to ruin my plans, to destroy my ideals, to demolish all I have worked for. Yet I hoped to avert the threat. Perhaps I still can."
With a great scream, he raised the sword and swung it at Hawkmoon.
Hawkmoon blocked the blow easily, turned the blade so that it spun from the Mad God's grasp, brought his own sword forward so that it was presented at Stalnikov's heart.
For a moment Hawkmoon looked gravely and broodingly at the frightened madman. The light from the Red Amulet stained both their faces scarlet.
Stalnikov cleared his throat as if to plead; then his shoulders sagged.
Hawkmoon drove the point of his blade into the Mad God's heart. Then he turned on his heel and left both corpse and Red Amulet where they lay.
Chapter Four
THE POWER OF THE AMULET
HAWKMOON DREW HIS cloak about Yisselda's naked shoulders. The girl was shivering, sobbing with reaction mixed with joy at seeing Hawkmoon. Nearby stood the Warrior in Jet and Gold, still motionless.
While Hawkmoon embraced Yisselda, the warrior began to move, his huge body crossing the hall and entering the darkness where lay the body of Stalnikov, the Mad God.
"Oh, Dorian, I cannot tell you the horrors I have been through these past months. Captured by this group and that, traveling for hundreds of miles. I do not even know where this hellish place is. I have no memory of recent days, save for a faint remembrance of some nightmare where I struggled with myself against a desire to slay you…"
Hawkmoon hugged her to him. "A nightmare was all it was. Come, we will leave. We will return to the Kamarg and safety. Tell me, what has become of your father and the others?"
Her eyes widened. "Did you not know? I had thought you returned there first before coming to seek me."
"I have heard nothing but rumors. How are Bowgentle, von Villach, Count Brass…?"
She lowered her gaze. "Von Villach was killed by a flame-lance in a battle with Dark Empire troops on the northern borders. Count Brass…"
"What is it?"
"When I last saw him, my father lay on a sickbed, and even Bowgentle's healing powers seemed incapable of raising him to health. It is as if he had lost all feelings-as if he no longer wished to live. He said the Kamarg must soon fall-he believed you dead when you did not return in the time necessary to have told him you were safe."
Hawkmoon's eyes blazed. "I must get back to the Kamarg posthaste-if only to give Count Brass the will again to live. With you gone, he can barely have sustained any kind of energy."
"If he lives at all," she said softly, not wanting to admit the possibility.
"He must live. If the Kamarg still stands, then Count Brass lives."
From the passage beyond the hall came the sound of running, booted feet. Hawkmoon pushed Yisselda behind him and again drew his great battle blade.
The door was flung open, and Oladahn stood there panting, D'Averc not far behind.
"Dark Empire warriors," Oladahn said. "More of them than we could fight. They must be exploring the castle and surrounds for survivors and booty."
D'Averc pushed past the little beast-man. "I tried to reason with them-claimed that I had the right to command them, being of greater rank than their leader, but"-he shrugged-"it seems D'Averc has no rank in the legions of Granbretan any more. The damned pilot of the ornithopter lived long enough to tell a search party of my clumsiness in letting you escape. I am as much an outlaw, now, as you…"
Hawkmoon frowned. "Come in, both, and bar that great door. It should hold them if they attack."
"Is it the only exit?" D'Averc asked, appraising the door.
"I think so," Hawkmoon said, "but we must worry about that score later."
From the shadows, the Warrior in Jet and Gold reemerged. In one gloved hand the Red Amulet dangled from its cord. The cord was stained with blood.
The Warrior handled it gingerly, not touching the stone itself, and stretched it out toward Hawkmoon as D'Averc and Oladahn hurried to swing the door shut and bar it.
"Here," said the Warrior in Jet and Gold. "It is yours."
Hawkmoon recoiled. "I do not want it-will not have it. It is an evil thing. It has caused many to die, others to go mad-even that poor creature Stalnikov was its victim. Keep it. Find another fool enough to wear it!"
"You must wear it," came the voice from the helm.
"Only you may wear it."
"I will not!" Hawkmoon swept out his hand to point to Yisselda. "That thing drove this gentle girl to become a slavering, killing beast. All those we saw in the fisherfolk's village-all slain by the power of the Red Amulet. All those who came against us-turned insane by its power. All those who died in the courtyard-destroyed by the Red Amulet." He struck the thing from the Warrior's hand. "I will not take it.