He laughed, and Hawk kneed him in the groin. The mercenary bent forward around his pain, almost as though bowing to Hawk, and Hawk rabbit-punched him on the way to the floor. The other mercenaries jumped to their feet and grabbed for their weapons.
Hawk snatched his axe from Medley, yelled for Roxanne to guard his back, and started toward the first mercenary without looking to see if Roxanne was there. Hawk swung his axe up and then buried it almost to the hilt in the shoulder of the first mercenary, shearing through the chain mail. The force of the blow drove the mercenary to his knees. Hawk put his boot against the man’s chest and pulled the blade free. Blood flew on the air as Hawk turned to face his next opponent. There was a clash of steel on steel as Roxanne struck down a second mercenary, and Hawk allowed himself a small smile of relief.
And then the door on the other side of the room burst open, and Fisher charged out, sword in hand. Hawk’s smile widened. All this time he’d been worried about her, and here she was safe and sound. He should have known. She seemed a little startled to see Roxanne guarding his back, but she quickly set about carving a path through the mercenaries to reach him.
Hawk swung his axe double-handed, and blood splashed across the filthy floor. The heavy steel blade easily deflected the lighter swords, and punched through chain mail as though it wasn’t there. Fisher fought at his side, her sword a steel blur as she cut and parried and thrust. Roxanne laughed and danced and cut her way through her fellow mercenaries with a deadly glee. Medley stayed out of the way. He knew his limitations.
A bearded mercenary duelled Hawk to a halt, his heavy long-sword almost a match for Hawk’s axe. They locked blades, and stood face to face for a moment. Muscles bunched across the mercenary’s shoulders, and Hawk quickly realised he couldn’t hold the man back for long. So he spat in his eyes. The mecenary jerked back his head instinctively and lost his balance. Hawk swept the sword aside and slammed the axe into the man’s chest.
Fisher stood toe to toe with a tall, slender mercenary, trading blow for blow. She knew she daren’t keep that up for long. He was bigger than her, and she was still weakened, from what she’d been through. She locked eyes with him, stepped forward and brought her heel down hard on the instep of his right foot. She could feel bones crush and break in his foot. The sudden pain sucked the colour from his face and the strength from his arms. Fisher beat aside his blade and cut his throat on the backswing. The mercenary dropped his sword and clutched at his throat with both hands, as though he could somehow hold the ghastly wound together. He was already sinking to his knees as Fisher turned to face her next opponent.
Roxanne swung her sword in wide, vicious arcs, and the mercenaries fell back before her. Her eyes were wide with uncomplicated delight, and she laughed breathlessly as her blade cut through their flesh. She was doing what she did best, what she was born to do. She moved among her former companions with neither mercy nor compassion, and none of them could stand against her. She killed them with professionalism and style, and the blood sang in her head.
Suddenly the mercenaries broke and ran, even though they still outnumbered their attackers. Pike and Da Silva might have been able to rally them, but without their leaders the mercenaries hadn’t the nerve to face three living legends.
Hawk looked round the suddenly empty room, and lowered his axe. He was almost disappointed the fight was over so soon. He had a lot of pent-up anger to work off. He turned, smiling, to Fisher, and his anger turned suddenly cold and merciless as he saw what they’d done to her. Her mouth was bruised and swollen, and blood from a nasty cut on her scalp had spilled down one side of her face. He took her in his arms and held her tightly, and she hugged him back as if she would never let him go. Finally Medley coughed politely, and Hawk and Fisher broke apart. Fisher looked at Medley, and then at Roxanne.
“They’re on our side,” said Hawk. “Don’t ask; it gets complicated.”
Fisher shrugged. “That’s politicians and mercenaries for you. Let’s hope Adamant’s the forgiving kind. There are two more mercenaries in the other room, out cold. We’re taking them with us; I’ll be pressing charges.”
Hawk caught some of the undertones in her voice. “Are you all right, lass?”
“Sure,” said Fisher. “I’m fine now.”
9
WINNERS ANd LOSERS
The election was almost over, and Hardcastle was hosting a victory party in his ballroom. The faithful had come by the hundreds to share his hospitality and celebrate another Conservative victory in the Steppes. Hardcastle looked out over the milling crowd and smiled graciously at his favourites. People came to congratulate him, and politely remind him of all their labours on his behalf. Hardcastle had a smile and a nod for all of them, but his mind was elsewhere. The voting had to be nearly over by now, but so far he’d heard nothing about how the voting was going. None of his people had reported back, and Wulf had locked himself away in his room. Of course, he was bound to win. He always did. But the complete lack of news worried him.
There was no word on Hawk and Fisher, though they should have been captured or dead by now. There was no word at all from Pike or Da Silva. And Roxanne had disappeared. No one had seen or heard from her for hours. Hardcastle scowled. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones. But there was still one source of information open to him. He gestured to one of his servants and curtly ordered the man to fetch the sorcerer Wulf. The servant hesitated, but one look at Hardcastle’s face convinced him there was no point in protesting. He bowed quickly and left the ballroom.
Hardcastle looked around him, and his scowl deepened. The party seemed as loud and cheerful as ever, but somehow the mood didn’t feel right. The laughter was too loud, the smiles too forced, and here and there, there were pockets of quiet, almost furtive talk. The musicians were playing sprightly music, but no one was dancing. Hardcastle frowned. He had to give them some positive news soon or their nerves would crack. Everywhere he looked he seemed to see worried faces with wide, desperate eyes. His guests looked more and more like wild animals gathered together, sensing a storm in the air.
Wulf entered the ballroom, and a sudden silence spread quickly across the guests. The musicians stopped playing. Wulf walked slowly forward, and the crowd drew back from him so that he walked alone. He wore his long black sorcerer’s cloak wrapped tightly about his slender frame. The cowl had been pulled forward to hide his face. He came to a halt before Hardcastle, and the cowled head bowed slightly. A sudden chill swept through Hardcastle like an awful premonition, and he fought to keep it out of his face. He smiled at Wulf, and gestured for the musicians to begin playing again. They did so, and the party chatter slowly resumed.
Hardcastle glanced at his wife, standing silently beside him, as always. She was staring at the floor, her face calm and impassive. Hardcastle told her to move back a few paces, and she did so without looking up. Hardcastle fixed his gaze on Wulf. There were things he had to discuss with the sorcerer, and he didn’t want any witnesses. Not even Jillian.
“All right, Wulf; what’s going on? You’ve been cowering in your room ever since we got back from the Street of Gods. What’s the matter with you?”
“It’s the Being,” said Wulf, his voice low and toneless. “The Abomination. The Lord of the Gulfs. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t understand what it was, what it meant....”
“Pull yourself together, man,” snapped Hardcastle. “I need information. I need to know what’s happening in the city. What are the results? What’s Adamant up to? Why haven’t I heard from my people? Dammit, use your magic and tell me what’s happening!”
“I daren’t. He’s too strong. I can feel him growing.”
Hardcastle looked sharply at Wulf. “You told me you could-control him. You told me that hosting that thing would make you so powerful no one could stand against us.”
“You don’t understand,” said Wulf. “The Lord of the Gulfs isn’t some demon or elemental, to be bent to my will by my magic. The Abomination is o
ne of the Transient Beings; an aspect of reality given shape and form by man’s perception. A single concept given flesh and blood and bone. It isn’t real, as we understand the term. There are things that live outside the world, in the spaces between spaces, and they hunger for strange and awful things. I thought I could control it while it was still weak and confused from its long sleep, but it’s so powerful... I can feel it in my mind, clawing at the wards I built to hold it. It’s going to get out, Cameron....”
“We can talk about this later,” said Hardcastle. “Now get a hold of yourself. You’re supposed to be a top rank sorcerer; act like one! I must have information, Wulf. I need to know what’s happening out there on the streets. Use your magic to locate my people, and tell me what’s happening in the election. That’s an order!”
For a long moment Wulf just stood there, head bowed, and Hardcastle began to think the sorcerer was going to defy him. But finally Wulf nodded slightly and began to speak, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the nervous chatter of the guests.
“The mercenaries you sent after Captains Hawk and Fisher are either dead or scattered. Their leaders, Pike and Da Silva, are under arrest. They have agreed to give evidence against you in return for lesser sentences. The voting is almost over. Adamant is winning.”
Hardcastle stood very still. At first there was only disbelief and shock, but both gradually gave way to a cold and vicious anger. How dare they? How dare they turn against him and elect Adamant? They’d forgotten who was really in charge of the High Steppes, but he’d remind them. He’d teach the Reformers a lesson they’d never forget. He glared at Wulf, his voice slow and steady and very deadly.
“You are my man, Wulf; bound to me by vows sealed in blood.”
“Yes, Cameron. I am yours to command.”
“Then use this great power of yours. Go to Adamant’s house and kill him. Kill him, and every other person there.”
“That ... may not be wise, Cameron. You need me here. Without my magic to augment and magnify your presence, you won’t be able to control your followers with your speeches anymore.”
“I was making speeches long before I had your magic to back me up. I can deal with my people. They’ll do as they’re told, as always. You have your orders, Wulf. Kill Adamant, and everyone with him. Obey me.”
“Cameron ... please. The Abomination ...”
“Obey me!”
Wulf put back his head and screamed. The horrible piercing sound silenced the crowd in a moment. His cowl fell back, revealing what was left of his face. All the flesh was gone, devoured by some hideous internal hunger. There was only a grinning skull, barely covered by skin stretched tight across the bone like splitting parchment. His eyes were gone, the sockets raw and bloody. He rose up into the air, still screaming, his body twitching with awkward, ungainly movements that suggested the form inside the black robe was no longer entirely human.
He disappeared, and there was a small clap of thunder as air rushed in to fill the space where he had been. Someone in the crowd laughed uneasily, and slowly the babble of voices began again, as though if they could speak loud enough, they wouldn’t have to think about what they had just seen. Hardcastle smiled. With Adamant and all his people dead there would have to be another election in the Steppes, but no one would dare stand against him. People would talk but no one would be able to prove anything. He would be Councillor again. And then he’d make the scum in the streets pay for daring to defy him.
Medley hesitated outside the door to Adamant’s study. He glanced at Roxanne, who nodded encouragingly. Hawk and Fisher stood back a few paces, keeping a tactful distance. Medley was glad of their company, but if he was going to make his peace with Adamant, he had to do it on his own. He knocked on the door, and a familiar voice told him to enter. Opening the door and walking in was one of the hardest things Medley had ever done.
Adamant was sitting behind his desk, with Dannielle standing beside him. They both looked tired, and there were lines in their faces Medley had never seen before. Adamant gestured for Medley to sit down on the chair facing the desk. Roxanne leaned against the doorframe, her thumbs tucked into her sword belt, her eyes bright and watchful. Hawk and Fisher stayed in the doorway. Silence filled the room, an almost palpable presence filled with words no one wanted to say but that couldn’t be ignored.
Finally Hawk coughed politely, and everyone looked at him. “With your permission, sir Adamant, Isobel and I will take a look around the house and make sure everything’s secure.”
“Of course, Captain. I’ll call you if I need you.”
Adamant’s voice was as calm as ever, but his gaze never left Medley. Hawk and Fisher left the study, shutting the door quietly behind them.
“The house seems very quiet,” said Medley finally. “What happened to the victory party?”
“I canceled it,” said Adamant. “It didn’t seem right, with so many people dead.”
Medley winced. “I should have known about Longarm’s attack. My intelligence people provided enough hints. But I was too engrossed with Roxanne, and I didn’t put the pieces together in time. I’m sorry, James. How many of our men-at-arms were hurt?”
“Twenty-seven dead, fourteen wounded. Luckily none of the guests got hurt.” He looked at Roxanne. “So, this is your mysterious girlfriend.”
“Yes,” said Medley. “Isn’t she splendid?”
Adamant’s mouth quirked. “I suppose that’s one way of describing her. The last time I saw her, she was cutting down my people and showing them no quarter.”
Roxanne met his gaze calmly. “That’s my job. I’m good at it.”
“You killed Bearclaw and Kincaid. They were good men.”
“They would have killed me, given the chance. That’s how they play politics in this city. You know that.”
“Yes,” said Adamant. “Murder and betrayal have always been popular in Haven.”
“For what it’s worth, Stefan didn’t betray you. Pumping him for information was part of my job, and he was so besotted with me he never even noticed. He told me all kinds of useful things without realising, and I passed them on to Hardcastle.”
“Does he know you’re here?” said Dannielle.
“No. I don’t work for him anymore.”
“Why not?”
“He broke our contract.”
Danielle looked from Roxanne to Medley and back again. “Is that the only reason? What about you and Stefan?”
Roxanne shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re just taking things one day at a time and seeing what happens.”
Adamant leaned forward and fixed Medley with his gaze. “What are you doing here, Stefan? What do you want from me? Forgiveness? Your old job back?”
“Damned if I know,” said Medley. “I’m sorry you were hurt, and I’m sorry people died, but I never meant for any of that to happen. I loved Roxanne, and nothing else seemed to matter.”
“How do you feel about her now?” said Dannielle. “Knowing what she is. What’s she’s done. Do you forgive her?”
“Of course,” said Medley. “I love her, in spite of everything. Can’t you understand that?”
Adamant looked at Dannielle, and put out a hand to hold hers. “Yes,” he said finally. “I understand.”
Hawk and Fisher prowled restlessly through the empty house. The rooms felt strange and deserted, and the quiet had a texture of its own. They went from room to room, but there was no sign of any life. Adamant’s people were either dead or evacuated, and the guests had long gone home. Nothing remained to mark Longarm’s assault save for a few patches of dried blood here and there, and the contents of the downstairs library.
Hawk found them, quite by accident. He pushed open the library door on his way back down the hall, and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the bodies. There were twenty-seven of them altogether. Hawk counted them twice, to make sure. All of Adamant’s men who’d died at the hands of the militants. They’d been stacked together like bundles of kindling, fa
ce to face, arms and legs neatly arranged. Hawk felt strangely angry at the sight. These men had died for Adamant; they deserved a more dignified rest than this.
They’ll get one, said Mortice’s voice in his head. But things have been rather rushed here of late. I did the best I could.
Hawk looked at Fisher, and saw that she heard it too. “So you’re still here, sorcerer.”
Of course. Where else would I be?
“What happened to the bodies of the people who did this? Longarm and his militants?”
I disposed of them.
Hawk decided not to press the question any further. He didn’t think he really wanted to know.
Get back to Adamant, said Mortice suddenly. He’s going to need you.
Hawk and Fisher looked at each other. “Why?” said Fisher. “What’s happening?”
Something’s coming.
“What? What’s coming?”
Something’s coming.
Hawk drew his axe and Fisher drew her sword, and they ran back into the entry hall. They could see the study door standing open. Everything seemed quiet. Hawk yelled Mortice’s name, but he didn’t answer. Adamant came out of the study, his face grim.
“You heard him too?”
“Yeah,” said Hawk. “I think we’d better get out of here, Adamant. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Adamant nodded quickly, and gestured for Dannielle to come and join him. She did so, and Medley and Roxanne followed her out into the hall. Roxanne had her sword in her hand. She was smiling. Hawk looked away.
It’s here.
Hawk moved quickly over to the front door, pulled it open, and looked out. In the last of the evening light, he could see a man in sorcerer’s black walking through the grounds, heading for the house. As he passed, the things that lived in the ground writhed to the surface and died, the grass withered away, and the earth turned to sand and blew away. The sorcerer’s power hung heavily on the evening air, like the tension before an approaching storm. Hawk eased the door shut, and turned to face the others.