The objects were battle helmets designed to cover the whole head and rest on the shoulders. The metal of their manufacture was unfamiliar, but it was polished more finely than the finest mirror Hawkmoon had ever seen. With the exception of two eye slits the fronts of the helms were completely smooth, without decoration of any sort so that whoever stared at them saw a complete image of himself. The backs were crested in the same metal, with clean, simple decoration. It struck Hawkmoon how useful they could be in battle, for the enemy would be confused by his own reflection, would have the impression that he was fighting himself!

Hawkmoon laughed aloud. “Why, whoever invented these must be a genius! They are the finest helms I have ever seen.”

“Try them on,” Fank said, grinning back. “You’ll find

they fit well. They are the Runestaffs answer to the beast masks of the Dark Empire.”

“How do we know which is ours,” Count Brass said.

“You will know,” Fank told him. “The one you have opened. The one with the crest the colour of brass.”

Count Brass smiled and lifted the helm to place it upon his shoulders. Hawkmoon looked at him and saw his own face, the dull black jewel in the centre of his forehead, staring back in amused surprise. Hawkmoon lifted his helm over his head. His had a golden crest. Now when he turned to regard Count Brass it seemed at first that the count’s helm gave no reflection, until Hawkmoon realised that there were an infinity of reflections.

The others had put their helms on their shoulders. D’Averc’s had a blue crest and Oladahn’s a scarlet one. They laughed with pleasure.

“A goodly gift, Master Fank,” Hawkmoon said, removing his helmet. “An excellent gift. But what of the other two helms?”

Fank smiled mysteriously. “Ahah, yesthey would be for those who would desire them.”

“For yourself?”

“Not for myself, noI must admit I tend to disdain armour. It is cumbersome stuff and it makes it harder for me to wield my old battle-axe here.” He jerked his thumb behind him at the axe secured by a cord on his back.

“Then who are the other two helms for?” Count Brass said, removing his own helm.

“You will know when you know,” Fank said. “And then it will seem obvious to you. How are the folk of Castle Brass faring?”

“You mean the villagers of the hill?” Hawkmoon said. “Well, some of them were slain by the striking of the great gong recalling us to our own dimension. A few buildings fell, but all in all they survived well enough. The remaining Kamargian cavalry has survived.”

“About five hundred men,” said D’Averc. “Our army.”

“Aye,” Fank said with a sidelong glance at the

Frenchman. “Aye. Well, I must be away about my business.”

“And what business would that be, Master Fank?” Oladahn asked.