01 Jewel in the Skull by Michael Moorcock

Author:Michael Moorcock
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy
Published: 2010-04-10T21:21:16+00:00

the noon,

the stars bestrewn

with seraphim

upraised

a hymn,

for soon

the Emperor

would stand before the sacred ruin

sublime

and lay his hand upon that door

unknown to time

that he alone

of mortal man may countermand.

Hawkmoon gasped as a man might when plunged into icy water. Yisselda's hand was on his sweat-wet brow, and her sweet eyes were troubled. "My lord . . . ?"

Hawkmoon stared at Bowgentle as the poet went relentlessly on.

Glaucoma passed with eyes downcast the grave ancestral portal inlaid with precious stone and pearl and bone and ruby. He passed

the portal and the colonnade while trombone

sounds and trumpets blast

and earth trembles

and above

a host assembles

and the scent of ambergris is

burning in the air.

Dimly, Hawkmoon glimpsed Yisselda's hand touching his face, but he did not hear what she said. His eyes were fixed on Bowgentle, his ears were concentrated on listening to the verse. A goblet had fallen from his hand. He was plainly ill, but Count Brass made no move to help. Count Brass, instead, looked from Hawkmoon to Bowgentle, his face half-hidden behind his wine-cup, an ironic expression in his eyes.

Now the Emperor releases

a snow-white dove!

O, a dove

as fair

as peace is,

so rare

that love increases

everywhere.

Hawkmoon groaned. At the far end of the table von Villach banged his wine-cup on the table. "I'd agree with that. Why not 'The Mountain Bloodletting'? It's a good"

The Emperor released

that snow-white dove

and it flew

till none could sight

it, flew through the bright

air, flew through fire,

flew still higher,

still flew higher,

right

into the sun

to die for

the Emperor Glaucoma

Hawkmoon staggered to his feet, tried to speak to Bowgentle, fell across the table, spilling wine in all directions.

"Is he drunk?" von Villach asked in a tone of disgust.

"He is ill!" called Yisselda. "Oh, he is ill!"

"He is not drunk, I think," Count Brass said, leaning over Hawkmoon's body and raising an eyelid. "But he is certainly insensible." He looked up at Bowgentle and smiled. Bowgentle smiled back and then shrugged.

"I hope you are sure of that, Count Brass," he said.

Hawkmoon lay all night in a deep coma and awoke the next morning to find Bowgentle, who acted as physician to the castle, bending over him. Whether what had happened had been caused by drink, the Black Jewel, or Bowgentle, he still could not be sure. Now he felt hot and weak.

"A fever, my lord Duke," Bowgentle said softly. "But we shall cure you, never fear."

Then Yisselda was there, seating herself beside his bed. She smiled at him. "Bowgentle says it is not serious," she told him. "I will nurse you. Soon you will be in good health again."Hawkmoon looked into her face and felt a great flood of emotion fill him. "Lady Yisselda . . ."

"Yes, my lord?"

"I ... thank you. ..."

He looked about the room in bewilderment. From behind him he heard a voice speak urgently. It was Count Brass's voice. "Say nothing more. Rest. Control your thoughts. Sleep if you can."

Hawkmoon had not realized Count Brass was in the room. Now Yisselda put a glass to his lips. He drank the cool liquid and was soon asleep again.

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