The Mad God's Amulet

"Back!" he cried. "You cannot fear so few!" But the tide was completely on the turn now, and he himself was caught by it, borne back by his retreating men.

They fled in terror from the pale-faced knight whose sword fell everywhere, in whose skull a black jewel shone and at whose throat hung an amulet of scarlet fire, whose fierce horse reared over their heads.

They had heard, too, that he shouted the name of a dead man-that he, himself, was a dead man, Dorian Hawkmoon, who had fought against them at Koln and almost defeated them there, who had defied the King-Emperor himself, who had nearly slain Baron Meliadus and had, in fact, defeated him more than once. Hawkmoon! It was the only name the Dark Empire feared.

"Hawkmoon! Hawkmoon!" The figure held its sword high as its horse reared again. "Hawkmoon!"

Possessed of the power of the Red Amulet, Hawkmoon chased the fleeing army, and he laughed wildly with a mad triumph. Behind him rode Count Brass, terrible in his red-gold armor, his huge blade dripping with the blood of his foes; Oladahn, grinning through his fur, bright eyes gleaming, saber slick with gore; and behind them the jubilant forces of the Kamarg, a handful of men jeering at the mighty army they had routed.

Now the power of the amulet began to fade from Hawkmoon, and he felt his pains return, felt the weariness again, but now it did not matter, for they had come to the border, marked by the ruined towers, and watched their enemies in flight.

Oladahn laughed. "Our victory, Hawkmoon."

Count Brass frowned. "Aye-but not one we can sustain. We must withdraw, regroup, find some safer ground to stand, for we will not beat them again in the open field."

"You are right," nodded Hawkmoon. "Now that the towers have fallen we need to find another spot well defended-and there is only one I can think of…" He glanced at the Count.

"Aye-Castle Brass," agreed the old man. "We must send word to all the towns and villages of the Kamarg to tell the people to bring their goods and stock to Aigues-Mortes under the protection of the castle…"

"Will we be able sustain so many for a long siege?"

Hawkmoon asked.

"We shall see," Count Brass replied, watching the distant army beginning to regroup. "But at least they will have some protection when the Dark Empire troops flood over our Kamarg."

There were tears in his eyes as he turned his horse and began to ride back to the castle.

From the balcony of his rooms in the eastern tower, Hawkmoon watched the people driving their livestock into the protection of the old town of AiguesMortes. Most of them were corralled in the amphitheater at one end of the town. Soldiers brought in provisions and helped folk with their loaded carts. By evening all but a few had entered the safety of the walls, crowding into houses or camping in the streets.

Hawkmoon prayed that plague or panic might not set in, for such a crowd might be hard to control.

Oladahn joined him on the balcony, pointing to the northeast. "Look," he said. "Flying machines." And Hawkmoon saw the ominous shapes of Dark Empire ornithopters flapping over the horizon, a certain sign that the army of Granbretan was on the move.

By nightfall, they could see the cooking fires of the nearest troops.

"Tomorrow," said Hawkmoon. "It could be our last battle."

They went down to the hall, where Bowgentle talked to Count Brass. Food had been prepared, as lavishly as ever. The two men turned as Hawkmoon and Oladahn entered the hall.

"How is D'Averc?" Hawkmoon asked.

"Stronger," Bowgentle said. "He has an excellent constitution, says he would like to get up to eat tonight. I said he might."

Yisselda came through the outer door. "I've spoken to the women," she said, "and they say all are now within the walls. We have enough provisions to last as much as a year, if we slaughter the stock…"

Count Brass smiled sadly. "It will take less than a year to decide this battle. And how is the spirit in the town?"

"Good," she said, "now that they have heard of your victory today and know you both to be alive."

" "It is as well," Count Brass said heavily, "that they do not know that tomorrow they die. Or if not tomorrow, the next day. We cannot stand against such a weight of soldiers for long, my dear. Most of our flamingoes are dead, so we have virtually no protection in the air. Most of our Guardians are dead, and the troops we have left are all but untrained."

Bowgentle sighed. "And we thought the Kamarg could never fall…"

"You are too certain that it will," said a voice from the stairs, and there was D'Averc, pale and dressed in a loose, fawn-colored gown, limping down to the hall.

"In such spirits you are bound to lose. You could try to talk of victory, at least."

"You are right, Sir Huillam." Count Brass changed his mood with an effort of will. "And we could eat some of this good food here to give us energy for tomorrow's struggle."

"How are you, D'Averc?" Hawkmoon asked as they seated themselves at the board.

"Well enough," said D'Averc lightly. "I think I can manage some small refreshments." And he began to heap his plate with meat.