“I know your story,” said Jack. “I know your tragedy. I know why you became the Stalking Man. But can you honestly say it has made you happy, or even content?”
“Some things are more important,” said Leland Dusque. “Even a harsh comfort is better than none. And revenge does have a savour all its own.”
“I can help you,” said Jack.
“I don’t want your help,” said Dusque.
Jack sighed quietly. “No. You never did.” He turned away to face Prince Cameron. “Be honest, your highness. Even if I brought Catherine here myself, would you stop? William wants this war, though I don’t know if anyone really understands why. He’d still order you to continue, wouldn’t he?”
Cameron nodded slowly. “It’s all gone too far to stop now. This war’s been a long time coming. It has to run its course.”
“Not necessarily,” said Jack. “I have a special reason for being here. I have been authorised by King Rufus to suggest that we settle this conflict the old honourable way—through a contest of champions. One man from each side, one match; winner take all. No need for a long, drawn-out conflict and the destruction of two countries.”
“No!” General Staker said immediately. “This just shows how desperate they really are! They can see they’re no match for our army. We don’t need to risk everything on a gamble like this . . . We can win this war!”
“You said it yourself, General,” said Cameron. “Laying siege to Forest Castle could take months. By which time the Forest armies will be here. And nothing is ever certain on the battlefield . . . No, I like this suggestion. Let’s get this done, here and now. So only one man has to die.”
Everyone else at the table was nodding; they liked the idea, because they knew who their champion would be. Prince Cameron. The man who had never lost a fight.
Malcolm Barrett nodded too, though somewhat reluctantly. As the King’s official Champion, he felt he should be the one to fight. But honour demanded that he step down in favour of the legendarily unbeaten Broken Man.
There followed a certain amount of negotiation, between Jack and Cameron, on the details of the duel, and then they both formally agreed. Malcolm said he would escort Jack back through the troops. Jack was about to say that wasn’t necessary, when he saw that the Champion wanted to speak with him privately, so he just smiled and nodded to everyone, and left the tent with Malcolm.
• • •
Outside the tent, the two men walked a little away so they could talk privately. The surrounding soldiers looked on, hunched in small groups around their steaming camp-fires, but they had no desire to get involved. A little of Jack’s reputation went a long way. The rain had died away to a slow drizzle, and the air was heavy with the scents of the Forest.
“Is Catherine all right? Really?” said Malcolm.
“Of course she’s all right,” said Jack. “She’s fine. She’s where she wants to be, with the man she loves.”
“I can’t believe that,” said Malcolm.
“But you do,” said Jack.
“I don’t care!” said Malcolm. Heads came up, and people looked around, disturbed by the raw emotion in his voice, and Malcolm made himself calm down. No one said anything. He was, after all, the Champion. Malcolm sighed, and looked out into the trees so he wouldn’t have to look at Jack’s understanding face. “You’re right. Catherine doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t matter anymore. It’s all gone too far for any of us to back down. It’s a matter of honour.”
“You mean pride,” said Jack, not unkindly.
“Send your champion here to fight,” said Malcolm. “So Cameron can kill him and you can surrender.”
He went back into the tent, passing the Stalking Man coming out. Leland Dusque came over to stand with Jack. The two men nodded to each other.
“Are you really still using that Dusque name?” said Jack. “It’s so contrived. I can never take it seriously.”
“Better than using my real name and embarrassing my father,” said Dusque.
“I was never embarrassed,” said Jack. “Horrified, saddened, but . . . I do hear about the things you do. I keep hoping you’ll come to your senses and give it up. Do you really think this is what your mother would have wanted?”
“Those forest brigands had her for three days,” said Dusque. “And after everything they did to her, I couldn’t bear to look at her body. Had to have a closed casket for the funeral. Because you weren’t there, to save her.”
“I was on the other side of the Forest when I heard,” said Jack. “I got there as fast as I could.”
“It wasn’t fast enough.”
“I know. I tracked down all the brigands I could find and killed them. It didn’t bring your mother back. That was one of the reasons why I gave up being the Walking Man.”
“And so you ran away to join the monastery, so you could hide from the world,” said Dusque. “I went to an old church in Redhart, near where Mother was born, and there I found a very different book from yours. I became the Stalking Man, the wrath of Hell in the world of men. And I tracked down every brigand you let get away and killed them all.”
“All of them?” said Jack.
“Every last one, Father.”
“Good. Thank you, son.”
“I didn’t do it for you!”
“Did it make you feel any better?”
“Yes,” said Dusque. But he looked away as he said it. “Why did you never marry my mother?” he said finally.
“Mercy’s mother left me because I was never there,” said Jack. “I did my best to avoid commitment after that.”
“If you’d married her . . .”
“I still wouldn’t have been there when she needed me,” said Jack. “Do you think I’ve never thought about that? If I had been there, perhaps I could have saved her from the brigands. Perhaps I could have saved you, from this . . .”
“I don’t want to be saved,” Dusque said coldly. “I enjoy my role as Hell’s champion.”
“You don’t seem particularly happy,” said Jack. “Give it up, son. Lay down your burden and walk away. Like I did.”
“You were never strong enough,” said Dusque. “You never really embraced your role, as I have. I’ll never give it up.”
“I thought that, once,” said Jack. “But it’s the only way you’ll ever know peace.”
“Peace?” said the Stalking Man. “It’s overrated.”
He turned away and went back into the command tent. Jack looked after him for a moment, and then made his way slowly back through the enemy lines, to Forest Castle.
• • •
Jack Forester stood before King Rufus on his throne, in the great empty Court, and made his report. There were no politicians present, no courtiers. King Rufus had decided he didn’t need them. The Seneschal was there, standing at the King’s side. Prince Richard and Princess Catherine, Hawk and Fisher, and Chappie. They all listened carefully as Jack told them everything that had happened inside the command tent.
“I suppose it all went as well as we could have hoped,” said the King. “Pretty predictable that they’d choose Cameron as their champion. But we still have to decide on our choice.”
“We haven’t had an official Champion since Prince Rupert’s time,” said Richard, not looking at Hawk and Fisher. “Queen Felicity had her Questor, Allen Chance . . . but that position was dropped as Parliament took more power for itself.”
“Why are we still arguing about this?” said Hawk. “It’s me. It has to be me.”
“No,” said the King. “I should do it. I am young and strong again. I was made strong just for things like this.”
“But the King cannot place himself in danger!” insisted the Seneschal. “What if they just kidnapped you? Threatened to execute you? We’d have no choice but to surrender.”
“Then I should do it,” said Richard. “Cameron is a Prince of Redhart; he should be faced by a Prince of the Forest.”
“Same objection,” said the Seneschal.
“
You can’t, Richard,” said Catherine. “Cameron would kill you. He’s unbeatable. Everyone knows that. He’ll kill whoever we send.”
“That’s why it has to be me,” said Hawk. “Because I have a long history of winning against people everyone said couldn’t be beaten. And, you’ll notice, I’m still here.”
“Damn right,” said Fisher.
“Very well then,” said King Rufus. “Let us set one unbeatable fighter against another.”
He called Richard forward so he and the Seneschal could discuss what might happen after the fight. Hawk and Fisher moved a little away. Hawk carefully removed the Rainbow Sword and gave it to Fisher.
“Keep it somewhere safe,” he said. “Just in case.”
“No,” Fisher said immediately, trying to give the sword back to him. “I don’t want it. You might need it!”
“Not in this fight. I can’t take it with me, Isobel. In case I don’t come back.”
“You can beat him!” said Fisher. “You’re a living legend! He’s just a cautionary tale.”
“I’ve beaten all kinds,” said Hawk. “I’ve been very lucky. But everyone’s luck runs out sometime. So, just in case . . . keep the sword. Because the Demon Prince is still out there, somewhere . . . and the Rainbow is the only thing that might stop him.”
“I’ll hold on to it for you,” said Fisher. “And give it back to you when you return.”
“Yes,” said Hawk.
“If he does kill you,” said Fisher. “I will never surrender. Even if the whole Forest Kingdom bends its knee to Redhart, I will never give in. I will kill them all, one by one, even if it takes the rest of my life.”
“You always were a sore loser,” Hawk said fondly.
“I’m going with you,” said Chappie, butting Hawk in the hip with his great head. “Just to see fair play.”
“What do you know about fair play?” said Hawk, patting the dog’s head and pulling at an ear.
“Absolutely nothing,” said the dog. “That’s the point. I know every dirty trick there is; they won’t be able to sneak anything past me. You always were too honourable for your own good.”
• • •
An hour or so later, Hawk and Chappie entered the trees at the edge of the clearing and moved cautiously forward into the Forest. It was raining heavily now, coming down hard, turning the ground muddy and treacherous underfoot. The Redhart soldiers huddled together around their camp-fires, protecting them with their own bodies. They barely stirred as Hawk and his dog passed, just watched them go by with cold faces and colder eyes. There were soldiers everywhere Hawk looked, filling the Forest, and he realised for the first time just how big an armed force Redhart had brought to take Forest Castle. Hawk smiled easily at all of them, radiating a cheerful confidence, because he knew that would upset them most.
It didn’t take Hawk long to reach the new clearing Cameron had had hacked out of the Forest. A great open circle, surrounded by roughly cut stumps, some still oozing fresh sap. A beaten-earth circle, cleared of roots and stones; already turning to thick mud. It was an ugly place, a ragged wound in the body of the Forest. Casual emotionless destruction to make a place for someone to die. Hawk stopped at the edge of the clearing and looked it over. His disapproval must have shown in his face, because one of the soldiers came forward to sneer at him.
“This is what we’ll do to the whole damned Forest once you’re dead.”
Hawk punched him out, and walked on. Chappie paused just long enough to piss on the unconscious man’s face, and then hurried after Hawk. They both had their reputations to maintain. The soldiers let them pass. They had their orders. Hawk came to the command tent and nodded brusquely to the guards on duty. They snapped to attention despite themselves, and pulled back the tent flaps so he could enter. Hawk strode in as though the whole thing was his idea, with Chappie close by his side. One of the guards grabbed at the dog to stop him but jerked his hand back with a howl as Chappie bit off three of the guard’s fingers with one snap of his great jaws.
“Don’t eat those,” said Hawk, not looking back. “Bad for your diet.”
“Start as you mean to go on . . . ,” said Chappie indistinctly.
Hawk smiled at the men waiting for him inside the tent. Cameron and Christof, the Champion and General Staker. They introduced themselves formally, and Hawk just nodded casually back.
“So,” he said. “Let’s get this show on the road. The sooner this nonsense is over, the sooner I can get on with something more important. You do know the Demon Prince is out there somewhere?”
Cameron came forward to look Hawk over. He did his best to loom over Hawk, but even with his size and presence, he couldn’t quite bring it off.
“You’re who they chose?” he said finally. “I don’t even know you.”
“I’m Hawk. And that’s all you need to know.”
Cameron nodded slowly. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter who you are. I never lose. You must have heard that?”
“That’s what they say about everyone. Until they lose,” said Hawk.
“I know you,” said Malcolm. “Or at least I’ve heard of you. You’re the latest Hawk to run the Hero Academy, right? I always wanted to go there when I was a kid. Is it true that all Hawks carry the axe the High Warlock made?”
“Yes,” said Hawk. His hand went to the axe at his side, and he patted it fondly. “It’s a good axe. Gets the job done.”
“I’ve heard of the axe,” said Cameron. “I’ll put it to good use after your death. Who will take the news of my victory back to your people? Where is your official second?”
“That would be me,” growled Chappie.
Cameron smiled at the dog. “How marvellous! A talking animal!”
He reached down to pat Chappie’s head, saw the look in the dog’s eye, and quickly pulled his hand back. He glared at Hawk.
“Your dog is very badly trained.”
“He isn’t trained at all,” said Hawk. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“It’s all part of my charm,” said Chappie. And he pissed up the table leg.
Prince Cameron did his best to give the impression of being above such things. “The clearing is ready. I don’t see why we should wait. Once I’ve killed you, I’ll have my dinner, and then we’ll go into the Castle to accept Rufus’ surrender.” He looked at Hawk. “Is your King in any condition to understand what’s happening?”
“Oh, I’d say so,” said Hawk. “In fact, I think his current condition would surprise you all.”
“I don’t do surprises,” said Cameron.
“I do,” said Hawk.
• • •
By the time Hawk and Cameron got to the clearing, it was surrounded by Redhart soldiers. Hundreds of them, several rows deep. They roared and cheered for their Prince, who nodded calmly to them. He entered the clearing casually, as though it was something he did every day. He was wearing his full armour, and the sheer weight of it drove his boots deep into the thick mud. The Champion handed Cameron a long rectangular shield, solid steel, with the Royal crest of Redhart emblazoned on it. Cameron drew his massive longsword and turned to face Hawk, who was just standing there, waiting for him. Hawk drew his axe and sank into his fighter’s crouch. Cameron looked at him.
“That’s it?” he said. “No armour, no shield?”
“Don’t believe in them,” said Hawk. “They get in the way.”
Cameron shook his head slowly. “Sometimes, it seems to me there is a very thin line between overconfidence and a death wish.”
“Poor bastard,” growled Chappie, from the edge of the clearing. “He’s already dead, and he doesn’t know it.”
Several soldiers standing near the dog found urgent and compelling reasons to go stand somewhere else.
Cameron looked Hawk over carefully. Everything in the way Hawk held himself made it clear he was a professional, experienced fighter. And his great steel axe head shone supernaturally bright in the Forest gloom. The rain had died away for the moment, and
everything in the circle seemed unnaturally clear and distinct. Cameron dug his feet deep into the mud, for better purchase, and strode forward. Huge, overpowering, carried along by the weight of his own legend. Hawk smiled, and went casually forward to meet him. Because he’d spent most of his life fighting legends.
They circled each other slowly for a while, respectful of each other’s obvious competence. Cameron peered over the top of his shield, every movement he made carefully calculated, giving nothing away. Hawk moved lightly through the mud, axe at the ready, holding strength and speed in reserve for when they’d be needed. Neither of them bothered with war cries, or harsh talking. They were professionals. The watching crowd was quiet now, taking in every detail, tense with anticipation. Whatever happened in this circle would decide the war, and the fate of two nations. And whether the watching soldiers would have to go out and fight and maybe die for their country. They had faith in their Prince. He was unbeatable. Everyone knew that. Everyone except Hawk, apparently, who still looked like he thought he could win . . .
The two men surged forward, and slammed together in the middle of the clearing. Sparks flew on the air as axe and sword clashed, and then the two men withdrew from each other and went back to circling. They’d taken each other’s measure, both of them going for the killing stroke, and neither of them had backed down. It was going to be a real fight, after all.
Hawk swung his axe with both hands, and Cameron put his shield in place to block it. The shining axe head sheared clean through the upper part of the shield, hacking it off. The severed part fell into the mud. Cameron backed hastily away. The top third of his shield was gone. Hawk went after him, and slammed his axe against the shield again and again, carving pieces off, whittling it away. Until finally the axe head buried itself in the shield, and the impact drove Cameron to one knee. Hawk jerked his axe free, and the shield split into two pieces and fell apart. Cameron threw what was left away and rose to his feet, his sword held out before him.
Hawk grinned.
The two men circled each other. They lunged and feinted, stamping heavily in the treacherous mud, sometimes slipping and sliding, but always recovering. They darted in to attack and then leapt back again, the sound of steel slamming against steel almost painfully loud on the quiet. Their eyes met. Hawk was still grinning. Cameron was still coldly calculating. The Prince no longer thought this was going to be a quick match, or an easy win.
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