With a slight shudder, Hawkmoon tucked the Runestaff inside his shirt.
As they walked out of the hall, D'Averc observed that Orland Fank was still weeping softly.
"What disturbs you, Fank?" D'Averc asked. "Do you still grieve for the man who was your brother."
"Ayebut I grieve for my son the more."
"Your son? What of him?"
Orland Fank jerked his thumb at Hawkmoon, who wandered behind, his head bowed in thought. "He has him."
"What do you mean?"
Fank sighed. "It must be, I know that. But still, I am a man, I can weep. I speak of Jehemia Cohnahlias."
"The boy! The spirit of the Runestaff?"
"Aye. He was my sonor myselfI have never quite understood these things…"
BOOK TWO
As it is written: "Those who swear by the Runestaff must then benefit or suffer from the consequences of the fixed pattern of destiny that they set in motion." And Baron Meliadus of Kroiden had sworn such an oath, had sworn vengeance against all of Castle Brass, had sworn that Yisselda, Count Brass's daughter, would be his. On that day, many months earlier, he had fixed the pattern of fate; a pattern that had involved him in strange, destructive schemes, that had involved Dorian Hawkmoon in wild and uncanny adventures in distant places, and that was now nearing its terrible resolution.
- The High History of the Runestaff
Chapter One
Whispering in Secret Rooms
THE VERANDAH OVERLOOKED the blood-red river Tayme making its sluggish way through the very heart of Londra, between gloomy, crazy towers.
Above them the occasional ornithopter, a bright bird of metal, clanked past, and on the river the barges of bronze and ebony carried cargo to and from the coast. Those cargoes were rich; full of stolen goods and stolen men, women and children brought as slaves to Londra. An awning of heavy purple velvet hung with tassels of scarlet silk protected the occupants of the veranda from view from above and the awning's shadow made it impossible for them to be seen from the river.
A table of brass and two golden chairs upholstered in blue plush stood on the verandah. A richly decorated platinum tray on the table bore a wine jug of dark green glass and two matching goblets. On either side of the door leading on to the verandah stood a naked girl, with face, breasts and genitals heavily rouged. Anyone familiar with the Court of Londra would have recognised the slave girls as belonging to Baron Meliadus of Kroiden, for he had only female slaves and their only livery was the rouge he insisted they wear. Of the girls, who stared fixedly out at the river, one was a blonde, almost certainly from Koln in Germany, the Baron's possession by right of conquest. The other girl was dark, doubtless from some province in the Middle East Baron Meliadus had added, by means of a bloodied sword, to his estates.
In one golden chair sat a woman, clad from head to foot in rich brocade and wearing a silver mask, delicately fashioned to resemble a heron. Next to her sat a figure dressed in bulky black leather, his shoulders crowned by a huge mask representing a black, snarling wolf. He inserted a golden tube into his goblet and stuck the other end through a tiny aperture in the mask, sucking slowly at the wine.
There was silence between the pair and the only sound came from beyond the verandahfrom the wake of the barges slapping at the wall, from a distant tower as someone screamed and laughed at once, from an ornithopter high above, its metal wings flapping slowly as it sought to land on the flat top of one of the towers.
And then, at length, the figure in the wolf mask began to speak in a low, thrilling voice. The other figure did not move its head or appear to hear but continued to stare out over the blood red water whose strange colour was attributed to the effluvia which poured from outlets near its bed.
"You are under some slight suspicion yourself, you know, Flana. King Huon thinks you might have had something to do with the mysterious madness which overwhelmed the guards the night the Asiacommunistans escaped. Doubtless I am not helping my own cause by seeing you thus, but I think only of our beloved homelandonly of the glory of Granbretan."
The speaker paused as if expecting a reply. He received none.
"It is plain, Flana, that the present situation of the Court is not in the best interests of the Empire. I delight in eccentricity, of course, as a true son of Granbretan, but there is a difference between eccentricity and senility. You take my meaning?"
Flana Mikosevaar said nothing.
"I am suggesting," continued the other, "that we need a new ruleran Empress. There is only one alive who is a direct blood relative of Huononly one all would accept as rightful liege; legal inheritor to the throne of the Dark Empire."
Again no reply.
The figure in the wolf mask bent forward. "Flana?"
The heron mask turned to regard the snarling wolf visage.
"Flanayou could be Queen-Empress of Granbretan. With myself as Regent, we could ensure the security of our nation and our territories, make Granbretan greater make the whole world ours!"
"And what would be done with the world once we owned it, Meliadus?" For the first time Flana Mikosevaar spoke.
"Enjoy it, Flana! Use it!"
"Cannot one tire of rape and murder? Of torture and destruction?"
Meliadus seemed puzzled by her comment. "One can become bored by anything, of course, but there are other thingsthere are Kalan's experimentsand Taragorm's for that matter. With the resources of the world at their disposal, our scientists could make anything. Why, they could build us ships to sail through space, as the ancients did. We could journey to new worlds and conquer thempitting wits and skill against a universe! Granbretan's adventure could last a million years!"
"And is adventure and sensation all we should seek, Meliadus?"
"Ayewhy not? All is chaos, there is no meaning to existence, there is only one advantage to living one's life and that is to discover all the sensations the human mind and body is capable of feeling. That will take at least a million years, surely?"
Flana nodded. "That is our creed, true." She appeared to sigh. "Therefore I suppose I can agree to your plans, Meliadus, for what you suggest I do is doubtless no more boring than anything else." She shrugged. "Very well, I will be your Queen when you need me and if Huon discovers our perfidy, why, it will be a relief to die."
Slightly unnerved by this, Meliadus rose from the table. "You will say nothing to anyone until the time comes, Flana?"
"I will say nothing."
"Good. Now I must visit Kalan. He is attracted to my scheme, since it means more scope for his experiments if we succeed. Taragorm, too, is with me…"
"You trust Taragorm? Your rivalry is well-known."
"Aye I hate Taragorm, it is true, and he hates me, but it is a mellow sort of hatred now, for you'll remember that our rivalry began over Taragorm's marriage to my sister whom I had previously intended to wed myself. But my sister compromised herselfwith a jackass, I heardand Taragorm discovered it. Whereupon, as you no doubt heard, my sister had her slaves slaughter her and the ass in some strange manner. Taragorm and I disposed of the slaves jointly and during that episode we rediscovered something of our old comradeship. My brother-in-law may be trusted. He feels Huon hampers his researches too much."
All this time their voices had not risen above a murmur so that even the slavegirls by the door could not hear them.
Meliadus bowed to Flana, snapped his fingers at the girls so that they ran to prepare his litter and carry him back through the corridors to his own home, and left.