Oladahn said calmly, "I fear, Lord Dorian, that we're doomed."
"Make them kill you," said Hawkmoon grimly, and drew his sword. If the horses had not been weary, he would have fled the warriors, but he knew that that would be useless now.
Soon the wolf-masked riders were all around them. Hawkmoon had the slight advantage of wishing to kill them, while they wanted him alive. He struck one full in the mask with the pommel of his sword, sheered half-through another's arm, stabbed a third in the groin, and knocked a fourth from his horse. Now they were in the shallows of the lake, the steeds hooves splashing in the water. Hawkmoon saw Oladahn accounting well for himself, but then the furry little man gave a cry and fell from his saddle. Hawkmoon could not see him for the press, but he cursed and struck about him with a greater will.
Now they closed in so that he hardly had room to swing his sword. He realized, sickeningly, they would take him in a few moments. He struggled and smote on, his ears full of the clang of metal, his nostrils clogged with the smell of blood.
Then he felt the pressure give way and saw through a forest of swords that an ally had joined him. He had seen the man before - but only in dreams, or visions very similar to dreams.
It was the man he had seen in France and later in the Kamarg.
He was dressed in full armor of jet and gold, a long helm completely enclosing his face. He swung a six-foot broadsword and rode a white battle charger as big as Hawkmoon's.
Wherever he struck, men fell, and soon there were only a few wolf warriors still horsed and these at length galloped off through the water, leaving their dead and wounded behind.
Hawkmoon saw one of the fallen riders struggle up. Then he saw another rise beside him and realized it was Oladahn.
The little man still had his sword and was defending himself desperately against the Granbretanian. Hawkmoon pushed his horse through the shallows and brought his sword round in a great swing to strike the wolf warrior in the back, sheering through his mail and leather undershirt and cutting deep into his flesh. With a groan the man fell, and his blood joined that already reddening the waters.
Hawkmoon turned to where the Warrior in Jet and Gold sat his horse silently.
"I thank you, my lord," he said. "You have followed me a long way." He resheathed his sword.
"Longer than you know, Dorian Hawkmoon," came the rich, echoing voice of the warrior. "You ride to Hamadan?"
"Aye - to seek the sorcerer Malagigi."
"Good. I will ride with you some of the way. It is not far now."
"Who are you?" Hawkmoon asked. "Who may I thank?"
"I am the Warrior in Jet and Gold. Do not thank me for saving your life. You do not realize yet what I have saved it for. Come." And the warrior led them away from the lake.
A little later, as they rested and ate, the warrior sitting with one leg crooked a little way off, Hawkmoon asked him, "Know you much of Malagigi? Will he help me?"
"I know him," said the Warrior in Jet and Gold. "Perhaps he will help you. But know you this - there is civil war in Hamadan. Queen Frawbra's brother, Nahak, schemes against her, and he is aided by many who wear the masks of those we fought at the lake."
Chapter Four - MALAGIGI
A WEEK LATER they looked down on the city of Hamadan, all white and gleaming in the bright sun, with its spires, domes, and minarets chased with gold, silver, and mother-of-pearl.
"I will leave you now," said the mysterious warrior, turning his horse. "Farewell, Dorian Hawkmoon. Doubtless we shall meet again."
Hawkmoon watched him ride away through the hills; then he and Oladahn urged their horses toward the city.
But as they approached the gates they heard a great noise from behind the walls. It was the sound of fighting, the shouts of warriors and the screams of beasts, and suddenly, out of the gates burst a great rabble of soldiers, many of them badly wounded and all much battered. The two men pulled their horses up short but were soon surrounded by the fleeing army.
A group of riders charged past them, and Hawkmoon heard one cry - "All is lost! Nahak wins the day!"
Following them came a huge bronze war chariot pulled by four black horses, and in it was a raven-haired woman in blue plate armor who shouted at her men, urging them to turn and fight. The woman was young and very beautiful, with huge, dark, slanting eyes that blazed with anger and frustra-tion. In one hand she held a scimitar, which she brandished high.
She dragged at the reins as she saw the bewildered Hawkmoon and Oladahn. "Who are you? More Dark Empire mercenaries?"
"No - I am an enemy of the Dark Empire," Hawkmoon said. "What is happening?"
"An uprising. My brother, Nahak, and his allies broke through the secret passageways that lead from the desert and surprised us. If you are Granbretan's enemy, then you had best flee now! They have battle beasts with them that . . ."
Then she was yelling again at her men and had moved on.
"We had best return to the hills," Oladahn murmured, but Hawkmoon shook his head.
"I must find Malagigi. He is somewhere in this city. There is little time left."
They pushed their horses through the throng and into the city. Up ahead some men were still fighting in the streets, and the spiked helmets of the local soldiers mingled with the wolf helms of the Dark Empire warriors. Everywhere was carnage.
Hawkmoon and Oladahn galloped up a side street where there was little fighting at present and emerged into an open square. On the opposite side they saw gigantic winged beasts, like great black bats but with long arms and curved claws.
They were rending at the retreating warriors, and some were already feasting on the corpses. Here and there Nahak's men were trying to urge these battle beasts on, but it was plain the giant bats had already served their purpose.
A bat turned and saw them suddenly. Hawkmoon yelled to Oladahn to follow him down a narrow lane, but the bat was already pursuing them, half-running, half-flapping through the air, a disgusting whistling sound coming from its jaws, a dreadful stench exuding from its body. Into the lane they rode, but the bat squeezed between the houses and continued to follow them. Then from the opposite end of the street, came some half a dozen wolf-masked riders. Hawkmoon drew his sword and charged on. There was little else to do.
He met the first of the riders with a lunge that ripped the man from his saddle. A sword slashed at his shoulder, and he felt it bite home, but he continued to fight in spite of the pain.
The battle beast screamed, and the wolf warriors began to back their horses away in panic.
Hawkmoon and Oladahn burst through them and found themselves in a larger square that was empty of the living.
Only corpses lay everywhere on cobblestones and pavements.
Hawkmoon saw a yellow-robed man dart from a doorway to bend beside a corpse and cut at the purse and jeweled dagger in its belt. The man looked up in panic and tried to dash back into his house when he saw the Duke of Koln, but Oladahn blocked his way. Hawkmoon pressed his sword into the man's cheek. "Which way to Malagigi's house?"
The man pointed a trembling finger and croaked, "That way, masters. The one with the dome that has zodiacal signs inlaid in ebony on a silver roof. Down that street. Do not kill me. I ..." He sighed in relief as Hawkmoon turned his great blue horse and rode for the street he had indicated.
The domed house with the zodiacal signs was soon in sight.
Hawkmoon stopped at the gate and hammered on it with the pommel of his sword. His head was beginning to throb again, and he knew instinctively that Count Brass's spells could not hold the Black Jewel's life for much longer. He realized that he should have approached the sorcerer's house in a more courteous manner, but there was no time, with Granbretan's soldiers everywhere in the streets of the city. Overhead two of the giant bats flapped, seeking victims.
"At last the gate swung open and four huge Negroes armed with pikes and dressed in purple robes barred the way. Hawkmoon saw a courtyard beyond them. He tried to ride forward, but the pikes
menaced him immediately. "What business have you with our master, Malagigi?" one of the Negroes asked.
"I seek his help. It is a matter of great importance. I am in peril."
A figure appeared on the steps leading to the house. The man was clad in a simple white toga. He had long gray hair and was clean-shaven. His face was lined and old, but the skin had a youthful appearance.
"Why should Malagigi help you?" the man asked. "You are from the West, I see. The people of the West bring war and dissension to Hamadan. Begone! I'll have none of you!"
"You are the Lord Malagigi?" Hawkmoon began. "I am a victim of these same people. Help me and I can help you be rid of them. Please, I beg you—"
"Begone. I'll play no part in your internal warring!" The Negroes pressed the two men back, and the gates closed.
Hawkmoon began to bang again on the gates, but then Oladahn gripped his arm and pointed. Up the street toward them came some six wolf-helmed riders led by one whose ornate mask Hawkmoon instantly recognized. It was Meliadus.
"Ha! Your time is near, Hawkmoon!" screamed Meliadus in triumph, drawing his sword and charging forward.
Hawkmoon wrenched his horse about. Although his hatred for Meliadus burned as deeply as ever, he knew he could not fight at that moment. He and Oladahn fled back down the street, their powerful horses outdistancing those of Meliadus's men.
Agonosvos or his messenger must have told Meliadus where Hawkmoon was bound, and the Baron must have come here to join his own men, help them take Hamadan, and wreak his personal vengeance on Hawkmoon.
Down one narrow street after another Hawkmoon dashed, until he had for the moment lost his pursuer. "We must escape the city," he shouted to Oladahn. "It is our only chance. Perhaps later we can sneak back and convince Malagigi to help us. . . ." His voice trailed off as one of the gigantic bats swooped suddenly down, to alight immediately in front of them and begin to stalk forward, claws outstretched. Beyond this creature was an open gate and freedom.
So full of desperation was Hawkmoon now, since Malagigi had refused him, that he charged straight at the battle beast, sword slashing at its cruel claws, flinging himself against it.
The bat whistled, and the claws struck, clutching Hawkmoon by his already wounded arm. The young nobleman brought his sword up again and again, hewing at the thing's wrist until black blood spurted and the tendon was severed. The beaked mouth clicked open and thrust at Hawkmoon. The horse reared as the head came down, and Hawkmoon thrust his sword up wildly, striking for the huge, beady eye. The sword plunged in. The creature screamed. Yellow mucus began to pour from the wound.
Hawkmoon struck a second time. The thing reeled and began to fall toward him. Hawkmoon managed to pull his horse aside barely in time as the battle beast collapsed. Now he raced for the gate and the hills beyond, Oladahn in his wake calling, "You have killed it, Lord Dorian! This is the stuff of the lays!" And the little man laughed with a fierce joy.
Soon they were in the hills, joining the hundreds of beaten warriors who had survived the battle in the city. They rode slowly now and at length came to a shallow valley where they saw the bronze chariot that the warrior queen had driven earlier and rank after rank of weary soldiery lying down in the tough grass while the raven-haired woman went among them. Near the chariot Hawkmoon saw another figure. It was the Warrior in Jet and Gold, and he seemed to be waiting for Hawkmoon.
Hawkmoon dismounted as he reached the warrior. The woman approached and stood leaning against her chariot, her eyes still glowing with the anger Hawkmoon had noted before.
The warrior in Jet and Gold's rich voice came from his helmet, faintly laconic. "So Malagigi would not help you, eh?"
Hawkmoon shook his head, looking at the woman without curiosity. Disappointment filled him but was beginning to be replaced with the wild fatalism that had saved his life in his battle with the giant bat. "I am finished now," he said. "But at least I can return and find a way to destroy Meliadus."
"We have that ambition in common," said the woman.
"I am Queen Frawbra. My treacherous brother covets the throne and seeks to get it with the aid of your Meliadus and his warriors. Mayhap he already has it. I cannot tell yet - but it would seem we are badly outnumbered, and there's scant chance of retaking the city."
Hawkmoon looked at her thoughtfully. "If there was a slim chance, would you take it?"
"If there was no chance at all I'd have half a mind to try,"
the woman replied. "But I'm not sure my warriors would follow me!"
At that moment three more horsemen rode into the camp.
Queen Frawbra called to them. "Have you just escaped the city?"
"Aye," one answered. "They are already looting. I have never seen such savage conquerors as those Westerners. Their leader - the big man - has even broken into Malagigi's house and made him prisoner!"
"What!" Hawkmoon cried. "Meliadus has the sorcerer prisoner. Ah, then, there is no hope at all for me."
The Warrior in Jet and Gold said, "Nonsense. There is still hope. So long as Meliadus keeps Malagigi alive-and one might expect him to, since the sorcerer has many secrets Meliadus desires to learn - then you have a chance. You must return to Hamadan with Queen Frawbra's armies, retake the city, and rescue Malagigi."
Hawkmoon shrugged. "But is there time? Already the Jewel shows signs of warmth. That means its life is returning. Soon I will be a mindless creature. . . ."
"Then you have nothing to lose, Lord Dorian," Oladahn put in. He laid a furry hand on Hawkmoon's arm and gave it a friendly squeeze. "Nothing to lose at all."
Hawkmoon laughed bitterly, shrugging off his friend's hand. "Aye, you're right Nothing. Well, Queen Frawbra, what say you?"
The armored woman said, "Let us speak to what remains of my force."
A little later, Hawkmoon stood in the chariot and addressed the battle-weary warriors. "Men of Hamadan, I have traveled for many hundreds of miles from the West, where Granbretan holds sway. My own father was tortured to death by the same Baron Meliadus who aids your Queen's enemies today. I have seen whole nations reduced to ashes, their populations slain or enslaved. I have seen children crucified and hanging on gibbets. I have seen brave warriors turned to cringing dogs.
"I know that you must feel it is hopeless to resist the masked men of the Dark Empire, but they can be beaten. I, myself, was one of the commanders of an army little more than a thousand strong that put an army of Granbretan more than twenty times its number to flight. It was our will to live that enabled us to do it - our knowledge that even if we fled we should be hunted down and die eventually, ignobly.
"You can at least die courageously like men - and know that there is a chance of defeating the forces that have taken your city today. ..."
He spoke on in this vein, and gradually the tired warriors rallied. Some cheered him. Then Queen Frawbra joined him in the chariot and cried to her men to follow Hawkmoon back to Hamadan, to strike while the enemy was unwary, while its soldiers were drunk and squabbled over their loot.
Hawkmoon's words had given them cheer; now they saw the logic of Queen Frawbra's words. They began to buckle on their weapons, adjust their armor, look for their horses.
"We'll attack tonight," the Queen shouted, "giving them no time to get wind of our plan."
"I'll ride with you, I think," said the Warrior in Jet and Gold.
And that night they rode back to Hamadan, where the conquering soldiers reveled and the gates still stood open and hardly guarded and the battle beasts slept soundly, their stomachs full of their prey.
Chapter Five - THE BLACK JEWEL'S LIFE
THEY HAD THUNDERED into the city and were striking about them almost before the enemy realized what was happening. Hawkmoon led them. Hawkmoon's head was full of agony, and the Black Jewel had begun to pulse in his skull.
His face was taut and white, and there was something about his presence that made soldiers flee before him as his horse reared and he raised his sword and screamed, "Hawkmoon!
Hawkmoon!" cutting about him in a hysteria of killing.
Close behind him came the Warrior in Jet and Gold, fighting methodically with an air of detached ease. Queen Frawbra was there, driving her chariot into startled groups of warriors, and Oladahn of the Mountains stood up in his stirrups and shot arrow after arrow into the enemy.
Street by street they drove Nahak's forces and the wolf-helmed mercenaries through the city. Then Hawkmoon saw the dome of Malagigi's house and leaped his horse over the heads of those who blocked his way, reaching the house and standing upon his mount's back to grasp the top of the wall and haul himself over.
He dropped into the courtyard, just missing the sprawled body of one of Malagigi's Negro guards. The door of the house had been broken down, and the interior had been wrecked.
Stumbling through the smashed furniture, Hawkmoon found a narrow stairway. Doubtless this led to the sorcerer's laboratories. He was halfway up the stairs, when a door opened at the top and two wolf-masked guards appeared, running down to meet him, their swords ready. Hawkmoon brought up his sword to defend himself. His face was set in a death's-head grin as he fought, and his eyes blazed with a madness that was mixed fury and despair. Once, twice, his sword darted forward, and then there were two corpses tumbling down the stairs and Hawkmoon had entered the room at the top, to discover Malagigi strapped to a wall, the marks of torture on his limbs.
Quickly he cut the old man down and lowered him gently to a couch in the corner. There were benches everywhere, with alchemical apparatus and small machines resting on them.
Malagigi stirred and opened his eyes.
"You must help me, sir," Hawkmoon said thickly. "I came here to save your life. At least you could try to save mine."
Malagigi raised himself on the couch, wincing in pain. "I told you - I'll do nothing for either side. Torture me if you will, as your countryman did, but I'll not—"
"Damn you!" Hawkmoon swore. "My head's afire. I'll be lucky if I last till dawn. You must not refuse. I have come two thousand miles to seek your aid. I am as much a victim of Granbretan as you. More. I—"