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:
"Take the reins of his horse, Oladahn," Hawkmoon said. "I'll steady him in his saddle, and we'll see if we can get closer to the tower."
Flame shot out again, this time from the Granbretanian side. "Stop, Hawkmoon!"
Hawkmoon ignored the command and moved on, slowly picking his way through the mud and death all around him, trying to support D'Averc.
Hawkmoon shouted as a great beam of light sprang from the tower, "Men of the Kamarg! It is Hawkmoon-and Yisselda, Count Brass's daughter."
The light faded. Closer now came the horses of Meliadus. Yisselda, too, was swaying in her saddle from exhaustion. Hawkmoon prepared to meet the wolves of Meliadus.
Then, bursting down an incline, came about a score of armored Guardians, the white, horned horses of the Kamarg under them, and they surrounded the four.
One of the Guardians peered closely into Hawkmoon's face, then his eyes lit with joy. "It is my lord Hawkmoon! It is Yisselda! Ah-now our luck will change!"
Some distance away Meliadus and his men had paused when they saw the Kamargians. Then they turned and rode into the darkness.
They came to Castle Brass in the morning, when the pale sunlight fell on the lagoons and wild bulls looked up from where they drank and watched them pass. A wind stirred the reeds, making them roll like the sea, and the hill overlooking the town was rich with grapes and other fruits just beginning to ripen.
On top of the hill stood Castle Brass, solid and old and seemingly unchanged by the wars that had raged on the borders of the province it protected.
They road up the curling white road to the castle, crossed into the courtyard, where joyous stewards rushed out to take their horses, then entered the hall, which was full of Count Brass's trophies. It was strangely cold and silent, and a single figure stood by the great fireplace waiting for them. Although he smiled, his eyes were fearful and his face had aged much since Hawkmoon had last seen him-wise Sir Bowgentle, the philosopher-poet.
Bowgentle embraced Yisselda, then gripped Hawkmoon's hand.
"How is Count Brass?" Hawkmoon asked.
"Physically well, but he has lost the will to live."
Bowgentle signed for stewards to help D'Averc.
"Take him to the room in the northern tower-the sickroom. I'll attend to him as soon as I can. Come," he said. "See for yourselves…"
They left Oladahn to stay with D'Averc and climbed the old stone staircase to the landing where Count Brass's apartments still were. Bowgentle opened a door and they entered the bedroom.
There was a simple soldier's bed, big and square, with white sheets and plain pillows. On the pillows lay a great head that seemed carved from metal. The red hair had a little more gray, the bronzed face was a trifle paler, but the red mustache was the same. And the heavy brow that hung like a ledge of rock over the cave of the deepset golden brown eyes, that, too, was the same. But the eyes stared at the ceiling without blinking, and the lips did not move, were set in a hard line.
"Count Brass," murmured Bowgentle. "Look."
But the eyes remained fixed. Hawkmoon had to come forward, peer straight into the face, and make Yisselda do likewise. "Count Brass, your daughter, Yisselda, has returned, and Dorian Hawkmoon, too."
From the lips now came a rumbling murmur, "More illusions. I'd thought the fever past, Bowgentle."
"So it is, my lord-these are not phantoms."
The eyes moved now to look at them. "Am I dead at last and joined with you, my children?"
"You are on earth, Count Brass!" Hawkmoon said Yisselda bent and kissed her father on the lips.
"There, father-an earthly kiss."
Gradually the hard line of the lips began to melt, until a smile was there, then a wide grin. Then the body heaved under the clothes, and suddenly Count Brass was sitting upright. "Ah! It's true. I'd lost hope!
Fool that I am, I'd lost hope!" He laughed now, suddenly alive with vitality.
Bowgentle was astonished. "Count Brass-I thought you but a pace from the door of death!"
"So I was, Bowgentle-but I've leaped back from it, as you see. Leaped a long way. How goes the siege, Hawkmoon?' "Badly for us, Count Brass, but better, I'll wager, now we three are together again!"
"Aye. Bowgentle, have my armor brought. And where is my sword?"
"Count Brass-you must still be weak…"
"Then bring me food-a great deal of food-and I'll fortify myself while we talk." And Count Brass sprang from his bed to embrace his daughter and her betrothed.
In the hall they ate while Dorian Hawkmoon told Count Brass all that had befallen him since leaving the castle so many months before. Count Brass, in turn, told of his tribulations with, it had seemed, the entire might of the Dark Empire to contend with. He told of von Villach's last battle and how the old man had died bravely, at the cost of a score of Dark Empire lives, how he, himself, had been wounded, how he had learned of Yisselda's disappearance and lost the will to live.
Oladahn came down then and was introduced. He said that D'Averc was badly hurt but that Bowgentle thought he would recover.
On the whole it was a cheerful homecoming, but marred by the knowledge that on the borders the Guardians were fighting for their lives, almost certainly fighting a losing battle.
Count Brass had by this time donned his armor of brass and strapped on his huge broadsword. He towered above the others as he stood up and said, "Come, Hawkmoon, Sir Oladahn, we must to the battlefield and lead our men to victory."
Bowgentle sighed. "Two hours ago I thought you all but dead-now you ride to battle. You are not well enough, sir."
"My sickness was of the spirit, not the flesh, and that's cured now," roared Count Brass. "Horses! Tell them to bring our horses, Sir Bowgentle!"
Though himself weary, Hawkmoon found renewed vigor as he followed the old man from the castle. He blew a kiss to Yisselda, and then they were in the courtyard, mounting the horses that would bear them to the battlefield.
They rode hard, the three of them, through the secret pathways of the marshlands, with huge clouds of giant flamingoes passing through the air over their heads, herds of wild horned horses galloping away from them. Count Brass waved a gloved hand. "Such a land is worth defending with all we have. Such peace is worth protecting."
Soon they heard the sounds of warfare and came to where the Dark Empire drove against the towers.
They reined in when they saw the worst.
Count Brass spoke in a stricken whisper. "Impossible," he said.
But it was true.
The towers had fallen. Each lay broken, a pile of smoking masonry. The survivors were even now being pressed back, though they battled bravely.
"This is the fall of the Kamarg," said Count Brass in the voice of an old man.
Chapter Eleven
RETURN OF THE WARRIOR
Now ONE OF the captains saw them and came riding up. His armor was in tatters and his sword broken, but there was joy in his face. "Count Brass! At last! Come sir, we must rally the men-drive the Dark Empire dogs back!"
Hawkmoon saw Count Brass force himself to smile, draw his great broadsword, and say, "Aye, Captain.
See if you can find a herald or two to tell all that Count Brass is back!"
A cheer went up from the hard-pressed Kamargians as Count Brass and Hawkmoon appeared, and they held their ground, even drove the Granbretanians back in places. Count Brass, with Hawkmoon and Oladahn following, rode into the thick of his men, once again the invincible man of metal. "Aside, lads!" he called. "Aside and let me get at the enemy!"
Count Brass grabbed his own battered standard from a nearby rider, and with this balanced in the crook of his arm, his sword waving, he drove forward at the mass of beast masks ahead.