Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher)

by Simon R. Green

  “Is that it?” said Horn quickly. “Can we start now?”

  “We’re almost ready,” said Madigan, smiling pleasantly. “How long have you been my man, Horn?”

  Horn frowned, thrown for a moment by the unexpected question. “Six years. Why?”

  “You’ve always obeyed my orders and followed my wishes. You swore the oath to me. Anything for the Cause. Remember?”

  “Sure I remember.” Horn looked at Madigan warily. This was leading up to something, and he didn’t like the feel of it. “You want me to do something now? Is that it?”

  “Yes, Horn. That’s it. I want you to die. Right here and now. It’s an important part of the ritual.”

  Horn gaped at him, and then his mouth snapped shut and set in a cold, straight line. “Wait just a minute....”

  “Anything for the Cause, Horn. Remember?”

  “Yeah, but this is different! I joined up with you to avenge my family. How can I do that if I’m dead? If you need a sacrifice, take that weird kid, Glen. You don’t need him anyway, as long as you’ve got me.”

  Madigan just stared at him calmly. Horn began to back away, a step at a time. He looked to Eleanour Todd for support, but she just stared at him, her face cold and distant. Glen looked confused. Horn raised his sword, the lamplight shining on the blade.

  “Why me, Madigan? I’m loyal. I’ve always been loyal. I’ve followed you into combat a hundred times. I would have died for you!”

  “Then die for me now,” said Madigan. “Trust me. It’s necessary for the ritual, and for the Cause.”

  “Stuff the Cause!”

  Horn turned and ran for the stairs. Madigan looked at the sorcerer. Ritenour smiled, and gestured briefly with his left hand. Horn crashed to the floor as something snatched his feet out from under him. The impact knocked the breath out of him, and his sword went flying from his numbed hand. He tried to get his feet under him, but something took him firmly by the ankles and began to drag him back towards the sorcerer waiting in his pentacle. He saw again the mercenaries dying slowly as Ritenour drained the life out of them, and he panicked, thrashing wildly and doubling up to beat at his own ankles with his fists. None of it made any difference. He tried to grab at the floor to slow himself down, but his fingernails just skidded across the worn stone. He snarled soundlessly, wriggled over onto his back, pulled a knife from a hidden sheath, and threw it at Ritenour. The sorcerer stepped to one side at just the right moment, and the knife flew harmlessly past his head. Horn was almost at the edge of the pentacle when he opened his mouth to scream. Ritenour gestured sharply, and life rushed out of Horn and into the sorcerer. What would have been a scream came out as a long, shuddering sigh as Horn’s lungs emptied for the last time.

  Glen looked at Horn’s body, and then at Madigan. “I don’t understand. Why did he have to die? Did he betray us?”

  “No,” said Madigan patiently. “Weren’t you listening, Ellis? His death was a necessary part of the ritual. Just as yours is, and Eleanour’s.”

  “No!” said Glen immediately. “Leave Eleanour out of this! I don’t know what’s going on here, but you never mentioned any of this before. And you can bet I wouldn’t have come anywhere near you if you had. You’re crazy, Madigan! Come over here, Eleanour; we’re getting out of this madhouse. Damn you, Madigan! I believed in you! I thought you believed in me.”

  “Do be quiet, Ellis. Eleanour’s not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

  He turned to Eleanour Todd, and Glen threw himself at Madigan, his sword reaching for the terrorist’s heart. Madigan went for his sword, but it was already too late. Ritenour raised his hand, knowing even as he did so, that the spell wouldn’t work fast enough to save Madigan. But even as Glen made his move, Eleanour Todd’s blade swept out to deflect his, and then swept back to cut Glen’s throat. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees. His hands went to his throat, as though trying to hold shut the wound, and blood poured between his fingers. He looked up at Eleanour, standing before him with his blood dripping from her sword, and mouthed the word Why?

  “Anything for the Cause, Ellis,” said Eleanour Todd.

  Glen fell forward as the sorcerer’s spell sucked out what was left of his life. Todd looked down at the still figure and shook her head.

  “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that, Eleanour,” said Madigan, sheathing his sword. “He liked you, you know.”

  “Yes. I know.” Todd returned her sword to its scabbard and smiled at Madigan. “My turn now, my love.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Oh yes. I’ve been waiting for this ever since we first discussed it.” She took a long, shuddering breath, and let it out again. “After all this time, my parents will finally be avenged. Do it, sorcerer.” She smiled widely at Madigan. “No regrets, Daniel. And ... it’s all right that you never loved me. I understand.”

  Ritenour gestured, and the life went out of her. Madigan caught her as she fell forward; and lowered her gently to the floor.

  “So you did know, after all. I’m sorry, Eleanour. But there was never room in my life for you.” He looked at Ritenour. “Two willing sacrifices. That was the last ingredient of the ritual, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” said Ritenour carefully. “She’ll count as one, but you’ll have to be the other. Or everything we’ve done so far will have been for nothing.”

  “Take it easy, sorcerer. I’ve no intention of backing out. I just want to see the ritual begin. I’ve waited a long time for this moment, and I want to savor it. You start the ball rolling, and I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

  Ritenour shrugged, and turned away. He took up a position in the exact center of the pentacle and began a low, strangely cadenced chant accompanied by quick, carefully timed gestures. A vicious headache was pounding in his left temple, and he was feeling uncomfortably hot and sweaty. Probably the close air in the cellar. He’d never liked confined spaces. He made himself concentrate on what he was doing, but after all the work he’d put into memorizing the spell he could have practically done it in his sleep.

  The blue chalk lines of his pentacle began to glow with an eerie blue light, and the air outside the lines seemed to ripple as though in a heat haze. A sudden rush of excitement swept through him, leaving him giddy. He could feel the forces building around the pentacle. He’d known of this spell for years, but had never dreamed that one day he’d be able to use it. Of course, it could still go wrong. If Madigan was getting cold feet...

  He shot a quick glance at the man, but Madigan was just sitting quietly not far away, with his back to the wall, watching the ritual. Madigan would come through eventually. He wasn’t the type to back down, once he’d set his mind to something. Everyone said so. Ritenour smiled. It’d be his name they’d remember now, not Madigan’s. When this was all over and he was safely away from the ruins of what had once been Haven, he’d be both rich and famous, as the sorcerer who dared to open the Unknown Door.

  Madigan blinked as sweat ran down his forehead and into his eyes. He was feeling very weak now, and he’d had to sit down before his legs betrayed him. The poison was taking hold of him. It was quicker than he’d expected, but hardly surprising. The wine in his hip flask had held enough poison to kill a dozen men. Which was, of course, why he’d insisted Ritenour share it with him. There was no way he was going to let the sorcerer run free after this was all over, boasting about his part in it. This was going to be remembered as Madigan’s greatest triumph. No one else’s.

  Madigan had given his life to the Cause, to the destruction of Outremer, but he wasn’t the man he used to be, and he knew it. He’d been a legend in his time, but the best days of his legend were gone, lost in the past, and other, newer names had appeared to replace his. No one doubted his loyalty to the Cause, but among those who mattered it was whispered more and more that he was getting old and cautious, slowing down. So the money went to younger men, and he had to find support for his plans where he could. But after this night, his leg
end would be secure. He’d already planted rumors in all the right places, so that when the investigators finally came to sift through the rubble of the city, word would already be going round that he was the one responsible. The rumours would blame both sides for hiring him, of course, and as the outrage mounted, the right people would quietly fan the flames until war was inevitable.

  Madigan smiled as the sorcerer shot another quick glance at him. Probably thought he had cold feet, or second thoughts. Fool. He wasn’t afraid to die. Better to die at the height of his fame, at his greatest moment, than to grow old and bitter watching his schemes collapse for lack of funding, or lack of skill. The Cause would go on without him, and that was all that really mattered. Poor Eleanour had never understood. The Cause had been friend and lover and religion to him, and he had never wanted anyone or anything else in his life.

  He watched the sorcerer work, smiling slightly. Madigan knew he wouldn’t live to see the opening of the Unknown Door, but it was enough to know that his own willing death would open it. The sorcerer would live a little longer, since he’d drunk less of the wine, but when he finally saw the horror he’d helped to unleash, he’d probably be glad of an easy death. Because once the Door had been opened, no one in this world could shut it again. No one.

  Madigan smiled and closed his eyes.

  Hawk and Fisher ran through the fourth floor, heading for the stairs. The bodies of the fallen mercenaries seemed to watch them pass with horrified, unmoving eyes. Hawk started counting the bodies, but had to give up. There were too many. He scowled furiously as he pounded down the stairs to the third floor, pushing his pace a little to keep up with Fisher. Why the hell had Madigan killed his own people, as well as the hostages? Hawk knew better than to expect honor or loyalty among terrorists, but even so, to wipe out his own people on such a scale suggested a coldness on Madigan’s part that was more frightening than any number of dead bodies. And even apart from that, didn’t the man feel the need for any protection anymore? Whatever he and his pet sorcerer were involved with down in the cellar, surely he still needed some protection, if only to keep them from being interrupted at the wrong moment. Unless whatever they were planning was so powerful that nothing could stop it once it had been started ...

  Hawk didn’t like the turn his thoughts were taking. It was becoming clearer all the time that this whole business had been very carefully planned, right from the beginning. Which suggested the deaths had also been planned. But why? What could Madigan have hoped to gain from such a massacre? Power. That had to be the answer. Some sorcerers could use stolen life energy to power spells that couldn’t otherwise be controlled. But what kind of ritual could Madigan and Ritenour be contemplating, that needed so many lives to make it possible?

  Something’s happening down there. Something bad.

  He and Fisher had just reached the bottom of the second flight of stairs when Fisher stopped suddenly and leaned against the banisters, breathing hard. Hawk stopped with her, and looked at her worriedly. He was usually the first to run out of breath, as Isobel never tired of reminding him. On the other hand, she hated to be coddled.

  “You all right, lass?” he said carefully.

  “Of course I’m all right,” she muttered. “Don’t be too obvious about it, but take a look around. I thought I saw something moving, down the corridor to your right. Could be someone Madigan left here to guard his back.”

  “Good,” said Hawk. “I’m in the mood to hit someone.”

  “I’d be hard pressed to remember a time when you weren’t, Captain Hawk,” said Winter, as she stepped out of the shadows of the corridor. She looked angrily at both Captains. “What kept you? I’ve been waiting here for ages. I take it Storm has contacted you? Good; then you know as much about the situation as I do. Which is, essentially, damn all, except that it’s bloody urgent we get to the cellars. Let’s go.”

  She set off down the stairs to the next floor, without looking back to see if they were following. Hawk and Fisher exchanged a brief look, shrugged more or less in unison, and went after her. Hawk felt he ought to say something, but was damned if he knew what. The last he’d seen of the SWAT team’s leader, she’d been running from the parlour in a blind panic with half a dozen mercenaries right behind her. Hawk couldn’t honestly say he blamed her. The odds against her had been overwhelming, and she’d just seen her strongest team member cut down as though he was nothing. Hawk would have run too, if he and Isobel hadn’t been trapped by the windows.

  But she’d panicked, and she knew that they’d seen it. Which could lead to all sorts of problems. Panic was hard for some people to acknowledge, never mind deal with. Winter was the sort who prided herself on her courage and self-control, and that pride would make dealing with her problem that much harder. Hawk had seen this kind of thing before. She’d come up with all kinds of rationalizations that would let her believe she hadn’t really panicked, and that way she wouldn’t have to think about it. But put her under real stress again, and there was no telling what she might do. Given the situation they were heading into, Winter could be a disaster waiting to happen. As though she could feel his gaze on her back, Winter suddenly began talking, though she was still careful not to look back at Hawk or Fisher.

  “I thought I was the only one left and the rest of the team were dead. I shook off my pursuers easily enough, and went to ground till they gave up looking for me. I used the time to put together a plan that would get me safely out of the House. It was imperative that I get word to the Council that our mission was a failure, and they couldn’t count on us to save the Kings. Then ... something happened. After our narrow escape from the creatures of power in Hell Wing, I’d taken the precaution of removing a suppressor stone from Headquarters’ Storeroom. I thought we might need protection against magic at some point on this case, and the stone has always worked well for me in the past, even if it has fallen out of favor at the moment. Anyway, the stone suddenly started glowing brightly, and the House seemed to shake. I braced myself, but the stone protected me from whatever magic it was. The glow soon faded away, but I thought it best to lie low until I had some idea of what had happened. Then Storm contacted me, told me that Mac was dead and you were still alive, and that our mission wasn’t over yet.”

  “Did Storm tell you what was happening down in the cellar?” said Fisher, when Winter paused for a moment.

  “Not really. Just that the sorcerer Ritenour was up to something nasty. It doesn’t matter. We’ll stop him. The Kings may be dead, but we can still avenge them.”

  “It may not be as simple as that,” said Hawk carefully. “According to Storm, the whole city may be in danger from what Madigan has planned.”

  “Storm worries too much,” said Winter. “There are any number of powerful sorcerers in the city, not to mention all the Beings on the Street of Gods. You’re not telling me that between them they couldn’t handle anything Ritenour can come up with. After all, what could one shaman sorcerer call up that all the Powers and Dominations in Haven couldn’t put down?”

  “Good question,” said Fisher. “And if we don’t get to the cellar in time, I have an awful suspicion we’re going to find out the hard way.”

  Winter sniffed, but increased her pace. Hawk and Fisher hurried after her. Winter was careful always to keep just a little ahead of them, so they wouldn’t see her face. She’d managed to stop herself trembling, but she knew that if they got a good look at her face, they couldn’t help but see the fear that was still there. She’d been afraid before, but never like this. She’d never run from anything in her life before, but she’d run from the parlour. It wasn’t just the number of mercenaries, though that had been part of it. No; it had been the speed, the almost casual way in which Barber had been killed. He’d always been so much better than her, and Madigan’s man had swept him aside as though he were nothing. And then Saxon was gone, and Mac and Hawk and Fisher had been cornered, and all she could think of was that she had to get out of there, out of there!


  She’d hidden from her pursuers in the back of a dusty little cupboard, underneath a pile of old clothing she’d pulled over herself. She’d concentrated on the thought that it was vital she didn’t get caught, that she had a responsibility to stay free so she could get a message out to the Council. But when she finally heard the mercenaries depart, and it was time to leave, she couldn’t bring herself to leave the safety of the cupboard. She stayed there, in the dark, curled into a ball and trembling violently, clutching the suppressor stone in her fist like a child’s lucky charm. After a while, a long while, Storm’s voice came to her, telling her that Hawk and Fisher were still alive, and that the mercenaries were dead, and she was finally able to leave her hiding place. She wasn’t alone after all, and she had a chance for revenge. It didn’t matter what Madigan and Ritenour were doing down in the cellar; she was going to kill them both. they would pay for the murders of the two Kings, and for the theft of her courage and conviction.

  She strode along, looking neither left nor right, and bit at the inside of her cheeks until they ached, to keep her teeth from chattering. She couldn’t afford to let Hawk and Fisher see how badly Madigan had got to her. She was the leader of the SWAT team. She had to lead.

  Winter led the way down the steps into the cellar, moving quietly and confidently, her sword held out before her. Hawk and Fisher followed close behind, keeping a wary eye on her. If Winter had a plan of attack, she hadn’t seen fit to confide in them. Hawk found that worrying; normally Winter was full of herself over that kind of thing, and couldn’t wait to impress everyone with her latest plans and strategies. Perhaps this time she didn’t have a plan, and was just playing it by ear. If she was, Hawk for one didn’t blame her. He hadn’t got a clue what to do for the best. On the other hand, the only actual fighter in the cellar was Madigan, according to Storm, and they outnumbered him three to one. But on the other hand, Madigan was a first-class swordsman and had with him a sorcerer who was probably brimming over with stolen power and just looking for a target to use it on. Which would seem to argue against a frontal attack. Personally, Hawk favoured sneaking up on them from behind, and taking out both of them with his axe before they even knew what was happening. Hawk was a great believer in keeping things simple and to the point.