Hawkmoon_ The Jewel In The Skull Part 2

"Listen to reason, my lord Count, I beg you." Baron Meliadus was making an effort to appear in good temper.

"I hope you will stay with us for some time, Baron, and be able to tell us all the news."

A servant entered.

"Please show our guest to his chambers," Count Bra.s.s told the servant. He bowed to the Baron. "Good night, Baron Meliadus. I look forward to seeing you when we break our fast at eight o'clock."

When the Baron had left the hall following the servant, Count Bra.s.s let some of his amus.e.m.e.nt show on his face. It was pleasing to know that Granbretan sought his help, but he had no intention of giving it. He hoped he could resist the Baron's requests politely, for he had no wish to be on bad terms with the Dark Empire. Besides, he quite liked Baron Meliadus. They seemed to share certain qualities in common.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE FIGHT AT CASTLE BRa.s.s.

BARON MELIADUS remained at Castle Bra.s.s for a week. After the first night, he succeeded in recovering his composure and never again betrayed any sign of impatience with Count Bra.s.s for his persistent refusal to listen to the inducements and requirements of Granbretan.

Perhaps it was not only his mission that kept the Baron at Castle Bra.s.s, for it was plain that he gave Yisselda much of his attention. With her, in particular, he appeared agreeable and courteous to such an extent that it was plain that Yisselda, unfamiliar with the sophisticated ways of the grand courts, was not unattracted to him.

Count Bra.s.s seemed oblivious of this. One morning as they walked in the upper terraces of the castle garden, Bowgentle spoke to his friend.

"Baron Meliadus seems not only interested in seducing you for the cause of Granbretan," he said. "He has another kind of seduction in mind, if I'm not mistaken."

"Eh?" Count Bra.s.s turned from his contemplation of the vines on the terrace below. "What else is he after?"

"Your daughter," Bowgentle answered softly.

"Oh, come now, Bowgentle," laughed the Count. "You see malice and evil intention in the man's every action. He is a gentleman, a n.o.ble. And besides, he wants something from me. He would not let that ambition be jeopardized by a flirtation. I think you do Baron Meliadus an injustice. I've grown rather to like him."

"Then it is high time you involved yourself in politics again, my lord," said Bowgentle with some fire, but all the time speaking softly, "for it would seem your judgment is not as sharp as it was!"

Count Bra.s.s shrugged. "Be that as it may, I think you are becoming a nervous old woman, my friend. Baron Meliadus has behaved with decorum since his arrival. Admittedly, I think he wastes his time here and wish he would decide to leave soon, but if he has intentions toward my daughter I have seen no sign of it. He might wish to marry her, certainly, in order to make a blood tie between myself and Granbretan, but Yisselda would not consent to the idea, and neither would I."

"What if Yisselda loved Baron Meliadus and he felt pa.s.sion for her?"

"How could she love Baron Meliadus?"

"She sees few men as handsome and sophisticated in Kamarg."

"Hmm," grunted the Count dismissively. "If she loved the Baron, she'd tell me, wouldn't she? I'll believe your tale when I hear it confirmed from Yisselda's lips!"

Bowgentle wondered to himself if the Count's refusal to see the truth were sponsored by a secret wish to know nothing at all of the character of those who ruled Granbretan or it was simply a father's common inability to see in his child what was perfectly evident to others. Bowgentle decided to keep a careful eye on both Baron Meliadus and Yisselda in future. He could not believe that the Count's judgment was correct in the case of the man who had caused the Ma.s.sacre of Liege, who had given the order for the Sack of Sahbruck, and whose perverse appet.i.tes were the horror of every whispering scullion from North Cape to Tunis. As he had said, the Count had lived too long in the country, breathing the clean rural air. Now he could not recognize the stink of corruption even when he smelled it.

Though Count Bra.s.s was reticent in his conversations with Baron Meliadus, the Granbretanian seemed willing to tell him much. It appeared that even where Granbretan did not rule, there were discontented n.o.bles and peasants willing to make secret treaties with the agents of the Dark Empire, in promise of power under the King-Emperor if they helped destroy those who opposed Granbretan. And Granbretan's ambitions, it seemed, extended beyond Europe into Asia. Beyond the Mediterranean there were well-established groups ready to support the Dark Empire when the time came for attack. Count Bra.s.s's admiration for the tactical skills of the Empire increased every day.

"Within twenty years," said Baron Meliadus, "the whole of Europe will be ours. Within thirty, all Arabia and the countries that surround it. Within fifty, we shall have the strength to attack that mysterious land on our maps that is called Asiacommunista. . . ."

"An ancient and romantic name," smiled Count Bra.s.s, "full of great sorceries, it's said. Is that not where the Runestaff lies?"

"Aye, that's the tale that it stands on the tallest mountain in the world, where snow swirls and winds howl constantly, protected by hairy men of incredible wisdom and age, who who are ten feet high and have the faces of apes." Baron Meliadus smiled. "But there are many places that the Runestaff is said to be in Amarehk, even."

Count Bra.s.s nodded. "Ah, Amarehk do you include that land in your dreams of empire?" Amarehk was the great continent said to lie across the water to the west, ruled by beings of almost G.o.dlike powers. They were reputed to lead lives that were abstracted, tranquil, and remote. Theirs, so the tales went, was the civilization that altogether missed the effects of the tragic Millennium, when the rest of the world collapsed into various degrees of ruin. Count Bra.s.s had jested when he mentioned Amarehk, but Baron Meliadus looked at him sidewise, a gleam in his pale eye.

"Why not?" he said. "I would storm the walls of heaven if I found them."

Disturbed, Count Bra.s.s left him shortly thereafter, for the first time wondering if his resolution to remain neutral were as well advised as he'd believed.

Yisselda, though as intelligent as her father, lacked both his experience and his normally good judgment of character. She found even the Baron's infamous reputation attractive and at the same time could not believe that all the stories about him were true. For when he spoke to her in his soft, cultivated voice, flattering her beauty and grace, she thought she saw a man of gentle temperament forced to appear grim and ruthless by the conventions of his office and his role in history.

Now, for the third time since his arrival, she slipped at night from her bedchamber to keep an a.s.signation with him in the west tower, which had been unused since the b.l.o.o.d.y death there of the previous Lord Guardian.

The meeting had been innocent enough a clasping of her hand, a brus.h.i.+ng of her lips with his, the whispering of love words, talk of marriage. Though still unsure of the latter suggestion (for she loved her father and felt it would hurt him deeply if she married Baron Meliadus), she could not resist the attention the Baron gave her. Even she was not sure that it was love she felt for him, but she welcomed the sense of adventure and excitement that these meetings gave her.

On this particular night, as she sped light-footed through the gloomy corridors, she did not know that she was being followed. Behind her came a figure in a black cloak, a long dagger in a leather sheath in his right hand.

Heart beating, red lips parted slightly in a half smile, Yisselda ran up the winding steps of the tower until she came to the little turret room where the Baron already awaited her.

He bowed low, then caught her in his arms, caressing her soft flesh through the thin, silken nightgown she wore. His kiss was firmer this time, almost brutal, and her breathing became deeper as she returned it, clutching at his broad, leather-clad back. Now his hand moved down to her waist and then to her thigh, and for a moment she pressed her body closer to his and then tried to tug away as she felt a growing, unfamiliar panic.

He held on to her, panting. A beam of moonlight entered the narrow window and fell across his face, revealing frowning brows and heated eyes.

"Yisselda, you must marry me. Tonight we can leave Castle Bra.s.s and be beyond the towers by tomorrow. Your father would not dare follow us to Granbretan."

"My father would dare anything," she said with quiet conviction, "but I feel, my lord, that I have no wish to put him to the trouble."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I would not marry without his consent."

"Would he give it?"

"I believe not."

"Then . . ."

She tried to tug away completely from him, but his strong hands gripped her arms. Now she was frightened, wondering how her former pa.s.sion could turn so swiftly into fear. "I must go now."

"No! Yisselda, I am not used to my will being opposed. First your obstinate father refuses what I ask -now you! I'd kill you rather than let you leave without promising to come with me to Granbretan!" He pulled her toward him, his lips forcing a kiss from her. She moaned as she tried to resist.

Then the dark, cloaked figure entered the chamber, unsheathing the long dagger from its case. The steel shone in the moonlight, and Baron Meliadus glared at the intruder but did not relinquish his hold on the girl.

"Let her go," said the dark figure, "for if you do not I'll forsake all principle and slay you now."

"Bowgentle!" Yisselda sobbed. "Run for my father-you are not strong enough to fight him!"

Baron Meliadus laughed and threw Yisselda to the corner of the turret room. "Fight? It would not be a fight with you, philosopher it would be butchery. Stand aside and I'll leave but I must take the girl."

"Leave alone," Bowgentle replied. "By all means do that, for I have no wish to have your death on my conscience. But Yisselda stays with me."

"She's leaving with me tonight whether she wills it or no!" Meliadus flung back his own cloak, revealing a short sword high at his waist. "Aside, Sir Bowgentle, for unless you move, I promise you that you will not live to write a sonnet about this affair!"

Bowgentle stood his ground, dagger held point outward at Baron Meliadus's chest.

The Granbretanian's hand gripped the hilt of the sword and drew it from the scabbard in a blur of movement.

"One last chance, philosopher!"Bowgentle did not reply. His half-glazed eyes did not blink. Only the hand holding the dagger shook slightly.

Yisselda screamed. The scream was high-pitched and penetrating, echoing through the castle.

Baron Meliadus turned with a grunt of rage, raising the sword.

Bowgentle leaped forward, stabbing clumsily with the dagger, which was deflected by the tough leather the Baron wore. Meliadus turned with a laugh of contempt, his sword struck twice at Bowgentle, once at his head and once at his body, and the philosopher-poet fell to the flagstones, his blood staining the floor. Again Yisselda screamed, this time in terror and pity for her father's friend. Baron Meliadus stooped and grabbed the struggling girl by her arm, twisted it so that she gasped, and flung her over his shoulder. Then he left the turret room and began to descend the steps swiftly.

He had to cross the main hall to get to his own quarters, and as he entered it, there came a roar from the other side. By the light of the dying fire he saw Count Bra.s.s, clad only in a loose robe, his great broadsword in his hands, blocking the door through which Baron Meliadus meant to go.

"Father!" Yisselda cried, and then the Granbretanian had flung her to one side and brandished his short sword at Count Bra.s.s.

"So Bowgentle was right," Count Bra.s.s rumbled. "You abuse my hospitality, Baron."

"I want your daughter. She loves me."

"So it seems." Count Bra.s.s glanced at Yisselda as she climbed to her feet, sobbing. "Defend yourself, Baron."

Baron Meliadus frowned. "You have a broadsword my blade's little better than a bodkin. Besides, I've no wish to fight a man of your years. We can make peace, surely. . . ."

"Father-he killed Bowgentle!"

Count Bra.s.s trembled with rage at this. He strode to the wall where a rack of swords was placed, took the largest and best balanced from the rack, and flung it to Baron Meliadus. It clattered on the flagstones. Meliadus dropped his own blade and picked up the broadsword. Now he had the advantage, for he wore stout leather and the Count wore only linen.

Count Bra.s.s advanced, the broadsword raised, then swung at Baron Meliadus, who met the swipe with a parry. Like men hewing at a great tree, they swung the heavy blades this way and that. The clangor rang through the hall and brought servants scurrying, as well as the Baron's men-at-arms, who looked disconcerted and uncertain what to do. By that time, von Villach and his men had arrived; the Granbretanians saw that they were heavily outnumbered and decided to do nothing.

Sparks scattered into the darkness of the hall as the two big men dueled, the broadswords rising and falling, swinging this way and that, every stroke parried with masterly skill. Sweat covered both faces as the swords swung; both chests heaved with the exertion as they fenced back and forth across the hall.

Now Baron Meliadus cut at Count Bra.s.s's shoulder but succeeded only in grazing it. Next Count Bra.s.s's sword fell on Baron Meliadus's side but was blocked by the thick leather of the Baron's doublet. There was a series of swift strokes in which it seemed both men must be cut to pieces, but when they stepped back and resumed their guard all Count Bra.s.s had was a light cut across his forehead and a tear in his gown, and Baron Meliadus's coat was ripped down the front and one arm of it hung in tatters.

The sound of their panting and the sc.r.a.pe of their feet on the floor blended with the great clash of blades as they met again and again.

Then Count Bra.s.s tripped over a small table and fell backward, legs sprawling, one hand losing its grip on the sword. Baron Meliadus smirked and raised his weapon; Count Bra.s.s rolled over, swiped at the Baron's legs, brought the man thumping down beside him.

The blades forgotten for the moment, they wrestled over and over on the flagstones, fists battering at one another, lips snarling, swords still attached to them by wrist thongs.

Then Baron Meliadus flung himself backward and jumped up, but Count Bra.s.s was up again too. He swung his sword suddenly and knocked the Baron's blade clear across the hall, where it stuck point first in a wooden pillar and thrummed like a metal organ reed.

Count Bra.s.s's eyes showed no pity. They held only an intention to kill Baron Meliadus.

"You slew my true and greatest friend," he growled as he raised his broadsword. Baron Meliadus slowly folded his arms across his chest and waited for the blow, eyes downcast, an almost bored expression on his face.

"You slew Bowgentle, and for that I slay you."

"Count Bra.s.s!"

The Count hesitated, the sword raised above his head.

The voice was Bowgentle's.

"Count Bra.s.s, he did not kill me. The flat of his sword stunned me, and the wound in my chest is by no means mortal." Bowgentle came forward through the crowd, his hand on his wound, a livid bruise on his forehead.

Count Bra.s.s sighed. "Thank fate for that, Bowgentle. Nonetheless . . ." He turned to contemplate Baron Meliadus. "This villain has abused my hospitality, insulted my daughter, injured my friend . . ."

Baron Meliadus raised his eyes to meet the Count's. "Forgive me, Count Bra.s.s. Moved by a pa.s.sion for the beauty of Yisselda as I was, it clouded my brain, possessed me like a demon. I would not beg when you threatened my life, but now I ask you to understand that only honest, human emotions moved me to do what I did."

Count Bra.s.s shook his head. "I cannot forgive you, Baron. I'll listen to your insidious words no longer. You must be gone from Castle Bra.s.s within the hour and off my lands by morning, or you and yours will perish."

"You'd risk offending Granbretan?"

Count Bra.s.s shrugged. "I do not offend the Dark Empire. If they hear anything like the truth of what pa.s.sed this night, they will punish you for your mistakes, not come against me for having seen justice done. You have failed in your mission. You have offended me not I, Granbretan."

Baron Meliadus said no more but, fuming, left to prepare himself for his journey. Disgraced and enraged, he was soon in his bizarre carriage, and the carriage was rolling through the castle gates before half an hour had pa.s.sed. He made no farewells.

Count Bra.s.s, Yisselda, Bowgentle, and von Villach stood in the courtyard watching him leave.

"You were right, Bowgentle," muttered the Count. "Both Yisselda and I were beguiled by the man. I'll have no more emissaries from Granbretan visit Castle Bra.s.s."

"You realize that the Dark Empire must be fought, destroyed?" Bowgentle asked hopefully.

"I did not say that. Let it do what it will. We will have no further trouble from Granbretan or Baron Meliadus."

"You are wrong," Bowgentle said with conviction.

And in his dark carriage, as it b.u.mped through the night toward the northern borders of the Kamarg, Baron Meliadus spoke aloud to himself and swore an oath by the most myste- nous sacred object he knew. He swore by the Runestaff (that lost artifact said to contain all the secrets of destiny) that he would get Count Bra.s.s into his power by any means possible, that he would possess Yisselda, and that the Kamarg would become one great furnace in which all who inhabited it would perish.

This he swore by the Runestaff, and thus the destiny of Baron Meliadus, Count Bra.s.s, Yisselda, the Dark Empire, and all who were now and would be later concerned with the events in Castle Bra.s.s was irrevocably decided. The play was cast, the stage set, the curtain raised, Now the mummers must enact their destiny.

BOOK TWO

CHAPTER ONE

DORIAN HAWKMOON.