Swords of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk & Fisher (49 page)

Read Swords of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk & Fisher Online

Authors: Simon R. Green

She got to her feet, and Medley stood up to face her. “So it was all nothing but lies; all the things you said to me. I betrayed my best friend and dragged my honour through the mud, all for you; and now you’re telling me it was all for nothing? I can’t believe that, Roxanne. I won’t believe that.”
She shrugged. “Don’t take it so personally. It’s just business. No hard feelings?”
Medley sat down again, as though all the strength had gone out of his legs. “No; no hard feelings, Roxanne.”
She smiled at him briefly, and left, closing the door quietly behind her. Medley stared at the closed door, listening to the sound of her footsteps disappearing down the stairs.
7
 
DESPERATE CHOICES
 
All the clocks in Haven struck eight in the evening, and the polls finally opened. Brightly colored election booths appeared on the designated street comers, in the time it took for the bells to toll the hour. Magically created and maintained by the Council’s circle of sorcerers, they were as near to being corruption-proof as anything in Haven could be. Once a vote had been registered and placed in the metal box, nothing but the most powerful sorceries could get at it again. There were fingerprint checks to make sure everyone was who they claimed to be, and to keep out simulacra and homunculi. Haven’s voters were a devious lot when it came to corruption and cheating.
The inns and the brothels were still going strong, though the free booze had run out long ago. Some of the day-long revellers were busy sleeping it off on tavern floors and tables, uncaring that they were missing the very chance to vote that they’d been celebrating. Bets were still being made, at widely varying odds, and rumour and speculation ran rife. People thronged the streets, dressed in their best. An election was an Occasion, a chance to see and be seen. Pickpockets and cutpurses had never had it so good. Ballad singers stood at every street comer, singing the latest broadsheets about the two main candidates, interspersed now and then with requested old favourites. There were jugglers and conjurers and stilt-walkers, and of course any number of street preachers making the most of the occasion, always on the lookout for a crowd and anyone who looked like they might stand still long enough to be preached at.
The voting began, as Haven made its choice.
Roxanne leaned back in her chair and stretched her legs languorously as Hardcastle poured her a glass of his best wine. He was smiling broadly, and positively radiating good cheer. It didn’t suit him. Wulf and Jillian stood quietly in the background.
“You’ve done well, Roxanne,” said Hardcastle, pouring himself a large drink. “Without Medley to help him, Adamant’s organisation will fall apart at the seams, and he’ll lose every advantage he’s gained. All it needs now is a few more pushes in the right places, and everything he’s built will collapse around him. It’s a pity you didn’t get a chance to kill him, but it’s just as well. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want him dead just yet. I want him to suffer first.
“It’s not enough to kill Adamant. Not anymore. I want to beat him first. I want to humiliate the man; rub his nose in the fact that all his whining Reformers are no match for a Conservative. I don’t just want him dead; I want him broken.”
Roxanne shrugged noncommittally and sipped at her wine. She’d taken advantage of the speech to study Jillian Hardcastle and the sorcerer Wulf. Both of them looked rather the worse for wear. Jillian had a bruised and swollen mouth, and was holding herself awkwardly, as though favouring a hidden pain. Wulf looked tired and drawn. There were dark bruises of fatigue under his eyes, and his gaze was more than a little wild. He seemed preoccupied, as though listening to a voice only he could hear. Roxanne realised Hardcastle had stopped talking, and quickly turned her attention back to him.
“All right,” she said equably. “What do we do now?”
“We need to isolate Adamant even further,” said Hardcastle. “We’ve taken away his Advisor. Who does that leave him to lean on? The two Guards, Hawk and Fisher. They’ve been acting all along like Adamant’s paid men, for all their vaunted impartiality. With them out of the way, Adamant should crumble and fall apart nicely.”
Roxanne nodded. “I can take either of them on their own, but killing both of them would be tricky.” She smiled suddenly. “Fun, though.”
“I don’t want them killed,” said Hardcastle flatly. “I want them kidnapped. They have interfered in my life far too often, and they’re going to pay the price. They’ll beg for death before I’m finished with them.”
“I can’t guarantee to take both of them alive,” said Roxanne. “One perhaps, but not both.”
“I thought you might say that,” said Hardcastle, “So I’ve arranged some help for you.” He tugged at the bell pull by his desk. There was a short, uncomfortable pause, and then the study door opened and Pike and Da Silva came in. Roxanne studied them warily from her chair.
Pike was tall and muscular, in his mid-twenties, with a clear open face and a nasty smile. He moved well, and carried his chain mail as though it were weightless. He was a familiar type; throw a stick in a gladiators’ training school and you’d hit a dozen just like him. Da Silva was short and stocky, with a broad chest and a wrestler’s overdeveloped arm muscles. He was a few years older than Pike, and looked it. His face was heavy and bony, and would have looked brutish even without the perpetual scowl that tugged at his features. As well as a sword, he carried a four-foot-long headbreaker of solid oak weighted with lead at both ends.
Independently they were proficient-enough mercenaries, but working together as a team they’d built a reputation for death and mayhem that almost rivalled Roxanne’s. She glared at them both, and then switched her glare to Hardcastle.
“Why do you need them? You’ve got me.”
“I want Hawk and Fisher taken alive,” said Hardcastle. “The only way to do that without major casualties to my side is to make sure we have the advantage of overwhelming numbers. Pike and Da Silva command a troop of fifty mercenaries. You will lead them against Adamant’s people. Wulf will supply magical protection. Is that clear?”
Roxanne shrugged. “You’re the boss, Hardcastle. What do we do after we’ve taken Hawk and Fisher?”
“I’ve set aside a place for them. Pike and Da Silva have the details. Adamant and his people should be hitting the streets in about half an hour. Follow them, pick your spot, and do the job. No excuses on this one; I want them alive. I have plans for Hawk and Fisher.”
* * *
James Adamant led his people out into the High Steppes, determined to make as many speeches as he could while the polls were still open. None of his people said anything, but it was clear to everyone that Adamant needed to reassure himself of his popularity after so many things having gone wrong. So with tired limbs and weary hearts they followed him out onto the streets one last time. Adamant strode ahead, out in front for all to see, with Dannielle at his side. Hawk and Fisher followed close behind. Adamant’s supporters had dispersed and gone home after the debacle of the victory banquet, so only half a dozen mercenaries accompanied Adamant on his last excursion into the Steppes, with Bearclaw and Kincaid bringing up the rear. It was a far cry from the cheerful, confident host that had followed him on his first outing, but a lot had happened since then.
Adamant hurried from street to street at a pace his retinue was hard pressed to match, as though he was trying to leave his most recent memories behind and be again the confident, unworried politician he had been at the start of the day. Hawk and Fisher stretched their legs and kept up with him. They walked with weapons drawn, just in case Hardcastle tried for a last-minute assassination. Hawk kept a careful watch on Dannielle. He’d wanted to leave her behind, but she’d insisted on going with them. Trouble was, she was right. Her presence was a vote winner, and her absence would have raised questions Adamant couldn’t afford to answer. She’d thrown the last of her dust on the fire before she left. Adamant had just nodded stiffly, and turned away. They were walking arm in arm and smiling at the crowds, but they hadn’t exchanged five words since they left the house.
Hawk sighed quietly to himself. As if he didn’t have enough things to worry about. Medley had disappeared, along with the notorious Roxanne, but it was too early to tell just how much information he’d betrayed to Hardcastle. Worst of all was the damage he’d done to Adamant’s confidence. Adamant had trusted Stefan Medley implicitly, and allowed him to shape and plan his whole campaign. Now Medley was gone, and Adamant didn’t know who or what he could rely on anymore.
On top of all that he’d found he couldn’t rely on Mortice anymore either. Longarm and his men shouldn’t have been able to break into his house at all, but the dead man’s mind had been wandering again, and his wards had slipped. He’d promised it wouldn’t happen again, and Adamant had pretended to believe him, but neither of them were fooled.
Adamant made another speech on yet another street corner, and as always a crowd gathered to listen. Even now, after all that had happened, Adamant could still sway a crowd with his voice. Perhaps because he still believed in his Cause, even if he was no longer sure of himself. The speech started off well enough. The crowd was responsive and enthusiastic, and cheered in all the right places. Bearclaw and Kincaid moved unobtrusively among them, making sure no one got out of hand. Hawk and Fisher leaned wearily against a wall, feeling unneeded. And then the crowd’s cheers turned to screams as fifty mercenaries came pouring out of a side street with swords in their hands.
They cut their way through the scattering crowd, uncaring who they hurt. Bearclaw and Kincaid drew their swords and fought side by side as the tide of mercenaries hit them. Bearclaw swung his great sword two-handed, cutting down his attackers like a scythe slicing through overripe wheat. Kincaid leapt and danced, his blade cutting and thrusting in swift steel blurs. But there were only two of them, and the vast body of mercenaries swept past them without even slowing. The two warriors were quickly surrounded, and moved to stand back to back, still fighting. Adamant’s mercenaries tried to make a stand, but there were only six of them and they were quickly overrun. Hawk and Fisher moved quickly forward and put themselves between Adamant and Dannielle and their attackers. They waited grimly, weapons at the ready.
The first mercenary to reach them went for Fisher, mistakenly supposing her to be the easier target. She parried his blow easily, cut his throat on the backswing, and was back on guard before the next mercenary could reach her. Hawk roared a Northern war cry and swung his axe in short, vicious arcs, scattering the mercenaries around him as one by one they fell before his unwavering attack. Soon the street was a boiling cauldron of milling men and flashing steel, and blood flew on the air. Adamant had drawn his sword and was keeping his attackers at bay, but he had trained as a duellist, not a street fighter, and it was all he could do to hold his ground. Dannielle cowered behind him, clutching a dagger he’d given her, hoping she’d find the strength to use it when the time came.
Hawk and Fisher fought side by side, and the mercenaries fell before them, unable to match their skill or their fury. Bearclaw and Kincaid fought alone, separated by the mercenaries, bleeding from a dozen wounds but refusing to fall. Dead men lay piled about them. And then Roxanne appeared out of nowhere, laughing aloud as her sword flashed out to slice through the meat of Kincaid’s leg. His mouth gaped soundlessly as his leg crumpled beneath him, unable to bear his weight. He fell to one knee, still trying to swing his sword. Roxanne swept past him, grinning fiercely, heading for Hawk and Fisher. Pike and Da Silva came after her. Pike’s sword lashed out to deflect a blow from Bearclaw, and Da Silva’s heavy wooden staff swept across to slam into Bearclaw’s side. Ribs broke under the impact. Bearclaw coughed blood, and fell forward onto his hands and knees. The mercenaries closed in around Bearclaw and Kincaid, and their swords rose and fell in steady butchery.
Roxanne burst through the milling crowd of fighters and threw herself at Fisher. Fisher tried to hold her ground and couldn’t, forced back by the sudden strength and speed of the attack. Hawk tried to reach her, but Pike and Da Silva were quickly upon him, Pike engaging his axe while Da Silva circled patiently with his headbreaker, trying for a clear shot.
Roxanne thrust and parried, laughing breathlessly, and step by step Fisher was driven back, until her back was pressed up against a wall and there was nowhere else to go. Fisher was good with a sword, but Roxanne was an expert, inhumanly strong, and she never seemed to get tired.

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