Michael Moorcock - Runestaff 4 - The Runestaff

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Book 4 of The High History of The Runestaff
The Runestaff
by Michael Moorcock
Contents
BOOK ONE
1. An Episode in King Huon's Throne Room 10
2. Human Thoughts of the Countess Flana 14
3. Hawkmoon Alters his Course 16
4. Orland Frank 22
5. A City of Glowing Shadows 31
6. Jehamia Cohnahlias 35
7. A Well-Known Traveler 38
8. An Ultimatum 44
9. The Runestaff 48
10. Spirit of the Runestaff 51
11. A Brother Slain 55
BOOK TWO
1. Whispering in Secret Rooms 62
2. Conversation Beside the Mentality Machine 67
3. Taragorm of the Palace of Time 71
4. A Mission for Meliadus 74
5. The Fleet at Deau-Vere 77
6. The Return to Castle Brass 82
7. The Beasts Begin to Squabble 86
8. Taragorm's Invention 89
9. Huon Confers with his Captains 92
10. Almost Midnight 94
BOOK THREE
1. The Striking of the Clock 98
2. The Blackened Marsh 104
3. Dark Empire Carnage 107
4. New Helms 110
5. Five Heroes and a Heroine 115
6. A New Ally 118
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7. The Battle for Huon's Palace 124
8. Flana Observes the Battle 128
9. The Slaying of King Huon 130
10. The Heroes Ride Out 133
11. News of Several Sorts 135
12. The New Queen 137
13. "What do you see?" 139
14. The Power Returns 143
15. The Gates of Londra 146
16. The Final Flight 152
17. The Sad Queen 155
BOOK ONE
Tacticians and warriors of ferocious courage
and skill; careless of their own lives; corrupt
of soul and mad of brain; haters of all that
was not in decay; wielders of power without
morality—force without justice; the Barons of
Granbretan carried the standard of their King
Emperor Huon across the continent of Eu-
rope and made that continent their property;
carried the banner to West and East to other
continents to which they also laid claim. And
it seemed that no force, either natural or
supernatural, was strong enough to halt the
insane and deadly tide. Indeed, none now
resisted them at all. With chuckling pride
and cold contempt they demanded whole
nations as tribute and the tribute was paid.
In all the subdued lands few hoped. Of those,
fewer dared express hope—and among those
few hardly a single soul possessed the courage
to murmur the name symbolizing that hope.
The name was Castle Brass.
Those who spoke the name understood its
implications, for Castle Brass was the only
stronghold to remain unvanquished by the
warlords of Granbretan, and Castle Brass
housed heroes; men who had fought the Dark
Empire, whose names were loathed and hated
by the brooding Baron Meliadus, Grand Con-
stable of the Order of the Wolf, Commander
of the Army of Conquest, for it was known
that Baron Meliadus fought a private feud
with those heroes, particularly the legendary
Dorian Hawkmoon von Koln who was mar-
ried to the woman Meliadus desired, Yis-
selda, daughter of Count Brass of Castle Brass.
But Castle Brass had not defeated the armies
of Granbretan, it had merely evaded them,
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disappearing by means of a strange, ancient
crystal machine into another dimension of
the Earth, where those heroes, Hawkmoon,
Count Brass, Huillam D'Averc, Oladahn of
the Bulgar Mountains and their handful of
Kamargian men-at-arms, now sheltered, and
most folk felt that the heroes of the Kamarg
had deserted them forever. They did not
blame them, but their hope waned fainter
with every day that passed and the heroes
did not return.
In that other Kamarg, sundered from its
original by mysterious dimension of time and
space, Hawkmoon and the rest were faced
with fresh problems, for it seemed that the
sorcerer-scientists of the Dark Empire were
close to discovering means either of breaking
through into their dimension or of recalling
them. The enigmatic Warrior in Jet and
Gold had sent Hawkmoon and D'Averc on a
quest to a strange new land to seek the
legendary Sword of the Dawn, which would
be of aid to them in their struggle, and which
would in turn aid The Runestaff, which, the
Warrior insisted, Hawkmoon, manifestation
of the Champion Eternal, served. Having
won the rosy sword, Hawkmoon was then
informed he must travel by sea around the
coast of Amarehk to the city of Dnark, where
the services of the blade were required. But
Hawkmoon demurred. He was anxious to
return to the Kamarg and see his beautiful
wife Yisselda again. In a ship supplied by
Bewchard of Narleen, Hawkmoon set sail for
Europe, against the dictates of the Warrior
in Jet and Gold who had told him that his
duty to The Runestaff, that mysterious arte-
fact said to control all human destinies, was
greater than his duty to his wife, friends and
adopted homeland. With the foppish Huil-
lam D'Averc by his side, Hawkmoon headed
out to sea.
Meanwhile in Granbretan Baron Meliadus
fumed at what he considered his King-Emper-
or's foolishness in not allowing him to pur-
sue his vendetta against Castle Brass. When
Shenegar Trott, Count of Sussex, seemed to
be favoured over him by a King-Emperor
growing steadily more mistrustful of his un-
stable conquistador, Meliadus became rebel-
lious, pursuing his prey to the Wastes of Yel,
losing them, and returning with redoubled
hatred to Londra, there to scheme not only
against the heroes of Castle Brass, but also
against his immortal ruler, Huon, the King
Emperor...
—The High History of the Runestaff
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Chapter One
An Episode in
King Huon's Throne Room
THE VAST DOORS parted and Baron Meliadus, but
lately returned from Yel, walked into the throne room
of his King-Emperor, to report his failures and his dis-
coveries.
As Meliadus entered the room, whose roof seemed so
tall as to be one with the heavens and whose walls were
so distant as to seem to encompass an entire country, his
way was blocked by a double line of guards. These
guards, members of the King Emperor's own Order of
the Mantis and wearing the great jewelled insect-masks
belonging to that Order, seemed reluctant to let him
pass through.
Meliadus controlled himself with difficulty and waited
while the ranks drew back to admit him.
Then he strode on into the hall of blazing colour,
whose galleries were hung with the gleaming banners of
Granbretan's five hundred greatest families and whose
walls were encrusted with a mosaic of precious gems de-
picting Granbretan's might and history, along an aisle
made up on either side by a thousand mantis warriors,
each statue-still, towards the Throne Globe more than a
mile distant
Half-way to the Globe, he abased himself in a some-
what peremptory fashion.
The solid black sphere seemed to shudder momentar-
ily as Baron Meliadus rose, then the black became shot
through with veins of scarlet and white which slowly
spread through the darker shade until it had vanished
altogether. The mixture like milk and blood swirled and
cleared to reveal a tiny foetus-like shape curled in the
centre of the sphere. From this twisted figure peered
eyes that were hard, black and sharp, containing an
old—indeed, an immortal—intelligence. This was Huon,
King Emperor of Granbretan and the Dark Empire,
Grand Constable of the Order of the Mantis, wielder of
absolute power over tens of millions of souls, the ruler
who would live forever and in whose name Baron Meli-
adus had conquered the whole of Europe and beyond.
The voice of a golden youth now issued from the
Throne Globe (the golden youth to whom it had be-
longed had been dead a thousand years):
"Ah, our impetuous Baron Meliadus..."
Again Meliadus bowed and murmured. "Your servant.
Prince of All."
"And what have you to report to us, hasty lord?"
"Success, Great Emperor. Proof of my suspicions..."
"You have found the missing emissaries from Asia-
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communista?"
"I regret not, Noble Sire..."
Baron Meliadus did not know that it had been in this
disguise that Hawkmoon and D'Averc had penetrated
the capital of the Dark Empire. Only Flana Mikosevaar,
who had helped them escape, knew that.
"Then why are you here, baron?"
"I discovered that Hawkmoon, whom I insist is still
the greatest threat to our security, has been visiting our
island. I went to Yel and there found him and the trai-
tor Huillam D'Averc, as well as the magician Mygan of
Llandar. They know the secret of travelling through the
dimensions." Baron Meliadus did not mention that they
had escaped from him. "Before we could apprehend
them they vanished before our eyes. Mighty Monarch, if
they can come and go from our land at will, surely it is
plain that we can never be safe until they are destroyed.
I would suggest we begin immediately to direct all the
efforts of our scientists—of Taragorm and Kalan in par-
ticular—to finding these renegades and finishing them.
They threaten us from within..."
"Baron Meliadus. What news of the emissaries from
Asiacommunista?"
"None, so far. Mighty King Emperor, but..."
"A few guerillas, Baron Meliadus, this empire may
contend with, but if our shores are threatened by a force
as great, if not greater, than our own, by a force, more-
over that is possessed of scientific secrets unknown to us,
that we may not survive, you see ..." The golden voice
spoke with acid patience.
Meliadus frowned. "We have no proof that such an
invasion is planned, Monarch of the World ..."
"Agreed. Neither have we proof, Baron Meliadus,
that Hawkmoon and his band of terrorists have the
power to do us any great harm." Streaks of ice blue sud-
denly appeared in the Throne Globe's fluid.
"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 ex-
tend 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 small-
minded, we fear ..."
"But by refusing to counter those subtle forces that
might wreck our schemes, Prince of All, we could betray
our destiny also!"
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"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 service—aye, even to dismiss you
from your Order..."
Instinctively, Baron Meliadus's gauntleted hands leapt
fearfully to his mask. To be unmasked! The greatest dis-
grace—the greatest horror of them all! For that was what
the threat implied. To join the ranks of the lowest scum
in Londra—the 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 Eu-
rope 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 un-
moving mantis masks watched him with malevolent hu-
mour.
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 Vul-
ture Legion. Countess Flana not only was now titular
head of the Vulture Legion, but also cousin to the King
Emperor—his 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.
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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 Asiacom-
munista. Now she wondered where they were—particu-
larly D'Averc whom she knew loved her.
Flana, Countess of Kanbery, had had a dozen hus-
bands 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 surround-
ing 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
soul—such 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 sur-
cease 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 ur-
gency."
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
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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. Grave-
ly, 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 warrior—the Warrior in Jet and
Gold you called him—he said..."
"He is not my master, bosun. No—we sail out to sea
now. For Europe."
"For Europe, sir! You know that after you saved Nar-
leen we would take you anywhere, follow you anywhere,
but have you any understanding of the distances we
must sail to reach Europe—the 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 in-
clined to suffer from insomnia at the best of times,
Hawkmoon, but I snatched a few moments. The most, I
suppose, I may expect."
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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 pos-
sible, but this cold of mine—contracted since coming
aboard—is giving me a certain amount of difficulty." He
raised a tiny square of linen to the tip of his nose.
D'Averc was dressed in silk, with a loose blue shirt,
flowing scarlet breeks, a heavy broad leather belt sup-
porting 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, al-
most ascetic features, bore their usual sardonic ex-
pression.
"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
destiny—that 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 re-
turn to Castle Brass, if that is possible."
"There's no telling if it's in this dimension or an-
other."
"I can only hope that it is in this dimension."
Hawkmoon spoke with finality, showing his un-
willingness 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 indi-
cated. "A storm, you say. Yet it has a peculiar look to
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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, en-
closed on all sides by mountains whose peaks disap-
peared 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 phe-
nomenon 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 al-
though 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 in-
habited 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.
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摘要：

file:///F|/rah/Michael%20Moorcock/Moorcock,%20Michael%20-%20Runestaff%20\4%20-%20The%20Runestaff.txtBook4ofTheHighHistoryofTheRunestaffTheRunestaffbyMichaelMoorcockContentsBOOKONE1.AnEpisodeinKingHuon'sThroneRoom102.HumanThoughtsoftheCountessFlana143.HawkmoonAltershisCourse164.OrlandFrank225.ACityof...

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