"Well, nowyou'd be the Hawkmoon and the D'Averc," he said in a strange accent. "I was told you'd likely come."
"And who are you, sir?" D'Averc asked somewhat haughtily.
"Why, I'm Orland Fank, didn't you know? Orland Fankhere at your service, good sirs."
"Do you live on this island?" Hawkmoon asked.
"I have lived on it, but not at the moment, don't you know." Fank removed his bonnet and wiped his forehead with his arm. "I'm a travelling man, these days. Like yourselves, I understand."
"And who told you of us?" Hawkmoon asked.
"I've a brother. Given to wearing somewhat fancy metal of black and gold…"
"The Warrior in Jet and Gold!" Hawkmoon exclaimed.
"He's called some such foppish title, I gather. He would not have mentioned his rough and ready brother to you, I don't doubt."
"He did not. Who are you?"
"I'm called Orland Fank. From Skare Braein the Orkneys, you know…"
"The Orkneys!" Hawkmoon's hand went to his sword. "Is that not part of Granbretan? Island to the far north!"
Fank laughed. "Tell an Orkney man that he belongs to the Dark Empire, and he'll tear the throat from you with his teeth!" He gestured apologetically, and as if in explanation said, "It's the favourite way of dealing with a foe out there, you know. We're not a sophisticated folk."
"So the Warrior in Jet and Gold is also from the Orkneys…" D'Averc began.
"Save you, no man! Him from the Orkneys, with his fancy suit of armour and his fine manner!" Orland Fank laughed heartily. "No. He's no Orkney man!" Fank wiped tears of laughter from his eyes with his battered bonnet. "Why should you think that?"
"You said he was your brother."
"So he is. Spiritually, you might say. Perhaps even physically. I've forgotten. It's been many years, you see, since we first came together."
"What brought you together?"
"A common cause, you might say. A shared ideal."
"And would the Runestaff be the source of that cause?" Hawkmoon murmured, his voice hardly louder than the whisper of the surf below them.
"It might."
"You seem close-mouthed, suddenly, friend Fank," said D'Averc.
"Aye. In Orkney, we're a close-mouthed folk," smiled Orland Fank. "Indeed, I'm considered something of a babbler there." He did not seem offended.
Hawkmoon gestured behind him. "Those monsters. The strange clouds we saw earlier. Would that be to do with the Runestaff?"
"I saw no monsters. No clouds. I've but recently arrived here myself."
"We were driven to this island by gigantic reptiles," Hawkmoon said. "And now I begin to see why. They, too, served the Runestaff, I do not doubt."
"That's as may be," Fank replied. "It's not my business you see, Lord Dorian."
"Was it the Runestaff that caused our boat to be wrecked?" Hawkmoon asked fiercely.
"I could not say," Fank replied, replacing his bonnet on his mop of red hair and scratching at his bony chin. "I only know that I'm here to give you a boat and tell you where you might find the nearest habitable land."
"You have a boat for us?" D'Averc was astonished.
"Aye. Not a splendid one, but a seaworthy craft nonetheless. It should take the two of you."
"We have a crew of fifty!" Hawkmoon's eyes blazed.
"Oh, if the Runestaff wishes me to serve it, it should arrange things better! All it has succeeded in doing so far is to anger me fiercely!"
"Your anger will only weary you," Orland Fank replied mildly. "I had thought you bound for Dnark in the Runestaff's service. My brother told me…"
"Your brother insisted I go to Dnark. But I have other loyalties, Orland Fankloyalties to the wife I have not seen for months, to the father-in-law who awaits my return, to my friends…"
"The folk of Castle Brass? Aye, I've heard of them. They are safe, for the moment, if that comforts you."
"You know this for certain?"
"Aye. Their lives are pretty much without event, save for the trouble with one Elvereza Tozer."
"Tozer! What of the renegade?"
"He has vanished from the Komarg, I gather." Orland Fank made a flying gesture with his hand.
"For where?"
"Who knows?"
"They are well rid of Tozer, at any rate."
"I do not know the man."
"A talented playwright," Hawkmoon said, "with the morals of aof a…"
"A Granbretanian?" offered Fank.
"Exactly." Hawkmoon frowned then and stared hard at Orland Fank. "You would not deceive me? My kin and friends are safe?"
"Their security is not for the moment threatened."
Hawkmoon sighed. "Where is this boat? And what of my crew?"
"I have some small skill as a shipwright. I'll help them mend their ship so that they can return to Narleen."
"Why cannot we go with them?" D'Averc asked.
"I understood you were an impatient pair," Fank said innocently, "and that you would be off the island as soon as you could. It will take many days to repair the large craft."
"We'll take your little boat," Hawkmoon said. "It seems that if we did not, the Runestaffor whatever power it was that really sent us herewould see to it that we were further inconvenienced."
"I understand that would be likely," Fank agreed, smiling a little to himself.
"And how will you leave the island if we take your boat?" D'Averc asked.
"I'll sail with the seamen of Narleen. I have a great deal of time to spare."
"How far is it to the mainland?" Hawkmoon asked. "And by what shall we sail? Have you a compass to lend us?"
Fank shrugged. "It's of no great distance and you'll not need a compass. You need only wait for the right sort of wind."
"What do you mean?"
"The winds in these parts are somewhat peculiar. You will understand what I mean."
Hawkmoon shrugged in resignation.
They followed as Orland Fank led the way around the shore.
"It would seem that we are not quite as much the masters of our destinies as we should like," murmured D'Averc sardonically as the small boat came in sight.
Chapter Five
A City of Glowing Shadows
HAWKMOON LAY SCOWLING in the small boat and D'Averc whistled a tune as he stood in the prow, the spray lashing his face. For a whole day now the wind had guided the craft, blowing them on what was plainly a particular course.
"Now I understand what Fank meant about the wind," growled Hawkmoon. "This is no natural breeze. I resent the feeling of being the puppet of some supernatural agency."
D'Averc grinned and pointed ahead. "Well, perhaps we'll have a chance to voice our complaints to the agency itself. Seeland in sight."
Hawkmoon rose reluctantly. There were faint signs of land on the horizon.
"And so we return to Amarehk!" D'Averc laughed.
"If only it were Europe and Yisselda were there." Hawkmoon sat down again.
"Or even Londra, and Flana to comfort me." D'Averc shrugged and began to cough theatrically. "Still, it is best this way, lest she find herself pledged to a sick and dying creature…"
Gradually they made out features on the shoreline: irregular cliffs, hills and beaches; some trees. Then, to the south, they saw a peculiar aura of golden lightlight which throbbed as if in concert to a gigantic heart.
"More disturbing phenomena." D'Averc frowned.
The wind blew harder and the little boat turned toward the golden light.
"And we're heading directly for it," groaned Hawkmoon. "I am becoming tired of such things!"
Now it was clear they sailed into a bay formed by the mainland and a long island jutting out between the two shores. It was from the far end of this island that the golden light was pulsing.