D'Averc was dressed in silk, with a loose blue shirt, flowing scarlet breeks, a heavy broad leather belt supporting his sword and a dirk. Around his bronzed throat was wound a long scarf of purple and his long hair was held back by a band matching his breeks. His fine, almost ascetic features, bore their usual sardonic expression.
"Did I hear aright below?" D'Averc asked. "Were you instructing the bosun to head for Europe?"
"I was."
"So you still intend to try to reach Castle Brass and forget what the Warrior in Jet and Gold said of your destinythat it was to take that blade there," D'Averc pointed to the great red broadsword at Hawkmoon's side, "to Dnark, thus serving the Runestaff?"
"I owe allegiance to myself and my kin before I will serve an artefact in whose existence I gravely doubt."
"You would not have believed before in the powers of the Sword of the Dawn," D'Averc remarked wryly, "yet you saw it summon warriors from thin air to save our lives."
An obstinate look passed over Hawkmoon's features. "Aye," he agreed reluctantly. "But I still intend to return to Castle Brass, if that is possible."
"There's no telling if it's in this dimension or another."
"I can only hope that it is in this dimension." Hawkmoon spoke with finality, showing his unwillingness to discuss the matter further. D'Averc raised his eyebrows for a second time, then descended to the deck and strolled along it whistling.
For five days they sailed on through the calm ocean, every sail unfurled to give them maximum speed.
On the sixth day the bosun came up to Hawkmoon, who was standing in the prow of the ship, and pointed ahead.
"See the dark sky on the horizon, sir. We're heading straight for a storm."
Hawkmoon peered in the direction the bosun indicated. "A storm, you say. Yet it has a peculiar look to it."
"Aye, sir. Shall I reef the sails?"
"No, bosun. We sail on until we have a better idea of what we are heading into."
"As you say, sir." The bosun walked back down the deck, shaking his head.
A few hours later the sky ahead became a lurid wall across the sea, from horizon to horizon, its predominant colours, dark red and purple. It towered upwards and yet the sky above them was as blue as it ever had been and the sea was perfectly calm. Only the wind had dropped slightly. It was as if they sailed in a lake, enclosed on all sides by mountains whose peaks disappeared into the heavens. The crew was disconcerted and there was a note of fear in the bosun's voice when he next confronted Hawkmoon.
"Do we sail on, sir? I have never heard of such a phenomenon as this before; I've never experienced any thing like it. The crew's nervous, sir, and I'll admit that I am, also."
Hawkmoon nodded sympathetically. "It's peculiar, right enough, seeming to be more supernatural than natural."
"That's what the crew's saying, sir."
Hawkmoon's own instinct was to press on and face whatever it was, but he had a responsibility to the crew, each member of which had volunteered to sail with him in gratitude for his ridding their home city, Narleen, of the power of the Pirate Lords.
Hawkmoon sighed. "Very well, bosun. We'll take in all sail and wait the night. With luck, the phenomenon will have passed by morning."
The bosun was relieved. "Thank you, sir."
Hawkmoon acknowledged his salute then turned to stare up at the huge walls. Were they cloud or were they something else? A chill had come into the air and although the sun still shone down, its rays did not seem to touch the massed clouds.
All was still. Hawkmoon wondered if he had made a wise decision in heading away from Dnark. None, to his knowledge, save the ancients had ever sailed these oceans. Who was to tell what uncharted terrors inhabited them?
Night fell, and in the distance the vast, lurid walls could still be seen, their dark reds and purples piercing the blackness of the night. And yet the colours hardly seemed to have the usual properties of light.
Hawkmoon began to feel perturbed.
In the morning the walls seemed to have drawn in much closer and the area of blue sea seemed much smaller. Hawkmoon wondered if they had not been caught in a trap set by giants.
Clad in a thick cloak that did not keep out much of the chill, he paced the deck at dawn.
D'Averc was next to emerge, wearing at least three cloaks and shivering ostentatiously. "A fresh morning, Hawkmoon."
"Aye," murmured the Duke of Koln. "What do you make of it, D'Averc?"
The Frenchman shook his head. "It's a grim sort of stuff, isn't it? Here comes the bosun."
They both turned to greet the bosun. He, too, was wrapped up heavily in a great leather cloak normally used for protection when sailing through a storm.
"Any thoughts on this, bosun?" D'Averc asked.
The bosun shook his head and addressed Hawkmoon. "The men say that whatever happens, sir, they are yours. They will die in your service if necessary."
"They're in a gloomy mood, I gather," smiled D'Averc. "Well, who's to blame them?"
"Who indeed, sir." The bosun's round, honest face looked despairing. "Shall I give the order to sail on, sir?"
"It would be better than waiting here while the stuff closes in," Hawkmoon said. "Let go the sails, bosun."
The bosun shouted orders and men began to climb through the rigging, letting down the sails and securing their lines. Gradually the sails filled and the ship began to move, seemingly reluctantly, towards the strange cliffs of clouds.
Yet even as they moved forward, the cliffs began to swirl and become agitated. Other, darker colours crept in and a wailing noise drifted towards the ship from all sides. The crew could barely contain its panic, many men standing frozen in the rigging as they watched. Hawkmoon peered forward anxiously.
Then, instantly, the walls had vanished!
Hawkmoon gasped.
Calm sea lay on all sides. Everything was as before. The crew began to cheer, but Hawkmoon noticed that D'Averc's face was bleak. Hawkmoon, too, felt that perhaps the danger was not past. He waited, poised at the rail.
Then from the sea erupted a huge beast.
The crew's cheers changed to screams of fear.
Other beasts began to emerge all around them. Gigantic, reptilian monsters with gaping red jaws and triple rows of teeth, the water streaming from their scales and their blazing eyes full of mad, rolling evil.
There was a deafening flapping noise and one by one the giant reptiles climbed into the air.
"We are done for, Hawkmoon," said D'Averc philosophically as he drew his sword. "It's a pity not to have had one last sight of Castle Brass, nor one last kiss from the lips of those women we love."
Hawkmoon barely heard him. He was full of bitterness at the fate which had decided he should meet his end in this wet and lonely place. Now none would know where or how he had died…
Chapter Four
Orland Fank
THE SHADOWS OF the gigantic beasts swept back and forth over the deck and the noise of their wings filled the air. Looking upwards in cold detachment as a monster dropped towards him, its maw distended the Duke of Koln knew his life had ended. But then the monster had soared again, having snapped once at the high mast.
Nerves tense, muscles taut, Dorian Hawkmoon drew the Sword of the Dawn, the blade which no other man could wield and live. Even this supernatural broadsword would be useless against the dreadful beasts; they need not even attack the crew directly, need only strike the ship a few blows to send those aboard to the bottom.
The ship rocked in the wind created by the vast wings and the air stank of their foetid breath.
D'Averc frowned. "Why are they not attacking? Are they playing a game with us?"
"It seems likely." Hawkmoon spoke between clenched teeth. "Maybe it pleases them to play with us for a while before destroying us."