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:
If that is what the Runestaff creates, I will have no part of it.!"
"It is what men-fools like yourself-do with it, that makes it corrupt in its influence," the Warrior in Jet and Gold said, his voice still grave and impassive. "It is your duty-as the Runestaff's chosen servant-to take the gift. It will not harm you. It will bring you nothing but power."
"Power to destroy and turn men mad!"
"Power to do good-power to fight the hordes of the Dark Empire!"
Hawkmoon sneered. There came a great crash on the door, and he knew that the warriors of Granbretan had found them. "We are outnumbered," said Hawkmoon. "Will the Red Amulet give us the power to escape them when there is only one way outthrough yonder door?"
"It will help you," said the Warrior in Jet and Gold, leaning down to retrieve the fallen amulet, again picking it up by its string.
The door creaked under the pressure of the blows from those on the other side.
"If the Red Amulet can do so much good," Hawkmoon said, "why do you not touch it yourself?"
"It is not mine to touch. It could do to me what it did to the miserable Stalnikov." The warrior moved forward. "Here, take it. It is why you came here."
"It is because of Yisselda I came here-to rescue her. I have done that."
"It is why she came here."
"So it was a trick to lure me…?"
"No. It was part of the pattern. But you say you came to save her, and yet you refuse the means of escaping with her safely from this castle. Once those warriors break in, a score or more of fierce fighters, they will destroy you all. And Yisselda's fate might be worse than yours…"
Now the door was splitting. Oladahn and D'Averc backed away, swords ready, a look of quiet desperation in their eyes.
"Another moment and they will be in here," said D'Averc. "Farewell, Oladahn-and you, too, Hawkmoon. You were less boring companions than some…"
Hawkmoon eyed the amulet. "I do not know…"
"Trust my word," said the Warrior in Jet and Gold. "I have saved you in the past. Would I have done so merely to destroy you now?"
"Destroy me, no-but this will put me in some evil power. How do I know you are a messenger for the Runestaff? I have only your word that I serve it and not some darker cause."
"The door is breaking down!" Oladahn yelled.
"Duke Dorian, we'll need your aid! Let the warrior escape with Yisselda if he can!"
"Quick," said the Warrior, extending the amulet again to Hawkmoon. "Take it and save the maid, at least."
For an instant, Hawkmoon hesitated; then he accepted the thing. It settled into his hand like a pet in the hand of its master-but an exceedingly powerful pet. Its red light seemed to grow in intensity until it appeared to flood the great, grotesquely proportioned chamber. Hawkmoon felt the power flood into him.
His whole body became full of a great sense of wellbeing. When he moved it was with great speed. His brain seemed no longer clouded by the events of the past day. He smiled and placed the blood-stained thong about his neck, bent to kiss Yisselda once and felt a delicious sensation rush through him, turned, sword ready, to face the howling horde that had by now all but demolished the great door.
Then the door fell inward, and there stood crouched the panting dogs of Granbretan, tiger masks gleaming with enameled metal and semiprecious jewels, weapons poised to butcher the pathetic-seeming little group that awaited them.
The leader stepped forward.
"So much exercise for so few. Brothers, we'll make them pay for our efforts."
And then the killing began.
Chapter Five
THE SLAUGHTER IN THE HALL
"OH, BY THE Runestaff," murmured Hawkmoon thickly, "the power in me!"
Then he sprang forward, great battle blade howling through the air to snap the enmetaled neck of the leading warrior, slash backhanded at the man to his left and send him reeling, swing around and cut through the armor of the man to his right.
Suddenly there were blood and twisted metal everywhere. The light from the amulet spread scarlet shadows across the masked faces of the warriors as Hawkmoon led his comrades forward in an attackthe last thing the Dark Empire soldiers had expected.
But the amulet's light dazzled them, and they lifted armor-clumsy arms to shield their eyes, weapons held defensively, bewildered by the speed with which Hawkmoon, Oladahn, and D'Averc moved against them. Following the other three came the Warrior in Jet and Gold, his own huge broadsword whistling in a circle of steel death, all his movements apparently effortless.
There were a clattering and a shouting from the men of Granbretan as, with Yisselda behind them at all times, the four drove them into the hall.
Hawkmoon was attacked by some six swearing axmen who tried to press in against him and stop him from wielding his deadly sword, but the young Duke of Koln kicked out at one, elbowed another aside, and brought his blade straight down into the maskhelmet of another splitting both helm and skull so that brains oozed through the fissure when he'd tugged his sword free. The sword became rapidly blunted with so much work, until at last he was using it more as an ax than anything else. He wrenched a fresh sword from the hand of one of his attackers but kept his own. With the new sword he thrust, with the old he hacked.
"Ah," whispered Hawkmoon. "The Red Amulet is worth its price." It swung at his neck, turning his sweating, vengeful face into a red demon's mask.
Now the last of the warriors tried to flee for the door, but the Warrior in Jet and Gold and D'Averc blocked them, hacking them down as they tried to burst past.
Somewhere, Hawkmoon caught a glimpse of Yisselda. Her face was buried in her hands as she refused to witness the red ruin Hawkmoon and his friends had created. "Oh, it is sweet to slay these carrion,"
Hawkmoon said. "Do not refuse to look, Yisseldathis is our triumph!" But the girl did not look up.
In many parts of the hall the floors were heaped with the twisted corpses of the slaughtered. Hawkmoon panted, seeking more to slay, but there were none left. He dropped the borrowed blade, sheathed his own, the battle lust leaving him completely. He frowned down at the Red Amulet, raising it up to regard it more closely, studying the simple motif of a runecarved staff that had been cut from it.
"So," he murmured. "Your first help is in aiding me to kill. I'm grateful, but I wonder, still, if you're not a force more for evil than for good…" The light from the Runestaff flickered and began to fade.
Hawkmoon looked up at the Warrior in Jet and Gold.
"The amulet's dulled-what means that?"
"Nothing," said the Warrior. "It draws its power from a great distance off and cannot sustain it at all times. It will grow bright again eventually." He paused, cocking his head toward the passage. "I hear more footsteps-the warriors were not the whole force."
"Then let us go to meet them," D'Averc said with a low bow, waving Hawkmoon before him. "After you, my friend. You seem best equipped to be first."
"No," said the warrior. "I will go. The Amulet's power has faded for the while. Come."
Warily they passed through the smashed door, Hawkmoon last with Yisselda. She looked up at him then, her eyes steady. "I am glad you killed them," she said, "though I hate to see death come so gracelessly."
"They live without grace," Hawkmoon said softly,
"and they deserve to die without grace. It is the only way to treat those who serve the Dark Empire. Now we must face more of them. Be brave, my love, for we face now our greatest danger."
Ahead, the Warrior in Jet and Gold had already engaged the first of the fresh force of fighters and was flinging the weight of his great metal-encased body against them so that they stumbled back in the narrow confines of the passage, unnerved, as much as anything, because not one of their opponents seemed hurt by them and because some five and twenty of their comrades appeared to have met their death within.