"Great King Emperor. Give me the time and the resources…"
"We are an expanding empire, Baron Meliadus; We wish to expand still further. It would be pessimistic, would it not, to stand still? That is not our way. We are proud of our influence upon the Earth. We wish to extend it. You seem uneager to carry out the principles of our ambition which is to spread a great, laughing terror to the corners of the world. You are becoming smallminded, we fear…"
"But by refusing to counter those subtle forces that might wreck our schemes, Prince of All, we could betray our destiny also!"
"We resent dissension, Baron Meliadus. Your personal hatred of Hawkmoon and, we have heard, your desire for Yisselda of Brass, represent dissension. We have your self-interest at heart, baron, for if you continue in this course, we shall be obliged to elect another over you, to dismiss you from our serviceaye, even to dismiss you from your Order…"
Instinctively, Baron Meliadus's gauntleted hands leapt fearfully to his mask. To be unmasked! The greatest disgracethe greatest horror of them all! For that was what the threat implied. To join the ranks of the lowest scum in Londrathe caste of the unmasked ones! Meliadus shuddered and could hardly bring himself to speak.
At last he murmured. "I will reflect on your words, Emperor of the Earth…"
"Do so, Baron Meliadus. We would not wish to see such a great conqueror destroyed by a few clouded thoughts. If you would regain all our favour, you will find for us the means by which the Asiacommunistan emissaries left."
Baron Meliadus fell to his knees, his great wolf-mask nodding, his arms outspread. Thus the conqueror of Europe abased himself before his Lord, but his brain flared with a dozen rebellious thoughts and he thanked the spirit of his Order that the mask hid his face so that his fury did not show.
He backed away from the Throne Globe while the beady, sardonic eyes of the King Emperor regarded him. Huon's prehensile tongue darted out to touch a jewel floating near the shrunken head and the milky fluid swirled, flashed with rainbow colours, then gradually turned black once more.
Meliadus wheeled and began the long march back to the gigantic doors, feeling that every eye behind the unmoving mantis masks watched him with malevolent humour.
When he had passed through the doors, he turned to the left and strode through the corridors of the twisted palace, seeking the apartments of the Countess Flana Mikosevaar of Kanbery, widow of Asrovak Mikosevaar, the Muskovian renegade who had once headed the Vulture Legion. Countess Flana not only was now titular head of the Vulture Legion, but also cousin to the King Emperorhis only surviving kin.
Chapter Two
Human Thoughts of The Countess Flana
THE HERON MASK of spun gold lay on the lacquered table before her as she stared through the window, over the curling, crazy spires of the city of Londra, her pale, beautiful face full of sadness and confusion.
As she moved, the rich silks and jewels of her gown caught the light from the red sun. She went to a closet and opened it. There were the strange costumes she had kept since those two visitors had left her apartments so many days before. The disguises that Hawkmoon and D'Averc had used when posing as princes from Asiacommunista. Now she wondered where they wereparticularly D'Averc whom she knew loved her.
Flana, Countess of Kanbery, had had a dozen husbands and more lovers, had disposed of them in one way or another as a woman might dispose of a useless pair of stockings. She had never experienced love, never had the emotion known to most others, even the rulers of Granbretan.
But somehow D'Averc, that dandified renegade who claimed to be permanently ill, had aroused these feelings in her. Perhaps she had remained so remote heretofore because she was sane, while those surrounding her at court were not, because she was gentle and ca pable of selfless love, whereas the lords of the Dark Empire understood nothing of such feelings. Perhaps D'Averc, gentle, subtle, sensitive, had awakened her from an apathy induced not by lack of soul, but by a greatness of soulsuch greatness that it could not bear to exist in the mad, selfish, perverse world of the Court of King Huon.
But now that the Countess Flana was awake, she could not ignore the horror of her surroundings, the despair she felt that her lover of a single night might never return, that he might even be already dead.
She had taken to her apartments, avoiding contact with the rest, but while this ruse afforded her some surcease from understanding of her circumstances, it only allowed her sorrow silence in which to grow.
Tears fell down Flana's perfect cheeks and she stopped their flow with a scented silken scarf.
A maidservant entered the room and hesitated on the threshold. Automatically Flana reached for her heron mask.
"What is it?"
"The Baron Meliadus of Kroiden, my lady. He says he has to speak with you. A matter of paramount urgency."
Flana slipped her mask over her head and settled it on her shoulders.
She considered the girl's words for a moment and then shrugged. What did it matter if she saw Meliadus for a few moments? Perhaps he had some news of D'Averc, whom she knew he hated. By subtle means she might discover what he knew.
But what if Meliadus wished to make love to her, as he had on previous occasions?
Why, she would turn him away, as she had turned him away before.
She inclined the lovely heron mask a fraction.
"Admit the baron," she said.
Chapter Three
Hawkmoon Alters His Course
THE GREAT SAILS curved in the wind as the ship sped over the surface of the sea. The sky was clear and the sea was calm, a vast expanse of azure. Oars had been shipped and the helmsman now looked to the main deck for his course. The bosun, clad in orange and black, climbed to the deck where Hawkmoon stood staring across the ocean.
Hawkmoon's golden hair streamed in the wind and his cloak of wine-coloured velvet whipped out behind him. His handsome features were battle-hardened and weather beaten and were only marred by the existence, embedded in his forehead, of a dull, black stone. Gravely, he acknowledged the bosun's salute.
"I've given orders to sail around the coast, heading due East, sir," the bosun said.
"Who gave you that course, bosun?"
"Why, nobody, sir. I just assumed that since we were heading for Dnark…"
"We are not heading for Dnark, tell the helmsman."
"But that strange warriorthe Warrior in Jet and Gold you called himhe said…"
"He is not my master, bosun. Nowe sail out to sea now. For Europe."
"For Europe, sir! You know that after you saved Narleen we would take you anywhere, follow you anywhere, but have you any understanding of the distances we must sail to reach Europethe seas we should have to cross, the storms…?"
"Aye, I understand. But we still sail for Europe."
"As you say, sir." Frowning, the bosun turned away to give his orders to the helmsman.
From his cabin below the main deck, D'Averc now emerged and began to climb the ladder. Hawkmoon grinned at him. "Did you sleep well, friend D'Averc?"
"As well as possible aboard this rocking tub. I am inclined to suffer from insomnia at the best of times, Hawkmoon, but I snatched a few moments. The most, I suppose, I may expect."
Hawkmoon laughed. "When I looked in on you an hour ago, you were snoring."
D'Averc raised his eyebrows. "So! You heard me breathing heavily, eh? I tried to keep as quiet as possible, but this cold of minecontracted since coming aboardis giving me a certain amount of difficulty." He raised a tiny square of linen to the tip of his nose.