"Right," said Medley. "You pay your tithes once a year, show up at meetings once a month, and they pretty much leave you alone. But it's a good church to belong to; you can make very useful contacts through the Brotherhood."
"Tell me about the Brotherhood," said Hawk. "Isobel and I haven't had much contact with them here, and they're not very well-known in the Northlands where we were raised."
"They're pretty straightforward," said Adamant. "Part militaristic, part mystical, based upon a belief in the fighting man. It started out as a warrior's religion, but it's broadened its appeal since then. They revere cold steel in all its forms as a weapon, and teach that all men can be equal once they've trained to be fighting men. It's a particularly practical-minded religion."
"Right," said Medley. "And if we can get their support, every man-at-arms in the High Steppes will vote for us."
"I would have thought they'd be more interested in Hardcastle," said Fisher.
"Normally, yes," said Adamant. "But luckily for us, Hardcastle has not only not paid his tithes in years, he also had the effrontery to levy a special tax on the Brotherhood in his territory. And on top of that, just recently the Brotherhood's been split down the middle by an argument over how involved they should get in local politics. The new militant sect already has one Seat on the Council: The Downs. Their candidate in the Steppes is General Long-arm. We're going to see the High Commander of the orthodox sect, and see if we can stir up some support for us, as part of their struggle against the militants."
"Great," said Fisher. "Just what this campaign needed. More complications."
Adamant looked at Hawk. "How about you, Captain? What do you believe in?"
"Hard cash, cold beer, and an axe with a good edge." Hawk walked on in silence for a while, and then continued. "I was raised as a Christian, but that was a long time ago."
"A Christian?" Dannielle raised a painted eyebrow. "Takes all sorts to make a world, I suppose."
"Who exactly are we here to see?" said Fisher, changing the subject.
"There are only a few Beings who will talk to us," said Adamant. "Most of them won't interfere in Haven's civil affairs."
"Why not?" said Hawk.
"Because if one got involved, they all would, and it wouldn't be long before we had a God War on our hands. No one wants that, least of all the Beings. They've got a good racket here, and no one wants to rock the boat. But there are a few Beings who've developed a taste for a little discreet and indirect meddling. The trick is to get to them before Hardcastle does. I think we'll start with the Speaking Stone."
The Speaking Stone turned out to be a huge jagged boulder of granite, battered and weather-beaten beyond all shape or meaning. Plainly robed acolytes guarded it with drawn swords all the time Adamant and his party were there. After all the things he'd seen so far on the Street of Gods, Hawk was very disappointed in the Stone. He tried hard to feel some holy atmosphere or mystical aura, but the Stone looked like just another lump of rock to him. Adamant spoke with the Stone for some time, but if it had anything to say for itself. Hawk didn't hear it. Adamant seemed neither pleased nor displeased, but if he had got anything out of his visit, he kept it to himself.
The Madonna of the Martyrs had a bad reputation. Her church was tucked away in a quiet little backwater of the Street of Gods. There were no signs to proclaim what it was; the people who needed to would always find their way there. There was a constant stream of supplicants to the Madonna's doors; the lost and the lonely, the beaten and the betrayed. They came to the Madonna with heavy hearts, and she gave them what they asked for: an end to all pain. After they died, they rose again in her service, for as long as she required them.
Some called her a God, some a Devil. There isn't always that much difference on the Street of Gods.
The Madonna herself turned out to be a plain, pleasant woman dressed in gaudily colored robes. She had a tray of sickly looking boiled sweets at her side and sucked one noisily all the time they were there. She didn't offer them round, and Hawk, for one, was grateful. Dead men and women shuffled through her chamber on unknown errands. Their faces were colorless and slack, but once or twice Hawk thought he caught a quick glimpse of something damned and suffering in their eyes. He kept his hand near his axe, and his eye on the nearest exit.
Adamant and the Madonna made a deal. In return for her withdrawing her support for the DeWitt brothers, Adamant would allow the Madonna access to the High Steppes hospitals. It wasn't quite as cold as it sounded. The Madonna was bound by her nature only to take the willing, and every hospital has some who would welcome death as a release from pain. Even so; Hawk studied Adamant thoughtfully. He'd always suspected the politician had a ruthless streak. He caught Medley's eye on the way out, but the Advisor just shrugged.
La Belle Dame du Rocher, the Beautiful Lady of the Rocks, refused to see them. So did the Soror Marium, the Sister of the Sea. They were both old patrons of Haven, and Adamant was clearly disappointed. He left an offering for each of them anyway, just in case.
The Hanged Man was polite but noncommittal, the Carrion In Tears asked too high a price, and the Crawling Violet's answer made no sense at all. And so it went down the Street of Gods. Even those few Beings who would allow Adamant to approach them were usually uninterested in his problems. They had their own affairs and vendettas to pursue. Adamant remained calm and polite throughout it all, and Hawk kept his hand near his axe. The various Beings were disturbing enough, but their followers gave him the creeps. They all had the same flat, unwavering stare of the fanatic.
And finally, when they had been everywhere else, Adamant brought his party to the Brotherhood of Steel. Their Headquarters looked less like a church, and more like an upmarket barracks. The carved wood and stonework was only a few hundred years out of date, which made the place look almost modern compared to most of the Street of Gods. Armed guards patrolled the front of the building, but fell back respectfully once they recognized Adamant. Hawk looked at him sharply.
"You're not just a casual visitor here, are you?"
"I've had dealings with the Brotherhood before," said Adamant. "Every politician has."
A scarred man-at-arms in brightly shining chain mail led them through a series of open corridors to an impressively large library, where he left them. Fisher grabbed the most comfortable chair and sank into it, stretching out her long legs with a satisfied sigh. Hawk was tempted to do the same. His feet were killing him. But every instinct he had was telling him to keep alert. Every man he'd seen in the Headquarters had been wearing a sword, and looked like he knew how to use it. If by some chance Hardcastle had already been here and struck a deal with the Brotherhood, getting out of the Headquarters might prove a lot more difficult than getting in. He sat on the arm of Fisher's chair and fixed Adamant with a steady gaze.
"All right, sir Adamant. Who are we waiting to see?"
"Jeremiah Rukker. He's the Commander here. Not a bad sort; we can talk with him."
"How does he feel about Reform?"
"Couldn't care less, one way or the other. Officially, the Brotherhood is above politics. Actually, they'll work with anyone, if it's kept under the table and the price is right. And the Brotherhood strikes a very hard bargain."
"Fill me in on the Brotherhood," said Fisher. "Just how much influence do they really have in Haven?"
"More than you'd think," said Medley. "Essentially, any man who can wield a sword or an axe can apply for membership in the Brotherhood. Once admitted, they can learn skills and tactics preserved over hundreds of years and become part of a mystical fellowship that owes loyalty to nothing save itself. A Brother of Steel will defy any law, ruler, or religion;if the Brotherhood requires it."
"And there are Brothers everywhere," said Adamant. "In the Council, in the Guard, and in all the political parties."
Hawk frowned. "How can you be sure of that?"
"This is Haven, remember? Nothing stays secret here for long." Adamant looked at Hawk steadily. "Accordin
g to my sources, the Brotherhood has spread throughout the Low Kingdoms; even among the King's Advisors. So far, they've managed to avoid a purge by declaring themselves totally impartial when it comes to politics, but the new militants may change all that."
"So why have we come here?" said Hawk. "Why should the orthodox Brotherhood want to make a deal with Reform?" And then he paused, and his face cleared suddenly. "Of course; the most important thing for them is to see that the militants lose this election. In the Steppes, that means backing either Hardcastle or you, and they know they can't trust Hardcastle. I think I'm getting the hang of politics."
"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 very 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 battered 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 realized one of them was Councilor 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?"
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