He shook his fist. "Hawkmoon! Hawkmoon!"
Silver flashed as a helmet turned to look upward.
"No matter what tricks you use, Hawkmoon, you will perish by the night. I know you will. I know!"
He looked again, seething as Hawkmoon laughed on. He looked for the barbarians who had routed his soldiers. They had vanished.
It was a nightmare, he thought. Or had the herald been in league with Hawkmoon? Or were Hawkmoon's barbarians invisible to his eyes?
Meliadus rubbed at his face. Perhaps the blindness, so recently left him, was still troubling him in some obscure form. Perhaps the barbarians were on another part of the field.
But no, there were no barbarians.
"Hurry, pilot," he called through the sound of the metallic wings flapping at the air. "Hurrywe must return to Londra as fast as we can!"
Meliadus began to think that Hawkmoon's defeat was not going to be as easy as he had guessed. But then he remembered Kalan and the Machine of the Black Jewel, and he smiled.
Chapter Fourteen
The Power Returns
SLIGHTLY OVERAWED BY a victory in which they had lost only twelve killed and twenty slightly wounded, the six removed their mirror helms and stared after the retreating horsemen.
"They were not expecting the Legion of the Dawn!" Count Brass smiled. "Unprepared, they were startled and could hardly resist. But they will be better prepared by the time we reach Londra."
"Aye," Hawkmoon said, "and Meliadus will put a good many more warriors in the field next time." He fingered the Red Amulet about his throat and glanced at Yisselda who was shaking out her blonde hair.
"You fought well, my lord," she said. "You fought like a hundred men."
"That is because this amulet gives me the strength of fifty men and your love gives me the strength of another fifty," he smiled.
She laughed lightly. "You never flattered me so during our courtship."
"Perhaps it is because I have come to love you even more than before," he replied.
D'Averc cleared his throat. "We'd best camp a mile or two on, away from all this death."
"I'll tend to the wounded," Bowgentle said and turned his horse back to where the Kamargian cavalry were grouped, squatting beside their horses and talking among themselves.
"You did well, lads," Count Brass called back. "It is like the old days, eh? When we fought across Europe! Now we fight to save Europe."
Hawkmoon started to speak and then gave a terrible shriek. The helmet fell from his grasp and he pressed both hands to his head, his eyes rolling in pain and horror. He swayed in his shadow and would have fallen had not Oladahn caught him.
"What is it, Duke Dorian?" Oladahn asked in alarm.
"Why do you cry, my love?" Yisselda dismounted swiftly, helping Oladahn support him.
Through clenched teeth and pale lips Hawkmoon managed to utter a few words. "The jewel… The Black Jewelit is gnawing at my brain again I The power has returned I" He swayed and fell into their arms, his limbs swinging loosely and his face a terrible white. As his hands dropped from his head they saw he spoke truth. The Black Jewel was crawling with life. It had regained its malevolent lustre.
"Oladahn, is he dead?" Yisselda cried in panic.
The little man shook his head. "Nohe lives. But for how long, I cannot tell. Bowgentle! Sir Bowgentle! Come quickly."
Bowgentle hurried up and took Hawkmoon in his arms. This was not the first time he had seen the Duke of Koln thus. He shook his head. "I can try to work a temporary remedy, but I have not the materials that I had at Castle Brass."
In panic, Yisselda and Oladahn, and later Count Brass and D'Averc watched Bowgentle work. And at last Hawkmoon stirred, opening his eyes.
"The jewel," he said. "I dreamt it was eating my brain again…"
"So it will if we cannot find a way of blocking it soon," murmured Bowgentle. "The power has gone for the moment, but we do not know when it will return again and in what force."
Hawkmoon hauled himself to his feet. He was pale and could hardly stand. "We must press on, thento Londra while there is time. If there is time."
"Aye, if there is time."
Chapter Fifteen
The Gates of Londra
THE TROOPS WERE massed outside the gates of Londra as the six riders mounted the crest of the hill at the head of their cavalry.
Hawkmoon, ill with pain, fingered the Red Amulet. This alone was keeping him alive, helping him fight the power of the Black Jewel. Somewhere in the city Kalan was operating the machine that fed life to the jewel. To reach Kalan he had to take the city, had to beat the multitude of warriors that, with Meliadus at their had, now awaited them.
Hawkmoon did not hesitate. He knew he could not hesitate, for every second of his life was precious. He drew the rosy Sword of the Dawn and gave the order to charge.
Gradually the Kamargian cavalry topped the hill and began to thunder down on a force many times their number.
Flame lances spat from the Granbretanian ranks and were answered by the fire of the Kamargians. Hawkmoon judged the moment right and flung his swordarm skyward. "The Legion of the Dawn! I summon the Legion of the Dawn!" and then he groaned as the pain filled his skull and he felt the heat of the jewel in his forehead. Yisselda beside him had time to cry out, "Are you all right, my love?" but he could not give an answer.
And then they were in the thick of the battle. Hawkmoon's eyes were so glazed with pain he could hardly see the enemy, could not tell at first if the Legion of the Dawn had materialised. But there they were now, their rosy auras lighting the sky. He felt the power of the Red Amulet fill him as it fought the power of the Black Jewel and he felt his strength gradually returning. But how long would it last?
Now he was in the middle of a mass of fear-crazed horses, striking about him at Vulture helmeted warriors who bore long-handled maces with heads like the stretched claws of hunting birds. He blocked a blow and struck back, his great sword cutting through the warrior's armour and into his chest. He swung in the saddle to take another foe in the neck, ducked a whistling mace and stabbed its owner in the groin.
The fight was noisy and the fighting hot and hysterical. The air stank of fear and Hawkmoon had soon decided that this was the worst battle he had ever fought for, in their shock at the appearance of the Legion of the Dawn, the Dark Empire warriors had lost their nerve and were fighting wildly, had broken their ranks, had abandoned their commanders.
Hawkmoon knew that it was to be a messy fight and one in which there would be few left alive at the end. He began to suspect that he would not see the finish, for the pain in his skull was growing stronger again.
Oladahn died unseen by his comrades, lonely and without dignity, hacked to pieces by a dozen war axes wielded by Pig infantry.
But Count Brass died in this manner:
He encountered three barons. Adaz Promp, Mygel Hoist and Saka Gerden (the latter of the Order of the Bull). They recognised him not by his helm, which was plain save for its crest, but by his body and his armour of brass. And they rode at him in a packHound, Goat and Bullwith their swords raised to chop him down.
But Count Brass, looking up from the body of his last opponent (who had slain his steed and thus left the Count on foot), saw the three barons riding down on him and took his broadsword in both hands and, as their horses reached him he swung the sword, cutting the legs of the horses from under them so that each baron was flung forward over his horse's head and landed in the churned mud of the battlefield, whereupon Count Brass dispatched Adaz Promo in a very undignified position in the rear, lopped off the head of Mygel Hoist (whom he had almost slain once before) as the Goat Baron begged to be spared, and by this time had only the Bull, Saka Gerden, to deal with. Baron Saka had time to get to his feet and assume a decent fighting stance though he shook his head several times as Count Brass's mirror mask blinded him. Upon seeing this, Count Brass ripped off his silver helm and threw it to one side, displaying his bristling red hair and moustache in all its pride and battle-anger. "I took two in an unfair manner," growled the Count, "so it is only fair to give you the chance to slay me.".