Winner Takes All h&f-1 Page 17
The inns and the brothels were still going strong, though the free booze had run out long ago. Some of the day-long revelers were busy sleeping it off on tavern floors and tables, uncaring that they were missing the very chance to vote that they'd been celebrating. Bets were still being made, at widely varying odds, and rumor and speculation ran rife. People thronged the streets, dressed in their best. An election was an Occasion, a chance to see and be seen. Pickpockets and cutpurses had never had it so good. Ballad singers stood at every street corner, singing the latest broadsheets about the two main candidates, interspersed now and then with requested old favorites. There were jugglers and conjurers and stilt-walkers, and of course any number of street preachers making the most of the occasion, always on the lookout for a crowd and anyone who looked like they might stand still long enough to be preached at.
The voting began, as Haven made its choice.
* * *
Roxanne leaned back in her chair and stretched her legs languorously as Hardcastle poured her a glass of his best wine. He was smiling broadly, and positively radiating good cheer. It didn't suit him. Wulf and Jillian stood quietly in the background.
"You've done well, Roxanne," said Hardcastle, pouring himself a large drink. "Without Medley to help him, Adamant's organization will fall apart at the seams, and he'll lose every advantage he's gained. All it needs now is a few more pushes in the right places, and everything he's built will collapse around him. It's a pity you didn't get a chance to kill him, but it's just as well. I've changed my mind. I don't want him dead just yet. I want him to suffer first.
"It's not enough to kill Adamant. Not anymore. I want to beat him first. I want to humiliate the man; rub his nose in the fact that all his whining Reformers are no match for a Conservative. I don't just want him dead; I want him broken."
Roxanne shrugged noncommittally and sipped at her wine. She'd taken advantage of the speech to study Jillian Hardcastle and the sorcerer Wulf. Both of them looked rather the worse for wear. Jillian had a bruised and swollen mouth, and was holding herself awkwardly, as though favoring a hidden pain. Wulf looked tired and drawn. There were dark bruises of fatigue under his eyes, and his gaze was more than a little wild. He seemed preoccupied, as though listening to a voice only he could hear. Roxanne realized Hardcastle had stopped talking, and quickly turned her attention back to him.
"All right," she said equably. "What do we do now?"
"We need to isolate Adamant even further," said Hardcastle. "We've taken away his Advisor. Who does that leave him to lean on? The two Guards, Hawk and Fisher. They've been acting all along like Adamant's paid men, for all their vaunted impartiality. With them out of the way, Adamant should crumble and fall apart nicely."
Roxanne nodded. "I can take either of them on their own, but killing both of them would be tricky." She smiled suddenly. "Fun, though."
"I don't want them killed," said Hardcastle flatly. "I want them kidnapped. They have interfered in my life far too often, and they're going to pay the price. They'll beg for death before I'm finished with them."
"I can't guarantee to take both of them alive," said Roxanne. "One perhaps, but not both."
"I thought you might say that," said Hardcastle, "So I've arranged some help for you." He tugged at the bell pull by his desk. There was a short, uncomfortable pause, and then the study door opened and Pike and Da Silva came in. Roxanne studied them warily from her chair.
Pike was tall and muscular, in his mid-twenties, with a clear open face and a nasty smile. He moved well, and carried his chain mail as though it were weightless. He was a familiar type; throw a stick in a gladiators' training school and you'd hit a dozen just like him. Da Silva was short and stocky, with a broad chest and a wrestler's overdeveloped arm muscles. He was a few years older than Pike, and looked it. His face was heavy and bony, and would have looked brutish even without the perpetual scowl that tugged at his features. As well as a sword, he carried a four-foot-long headbreaker of solid oak weighted with lead at both ends.
Independently they were proficient-enough mercenaries, but working together as a team they'd built a reputation for death and mayhem that almost rivaled Roxanne's. She glared at them both, and then switched her glare to Hardcastle.
"Why do you need them? You've got me."
"I want Hawk and Fisher taken alive," said Hardcastle. "The only way to do that without major casualties to my side is to make sure we have the advantage of overwhelming numbers. Pike and Da Silva command a troop of fifty mercenaries. You will lead them against Adamant's people. Wulf will supply magical protection. Is that clear?"
Roxanne shrugged. "You're the boss, Hardcastle. What do we do after we've taken Hawk and Fisher?"
"I've set aside a place for them. Pike and Da Silva have the details. Adamant and his people should be hitting the streets in about half an hour. Follow them, pick your spot, and do the job. No excuses on this one; I want them alive. I have plans for Hawk and Fisher."
* * *
James Adamant led his people out into the High Steppes, determined to make as many speeches as he could while the polls were still open. None of his people said anything, but it was clear to everyone that Adamant needed to reassure himself of his popularity after so many things having gone wrong. So with tired limbs and weary hearts they followed him out onto the streets one last time. Adamant strode ahead, out in front for all to see, with Dannielle at his side. Hawk and Fisher followed close behind. Adamant's supporters had dispersed and gone home after the debacle of the victory banquet, so only half a dozen mercenaries accompanied Adamant on his last excursion into the Steppes, with Bearclaw and Kincaid bringing up the rear. It was a far cry from the cheerful, confident host that had followed him on his first outing, but a lot had happened since then.
Adamant hurried from street to street at a pace his retinue was hard pressed to match, as though he was trying to leave his most recent memories behind and be again the confident, unworried politician he had been at the start of the day. Hawk and Fisher stretched their legs and kept up with him. They walked with weapons drawn, just in case Hardcastle tried for a last-minute assassination. Hawk kept a careful watch on Dannielle. He'd wanted to leave her behind, but she'd insisted on going with them. Trouble was, she was right. Her presence was a vote winner, and her absence would have raised questions Adamant couldn't afford to answer. She'd thrown the last of her dust on the fire before she left. Adamant had just nodded stiffly, and turned away. They were walking arm in arm and smiling at the crowds, but they hadn't exchanged five words since they left the house.
Hawk sighed quietly to himself. As if he didn't have enough things to worry about. Medley had disappeared, along with the notorious Roxanne, but it was too early to tell just how much information he'd betrayed to Hardcastle. Worst of all was the damage he'd done to Adamant's confidence. Adamant had trusted Stefan Medley implicitly, and allowed him to shape and plan his whole campaign. Now Medley was gone, and Adamant didn't know who or what he could rely on anymore.
On top of all that he'd found he couldn't rely on Mortice anymore either. Longarm and his men shouldn't have been able to break into his house at all, but the dead man's mind had been wandering again, and his wards had slipped. He'd promised it wouldn't happen again, and Adamant had pretended to believe him, but neither of them were fooled.
Adamant made another speech on yet another street corner, and as always a crowd gathered to listen. Even now, after all that had happened. Adamant could still sway a crowd with his voice. Perhaps because he still believed in his Cause, even if he was no longer sure of himself. The speech started off well enough. The crowd was responsive and enthusiastic, and cheered in all the right places. Bear-claw and Kincaid moved unobtrusively among them, making sure no one got out of hand. Hawk and Fisher leaned wearily against a wall, feeling unneeded. And then the crowd's cheers turned to screams as fifty mercenaries came
pouring out of a side street with swords in their hands.
They cut their way through the scattering crowd, uncaring who they hurt. Bearclaw and Kincaid drew their swords and fought side by side as the tide of mercenaries hit them. Bearclaw swung his great sword two-handed, cutting down his attackers like a scythe slicing through overripe wheat. Kincaid leapt and danced, his blade cutting and thrusting in swift steel blurs. But there were only two of them, and the vast body of mercenaries swept past them without even slowing. The two warriors were quickly surrounded, and moved to stand back to back, still fighting. Adamant's mercenaries tried to make a stand, but there were only six of them and they were quickly overrun. Hawk and Fisher moved quickly forward and put themselves between Adamant and Dannielle and their attackers. They waited grimly, weapons at the ready.
The first mercenary to reach them went for Fisher, mistakenly supposing her to be the easier target. She parried his blow easily, cut his throat on the backswing, and was back on guard before the next mercenary could reach her. Hawk roared a Northern war cry and swung his axe in short, vicious arcs, scattering the mercenaries around him as one by one they fell before his unwavering attack. Soon the street was a boiling cauldron of milling men and flashing steel, and blood flew on the air. Adamant had drawn his sword and was keeping his attackers at bay, but he had trained as a duelist, not a street fighter, and it was all he could do to hold his ground. Dannielle cowered behind him, clutching a dagger he'd given her, hoping she'd find the strength to use it when the time came.
Hawk and Fisher fought side by side, and the mercenaries fell before them, unable to match their skill or their fury. Bearclaw and Kincaid fought alone, separated by the mercenaries, bleeding from a dozen wounds but refusing to fall. Dead men lay piled about them. And then Roxanne appeared out of nowhere, laughing aloud as her sword flashed out to slice through the meat of Kincaid's leg. His mouth gaped soundlessly as his leg crumpled beneath him, unable to bear his weight. He fell to one knee, still trying to swing his sword. Roxanne swept past him, grinning fiercely, heading for Hawk and Fisher. Pike and Da Silva came after her. Pike's sword lashed out to deflect a blow from Bearclaw, and Da Silva's heavy wooden staff swept across to slam into Bearclaw's side. Ribs broke under the impact. Bearclaw coughed blood, and fell forward onto his hands and knees. The mercenaries closed in around Bearclaw and Kincaid, and their swords rose and fell in steady butchery.
Roxanne burst through the milling crowd of fighters and threw herself at Fisher. Fisher tried to hold her ground and couldn't, forced back by the sudden strength and speed of the attack. Hawk tried to reach her, but Pike and Da Silva were quickly upon him, Pike engaging his axe while Da Silva circled patiently with his headbreaker, trying for a clear shot.
Roxanne thrust and parried, laughing breathlessly, and step by step Fisher was driven back, until her back was pressed up against a wall and there was nowhere else to go. Fisher was good with a sword, but Roxanne was an expert, inhumanly strong, and she never seemed to get tired.
For a moment, desperation gave Fisher new strength and she was able to beat aside Roxanne's attack long enough to cut through the mercenary's leathers and open a long, shallow wound along her ribs. Roxanne didn't even flinch, and her return attack drove Fisher back against the wall.
Fisher's moment passed, and her strength faded away, replaced by the day's weariness. She struggled frantically to fend off Roxanne's sword, and then a mercenary stepped in from her blind side and clubbed her down with the hilt of his sword. Fisher dropped to one knee, still clinging to her sword. Blood spilled down her face from a torn scalp. Roxanne and the other mercenary hit her again with their sword hilts, and she fell blindly forward onto the bloody cobbles and lay still. Roxanne kicked her in the head.
Hawk saw Fisher fall, and screamed in fury that he couldn't get to her. He swung his axe savagely at Pike, and the mercenary was forced to retreat. The heavy axe blade smashed through Pike's defenses and knocked him to the ground. Hawk stepped in for the kill, and Da Silva's head-breaker swung round in a tight arc, slamming into Hawk's side, knocking the breath out of him. Hawk staggered backwards, favoring his injured side, and snarled soundlessly at his opponents, daring them to come after him.
Adamant swept his sword back and forth, keeping the mercenaries at bay. For some reason they seemed more interested in keeping him occupied than in trying to kill him. Whatever the reason, it hadn't prevented them from whittling away at him like a carpenter with a block of wood. Blood ran freely from a dozen wounds, staining his fine clothes. Dannielle screamed behind him, and he spun round to see her struggling with a grinning mercenary. Adamant ran him through and turned quickly back to face his opponents. Their attitude changed immediately with the death of their companion, and for the first time they began to press their attack in earnest. Swords seemed to come at him from everywhere at once, and Adamant realized sickly that he couldn't keep off such an attack for more than a few moments. One of the mercenaries beat aside his sword and lunged forward. Dannielle screamed and threw herself in the blade's way. It plunged into her side. She grabbed the blade with both hands as she crumpled to the ground. Adamant screamed hoarsely, and ran the mercenary through. Two men stepped forward to take his place, their faces grim and determined. Adamant lifted his head and screamed at the dark sky above.
"Damn you, Mortice! You promised you'd protect her! Help us!"
The mercenaries froze in their attack, looked briefly startled, and then vomited blood explosively. They fell to the ground, kicking and shaking helplessly as blood poured from their mouths. Adamant looked round dazedly as one by one the attacking mercenaries dropped, coughing up their life's blood in harsh, painful spasms. In a matter of moments, Hawk and Adamant were the only ones left standing, surrounded by the dead and the dying. Adamant turned his back on them and knelt beside Dannielle, lying at his feet, curled around the bloody wound in her side. He took her hand, and she clutched it tightly. Her breathing was quick and ragged, and her face was covered with sweat.
"Screwed up again, didn't I?" she said breathlessly.
"Be quiet," said Adamant gently. "We've got to get you to a doctor."
Dannielle shook her head. "Bit late for that, James. I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"Everything."
"You've nothing to be sorry for, Danny. Nothing at all. Now, shut up and save your strength."
Dannielle gasped suddenly and clutched at her side. Adamant's heart missed a beat before he realized she was smiling in amazement.
"My side; it doesn't hurt any more. What's happening, James?"
Just doing my job, said Mortice's voice quietly in their minds. The wound is healed. But you'd better get back to the house as fast as you can. You're right on the edge of my limits. I don't know how much longer I can protect you;
His voice faded away and was gone. Adamant helped Danielle to her feet and looked around him. Hawk was checking quickly through the bodies.
"Where's Bearclaw and Kincaid?" said Adamant hoarsely.
"Dead," said Hawk.
"And Captain Fisher?"
"Taken. Roxanne and her two friends must have had their own magical protection."
Adamant rubbed tiredly at his aching head. "I'm sorry. So many dead, and all because of me."
Hawk turned and glared at him. "Stop talking nonsense. There's only one man responsible for all this, and that's Hardcastle. And Isobel isn't dead. She was alive when they took her. Now I'm going to get her back. Can you and Dannielle get home safely without me?"
"I think so. Mortice is back looking after us."
"Right. Go home and stay there until the result comes in. I'm going to find Isobel, and then I'm going to pay Hardcastle a visit. This has gone beyond politics now.
"This is personal."
Stefan Medley sat on the grimy bed in the dimly lit room, staring at nothing. He'd been sitting there ever since Roxanne left. He'd tried to work out what he was going to do next, but he couldn't seem to concentra
te on anything. In the space of a few moments his whole world had collapsed, and he was left alone in a filthy little tavern he wouldn't have been seen dead in by daylight.
It hadn't seemed so bad when he was there with Roxanne. They only had eyes for each other, then. Now he could see how cheap and shabby it really was. Just like him. He rubbed tiredly at his aching temples, and tried to think. He wasn't safe as long as he stayed in Haven. Adamant would have no choice but to believe he'd defected to the other side. And Adamant was a first-class duelist. Even assuming Adamant wouldn't kill a man who'd once been his friend, there were certainly many in the Reform Cause with ready swords and no love for traitors.
Traitor. It was a harsh word, but the only one that fitted.
Hardcastle would be after him too, as soon as Roxanne revealed he wasn't going to defect. He'd insulted Hardcastle too many times, frustrated his plans too often. And Hardcastle was well-known as a man who bore grudges.
Medley frowned. With so many hands turned against him the odds were he wouldn't be able to get out of Haven at all. And when he got right down to it, Medley wasn't sure he wanted to leave Haven anyway. It was a cesspool of a city, no doubt of that, but Haven was his home and always had been. Everyone he knew, everything he cared for, was in Haven.
But all that was gone, now. He'd thrown it all away, all for the love of a woman who didn't love him. His friends would disown him, his career was over, his future; Medley sighed quietly, and lowered his head into his hands. He would have liked to cry, but he was too numb for tears.
There hadn't been many women in his life. There had always been girls, part of the social whirl, but they never seemed to have time for a quiet young man whose only interest was politics, and the wrong kind of politics, at that. The bright young things, with their games and laughter and simple happy souls, went to other men, and Medley went on alone. There were a few woman who saw him as a potential business partner. Marriage was still the best way to acquire wealth and social standing in Haven, and Medley's family had always been comfortably well off. There were times when he was so lonely he was tempted to say yes, to one or other of the deals his family made for him, but somehow he never did. He had his pride. He couldn't give that up. It was all he had.