Winner Takes All

  "All right," said Medley. "What's the plan?"

  Roxanne smiled, a familiar darkness in her eyes. "Who needs a plan? We just storm the front door, cut down the guards, and kill anyone who gets between us and freeing Captain Fisher."

  Hawk and Medley exchanged a glance. Roxanne had many qualities as a warrior, but subtlety wasn't one of them.

  "We can't risk a straightforward assault," said Hawk carefully. "They might just kill Isobel at the first sign of a rescue attempt. We need some kind of diversion, something to distract their attention."

  "I could set fire to something," said Roxanne.

  "I'd rather you didn't," said Medley quickly. "This whole street's a fire trap. Start a blaze here and we lose half the Steppes."

  "I've got a better idea," said Hawk. "Since they're going to see us approaching anyway, let's show them something they won't find threatening. We just walk up to the door with me unarmed, and Roxanne's sword at my back. Medley can carry my axe. They'll think you've captured me. Once inside, we study the situation and choose our moment. With any luck they'll want to lock me up with Fisher. So, we wait until they unlock the right door, then Medley passes me my axe and we kill everything that moves. Any questions?"

  Roxanne looked at Hawk. "You're ready to trust me with a sword at your back?"

  "Sure," said Hawk. "Because if you try anything, I'll take the sword away from you and make you eat it."

  Roxanne looked at Medley. "He just might."

  "Let's make a start," said Medley. "Before I get a rush of brains to the head and realize just how dangerous this is."

  * * *

  Fisher shook the last of the rope bindings from her wrists and flapped her hands hard to try and get the blood moving again. There were angry red cuts on her arms and wrists from where the knife had cut her as well as the ropes, but she ignored them. Feeling began to come back into her hands, and she winced as pins and needles moved in her fingers. She padded silently over to the closed door and listened carefully. So far, no one seemed to have missed Pike and Da Silva, but she didn't know how long that would last. She went back to Pike and drew his sword from its scabbard. It was a good blade.

  She looked at the two men lying bloody and unconscious on the floor. They would have raped her, abused her, and then handed her over to Hardcastle for a slow, painful death. Assuming she got out of this mess alive, she could have them both sent to the mines for the rest of their lives. No one messes with a Guard and gets away with it. But there was always the chance Hardcastle would buy the judge and Pike and Da Silva would go free. She couldn't allow that to happen. As long as they were free, she would never feel safe again.

  She knelt beside Pike and put the edge of his sword against his throat. She could do it. No one would ever know. She knelt there for a long time, and then she took the sword away from his throat and stood up. She couldn't kill a helpless man in cold blood. Not even him. She was a Guard, and a Guard enforces the law; she doesn't take revenge.

  She turned her back on Pike and Da Silva, moved over to the door and eased it open an inch. She didn't know how many mercenaries were out there, but from the muttered talk it sounded like quite a few. Her best bet would be to throw open the door and then make a mad dash for the main door. She might make it. If she was lucky. She eased the door open a little further, and then froze as there was a sudden pounding on the front door.

  Hawk looked calmly about him, as though he couldn't feel the point of Roxanne's sword digging into his back. It occurred to him that if he'd misjudged the situation, he was in a whole lot of trouble. There were twelve mercenaries in the room, some carrying weapons, some not. According to Roxanne, there were more mercenaries on the next floor up. So, assume twenty men, all told. Ten to one odds. Hawk smiled. He'd faced worse in his time. One of the mercenaries walked over to him. Tall, muscular, chain mail. Wore a sword in a battered scabbard and looked like he knew how to use it. Regular issue mercenary. He nodded briefly to Roxanne, and looked Hawk up and down.

  "So this is the famous Captain Hawk. Do come in, Captain. Don't stand on ceremony." He laughed softly. "You know, Captain, Hardcastle's just dying to see you. As for you, you're just dying."

  "Where's my wife?" said Hawk.

  The mercenary backhanded Hawk across the face. He saw it coming, but still couldn't ride much of the blow. His head rang, and he swayed unsteadily on his feet for a moment.

  "You speak when you're spoken to, Captain. I can see we're going to have to teach you some manners before we let you meet Councilor Hardcastle. But don't worry about your wife. We haven't forgotten her. Even as we speak, she's being entertained by two of our men. I'm sure they're giving her a real good time."

  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 dueled 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 realized he couldn't hold the man back for long. So he spat in his eyes. The mercenary 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 color 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 ax
e. 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."

  Chapter Nine

  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 favorites. People came to congratulate him, and politely remind him of all their labors 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 one 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 Councilor again. And then he'd make the scum in the streets pay for daring to defy him.

  Medley hesitate
d 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."