Swords of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk & Fisher

by Simon R. Green

“He can’t hear you,” said Hawk. “There’s nothing left now but the beast.”

  The werewolf sprang forward, and Stalker met him with his sword. The long steel blade cut into the werewolf s chest and out again, and didn’t even slow him down. He knocked Stalker to the ground and dashed the sword from his hand. Stalker grabbed the werewolf by the throat with both hands, and fought to keep the grinning jaws away from his throat. The werewolf’s quick panting breath slapped against his face, thick with the stench of fresh blood and rotting meat. Fisher stepped forward and thrust her sword through the werewolf s ribs. The beast howled with pain and fury. Fisher pulled back her sword for another thrust, and then cursed as the wound healed itself in seconds. Hawk moved in and swung his axe double-handed. The heavy blade sank deep into the werewolf’s shoulder, smashing the collarbone. The werewolf tried to pull away, but Stalker held on grimly, digging his fingers into the beast’s throat. Fisher cut at the werewolf again and again. The beast sank his claws into Stalker’s chest. Hawk pulled out his axe for another blow, and the werewolf broke Stalker’s hold and jumped back out of range. A jagged wound showed clearly in the beast’s shoulder, but it didn’t bleed. There was a series of faint popping sounds as the broken bones reknit themselves, and then the wound closed and was gone.

  We’re not going to stop him, thought Hawk slowly. There’s not a damn thing we can do to stop him....

  The werewolf lowered his shaggy head and sprang forward. Hawk and Fisher braced themselves, weapons at the ready. Stalker looked to where he’d dropped his sword, but it was too far away. The werewolf went for his throat. Stalker ducked under the werewolf’s leap and gutted the beast with a dagger he snatched from his boot at the last moment. The werewolf crashed heavily to the floor, screaming in an almost human voice. He lay helpless for a moment as the wound healed, and Stalker dropped his dagger, leant over the beast, and taking a firm hold at neck and tail, lifted the werewolf over his head. The beast kicked and struggled but couldn’t break free. Stalker held it there, his muscles creaking and groaning under the strain. Sweat ran down his face with the effort, but he wouldn’t let the beast go. As long as the werewolf couldn’t reach anyone, he was harmless. Pain ran jaggedly through Stalker’s arms and chest from the weight of the beast, but he wouldn’t give in. He wouldn’t give in. Hawk and Fisher watched in awe. This was the Stalker they’d heard about, the legendary hero who’d never known defeat.

  And then Gaunt stepped forward, a silver dagger gleaming in his hand. Stalker slammed the werewolf to the floor with the last of his strength. The impact stunned the werewolf for a moment, and Gaunt plunged the silver dagger into the beast’s chest, just under the breastbone. Gaunt and Stalker stepped quickly back as the werewolf writhed and twisted on the laboratory floor. He scrabbled forward a few feet, and then suddenly coughed blood. It was a quiet, almost apologetic sound. The werewolf lay still and closed his eyes. The wolf shape stirred and shifted. The fur and fangs and claws slowly disappeared, and bones creaked softly as their shape changed. When it was over, Lord Roderik Hightower lay still on the floor, curled around the silver dagger embedded in his heart. Gaunt knelt down beside him.

  “Why didn’t you tell us, Rod?” he said quietly. “We were your friends; we’d have found some way to help you.”

  Hightower opened his eyes and looked at the sorcerer. He smiled slightly, and there was blood on his lips. “I liked being a wolf. I felt young again. Is Elaine dead?”

  “Yes,” said Gaunt. “You killed her.”

  “My poor Elaine. I never could tell her....”

  “You should have told us, Rod.”

  Hightower raised an eyebrow tiredly. “You should have told us about your succubus, but you didn’t. We all have our secrets, Gaunt. Some of them are just easier to live with than others.”

  Gaunt nodded slowly. “Why did you kill William, Rod?”

  Hightower laughed soundlessly. “I didn’t,” he said quietly. And then he died.

  Gaunt slowly straightened up and looked at the others. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “Why should he lie about it? He knew he was dying.”

  “He didn’t lie,” said Hawk. Everyone looked at him sharply, and he smiled grimly. “All along I’ve been saying this case didn’t make sense, and I was right. The evidence didn’t tie together because there wasn’t just one murderer. There were two.”

  7

  A HiddEN Evil

  The parlour seemed somehow larger, now there were so few people left to sit in it. The chair with Katherine’s body had been pushed to the rear of the room. The still, sheeted figure sat slumped in its chair like a sleeping ghost. The two Guards and their suspects sat in a rough semicircle around the empty fireplace. They sat in silence, looking at each other with tired, suspicious eyes. Hawk and Fisher sat side by side. Hawk was scowling thoughtfully, while Fisher glared at everyone impartially, her sword resting across her knees. Dorimant sat on the edge of his chair, mopping at his face with a handkerchief. The heat was worse if anything, and the parlour was almost unbearably close and stuffy. Gaunt sat stiffly in his chair, staring at nothing. He hadn’t said a word since they left the laboratory. Stalker handed him a glass of wine, and the sorcerer looked at it dully. Stalker had to coax him into taking the first sip, but after that Gaunt carried on drinking mechanically, until the glass was empty. Stalker noted Hawk’s disapproving frown and leant forward conspiratorially.

  “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “The wine contains a strong sedative. Let him sleep off the shock; it’s the best thing for him.”

  Hawk nodded slowly. “You must be very skilled at sleight of hand, sir Stalker; I didn’t see you drop anything into his wine.”

  Stalker grinned. “I didn’t. It’s a variation on my transformation trick with the alcohol, only this time I used the spell to change some of the wine into a sedative. Simple, but effective.”

  Hawk nodded thoughtfully, and Stalker sank back in his chair. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, and then looked sharply at Hawk.

  “Your time’s nearly up, Captain. In just under half an hour it will be dawn, and the isolation spell will collapse. If Hightower was telling the truth, you don’t have much time left to find your second killer.”

  “I don’t need any more time,” said Hawk calmly. “I know who the second murderer is.”

  Everyone looked at him sharply, including Fisher. “Are you sure, Hawk?” she said carefully. “We can’t afford to be wrong.”

  “I’m sure,” said Hawk. “Everything’s finally fallen into place. I’d pretty much worked out the who and why a while back, but I still couldn’t work out how it had been done ... and without that, I couldn’t make an accusation.”

  “But now you’ve got it?” said Fisher.

  “Yeah,” said Hawk. He looked unhurriedly around him, letting the tension build. Stalker was watching him interestedly, his hand resting on the sword at his side. Dorimant was perched right on the edge of his chair, leaning eagerly forward. Gaunt watched quietly, sitting slumped in his chair, his eyes already drooping from the sedative Stalker had given him. Fisher was glaring at him impatiently, and Hawk decided he’d better make a start.

  “Let me recap a little to begin with,” said Hawk slowly. “This has been a complicated case, made even more so because right from the word go there were two killers, working separately, with completely unconnected motives. That’s why the truthspell didn’t work. I asked everyone if they killed Blackstone and Bowman. And of course each killer could truthfully say no; they’d only killed one man, not both.

  “The first killer was of course Lord Roderik Hightower. Under the influence of the full moon, his killer’s rage drove him to become a wolf and kill Edward Bowman. The choice of victim was pure chance. If Hightower hadn’t found Bowman on the landing, he would undoubtedly have found someone else to attack. He killed his second victim, the witch Visage, while his wife was out of sight in the bathroom and Visage was left alone on the landing. I think he probably killed he
r deliberately. She’d smelt something strange on the landing after Bowman’s murder, and given time she might have been able to identify what it was. So Hightower killed her, while he had the chance. By the time he killed his wife, the Lady. Elaine, the werewolf in him was too strong to be denied. The killing rage must have been overpowering. It’s a wonder he was able to fight it off and stay human as long as he did.

  “But while all this was going on, another killer was moving among us, the man who killed William Blackstone and his wife, Katherine. Again, the case was made more complicated by outside factors. To begin with, we were distracted by the door having been apparently locked from the inside. Once Katherine admitted her part in the deception, and in the stabbing of the dead body to mislead us as to the cause of death, the situation grew a little clearer. The wineglass in Blackstone’s room intrigued me. The wine had to have been poisoned, but Gaunt swore that it was harmless. He even tasted some of it himself, to prove it. But then someone secretly removed the wineglass from Blackstone’s room, proving that the wine had in some way contributed to Blackstone’s death. If it hadn’t, why go to all the trouble and risk of removing it?”

  “So William definitely was poisoned?” said Dorimant.

  “In a way,” said Hawk. “The poison killed him, but he really died by magic.”

  “That’s impossible!” snapped Gaunt. He struggled to sit up straighter, and glared at Hawk. “William was still wearing the amulet Visage made for him. It was a good amulet; I tested it myself. As long as he was wearing it, magic wouldn’t work in his vicinity.”

  “Exactly,” said Hawk. “And that’s why he died.”

  Gaunt looked at him confusedly, and some of the fire went out of his eyes as the sedative took hold of him again. Hawk looked quickly around at the other listeners. Dorimant was leaning so far forward it was a wonder he hadn’t fallen off his chair. Stalker was frowning thoughtfully. And Fisher was looking as though she’d brain him if he didn’t get on with his story.

  “It was a very clever scheme,” said Hawk. “Since there was no trace of poison, if it hadn’t been for Katherine’s interference, we’d probably have put Blackstone’s death down to natural causes. So, how did he die? It all comes down to the amulet and the glass of wine. The killer took a glass of poison and worked a transformation spell on it, so that it became a glass of perfectly normal wine. He then gave the glass to Blackstone. However, once Blackstone raised the glass to his lips, the amulet cancelled out the transformation magic, and the wine reverted to its original and deadly state. Blackstone must have died shortly after entering his bedroom. He fell to the floor, dropping the wineglass. It rolled away from the body, passed beyond the amulet’s influence, and the poison became wine again. Which is why Gaunt was able to taste it quite safely. Later on, the killer went back to the room and removed the wineglass. He knew a thorough examination would reveal the wine’s true nature. If everything had gone according to plan, and Blackstone’s death had been accepted as a heart attack, he would probably have switched the original glass for another, containing normal wine, but as things were he was no doubt pressed for time.”

  “Ingenious,” said Gaunt, blinking owlishly.

  “Yes, but is it practical?” said Dorimant. “Would it have worked?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Gaunt. “It would have worked. And that’s why Katherine had to die! Just before Visage’s death, Katherine was trying to remember who had given William that last glass of wine. She was sure she’d seen who it was, but she couldn’t quite remember. She had to die, because the killer was afraid she might identify him.”

  “Right,” said Hawk. “So, we’ve established how William Blackstone died. Now we come to the suspects. Gaunt, Dorimant, Stalker. Three suspects; but only one of you had the means and the opportunity and the motive.

  “Gaunt could have worked the transformation spell on the wine. He knew about the amulet, and he is both a sorcerer and an alchemist. But he also had a succubus, with all the power and abilities that granted him. If he’d wanted Blackstone dead, there were any number of ways he could have managed it, without any danger of it being traced back to him. He certainly wouldn’t have committed a murder in his own house; an investigation might have discovered his succubus, and he couldn’t risk that.

  “Dorimant ... I did wonder about you for a while. You were obviously very attached to the witch Visage, and jealousy can be a powerful motive. If you thought Blackstone was all that stood between you and her ... but you know nothing about magic. You didn’t even know how a truthspell worked.”

  Hawk turned slowly to Stalker. “It had to be you, Stalker. You worked your transformation trick on the wine once too often. Taking the alcohol out of wine was one thing. I might have overlooked that, but changing the wine to a sedative for Gaunt was a mistake. Once I’d seen that, a lot of things suddenly fell into place. I wondered why Blackstone had taken that last glass of wine, when he’d already said he wasn’t going to drink any more because he had no head for wine. He took that final glass because you told him you’d worked your trick on it to take out the alcohol. Also, when Visage was killed on the landing, you were one of the last people to leave the parlour, which meant you had plenty of time to kill Katherine, while everyone else’s attention was distracted.

  “It was the lack of motive that threw me for a long time, until I discovered you were a DeFerrier. Blackstone’s next main cause would have been a drive against child prostitution, and those who supported it. Fisher and I were working on just such a case before we were called away to go after the Chandler Lane vampire. The word was that we were called off because we were getting too close to one of the main patrons, an influential and very respectable man with a taste for abusing children. The DeFerriers had a thing about children, didn’t they? We’ll never know exactly how many children were tortured and killed in their black magic rituals. You were the patron, Stalker. You were the one who had us called off. And that’s why you had to kill Blackstone. During his investigation, he’d discovered your obsession with child prostitutes, and he was going to turn you over to the Guard, as soon as he had some concrete evidence to use against you. And he’d have found it, eventually. Oh, you argued with him, promised him anything and everything, but Blackstone was an honest man. You couldn’t buy him, and you couldn’t intimidate him, so you killed him. You couldn’t have let him tell the world what you really are. It would have destroyed your reputation and your legend, and that’s all you’ve got left to live on.

  “You must have put a lot of planning into Blackstone’s death, Stalker. After all, you were the one who first told Visage how to make the protective amulet. Ironic, isn’t it? By wearing that amulet, he was unknowingly collaborating in his own murder. If it hadn’t been for Katherine, you might well have got away with it, and your dirty little secret would have been safe. Adam Stalker, I hereby place you under arrest for the murder of William and Katherine Blackstone.”

  For a long moment nobody said anything, and then Stalker chuckled quietly. “I said you were good, didn’t I? You worked it all out, from beginning to end. If it hadn’t been for that bitch Katherine ... I forgot how tough she was. She always could think on her feet, and she was one hell of an actress. If it hadn’t been for her muddying the waters, you wouldn’t have suspected a thing. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to stand trial.”

  Hawk threw himself sideways out of his chair as Stalker suddenly lunged forward, sword in hand. Hawk hit the floor rolling as the sword slammed into the back of the chair where he’d been sitting. He was quickly back on his feet again, axe in hand. Fisher was also on her feet, sword at the ready. Gaunt and Dorimant watched, shocked, as Stalker drew his sword, kicked aside his chair, and backed quickly away.

  “You’ve got good reflexes, Hawk,” said Stalker. “But you still don’t stand a chance against me. The only one who could have stopped me is Gaunt, and my sedative’s taken care of him. In a few minutes the isolation spell will collapse, and I’ll be on my way. The Guard wi
ll find nothing but a house full of bodies, and I’ll be long gone. This will be just another unsolved mystery. Haven’s full of them.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” said Fisher, lifting‘ her sword slightly.

  “You think you’re going to stop me, girl?”

  “Why not? I’ve dealt with worse than you in my time.”

  Stalker smiled contemptuously and stepped forward, his long sword shining brightly as it cut through the air towards her. Fisher braced herself and parried the blow, grunting at the effort it cost her. The sword was heavy, and Stalker was every bit as strong as they said he was. She cut at his unprotected leg, and he parried the blow easily. Hawk moved in to join her, swinging his axe. Stalker picked up a chair with his free hand and threw it at Hawk. One of the chair legs struck him a glancing blow to the head and he fell to the floor, stunned. Fisher threw herself at Stalker, and he stepped forward to meet her. He quickly took the advantage, and Fisher was forced to retreat round the room, blocking his sword with hers as she searched and waited for an opening in his defence that never came. She was good with a blade, but he was better.

  Sparks sputtered and died on the still air, and the parlour was full of the ring of steel on steel. Hawk got to his feet and shook his head to clear it. Stalker scowled briefly. He couldn’t fight them both, and he knew it. He turned suddenly and cut viciously at Dorimant, who shrank back in his chair, unharmed. Fisher threw herself forward to block the blow, and Stalker spun round at the last moment and kicked her solidly under the left knee. Fisher collapsed as her leg betrayed her, groaning with agony. Stalker drew back his sword to finish her, and then Hawk was upon him, swinging his axe double-handed, and Stalker had to retreat.

  Stalker and Hawk stood toe to toe, their blades a flashing blue in the lamplight. Sword and axe rose and fell, cut and parry and riposte, with no quarter asked or given. The pace was too fast for the fight to last long. Stalker tried every dirty trick and foul move he knew, but none of them worked against Hawk. In the end he felt himself beginning to slow, and grew desperate. He used the same trick once too often, and Hawk stepped inside his guard and knocked the sword from his hand. Stalker staggered back, nursing his numbed hand. He leaned against the wall, breathing hard.