Swords of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk & Fisher

Bowman shrugged. “I liked his style. He was one of the few politicians I met who actually seemed interested in doing something to improve the lives of the people who live in this rat hole of a city. I’ve been in politics all my life; my father was a Councillor till the day he died, but I hadn’t really been getting anywhere. It’s not enough in politics to have a good mind and good intentions; you have to have a good personal image as well. I’ve never had much talent for being popular, but William has. I knew he was going places from the first day I met him. But, at that time, he didn’t have any experience. He threw away chances, because he didn’t even know they were there. So, we decided to work together. I provided the experience, he provided the style. It hasn’t worked out too badly. We get on well together, and we get things done.”

  “And he gets all the power, and all the credit,” said Fisher.

  “I’m not ambitious,” said Bowman. “And there’s more to life than credit.”

  “Indeed there is,” said Katherine Blackstone. She moved in to stand beside Bowman, and Hawk and Fisher didn’t miss the way they stood together.

  “Tell me,” said Katherine, sipping daintily at her drink, “where did you and your wife come from originally, Captain Hawk? I’m afraid I can’t quite place your accent.”

  “We’re from the North,” said Hawk vaguely. “Up around Hillsdown.”

  “Hillsdown,” said Katherine thoughtfully. “That’s a monarchy, isn’t it?”

  “More or less,” said Fisher.

  “The Low Kingdoms must seem rather strange to you,” said Bowman. “I don’t suppose democracy has worked its way up North yet.”

  “Not yet,” said Hawk. “The world’s a big place, and change travels slowly. When I discovered the Low Kingdoms were in fact governed by an elected Assembly, presided over by a constitutional monarch with only limited powers, it was as though my whole world had been tipped upside down. How could he be King if he didn’t rule? But the idea; the idea that every man and woman should have a say in how the country should be run: that was staggering. There’s no denying the system does have its drawbacks, and I’ve seen most of them right here in Haven, but it has its attractions too.”

  “It’s the way of the future,” said Bowman.

  “You might just be right,” said Hawk.

  The doorbell rang, and Gaunt went off to answer it. Bowman and Katherine chatted a while longer about nothing in particular, and then moved away to talk quietly with each other. Fisher looked after them thoughtfully.

  “I don’t trust Bowman; he smiles too much.”

  Hawk shrugged. “That’s his job; he’s a politician, remember? But did you see the way Katherine’s face lit up every time Bowman looked at her?”

  “Yeah,” said Fisher, grinning. “There’s definitely something going on there.”

  “Scandalmonger,” said Hawk.

  “Not at all,” said Fisher. “I’m just romantic, that’s all.”

  Gaunt came back into the parlor with a tall, muscular man in his late forties. Hawk took one look at the new arrival and nearly spilled his drink. Standing beside Gaunt was Adam Stalker, possibly the most renowned hero ever to come out of the Low Kingdoms. In his time he’d fought every monster you can think of, and then some. He’d single-handedly toppled the evil Baron Cade from his mountain fortress, and freed hundreds of prisoners from the foul dungeons under Cade’s Keep. He’d been the confidant of kings and the champion of the oppressed. He’d served in a dozen armies, in this cause and that, bringing aid and succor to those who had none. His feats of daring and heroism had spread across the known world, and were the subject of countless songs and stories. Adam Stalker: demonslayer and hero.

  He stood a head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the room, and was almost twice as wide as some of them. His shoulder-length black hair was shot with grey now, but he was still an impressive and powerful figure. His clothes were simple but elegantly cut. He looked around the room like a soldier gazing across a battlefield, nodding at the familiar faces, and then his cold blue eyes fell on Hawk and Fisher. He strode quickly over to them, crushed Hawk’s hand in his, and clapped him on the back. Hawk staggered under the blow.

  “I heard about your run-in with the Chandler Lane vampire,” Stalker said gruffly. “You did a good job, Captain Hawk. A damned good job.”

  “Thanks,” said Hawk, just a little breathlessly. “My partner helped.”

  “Of course.” Stalker nodded briefly to Fisher. “Well done, my dear.” He looked back at Hawk. “I’ve heard good things about you, Hawk. This city has much to thank you for.”

  “Yeah,” said Fisher. “We’re thinking of putting in for a raise.”

  “Thank you, sir warrior,” said Hawk quickly. “We do our best, but I’m sure we’ve a long way to go before we become as renowned as Adam Stalker.”

  Stalker smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “Minstrels exaggerate. I take it you’re here as William’s bodyguards. You shouldn’t have any trouble, not with me and Gaunt to look after him. Still, I can always use a backup. I’ll talk to you again later; I want to hear all about this vampire killing. I once stumbled across a whole nest of the things, up in the Broken Crag range. Nasty business.”

  He nodded briskly, and strode off to speak to Blackstone. Hawk and Fisher watched him go.

  “Big, isn’t he?” said Hawk.

  “I’ll say,” said Fisher. “He must be close on seven feet tall. And did you see the size of those muscles?”

  “Yeah.” Hawk looked at her narrowly. “You were a bit short with him, weren’t you?”

  “He was a bit short with me. He’s obviously one of those men who think women should stay at home while the men go out to be heroes. You ever met him before, Hawk?”

  “No. Heard most of the songs, though. If only half of them are true, he’s a remarkable man. I wasn’t sure I believed some of the stories, but now I’ve met him ... I don’t know. He’s certainly impressive.”

  “Right.” Fisher sipped thoughtfully at her drink. “A very dangerous man, if crossed.”

  Hawk looked at her sharply. “Oh, come on. Stalker as an assassin? That’s ridiculous. What reason could a great hero like Stalker possibly have for taking on a small-time politician like Blackstone? We’re talking about a man who’s supposed to have toppled kings in his time.”

  Fisher shrugged. “I don’t know. He just strikes me as a little too good to be true, that’s all.”

  “You’re just jealous because he congratulated me, and not you.”

  Fisher laughed, and emptied her glass. “Maybe.”

  “How many of those have you had?” asked Hawk suddenly.

  “Two or three. I’m thirsty.”

  “Then ask for a glass of water. This is no time to be getting legless. Hightower would just love to find some reason to drop us in it.”

  “Spoilsport.” Fisher put down her empty glass and looked about her. The party seemed to be livening up. The chatter of raised voices filled the parlour, along with a certain amount of self-satisfied laughter. Every hand held a wineglass, and the first few bottles were already empty.

  Hawk moved away to talk to Blackstone about the security arrangements, and Fisher was left on her own. She looked disinterestedly around her. Society gatherings didn’t appeal to her much. Private jokes, malicious gossip, and sugary wines were no substitute for good food and ale in the company of friends. Not that she was particularly fond of that kind of gathering, either. I guess I’m just basically antisocial, thought Fisher sardonically. She shrugged and smiled, and then stood up a little straighter as Edward Bowman came over to stand before her. She bowed politely, and he nodded briefly in return.

  “Captain Fisher. All alone?”

  “For the moment.”

  “Now that is unacceptable; a good-looking woman like yourself should never want for company.”

  Fisher raised a mental eyebrow. Her face was striking rather than pretty, and she knew it. He’s after something....

  “I’m no
t very fond of company,” she said carefully.

  “Don’t much care for crowds myself,” said Bowman, smiling engagingly. “Why don’t we go somewhere more private, just the two of us?”

  “I don’t think Gaunt would like that. We are his guests. And after all, I’m here to do a job.”

  “Gaunt won’t say anything.” Bowman leaned closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “No one will say anything. I’m an important man, my dear.”

  Fisher looked him straight in the eye. “You don’t believe in wasting time, do you?”

  Bowman shrugged. “Life is short. Why are we still talking? There are so many other, more pleasurable things we could be doing.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Fisher calmly.

  “What?” Bowman looked at her sharply. “I don’t think you understand, my dear. No one turns me down. No one.”

  Fisher smiled coldly. “Want to bet?”

  Bowman scowled, all the amiability gone from his face as though it had never been there. “You forget your place, Captain. I have friends among your superior officers. All I have to do is drop a word in the right quarter....”

  “You’d really do that?”

  “Believe it, Captain. I can ruin your career, have you thrown in jail.... You’d be surprised what can happen to you. Unless, of course ...”

  He reached out a hand towards her, and then stopped suddenly and looked down. Fisher had a dagger in her left hand, the point pressed against his stomach. Bowman stood very still.

  “You threaten me again,” said Fisher quietly, “and I’ll cut you one you’ll carry for the rest of your days. And be grateful my husband hasn’t noticed anything. He’d kill you on the spot, and damn the consequences. Now go away, and stay away. Understand?”

  Bowman nodded jerkily, and Fisher made the dagger disappear. Bowman turned and walked away. Fisher leaned back against the buffet table and shook her head resignedly.

  I think I preferred the party when it was boring....

  Gaunt stood alone by the doorway, keeping a careful eye on the time. The first course would be ready soon, and he didn’t want it to be overdone. The first course set the mood for the meal to come. He looked around at his guests, and then winced slightly as he saw Stalker making his way determinedly towards him. Gaunt sighed, and bowed politely to Stalker. The giant warrior inclined his head briefly in response. “I’d like a word with you, sir sorcerer.”

  “Of course, Adam. What can I do for you?”

  “Sell me this house.”

  Gaunt shook his head firmly. “Adam, I’ve told you before ; I’m not interested in selling. This house suits me very well, and I’ve spent a great deal of time investing both it and the grounds with my own magical protections. Moving now would be not only expensive and highly inconvenient, it would also mean at least six months’ hard work removing those spells before anyone else could live here.”

  “The money needn’t be a problem,” said Stalker. “I’m a rich man these days. You can name your price, sorcerer.”

  “It’s not a question of money, Adam. This house suits me. I’m quite happy here and I don’t want to move. Now I hate to be ungracious about this, but there’s really no point in your continuing to pester me about selling. Your gold doesn’t tempt me in the least; I already have all I need. I don’t see why this house is so important to you, Adam. There are others just like it scattered all over the city. Why are you so obsessed with mine?”

  “Personal reasons,” said Stalker shortly. “If you should happen to change your mind, perhaps you would give me first refusal.”

  “Of course, Adam. Now, while you’re here, I’d like a word with you.”

  “Yes?”

  “What’s happened between you and William? Have you quarrelled?”

  “No.” Stalker looked steadily at Gaunt. “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, come on, Adam; I’m not blind. I don’t think the pair of you have exchanged two words you didn’t have to in the last few weeks. I thought perhaps you’d had a falling-out, or something.”

  Stalker shook his head. “Not really. I’m here, aren’t I? It was just a difference of opinion over what our next project should be. It’ll work itself out. And now, if you’ll excuse me ...”

  He nodded stiffly to Gaunt, and walked away. The sorcerer watched him go, his face carefully impassive. Something was wrong; he could feel it. Stalker might talk calmly enough, but the man was definitely on edge. Still, it wasn’t likely he’d make any trouble. Not here, not at William’s party. Gaunt frowned. Just the same, perhaps he’d better have a word with Bowman; see if he knew anything. If something had happened to upset Stalker, he’d make a dangerous enemy.

  Lord and Lady Hightower stood together, a little apart from the rest of the guests. Lord Roderik looked out over the gathering, his eyes vague and far away. Lady Elaine put a gentle hand on his arm.

  “You look pale, my dear. Are you feeling all right?”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “It’s the heat, that’s all. I hate being trapped in the city during the summer. Damn place is like an oven, and there’s never a breath of fresh air. I’ll be all right, Elaine. Don’t fuss.”

  Lady Elaine hesitated. “I saw you talking to the Guards. That is him, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. He let our boy die.” .

  “No, Rod. It wasn’t that man Hawk’s fault, and you know it. You can’t go on blaming him for what happened. Do you blame yourself for every soldier under your command who died in battle because you didn’t predict everything that could go wrong? Of course you don’t.”

  “This wasn’t a soldier. This was our son.” ,

  “Yes, Rod. I know.” ..

  “I was so proud of him, Elaine. He wasn’t going to waste his life fighting other people’s battles; he was going to make something of his life. I was so proud of him....” .

  “I miss him as much as you, my dear. But he’s gone now, and we have to get on with our lives. And you’ve more important things to do than waste your time feuding with a Captain of the city Guard.”

  Lord Roderik sighed, and looked at her properly for the first time. For a moment it seemed he was going to say something, and then he changed his mind. He looked down at her hand on his arm, and put his hand on top of hers. “You’re right, my dear. As usual. Just keep that man out of my sight. I don’t want to have to talk to Captain Hawk again.” ,

  Stalker picked up one of the canaps and studied it dubiously. The small piece of meat rolled in pasta looked even smaller in his huge hand. He sniffed at it gingerly, shrugged, and ate it anyway. When you’re out in the wilds for days on end you can’t ever be sure where your next meal’s coming from. So you eat what you can, when you can, or risk going hungry. Old habits die hard. Stalker looked about him, and his gaze fell on Graham Dorimant, talking with the witch Visage. Stalker’s lip curled. Dorimant. Political adviser. Probably never drew a sword in anger in his life. All mouth and no muscle. He had his uses, but ... Stalker shook his head resignedly. These were the kinds of people he was going to have to deal with, now that he’d entered the political arena. Stalker smiled suddenly. He’d thought life in the wilds was tough, until he’d entered politics. These people would eat you alive, given half a chance.

  And politics was going to have to be his life, from now on. He was getting too old for heroics. He didn’t feel old, but he had to face the fact that he just wasn’t as strong or as fast as he once was. Better to quit now, while he was still ahead. He hadn’t lasted this long by being stupid. Besides, politics had its own rewards and excitements. The pursuit of power ... Long ago, when he was young and foolish, a princess of a far-off land had offered to marry him, and make him king, but he’d turned her down. He hadn’t wanted to be tied down. Things were different now. He had money, and he had prestige, so what was there left to reach for, except power? The last great game, the last challenge. Stalker frowned suddenly. Everything had been going fine. He and Willi
am had been an unbeatable team, until ... Damn the man. If only he hadn’t proved so stubborn.... Still, there wouldn’t be any more arguments after tonight. After tonight, he’d be free to go his own way, and to hell with William Blackstone.

  Stalker looked over at the young witch Visage, and smiled slightly. Not bad-looking. Not bad at all. Not quite to his usual taste, but there was a quiet innocence in her demure mouth and downcast eyes that appealed to him. It’s your lucky night, my girl. He moved over to join her and Dorimant. They both bowed politely to him, but Stalker didn’t miss the barely suppressed anger in Dorimant’s eyes.

  “Good evening, sir warrior,” said Dorimant smoothly. “You honor us with your presence.”

  “Good to see you again,” said Stalker. “Keeping busy, are you? Still digging up secrets and hauling skeletons out of the cupboards?”

  “We all do what we’re best at,” said Dorimant.

  “And how are you, my dear?” said Stalker to Visage. “You’re looking very lovely.”

  “Thank you,” said Visage quietly. She glanced at him briefly and then lowered her eyes again.

  “Not drinking?” said Stalker, seeing her hands were empty. “Let me get you some wine.”

  “Thank you, no,” said Visage quickly. “I don’t care for wine. It interferes with my concentration.”

  “But that’s why we drink it, my child,” said Stalker, grinning. “Still, the alcohol in wine needn’t always be a problem. Watch this.”

  He poured himself a large glass of white wine from a handy decanter, and then held up the glass before him. He said half a dozen words in a quick, rasping whisper, and the wine stirred briefly in the glass, as though disturbed by an unseen presence. It quickly settled itself, and the wine looked no different than it had before.

  “Try it now,” said Stalker, handing the glass to Visage. “All the taste of wine, but no alcohol.”

  Visage sipped the wine tentatively.

  “Good trick,” said Hawk.

  Stalker looked quickly round. He hadn’t heard the Guard approach. Getting old, he thought sourly. And careless. He bowed politely to Hawk.

  “A simple transformation spell,” he said calmly. “The wine doesn’t change its basic nature, of course; that would be beyond my simple abilities. The alcohol is still there; it just can’t affect you anymore. It’s a handy trick to know, on occasion. There are times when a man’s survival can rest on his ability to keep a clear head.”