Swords of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk & Fisher

by Simon R. Green

  “There’s more to politics than just being cynical,” said a deep, resonant voice behind him. Hawk spun round, one hand dropping to his axe. A tall, impressively muscled man in his mid-forties stood smiling in the library doorway. He paused a moment to make sure they’d all got a good look at him, and then he strode forward into the room. His polished chain mail gleamed brightly in the lamplight, and a long sword hilt peered over his left shoulder. The sword on his back reached almost to the floor. He had jet-black hair, sharp classical features that were a little too perfect to be handsome, and a broad smile that wasn’t reflected in his eyes. All in all, he looked more like a politician than Adamant did. Hawk decided that if he had to shake hands, he’d better count his fingers afterwards. He nodded warily to the newcomer, who smiled briefly in his direction before bowing formally to Adamant.

  “Jeremiah Rukker, at your service once again, sir Adamant. It’s always good to see you here. Won’t you introduce me to your companions?”

  “Of course, Commander. This is my wife, Dannielle. You know my Advisor. The two Guards are Captain Hawk and Captain Fisher. Perhaps you’ve heard of them.”

  “Yes,” said Rukker. “I’ve heard of them.”

  Hawk raised an eyebrow at the ice in Rukker’s voice. “Do we have a problem, Commander?”

  “We don’t,” said Rukker carefully. “Your reputation as a warrior precedes you. But your woman also claims the rights of a warrior, and that is unacceptable.”

  Fisher rose lithely to her feet and stood next to Hawk, one hand resting idly on her sword hilt. Rukker drew himself up to his full height, and fixed her with a cold stare.

  “Women do not use weapons,” he said flatly. “They are not suited to it. They know nothing of the glory of steel.”

  “Nice-looking sword you’ve got there,” said Fisher easily. “Want to go a few rounds?”

  “Isobel ...” said Hawk quickly,

  “Don’t worry; I won’t damage him too much. Just take some of the wind out of his sails. Come on, Rukker, what do you say? Best out of five, and I’ll give you two points to start with. Just to make the match even.”

  Adamant glared at her, and then at Hawk. “Captain, if you wouldn’t mind ...”

  “Don’t look at me,” said Hawk. “She goes her own way. Always has. Besides, if Rukker’s stupid enough to take her on, he deserves everything that happens to him. If I were you, I’d send for a doctor. And a mop.”

  Rukker stared haughtily at Fisher. The effect was rather spoiled because he had to look up slightly to do it. “A Brother of Steel does not fight with women,” he said coldly. “It is not seemly.”

  “Yeah,” said Fisher. “Sure.”

  She turned away and sat down in the chair again. Rukker ignored her and inclined his head courteously to Hawk.

  “I understand you worked with the legendary Adam Stalker on your last case, Captain Hawk. He was a great man. His death is a loss to us all.”

  “There’s no doubt he’ll be missed,” said Hawk. “Was he a Brother of Steel?”

  “Of course. All the great heroes are. You might care to make application yourself, some day. Your skills and reputation would make you a valued member.”

  “Thanks,” said Hawk. “But I’m not really the joining type.”

  “Don’t dismiss us so casually, Captain. We have much to offer.” Rukker fixed Hawk with a burning gaze, and his voice became earnest and compelling. “The Brotherhood is dedicated to the glory of Steel. It is the symbol that holds mankind together, that enables him to impose order on a savage and uncaring universe. Steel gives us mastery over the world and ourselves. In learning to control our bodies and our weapons, we learn to control our minds and our destinies.

  “Think of what we could teach you, Captain. Every move, every trick and skill of fighting there has ever been is to be found here somewhere, in our libraries and instructors. Our fighters are unbeatable, our warriors suitable to advise Kings. We are the future; we decide the way the world will turn.”

  “Thanks,” said Hawk. “But I have enough problems dealing with the present. Besides, Isobel and I are a team. We work together. Always.”

  “And that’s why you’ll never be anything more than a city Guard,” said Rukker. “A pity. You could have gone far, Hawk; if it hadn’t been for your woman.”

  Hawk smiled suddenly. “Commander, I’m giving you a lot of slack, because I’m here as Adamant’s guest. But if you insult my wife one more time, I will hurt you severely. Even worse, I might let Isobel do it. Now, be a good fellow and get on with your business with Adamant.”

  Rukker flushed pinkly, and his hand rose to the sword hilt at his shoulder. Hawk and Fisher were both on their feet facing him, weapons drawn and at the ready, before Rukker’s hand could close around the hilt. Adamant moved quickly forward to stand between them.

  “That’s enough! Hawk, Fisher, put your weapons away. That’s an order. I do apologize, Commander. We’ve had a very trying day, and I fear all our nerves are somewhat on edge.”

  Rukker nodded stiffly and took his hand away from his sword. Bright spots of color burned on his cheekbones, but when he spoke his voice was perfectly steady. “Of course, James. I quite understand. Let’s get down to business, shall we? What exactly can I do for you?”

  “Hardcastle’s mercenaries are grinding my campaign into the ground,” said Adamant. “My people are holding their own for the moment, but they can’t last long without armed support. I need your support, Jeremiah; I need your men.”

  Rukker pursed his lips thoughtfully. “The Brotherhood doesn’t take sides, James; you know that. We’re above politics. We have to be.”

  “The militants feel differently.”

  “They’re fools. We’re only allowed free rein as long as we support all sides equally. We’re not strong enough yet to stand as a political force in our own right. We survive because we’re useful, but the powers that be would crush us in a moment if they thought we were dangerous. No, James. We’ve worked together in the past when we found ourselves walking the same path, but we can’t afford to be openly allied with your Cause.”

  “You can’t afford not to,” said Adamant. “According to all the reports, General Longarm and his militants are doing vèry well at the moment. They haven’t got enough support to win on their own, but if they were to ally themselves with Hardcastle, they’d make an unbeatable team. And Hardcastle’s just rattled enough by their successes and mine to agree to such an alliance.”

  “You make a good argument, James. But not good enough. Longarm’s certainly ambitious, but he’s not stupid enough to trust promises from Hardcastle.”

  “Who said anything about trust? For the moment they need each other, but all kinds of things could happen once the election is safely over. After all, Hardcastle maintains his position through armed force. Forces that in the future would be exclusively controlled by General Longarm ... But you’re missing the point, Jeremiah. The point is, can you afford to bet that Longarm won’t make an alliance with Hardcastle?”

  “No,” said Rukker. “I can’t. All right. James. I’ll have to consult with the High Commander, but I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes. We can’t allow Longarm to win this election. You’ll have your men in a few hours. And we should be able to call off most of Hardcastle’s mercenaries. A large proportion of them belong to the Brotherhood. You’ve got your support, James. But you’d better make damned sure I don’t have reason to regret it.”

  Out on the Street of Gods, three different clocks were striking fifteen, although it was still barely midday. Given some of the Street’s earlier excesses, Hawk felt only a mild relief that nothing worse was happening. He looked carefully about him, and then stopped as a commotion broke out further down the Street. Fisher noticed his reaction, and her hand dropped to her sword.

  “Trouble, Hawk?”

  “Could be. Take a look.”

  Halfway down, on the other side of the Street, a very tall woman dressed in bright yellow and batt
ered leathers was beating up half a dozen nuns from the Convent of the Bright Lady. The nuns were armed with wooden staves and lengths of steel chain, but the tall woman was wiping the floor with them, using only her bare hands.

  “Who the hell is that?” said Hawk.

  “That is Roxanne,” said Medley. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of her.” He winced as Roxanne lifted a nun bodily into the air and slammed her face first into the nearest wall.

  “So that’s Roxanne,” said Hawk. “I always thought she’d be taller.”

  “There’s a good price on her head,” said Fisher.

  “With her reputation as a fighter, there’d have to be. I’m not tackling her without being paid extra.”

  “She’s probably overrated. No one’s that good.”

  “Bets?” said Hawk, as Roxanne head-butted one nun and punched out another.

  “All right,” said Fisher. “Who goes first?”

  “Toss you for it.”

  Fisher fumbled for a coin.

  “Wait a minute,” said Dannielle. “Look.”

  Hawk and Fisher looked back just in time to see two new figures dragging Roxanne away from her latest victims, just as she was about to start putting the boot in. She shrugged them off easily, but made no move to attack them. Hawk whistled softly as he realised one of them was Councillor Hardcastle. The other man, dressed in ill-fitting chain mail, was the sorcerer Wulf. Hawk studied him thoughtfully. He’d heard about Wulf.

  “Now, that is interesting,” said Adamant. “I didn’t know Roxanne was working for Hardcastle.”

  “She won’t be much longer,” said Hawk. “She’s about to be arrested.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” said Medley quickly. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. Officially, we were never here. Our agreement with the Brotherhood will last only as long as we can keep it quiet. In fact, we’d better get out of here now, before Hardcastle spots us. Right, James?”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Adamant. “If it’s a question of the bounty money, Captain Hawk ...”

  “It isn’t,” said Hawk shortly. “She’s wanted on a dozen warrants, most of them for murder and arson. But she can wait. Protecting you has top priority until I receive fresh orders. Let’s go.”

  Fisher nodded reluctantly, and the party moved quickly off down the Street of Gods, keeping to the shadows.

  “It’s probably just as well,” said Medley. “Roxanne’s supposed to be unbeatable with a sword.”

  Fisher sniffed. “I could take her.”

  “I’m sure you could,” said Adamant. “After the election.”

  “Well, at least now we’ve got something to look forward to,” said Hawk.

  Roxanne liked the Street of Gods. Its constantly shifting realities appealed to her own mercurial nature. She almost felt at home. Of course, not everyone felt the same. The Street had terrorised Jillian to the point that not even Hardcastle’s threats could make her accompany them. He’d had to send her home, along with all his followers and mercenaries. The Grey Veil had insisted on that. Apparently his God didn’t like large audiences when it came to hard bargaining. Roxanne kept a close watch on Veil. She didn’t trust him any further than she could spit into the wind.

  Veil led them past churches and temples decorated with imps and gargoyles and demons. None of them looked particularly healthy places. Veil passed them all by, and Roxanne pouted disappointedly. Finally they came to the Temple of the Abomination, and Veil smiled sardonically as he took in their reactions. It wasn’t much to look at, just a plain stone building with no windows, the stonework scarred and pitted by long years of neglect, but something about it put Roxanne’s teeth on edge.

  Veil gestured for his guests to enter. Hardcastle and Wulf looked at the rough wooden door hanging slightly ajar, and then looked at Roxanne. She grinned broadly, drew her sword, and moved forward to kick the door open. At the last moment, the door swung open before her. Roxanne stopped and waited a moment, but there was no one there. The gloom beyond the door was still and quiet. She looked back at Veil. He was watching her mockingly with his disquieting eyes. Roxanne turned her back on him and swaggered into the Temple of the Abomination.

  A dim crimson glow filled the huge stone hall, radiating in some obscure fashion from a broken stone altar. The hall stretched away into the distance, and the ceiling towered impossibly high above her. She moved slowly forward, her sword held out before her. There was a sluggish movement of shadows, but nothing came out of the gloom to challenge her. Roxanne curled her lip disappointedly. Faint scuffing sounds behind her spun her round, but it was only Veil, leading Hardcastle and Wulf into the Temple. Roxanne went back to join them.

  Hardcastle looked briefly about him, and did his best to look unimpressed. “All right,” he growled finally. “We’re here. Now tell me why I’ve come all this way to a deserted Temple when I could be talking with Beings of real Power.”

  “Gently, Cameron,” murmured Wulf. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with here.”

  “And you do?” said Veil.

  “I think so, yes,” said Wulf. “You’re one of the Transient Beings, aren’t you?”

  Veil laughed delightedly. It wasn’t a healthy sound. The echoes seemed to go on forever in the great hall.

  “What the hell’s a Transient Being?” said Roxanne.

  “An abstraction given shape and form,” said Wulf. “A concept clothed in flesh and blood and bone. They have Power beyond reason, for their birth lies in the Wild Magic, and once summoned into the world of men they cannot easily be dismissed.”

  Roxanne frowned at the slender figure wrapped in grey before her. “You mean he’s a God?”

  Veil laughed, but when he spoke his voice was subtly different, as though something else spoke through him. “The Lord of the Gulfs has been asleep for centuries, and it will be some time before he can physically manifest himself in this world again. For now, he needs a host to walk in the world of men.”

  Hardcastle scowled unhappily. “What kind of Being are you?”

  The light around them grew subtly darker, like sunset fading into night. Here and there in the gloom, pale sparks of light appeared, growing quickly into transparent human shapes. Soon there were hundreds of ghosts glowing palely in the great hall, drifting endlessly back and forth as though in search of something they could no longer remember. All of them were hideously shrivelled and emaciated, reduced by some awful hunger to nothing more than flesh-covered skeletons with distended bellies and wide, agonised eyes. More and more appeared until they filled the hall from end to end, and then without warning they turned upon each other, tearing ravenously at their ghostly flesh with frenzied hands and teeth. They ate each other with desperate haste, screaming silently at the horror of what they did, but the broken bones and ripped flesh brought no end to their hunger.

  “I have had many names but only one nature,” said the Being through Veil’s voice. “Call me Hunger. Call me Famine.”

  The ghosts were suddenly gone, and the gloom in the Temple of the Abomination was still and quiet once again.

  “The Lord of the Gulfs has more power than you could ever dream of,” said Veil. “They drive me out again and again, but I always come back. Serve me, and my power is yours.”

  “Serve you?” said Wulf. “How?”

  “Bring me followers. The more who worship me, the greater my power will become. They will feed me with their devotion, and my influence will spread across the land, as . it did before. My host must be protected. I cannot be destroyed by the living or the dead—that gift was given to me at my creation—but my host is always ... vulnerable.”

  “Can you destroy my enemies?” said Hardcastle.

  “Of course.”

  “Then you’ve got a deal; whatever you are.”

  “Excellent,” said the Lord of the Gulfs. “But this host has done all it can. It had enough power to raise me, but not enough to sustain me. As a sign of good faith, you must provide m
e with a new host.”

  “Take me,” said Wulf. “Let me share your power. I have enough sorcery to contain you until we can find you a new host.”

  Veil looked at him, and then smiled suddenly. “Very well, sorcerer. If that’s what you want.”

  Hardcastle frowned at Wulf. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” muttered Wulf. “Don’t rock the boat.”

  The Grey Veil grinned widely, the smile spreading and spreading until the mouth cracked and broke, splitting the cheeks and opening up the face to show the bones and muscle beneath. The face sloughed off like a mask, and the muscles turned to dust and fell away. The eyes sank back into the sockets and disappeared, leaving only a grinning skull. Dust fell out of the gray robe in streams, and then it crumpled and fell limply to the floor. The jaw fell away from the skull in one silent laugh, and then they too were gone and there was only dust and an empty gray robe. A wind rose up out of nowhere and blew the dust away.

  Wulf put an unsteady hand to his mouth and shook his head slightly. His eyes were glazed, as though he was listening to a faint voice very far away. Hardcastle looked at Roxanne, and then back at Wolf.

  “I’m all right, Cameron,” said Wulf quietly. He lowered his hand slowly and smiled at Hardcastle. “He really wasn’t very bright, for a God. He hasn’t been awake long, and he wasn’t nearly as strong as he thought he was. I’ve got him, held securely within my wards, and all his power is mine. Adamant doesn’t know it yet, but the election is yours, Cameron. No other sorcerer can stand against me now. Let’s go.”

  The wooden door swung open, and Hardcastle and Wulf went back out into the Street of Gods. Roxanne looked round the deserted hall one last time and then followed them out. She put away her sword, and wondered if there’d be time to stop for dinner any time soon.

  6

  TRUTH ANd CONSEQUENCES