“Sure,” said Fisher.
“Of course,” said Hawk.
Tomb looked at them both suspiciously. He’d expected to have to argue the point, and their giving in so easily worried him. It wasn’t in character. He pursed his lips and decided to let it pass, for the moment. “There is one other thing we need to discuss,” he said slowly. “What religion do you both follow? What do you believe in?”
“Death and taxes,” said Fisher promptly. “Everything else is negotiable.”
“Isobel and I were both raised as Christians,” said Hawk quickly, to deflect Tomb’s deepening scowl. “I’ve seen a lot of darkness in my time, but I still trust in the light.”
“Christianity,” said Tomb thoughtfully. “The Old Religion. You’re from the Northern countries originally, I take it? Yes, I thought so. I’m afraid your religion isn’t much practised in the Low Kingdoms, though of course many of its terms still survive in the language. We really must sit down and discuss this some day.”
“Christians,” said Rowan disdainfully. “I thought you people believed in love and peace, and turning the other cheek?”
“We’re not very orthodox,” said Hawk.
“Well, just remember you’re only here on sufferance.” Rowan sniffed disgustedly. “All the Guards we could have had, and they had to send us a pair of Christians.”
“Apparently you have a friend on the Council,” said Buchan.
“Councillor Adamant, to be exact,” said Tomb. “I understand you behaved very creditably while working as his bodyguards during the election. Though why he thinks that should qualify you to work on the Street of Gods is beyond me.”
“We fought a God on his behalf,” said Hawk calmly. “The Abomination, the Lord of the Gulfs. We helped kill it.”
A sudden silence fell across the room. The three members of the God Squad looked at Hawk and Fisher almost respectfully.
“That was you?” said Buchan.
“We had some help,” said Hawk. Fisher’s mouth twitched.
“I don’t believe it,” said Rowan flatly.
Hawk looked at her calmly. “That’s your problem, lass.” He turned away to look at Tomb and Buchan. “Fisher and I aren’t exactly strangers to the Street of Gods. We’ve been here before. And whilst we might not have much experience in dealing with Beings, we do know how to track down murderers. That’s our job. We’re very good at it.”
Rowan started to say something scathing, and then stopped suddenly and looked at Tomb. “People are gathering out on the Street. They seem angry, disturbed. I don’t like the feel of it, Tomb.”
The sorcerer nodded slowly. “I can See them, Rowan. Two large factions, closing on each other. Damn. There’s going to be another riot. Charles, Rowan. Gather your equipment. Hawk and Fisher, come with me. You’re about to see what happens when the rules break down on the Street of Gods. You should find it an interesting experience. If you survive it.”
Out on the Street of Gods, everything felt different. There was a vague unfocused tension on the air, and the crowding buildings felt grim and oppressive. Hawk and Fisher hurried along beside the God Squad, weapons drawn and at the ready. Tomb took the point, striding confidently in the lead, his robe of sorcerer’s black billowing impressively around his stocky frame. He was smiling calmly, his stance relaxed and at ease.
Rowan hurried along at his side, stretching her legs to keep up with him. She carried a bulging satchel on one shoulder, and her face had taken on an uncomplicated expression of bulldog determination. Away from Tomb’s comfortable study, she looked stronger, more focused, almost elemental in her single-mindedness. Charles Buchan strolled along behind them, his long legs easily meeting their pace. He wore a brightly polished chain-mail vest, and a long sword on his left hip. He carried himself well, his bearing calm and controlled. His face was a smiling, pleasant mask, but his eyes were very cold.
Hawk kept a watchful eye on the Squad as they hurried down the Street of Gods. Even with their practised professionalism, he could all but see the tension rising off them. He started to wonder if he ought to feel more worried himself. After all, this was their territory; if they were worried, there was probably a damned good reason for it. The Street itself seemed increasingly uneasy. There were fewer people around than previously, and they hurried on their way with heads bowed and eyes downcast. The street preachers were crying of universal death and destruction. A painted clown with razor blades buried in his bleeding eyes sang a bitter song of love and loss. Two shadows with nothing to cast them tore at each other like maddened animals. A tall angular building began to melt and run away like boiling wax, while the gargoyles on its guttering screamed in agony.
Hawk increased his pace and moved in beside the sorcerer Tomb. “Pardon me, sir Tomb, but if my partner and I are heading into a dangerous situation, I think we have a right to know what we’re getting into.”
“Of course,” said Tomb. “You’ll have to forgive us, Captain, but I’m afraid we’re not used to working with strangers. Rowan and I both have the Sight, the ability to see and sense things at a distance. It seems a longstanding rivalry between two religions has boiled over into open fighting on the Street. The way things are, if we don’t put a stop to it quickly, it’ll develop into a full-blown riot, and the Beings themselves may be tempted to get involved. Normally, things wouldn’t get this bad this quickly, but with three dead Gods and the murderer still at large, tempers are running short.”
“Wait a minute,” said Hawk. “If things are that serious shouldn’t we call in the SWAT team?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Tomb. “It’s only a riot. We can handle it.”
“Famous last words,” muttered Fisher behind them.
Hawk gave Tomb a hard look, but the sorcerer seemed perfectly serious. “All right,” said Hawk, “Give me some background on this. You said two religions. Which religions?”
“They’re based on two lesser Beings,” said Tomb. “Neither of them especially powerful or important, but both with long-established followings. Dusk the Devourer is head of a no-frills nihilist cult. Everything is vile and awful, the world’s going to be destroyed, and only the faithful will be saved and transported to a better world. I can’t prove it, but I’m fairly sure Dusk itself is a manic-depressive.
“The other Being is the Chrysalis. It’s a huge cocoon about twenty feet long. It’s supposed to perform the occasional miracle, but I’ve never seen any. The Chrysalis’ followers believe that eventually the cocoon will open and the God within will emerge in all its glory to purge the world of evil. Whether it wants to be purged or not. They’ve been watching the cocoon for over four hundred years, but nothing’s happened yet.
“Interestingly enough, each religion is the other’s particular nemesis. Every God must have its Devil, though I’ve never been sure why. Good business, I suppose. Anyway, normally the two groups of followers content themselves with blazing sermons, veiled insults in the Street, and the occasional scuffle after the taverns have closed. But with things as they are, nothing’s normal anymore. The Street of Gods is like a forest in a drought, waiting for a single spark to set everything alight.”
Hawk nodded. “Either that, or they heard Fisher and I were coming and wanted to put on a good show to welcome us.”
Rowan muttered something indistinct. It didn’t sound complimentary.
They heard the riot before they actually saw it. From up ahead came a roar of massed voices, raised in rage and hatred, and darkened with that animal single-mindedness found only in crowds that are rapidly turning into mobs. Hawk fell back a pace to walk beside Fisher. If they were going into a fight, he wanted someone at his back he could trust. The roar grew louder and more savage as they approached a sharp comer. According to the official maps, the Street of Gods was perfectly straight, but in this, as in so many other ways, the Street of Gods went its own way. They rounded the comer, and there was the riot, spread out before them.
A hundred men and women mille
d back and forth across the Street, mouths turned down in angry snarls, their eyes wild and furious. They were screaming and shouting and shaking their fists, and glaring in all directions. Some had clubs or staves or lengths of steel chain, while others had bricks or stones. Already there was blood on the cobbles, and several people lay unmoving on the ground, trampled on unnoticed by the mob. The scent of violence was heavy on the air, ready to erupt at any moment.
Hawk came to a halt well short of the mob, and looked the situation over carefully. The setting couldn’t have been worse. The Street at this point was long and narrow, with only a few exits. Even if he could persuade the mob to break up and disperse, getting it separated into smaller, more manageable groups was going to be difficult. Breaking up a mob was one thing; keeping them separated was what counted. There had to be somewhere for them to go. The size of the watching crowd worried him as well. There were hundreds of them, filling the Street all around. Presumably they followed other faiths, and were happy at the chance to see two of their rivals knocking the hell out of each other. Even the street preachers had given up trying to spread the Word, and were busying themselves taking bets from the onlookers.
Tomb had come to a halt not far away and was watching the mob narrowly, lips pursed thoughtfully. Rowan was kneeling beside him, ferreting through her satchel. Hawk leaned over to take a look at what she had in there, and then quickly retreated as she glared at him viciously. Buchan was standing close at hand, his arms folded across his mailed chest, staring majestically out over the mob. He looked as though he was only awaiting the word to step forward and generally beat heads together until everyone agreed to see reason. Hawk looked quickly at Fisher, and was relieved to see she didn’t appear too impressed. She caught him looking at her, realised why, and grinned broadly. Hawk looked away, and pretended he hadn’t noticed. He hefted his axe thoughtfully, and watched the mood of the mob grow worse. This was the God Squad’s territory, and he didn’t want to interfere, but somebody had better do something soon or there’d be brains spilled on the cobbles and a riot you’d need a small army to contain.
Rowan drew a pair of slender copper rods from her satchel and plunged them into the ground. They sank easily into the solid stone as though it were nothing more than wet mud. The mystic then drew a protective circle around herself and Tomb with blue chalk dust. Hawk frowned slightly as he realised he and Fisher and Buchan weren’t included in the protection. Whatever Rowan and Tomb were up to, he hoped they were careful to aim it in the right direction. The mystic and the sorcerer then paused for a technical discussion. Hawk moved over a little to stand beside Buchan, who was still silently studying the mob.
“Who’s winning, sir Buchan?”
“Hard to tell. Strategically speaking, this is a mess. There’s no cooperation; it’s every man for himself and Devil take the hindmost. Quite literally, I suppose, as far as they’re concerned.”
“How do you tell the two sides apart?”
“Blue robes are Chrysalis, grey robes are Dusk.”
“Are we going to break this up or not?” said Fisher, moving over to join them. “I can’t just stand around and watch; it’s bad for my reputation.”
“It’s better not to butt in too early,” said Buchan. “Let them work off some of their bile on each other first.”
“You mean we’re just supposed to stand by and let people die?” said Fisher, her face falling into an ominous scowl.
“It’s for the best,” said Buchan. He looked at her and smiled slightly. “You’re new to the Street, my dear. We know what we’re doing.” He realised Fisher was still glaring at him, and stirred uncomfortably. “I suppose you’ve got a better way?”
“A riot’s a riot,” said Fisher. “Hawk and I have handled a few in our time. You may be an expert in your territory, sir Buchan, but we’re not exactly amateurs in ours.”
“Well, if we can’t handle this one, you may just get a chance to show us your expertise,” said Buchan, just a little coolly.
Tomb and Rowan suddenly stood together and raised their arms in the stance of summoning. The mystic began to sing, an eerie atonal chant that cut through the din of the riot like a knife. Fights broke up, and people stopped shouting to sway unsteadily on their feet and clutch at their heads. Tomb spoke a Word of Power, and the crowd split suddenly in two, the grey and blue robes separated by some unseen force that left them in two confused crowds on opposite sides of the Street. Hawk shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, and shook his head to clear it. The magic had only touched him briefly in passing, but he could appreciate how it must feel to those unfortunate enough to have suffered it full blast.
Rowan stopped singing, and the Street of Gods was suddenly quiet. The two crowds took their hands away from their heads and looked uncertainly around them. They spotted the God Squad, and a low rebellious murmur began, only to stop short as Buchan strode briskly forward into the middle of the Street. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other and then strode quickly after him. Whatever was going to happen next, they were determined not to be left out of it. Buchan took up a position between the two crowds, looked left and right, and then beckoned imperiously. There was a pause, and then two men came forward, one from each side. Each man’s robe was the color of his faction, one grey and one blue, but these were gorgeously styled and decorated. From their haughty expressions and bearing, and the amount of jewellery they were wearing, Hawk decided these had to be the respective High Priests of Dusk and the Chrysalis. They came to a halt before Buchan, and bowed very slightly to him, each carefully ignoring the other.
“All right,” said Buchan, “Who started it this time?”
For a moment, Hawk thought the two priests were going to point at each other and shout “He did!” like two children caught squabbling in the playground, but the moment passed. Both High Priests drew themselves up to their full height and glared at Buchan.
“Sir Field, sir Stoner,” said Buchan, looking from the grey robe to the blue and back again, “I’m waiting for an answer.” .
“Dusk the Devourer has been insulted,” said Field flatly.
“Dusk insults the Chrysalis by its very existence!” snapped Stoner.
“Blasphemer!”
“Heretic!”
“Liar!”
“Fraud!”
“That’s enough!” said Buchan sharply, his hand dropping to the sword at his side.
The two priests quieted reluctantly, and turned their glares on Buchan rather than each other. Hawk frowned slightly. The High Priests were tense, but not cowed. They had their followers watching and neither of them was going to be the first to back down.
“I want you both to go back to your people and get them off the Street,” said Buchan. “You know the rules. Disturbances like this are bad for business.”
“To hell with your rules and to hell with your Squad,” said Field. “Cast your spells and be damned. The Lord Dusk will protect his children.”
“Your sorcerer and mystic can chant spells till they’re blue in the face,” said Stoner. “You won’t take us by surprise again. We have our own magic-users.”
Field nodded unflinchingly. “You’re not in charge any more, Buchan. The Gods are dying and you’ve done nothing. From now on we defend ourselves.”
Buchan just stood there, taken aback at being so openly defied, and the silence lengthened ominously.
Hawk glanced at Fisher. “You take blue, I’ll take grey,” he said briskly, and stepped forward axe in hand to face the High Priest of Dusk the Devourer. Field looked at him warily, but held his ground. Hawk grinned unpleasantly. “I’m Hawk, Captain in the city Guard. That’s my partner, Captain Fisher. You may have heard of us. It’s all true. Now get yourself and your people off the Street or I’ll cut you off at the knees.”
It was Field’s turn to look taken aback, but he recovered more quickly than Buchan. “Lay a hand on me, Guard, and my followers will tear you apart.”
“Maybe,” said Hawk. “But you’ll
still be dead.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Try me.”
Field met Hawk’s unwavering gaze, and some of the confidence went out of him. A cold breeze touched the back of his neck as he realised the Guard meant exactly what he said. He looked over at Stoner, who was staring at Fisher like a rat mesmerized by a snake. Field looked back at Hawk and nodded slowly. He turned away to face his followers, careful to make no sudden movements that might upset the Guard. Talking slowly and calmly, he told his people the time was not yet right for direct confrontation and they should return to their homes and pray for guidance. Not far away, Stoner was putting the same message across to his people. The crowds stirred and muttered reluctantly, but eventually did as they were told. Field and Stoner turned back reluctantly to face Hawk and Fisher again.
“Very nicely done,” said Hawk. “Now get the hell out of here. And if there’s any more trouble, we’ll know it’s you, and we’ll come looking for you.”
“Right,” said Fisher.
The two High Priests left with what dignity they could muster. Which wasn’t much. Hawk looked at Buchan.
“A riot’s a riot, sir Buchan. All you have to do is separate out the leaders, and break their authority.”
“You were lucky,” said Buchan tightly. “Real fanatics would have died rather than give in.”
“But they weren’t real fanatics,” said Hawk. “I could tell.”
“What would you have done if they had turned out to be the real thing?”
Hawk grinned. “Run like fun and screamed for the SWAT team. I’m not crazy.”
“Right,” said Fisher.
3
Gods ANd DEvils ANd OTHER BEiNGS
The sorcerer Tomb led Hawk and Fisher down the Street of Gods, and the crowds parted before them to give them room. Curious eyes watched the Guards pass, but no one wanted to get too close. Word of their arrival on the Street had preceded them. Hawk and Fisher nodded politely to the few brave souls who ventured a greeting, and kept their eyes open for unfriendly faces. Their encounter with the High Priests hadn’t made them any friends. And besides, for no reason he could put his finger on, Hawk felt more than usually uneasy about his surroundings. The Street of Gods had changed since the last time he saw it. The buildings pressed more closely together, as though for comfort and support, and the occasional creatures and manifestations had a dangerous, openly threatening air. Even the street preachers seemed wilder, more intent on messages of destruction and damnation. The Street had grown darker, colder, more turned in upon itself. As though it wasn’t sure who it could trust anymore. Hawk looked at Fisher to see if she’d noticed the changes, and saw that her hand was back resting on the pommel of her sword. Fisher liked to be prepared.
Swords of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk & Fisher Page 45
