The God Killer

  Fisher nodded, and together they moved silently into the riot and began the slaughter. They worked back to back, blades swinging, and blood splashed their cloaks. Robes of all shapes and colors surged around Hawk, the fanatics nothing more than angry faces and flailing fists. A few had swords. Some had clubs and lengths of chain. None of them stood a chance against Hawk and Fisher. Hawk swung his axe back and forth in wide, brutal arcs, and bodies crumpled to every side of him. Fisher guarded his back, her blade a silver blur as men and women fell screaming to the ground. The crowd began to fall back around them, and some of the rioters turned to flee rather than face the grim-faced Guards.

  More Guards spilled onto the Street of Gods from all directions, drawn from all over the city, and soon the cobbled ground was slippery with blood and gore. An armoured contingent arrived from the Brotherhood of Steel, eager for a fight and determined to restore order. The sound of the crowd changed, fear replacing rage, and it began to crumble and fall apart under the onslaught of so many determined professional fighting men. Priests and acolytes threw down their weapons and ran for the safety of their temples. Piles of dead and injured lay scattered across the Street, mostly ignored. Some of them were Guards. A handful of Guard sorcerers appeared on the scene, and slowly the shifting realities returned to what passed for normal on the Street of Gods.

  Hawk slowly lowered his axe and looked about him, panting for breath. The Street was emptying fast, and a slow sullen silence had fallen across the night. Tired-looking Guards were sorting the injured rioters from the dead, and finishing the job. Rioting, as Buchan had said, was a capital offence. Hawk turned his head away, and sat down suddenly, his back to a wall. There were some things he wouldn't do, and to hell with what the law said. Fisher sat down beside him, and leaned against him, her head on his shoulder.

  "They're not paying us enough for this," she said indistinctly.

  "They couldn't pay us enough for this," said Hawk.

  "Then why are we doing it?"

  "Because someone has to protect the innocent and avenge the wronged. It's a matter of honor. And duty."

  "That argument doesn't sound as convincing as it used to."

  Hawk nodded slowly. "At least the worst is over now."

  A harsh metallic scream broke the silence, deafeningly loud and utterly inhuman. Hawk and Fisher scrambled to their feet and looked round just in time to see something huge and deadly surging out of a temple doorway not nearly big enough to let it through. Stone and timber broke apart and fell away as the Being emerged onto the Street of Gods. It was at least thirty feet high, a shimmering patchwork of metal fragments held together by rags and strings of rotting flesh. Patches of dark, discoloured skin revealed splintered bone and obscurely connected metal mechanisms. Steel and crystal machine parts thrust through the tattered hide, their razor-sharp edges grinding together as the Being rose to its full height. A roaring crimson fire burned in its steel belly and glowed in its bony eye sockets.

  It had slender jagged arms with long-clawed hands that shimmered in its own bloody light. Broken silver chains hung from its wrists. Its steel jaws snapped together like a man-trap. A long tail studded with bony spikes lashed back and forth behind it. The Being threw back its long, wedge-shaped head and screamed defiance at the night. It had got out, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. It screamed again, a harsh metallic shriek that sent a sudden shiver through Hawk. There was nothing remotely human in the sound. The creature should never have lived, and was not alive in any way that made sense. But this was the Street of Gods, and it had got out, and not even those who had prayed to it for so long could hope to control it now.

  It lowered its massive head, and looked at the Guards and Brothers of Steel gathered before it. There were close on three hundred armed men facing the Being, and Hawk knew with a sickening certainty that they weren't going to be enough. The huge creature darted forward, and its razor-sharp claws raked through a dozen men. More died screaming as the creature surged back and forth, crushing men under its massive bulk. Swords and axes cut uselessly at the Being's patchwork hide. Its long head snapped down to bite a man in half. Blood dripped from the metal jaws like steaming saliva. The Guards and the Brotherhood fell back, only their training keeping them from utter panic. The few Guard sorcerers roared and chanted, but their magics shattered harmlessly against the rogue Being, whose very existence defied the laws of reality.

  "Where the hell did that thing come from?" said Fisher, as she and Hawk peered warily at the creature from the shadows of a concealed doorway.

  "Must be a God of some kind," said Hawk.

  "You mean there are people crazy enough to worship that?"

  "This is Haven, Isobel; they'll worship bloody anything here. And if one God's out, it won't be long before more come out to join it. I think this might be a good time to make a strategic retreat."

  Fisher looked at him sharply. "We're not going anywhere, Hawk. We're God Squad now. And since the rest of the Squad has apparently vanished, that means that thing is our responsibility. It has to be stopped here, before it gets into a more populated part of the city."

  Hawk scowled. "I hate it when you're right. Okay; you take left, I'll take right. We'll circle round behind the thing and see if we can cut through whatever it has instead of tendons in its legs. That should bring it down to our height if nothing else."

  "And if that doesn't work?"

  "Pray really hard that Tomb and Rowan are on their way here, instead of doing the sensible thing and hiding in a storm cellar somewhere."

  "You worry too much, Hawk. After all, we've faced worse, in our time."

  They shared a smile, and then separated, darting silently from shadow to shadow as they made their way behind the unliving creature. The Being reared up to its full height and glared down at the Guards and Brothers of Steel scattered around it. It screamed again, the inhuman sound echoing on and on. The sound was almost painfully loud as Hawk emerged from the shadows behind the Being, hefting his axe. Up close, the dead flesh smelt of corruption and burning oil. The Being's leg was taller than Hawk and easily twice as broad. There were flat plates of metal sliding against each other, and fraying ropes of muscle that flexed and tore with every movement. Steel cables stretched and hummed, lined with traceries of broken veins. Hawk looked at the axe in his hand and shook his head slowly.

  This is probably a really bad idea…

  He gripped the axe firmly with both hands, and swung it with all his strength at one of the steel cables in the left leg. The heavy axe sheared clean through the cable, and wedged itself between the moving parts inside the leg. The Being screamed deafeningly. Hawk tugged at his axe, but it was stuck tight. The Being lifted its leg, and Hawk was jerked up into the air, still clinging grimly to his axe. The foot slammed down heavily, cracking the cobbled ground, and Hawk was thrown clear. He lay on his back a moment, dazed, and then rolled quickly to one side. The taloned foot slammed down where he'd been lying. He clambered shakily to his feet, and saw his axe protruding from the leg, just in front of him. He grabbed it firmly with both hands, pulled hard, and almost fell down again as it came away easily. The impact of the stamping foot had jarred it loose.

  Great, thought Hawk, circling quickly to keep behind the Being, Now what do I do? Cutting the cable didn't even slow the bloody thing down.

  He caught a glimpse of something moving on the edge of his vision. He spun round, axe at the ready, and then relaxed a little as he saw it was Fisher. He just had time to nod acknowledgement, and then both of them had to throw themselves to the ground as a huge clawed hand slashed through the air where they'd been a moment before. They hit the ground rolling and were up and running before the Being could turn to face them. They ran in different directions to confuse it, but the huge creature paused only briefly before going after Fisher. Hawk swore briefly, and running after the Being, cut at one of its legs with his axe to get the creature's attention. The great wedge head swung down toward him, full of bloody s
teel teeth over a foot long. Hawk threw himself between the creature's legs and pounded down the Street after Fisher. The Being screamed deafeningly, and started after them.

  The two Guards darted into a narrow alleyway, and the Being lurched to a halt at the alley mouth, uncertain how to get at them. Hawk and Fisher backed away down the alley, not taking their eyes off the creature. And then it slowly turned its head and looked away, as though sensing a greater menace close at hand. It looked back down the Street, and turned quickly to face the new threat. Hawk and Fisher watched silently from the protective shadows.

  Tomb and Rowan were standing side by side in the middle of the Street of Gods, facing the rogue Being. Everyone else had disappeared. Only the dead remained, scattered over the cobbles like so many crumpled heaps of bloody clothing. The Being stared at Tomb and Rowan with its furnace eyes, and then started slowly, deliberately, toward them. Rowan held up her left hand. A small blue jewel blazed brightly in her grasp, the azure light spilling between her fingers. The Exorcist Stone. Rowan spoke a single Word of Power, and in a moment that seemed to last forever, the world changed.

  Reality convulsed, shaking like a plucked harp string, and the rogue Being was suddenly no longer there. There was a sharp clap of thunder as air rushed in to fill the vacuum left by its sudden disappearance. And as quickly as that, it was all over. The night air was still and quiet, and the Street of Gods was calm again. Tomb and Rowan turned away as the Guards and Brothers of Steel reappeared on the Street and moved among them, doing what they could to help the injured. The Exorcist Stone had disappeared, tucked casually away into one of Rowan's pockets.

  Hawk and Fisher leaned wearily back against the wall at the alley mouth, eyes closed, letting their aching muscles slowly relax. Tiredness so deep it was more like pain coursed through Hawk's body, tugging at his muscles like a persistent beggar demanding attention.

  "So," he said finally. "That was the Exorcist Stone."

  "Yeah," said Fisher. "Impressive. Pretty colour, too."

  "If nothing else, it should calm things down a bit. Both the Beings and their priests will think twice before getting out of line again."

  "Don't bank on it," said Fisher. "That's too sensible, too logical. Nothing on this bloody Street is ever logical."

  "True."

  They moved out onto the Street of Gods to help with the injured. Tomb waved and smiled at them briefly, but he and Rowan were too busy to break away. Buchan appeared from among a group of Guards, caught Hawk and Fisher's attention, and strode quickly toward them. Hawk took in Buchan's face and stance, and his heart sank. Whatever the man had to say. Hawk knew instinctively he didn't want to hear it. Buchan came to a halt before Hawk and

  Fisher, and nodded briskly. There was blood on his clothes and hands, none of it his.

  "Whatever it is, the answer's no," said Hawk flatly. "I don't care if someone's planning to destroy the whole Street of Gods. I might even applaud. Isobel and I are exhausted. We've worked too hard too long, and we're way behind on our sleep. That's a dangerous state to be in. It's too easy to make mistakes when you're tired. So, Isobel and I are going to help out here for a while, and then we're going home to get some sleep. Whatever you want will just have to wait."

  "Right," said Fisher.

  "Sleep can wait," said Buchan. "This can't. I was just talking to one of the Guard sorcerers. Something nasty is building at Hightower Hall. Something really nasty. Tomb and Rowan can't go. They're needed here. That just leaves us."

  "Read my lips," said Hawk. "We're not going. Isobel's out on her feet and I'm not much better. If the Hellfire Club's got their fingers burnt, it's their own damned fault."

  "This is God Squad business," said Buchan. "We can't turn our back on people who need us just because we don't like them."

  "Watch me. Isobel's in no state…"

  "Oh, hell, let's go," said Fisher. "The time we spend arguing with Buchan, we could be there and back. Besides, I haven't got the strength to argue."

  "That's the spirit," said Buchan. "It's only a mile or so to High Tory from here. We can do it in ten minutes if we hurry. Don't you just love working in the God Squad? Never a dull moment."

  He set off briskly down the Street of Gods, and Hawk and Fisher moved wearily after him.

  "If he doesn't stop being so bloody cheerful," growled Hawk ominously, "I am personally going to tie both his legs in a square knot."

  "I'll help," said Fisher.

  They hurried after Buchan, muttering mutinously under their breath. From the shadows of a side alley, the Dark Man watched them go but made no move to follow.

  Chapter Six

  Needs, Desires, And Other Motives

  By the time they reached Hightower Hall, Hawk had found his second wind and was feeling only moderately shattered. The crisp cold air of winter felt refreshing after the close, humid warmth of the Street of Gods, and helped to clear his head. Even so, it was Buchan who noticed the first sign of something amiss. He stopped well short of the tall iron gates and looked uncertainly about him. Hawk and Fisher stopped with him, their hands dropping automatically to their weapons.

  "What's wrong?" said Fisher.

  "It's too quiet," said Buchan slowly. "And there's no one watching the gates. Where are all the men-at-arms? They wouldn't just go off and leave the gates unguarded." He reached out and pushed at the gates, and they swung slowly open at the pressure. "Not even locked. Something unexpected must have happened. An emergency, a call for help; something. The men-at-arms went to investigate… and never came back." He looked slowly around him, senses straining and alert. "There's something else too; a feeling on the air…"

  Hawk nodded. He could feel it prickling on his skin and scratching at his nerves; a vague pressure, like the building tension on the air that warns of an approaching storm. "Magic," he said flatly. "The Hellfire Club finally found a ritual that worked."

  He hefted his axe once, and then moved cautiously through the gates and into the grounds. The only light came from the half-moon overhead and the wide blazing windows of the Hall. All was still and quiet. There was no sign of men-at-arms anywhere. Hawk padded softly forward, Fisher and Buchan close behind him, swords at the ready. They walked on the grass, avoiding the gravel pathway. Gravel was noisy. The hall loomed up ahead, silhouetted against the night sky.

  Almost halfway there, Hawk found two of the guard dogs. They were lying stretched out on the grass, still and silent, two darker shadows in the gloom. Hawk knelt down beside them, and pushed one gently with his fingertips. The body rolled slightly back and forth, and then was still again. Both dogs were dead. He checked them over quickly, but there was no sign of any wound, no trace to show what had killed them. It was as though they'd just lay down where they were, and the life went out of them.

  "Captain Fisher," said Buchan quietly. "Do you still have your suppressor stone?"

  "Sure," said Fisher. "Why?"

  "Activate it. Now. And you and Captain Hawk had better stay close together. That way, the stone will protect you both from any general magic in the area."

  "What about you?" said Hawk.

  "I have my own stone," said Buchan. "Now let's get moving. Something bad has happened at the Hall, and I have a horrible feeling we've got here too late to stop it."

  He and Fisher muttered over their suppressor stones, and then the three of them moved warily forward into the darkness, their eyes fixed on the Hall. There was still no sign of any movement at the brightly blazing windows. Hawk was the first to reach the front door. It was open, standing slightly ajar. Hawk pushed at it with his foot. The door moved back a way, and then stopped as it hit an obstruction. Hawk eased himself through the narrow gap and looked down to see what was blocking the door. As he'd expected, it was a body: one of the men-at-arms. Hawk knelt down and checked quickly for vital signs. The man-at-arms was alive, but only just. His skin was cold and deathly pale, his pulse slow, and his breathing disturbingly shallow. Hawk straightened up and looked along the h
allway. More men-at-arms lay scattered and unmoving the length of the entrance hall. Hawk squeezed through the doorway, followed by Fisher and Buchan.

  "There was an emergency," said Buchan quietly. "Someone called for help. The men-at-arms came running, from the house and from the grounds. This was as far as they got. Whatever the Hellfire Club has called up, it didn't want to be disturbed."

  "But how could they have called up something?" said Fisher. "They were a bunch of amateurs; you said so yourself."

  "They must have had help."

  Hawk frowned. "What kind of help?"

  "Good question," said Buchan. "Let's go and find out."

  He took the lead, and guided Hawk and Fisher unerringly through the maze of corridors that led to the ballroom. The silence was complete, broken only by their own soft footsteps. They found servants here and there, lying crumpled where they fell, struck down by the same deathly sleep. Hawk peered continuously about him, skin crawling in anticipation of the attack that never came, his tiredness burned away by rising adrenalin.

  They finally came to the closed double doors that led to the ballroom. Buchan made as though to push the doors open and walk straight in, but Hawk stopped him with a cautious hand on his arm. He looked warily around him, then stepped forward, and pressed his ear against the right-hand door. He couldn't hear anything. Either the wood was too thick, or there wasn't anything to hear. Taking hold of both door-handles, he very carefully eased the doors open an inch or two and then stepped back. He made sure his grip on his axe was secure, looked quickly at Fisher and Buchan, then stepped forward and kicked the doors open. The three of them surged forward to fill the doorway, weapons at the ready.

  The Quality lay strewn across the waxed and polished floor of the ballroom in their brightly colored finery, like so many broken butterflies. They lay singly or in heaps, wherever they'd been standing when the magic struck them down. Most were awake but unable to move. Some were moaning quietly, as much in horror as in pain. All of them looked withered and ancient, aged long beyond their years, held somehow on the very edge of death as their life drained slowly out of them. Those nearest the blue chalk circle looked almost mummified. And there, in the middle of the ballroom, inside the blue circle, stood the thing the Hellfire Club had called up out of the Gulfs. It looked across at the doorway, and smiled charmingly.