Guard Against Dishonor h&f-5

by Simon R. Green

  her face as her muscles relaxed completely. The air grew thick and indistinct

  around her as wisps of mist seeped out of her skin. The mists gradually

  thickened until they were boiling up off her like ectoplasm at a seance. The

  tavern quickly emptied as the other customers headed for the door at a run. The

  bartender disappeared behind his bar. Burns started to rise from his chair, and

  then sank reluctantly back into it when Hawk glared at him. Hawk watched,

  fascinated, as Mistique's eyes darted back and forth beneath her closed eyelids

  as though she were dreaming, and then her eyes snapped open and personality

  flooded back into her face. The mists in the booth began to dissipate, stirred

  by a sourceless wind. Mistique fixed Hawk with her gaze.

  "I've got him. Morgan's been hiding out in another pocket dimension, hidden off

  Packet Lane, not ten minutes' walk from here."

  "Did you get a look inside?" said Hawk. "Did you see Morgan himself?"

  "Not really. I could sense his presence, along with a dozen or so bodyguards,

  but when I tried to enter I brushed up against another sorcerer's wards, so I

  got the hell out of there before I gave myself away."

  "Are you sure there's just the one sorcerer?" said Hawk.

  Burns looked at him. "One is usually enough to screw up any mission."

  Hawk ignored him, his gaze fixed on Mistique. "This is the second we've come

  across already. There might be more."

  "No," said Mistique. "There's just the one."

  "Good," said Hawk. "Burns and I will take care of the bodyguards. You handle the

  sorcerer. Only this time, let's all try really hard not to bring the pocket

  dimension down around our ears. All right?"

  Mistique led the way to Packet Lane, striding confidently through the thickening

  fog. Hawk carried his axe at the ready and kept a careful watch, but no one

  seemed to be paying them any particular attention. People tended not to look at

  Guards if they could help it, on the grounds they didn't want Guards looking at

  them. Burns grumbled most of the way to Packet Lane, muttering that the odds

  stank, the whole idea was crazy, and they ought to call Headquarters for a

  backup. Eventually Hawk said No with enough force to prove that he meant it, and

  Burns shut up and sulked the rest of the way. As long as he did it quietly, Hawk

  didn't give a damn. He couldn't afford to have Headquarters involved at this

  stage. If they were, he'd have to tell them about Fisher.

  Mistique finally brought them to Packet Lane, and they stood together in the

  alley mouth, staring into the gloom. Nothing moved in the alleyway, and the

  shadows lay quiet and undisturbed. Burns drew his sword, and the sudden grating

  noise was eerily loud in the quiet. He glanced at Hawk, who nodded to Mistique.

  She walked forward, counting out the steps, and pressed the five bricks in the

  correct sequence. The huge steel door appeared out of the brickwork, and swung

  open at Mistique's gesture. They stepped forward into the bright crimson light,

  and the door swung silently shut behind them.

  The three Guards stood close together a moment, squinting into the crimson

  glare, and then Hawk hissed at Burns and Mistique to spread out. They made too

  good a target standing as a group. Their eyes quickly adjusted, and Hawk relaxed

  a little as he realized the long corridor before them was completely empty. The

  brilliant red light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, bathing

  everything in its bloody glow. The corridor had no furniture, no doors, and no

  visible turnings off. The walls and the floor were bare wood, not even

  varnished. Hawk took the point and led the way forward, axe at the ready. Burns

  and Mistique followed close behind. Their footsteps echoed loudly from the bare

  wooden floor, no matter how softly they trod.

  The corridor seemed to go on forever. Hawk glanced back over his shoulder, and

  his hackles rose sharply as he saw the corridor stretching away behind him into

  the distance, with no sign of the door through which they'd entered. He shrugged

  uncomfortably, and trudged on down the corridor. It had to lead somewhere. The

  corridor suddenly rounded a corner and branched in two. Hawk looked down both

  paths, but there was nothing to choose between them. He looked back and forth

  while Burns and Mistique waited patiently for him to make up his mind, and then

  he tensed as he heard footsteps approaching. Hawk gestured quickly for the other

  two to fall back, and they retreated round the corner. Hawk eased back round the

  corner after them and stood poised, listening to the footsteps draw nearer. A

  man-at-arms rounded the corner, and Hawk whipped an arm round his throat before

  he had time to react. The man-at-arms started to call out, and Hawk tightened

  the hold until all that came out was a strangled croak.

  "Don't move," said Hawk quietly. He waited till the man was perfectly still, and

  then eased his grip a little. The man-at-arms drew in a long, shuddering breath.

  Hawk nodded to Burns, and he stepped forward and took the man's sword. Hawk put

  his mouth close to his prisoner's ear.

  "Morgan. Where is he?"

  "Are you crazy? He'll have you killed for this…" He broke off abruptly as the

  hold round his throat tightened harshly and then relaxed again.

  "What's your name?" said Hawk.

  "Justin."

  "Do you know who I am?"

  "No. Who are you?"

  "I'm Hawk. Captain Hawk."

  "Oh God."

  "Where's Morgan?"

  "It's not far. I'll lead you to him."

  "That's a good boy. I'm going to let you go now. Behave yourself and you might

  come out of this alive."

  He let go of the man-at-arms, and gestured for him to lead the way. Justin

  nodded jerkily, rubbed at his throat, and set off round the corner and down the

  left-hand path. Hawk and Mistique followed close behind, with Burns bringing up

  the rear. Hawk leaned in close to Mistique and spoke softly, so that only she

  could hear.

  "Is there any way Morgan could know we're coming? Could his sorcerer have set up

  any protective wards in here?"

  Mistique shook her head. "If he had, I'd know," she said softly. "There were

  wards and magical booby traps crawling all over the alleyway, but I defused them

  by summoning the door correctly. Keep your guard up, though, just in case. If I

  were Morgan, I'd have some kind of fall-back defenses."

  Hawk nodded. "That's probably what the dozen bodyguards are supposed to be. I

  know how Morgan thinks; I've met his kind before. He thinks he's so big and

  powerful no one would dare just walk in on him. After all, he's got his own

  sorcerer and a dozen bodyguards to protect him. Who'd be crazy enough to come in

  here after him, in his own stronghold?"

  Mistique looked at Hawk. "He might just have a point."

  Hawk smiled. "I've faced worse odds. Morgan's just a cheap thug with delusions

  of grandeur. And I'm going to knock him down and rub his nose in it until he

  tells me what I want to know."

  The man-at-arms led them through a short series of passageways to a pair of

  huge, polished oaken doors. Somewhere along the way, the sourceless crimson

  light had changed to a homely golden
glow. There were expensive paintings and

  tapestries on the walls, and a deep-pile carpet on the floor. Hawk looked at the

  double doors for a long moment, and then turned and smiled at their guide.

  "Well done, Justin. I'm very pleased with you. Mistique, put him to sleep for a

  while."

  The sorceress locked eyes with Justin, and all the color drained out of his

  face. His eyes rolled up in his head and he fell limply backwards. Burns caught

  him and lowered him to the floor. Hawk hefted his axe, breathed deeply, and then

  reached forward and carefully opened one of the doors an inch. He looked back at

  Burns and Mistique.

  "No mercy, no quarter—but whatever happens, I want Morgan alive. He's no use to

  me dead."

  He turned back to the doors, kicked them open, and charged in, axe at the ready.

  Burns and Mistique charged in after him, eyes darting round the vast chamber as

  they searched for their first target. Morgan was reclining on embroidered

  cushions with a beautiful young woman, drinking wine from a silver goblet, and

  whispering something into her ear as she giggled helplessly. Half a dozen

  men-at-arms were playing cards at a table in a far corner. There was no sign of

  any sorcerer.

  The men at the table looked round, startled, as the doors burst open, and then

  scrambled to their feet, grabbing for their swords. Morgan pushed aside his

  scantily clad companion and struggled to get to his feet, slipping and sliding

  on the cushions. Hawk sprinted forward, hoping to get to Morgan before the

  men-at-arms could reach him, but Morgan finally got his feet under him and ran

  for the far door. Thin streamers of mist shot past Hawk and wrapped themselves

  around Morgan, bringing him crashing to the floor. The far door flew open,

  revealing a tall, gaunt-faced man dressed in sorcerer's black. He gestured

  quickly, and the misty coils holding Morgan disappeared.

  Hawk and Burns threw themselves at the charging men-at-arms. Hawk cut down the

  first two to reach him with savage sweeps of his axe. Blood pooled thickly on

  the floor as he stepped quickly over the writhing bodies to attack the next man.

  They stood face to face for a moment, exchanging cut and thrust and parry, but

  the man-at-arms was no match for Hawk's cold fury, and both of them knew it. The

  swordsman began to back away, and Hawk went after him. He swung his axe with

  vicious skill, and then caught a glimpse of flashing steel out of the corner of

  his eye. He threw himself to one side, and the young woman's sword just missed

  him. Hawk kicked the man-at-arms in the knee, elbowed him in the face, and

  turned quickly to face the young woman as she attacked him with just as much

  skill as the man-at-arms. Hawk wondered briefly where she'd hidden a sword in

  such a brief outfit, and then was forced to give her his full attention as she

  pressed home her attack.

  She was good with a sword, and worse still, fresh and rested, while he was

  fighting off a long day's fatigue. He stood his ground, swinging his axe with

  both hands, but she deflected most of his blows and easily dodged the rest. Once

  again Hawk caught a glimpse of movement at his side, and sidestepped quickly as

  the man-at-arms he'd elbowed threw himself forward and accidentally impaled

  himself on the young woman's sword. She froze in shock, and Hawk slammed the

  butt of his axe against her head. She fell to the floor without a murmur and lay

  still. Hawk glowered down at her. If he'd had any sense, he'd have killed her

  while he had the chance, but he always was too chivalrous for his own good.

  Besides, he rationalized, she might answer questions that Morgan wouldn't.

  He looked around him, suddenly aware the room was strangely quiet. Burns had

  dealt with the other men-at-arms, and was standing over his last kill, breathing

  heavily and checking himself for wounds. There didn't seem to be anything

  serious. Hawk grinned. There was a lot to be said for the advantage of surprise,

  not to mention the adrenalin provided by extreme desperation.

  He looked across at Mistique, who was standing very still, her face cold, her

  eyes locked on the other sorcerer, still standing by the far door. Stray magic

  spat and sparkled on the air between them.

  Mists curled and twisted around Mistique like unfinished ghosts, and then leapt

  forward with heart-stopping speed, only to dissipate and fall apart before they

  could reach the sorcerer. He raised his hand in a short, casual gesture and all

  around Mistique the floor bulged suddenly upwards, tearing itself apart. The

  jagged wood erupted up into thick twisting branches that clutched at the air

  like gnarled fingers. Barbed thorns thrust out of the crackling wood as the

  branches stretched towards Mistique. Thick tendrils of mist boiled off the

  sorceress, and shot forward to engulf the lengthening branches. The unliving

  wood cracked and splintered as the mists writhed, ripping the branches apart.

  Beads of sweat appeared on the sorcerer's face as the mists advanced on him.

  Sharp wooden stalagmites thrust out of the floor and wall around Mistique,

  piercing the air with razored points, but none of them came close to touching

  her. A pearly haze built around the sorcerer, thickening inexorably into a fog

  that swallowed him up. There was a single, choked cry from inside the fog, and

  then silence. The fog quickly cleared, dispersed by a sourceless wind, and there

  was no trace of the sorcerer anywhere. Hawk decided not to ask; he didn't think

  he wanted to know. Mistique glanced across at him.

  "That's what comes of overspecialization. If he hadn't limited himself to

  working with wood, he might have been able to do some real damage."

  "You only work with mists," Hawk pointed out, striding quickly over to Morgan,

  who was still lying where he'd fallen.

  "Mists are different," said Mistique. "You can do a lot with mists."

  Hawk shrugged, grabbed Morgan by the collar, and dragged him to his feet. The

  drug baron twisted suddenly, a knife gleaming in his hand. Hawk let go and

  jumped back, sucking in his gut, and the knife ripped through his furs and out

  again without touching him. Morgan drew back his hand for another thrust, and

  Hawk caught him with a straight-finger jab just below the breastbone. Morgan's

  face paled, and the knife slipped from his numb fingers. Hawk grabbed him by the

  shirt-front and slammed him back against the nearest wall. He put his face close

  to Morgan's and showed the drug baron his death's-head smile.

  "Talk to me, Morgan."

  "What… what do you want to know?" Morgan fought to keep his voice even, but he

  couldn't face Hawk's cold gaze. He looked over Hawk's shoulder at Burns and

  Mistique, standing together, and his face paled even more.

  "Let's start with the drug," said Hawk. "The super-chacal. Where is it?"

  "In one of the back rooms here." Morgan looked reluctantly back at Hawk. "There

  are lots of empty rooms here. More than I can ever use."

  "Have you started moving it yet?"

  "No, we've been having difficulties setting up a new distribution network,

  thanks to your interference."

  "It's nice to be appreciated," said Hawk. "Now let's talk about the drug itself.

 
This super-chacal is something new. You didn't come up with it yourself.

  Developing a new drug takes lots of time and money, not to mention a staff of

  high-level alchemists in their own private lab. And that's out of your league,

  Morgan. So how did you get your hands on it?"

  Morgan tried to shrug, but Hawk had too tight a hold on him. "It came in through

  the Docks, disguised as spices. All I had to do was make sure it hadn't been cut

  with anything, then package it and make the connection with the distributors.

  The drug itself was financed by outside money."

  Hawk frowned thoughtfully. "Outside money… Outside Haven, or outside the Low

  Kingdoms?"

  "Didn't know. Didn't care. Money's money; I don't give a damn where it comes

  from. This sounded like a good deal, so I went for it. I never got to talk to

  the real backers; they always worked through middlemen. I can give you their

  names if you want, but it won't do you any good. They'll have left Haven by now.

  I'd planned to be long gone myself, once the drug hit the streets."

  "You really are a piece of slime, you know that?" Hawk thrust his face up close

  before Morgan's, and the drug baron tried to shrink back into the solid wall.

  Hawk's voice was calm and even, but his face held a bitter rage only barely held

  in check. "You knew what the drug was, and what it would do to anyone who took

  it. You knew that once the super-chacal hit the streets, there'd be a bloodbath

  that would tear Haven apart. But you went ahead with it anyway."

  Morgan squirmed uncomfortably. "Come on, Hawk, if I hadn't gone for it, someone

  else would have. You're exaggerating the dangers. So we lose a few scum from the

  streets. So what? No one who really matters would have been hurt. And there's

  millions to be made from this drug. Once word gets out, everyone will want to

  try it. It gives a kind of hit no one's ever been able to deliver before. Even

  the weakest man can become strong enough and brave enough to get back at

  everyone who's ever done him down. Millions of ducats, Hawk. Think of it. It's

  not too late; you can still cut yourself in. There's enough money in this for

  everyone."

  Hawk grinned at Morgan, and he shut up. "No deals, Morgan. Now then, you've done

  very well, so far. Just one more question, and I'll be finished with you. Answer