Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher) (84 page)

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Authors: Simon R. Green

BOOK: Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher)
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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.
Winter eased to a stop at the point where the stairway curved round a long corner before leading down into the cellar itself. Hawk and Fisher stopped too, and listened to the silence. There wasn’t a sound to be heard, but a strange, eerie blue light flickered across the wall below them. Hawk looked at Fisher, who shrugged. Winter stared at the flickering light for a long moment, and then moved slowly forward, keeping her shoulder pressed against the inner wall so as to stay hidden in the shadows. Hawk and Fisher moved silently after her. As they eased around the corner, the vast stone chamber swung gradually into view, and Hawk swore to himself as he saw the sorcerer Ritenour, standing in the middle of a glowing pentacle. They were too late. Whatever the ritual was, it had already started. The eerie blue light that blazed from the lines of the pentacle filled the cellar, and gave the sorcerer’s skin the look of something that had been dead for a week. In between the stairway and the pentacle lay Glen and Todd, both dead. Madigan was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, his eyes closed. Hawk thought for a moment he might be dead too, but his hopes were quickly dashed as he realized the terrorist’s chest was still rising and falling.
Pity,
thought Hawk.
It would have simplified things no end.
Fisher leaned in beside him, looked at Madigan, and raised an eyebrow. Hawk shrugged. Maybe the man was asleep. He’d had a busy day.
The air in the cellar had a tense, brittle feel, as though any loud noise or sudden movement might shatter it like glass and reveal what lay behind it. The blue light clung to the wall like lichen, and the solid stone seemed to stir and seethe with slow, viscous movements. Shadows flickered here and there, come and gone in an eye blink, though there was nothing in the cellar to cast them. Ritenour began chanting in an unfamiliar tongue, but his voice seemed strangely quiet, as though it had crossed some great distance to reach them. He turned slowly in a circle, widdershins, slowly against the course of the sun’s path right to left, light to darkness. Hawk could see his eyes were tightly shut. Possibly to help him concentrate, or possibly because he was afraid of what he might see if he opened them. Hawk moved down a step for a better look, and then stopped abruptly. His stomach muscles tensed, and sweat broke out on his forehead. He felt as though he were looking out over some vast, unimaginable gulf. The cellar seemed to be stretching, with Madigan and Ritenour moving slowly away from the stairs, until the gap between them seemed horribly great and impossible to cross. Fisher grabbed Hawk by the arm, and he all but jumped out of his skin. She gestured that she and Winter were moving back up the stairs round the curve of the wall, and Hawk nodded quickly. He looked back at the cellar, and then away again, and followed Fisher and Winter back up into the concealing shadows. He realised he was breathing too quickly, and made himself take several deep breaths to calm himself down.
They stopped just beyond the curve, and Hawk leaned in close to Winter, keeping his voice little more than a murmur. “We’ve got to do something while we still can. Things down there are getting out of hand fast.”
“I’m open to suggestions, Captain,” said Winter sharply. “In order to stop the ritual we have to get to Ritenour, but as long as he stays within the pentacle we can’t touch him. It’ll knock us out if we even get too close to it.”
“What about your suppressor stone?” said Hawk.
“Burned out by whatever happened earlier.”
“No problem,” said Fisher. “Hawk can throw an axe like you wouldn’t believe. He can cut the wings off a fly at twenty paces, and if flies had other things he could cut them off too. Right, Hawk?”
“More or less,” said Hawk. “My axe is rather special, and it should cut through any magical protection, but I’ve still got to get within throwing range. An axe is too heavy to throw accurately over any distance. And you can bet once any of us step out into plain sight, Madigan is going to come up off that floor like a cat with a thorn up its arse and carve whoever’s there into bite-sized chunks. I saw him fight in the parlour. He’s good, Winter. Very good.”
“We can handle him,” said Winter confidently. “You get into a position where you can throw your axe, and Fisher and I will keep Madigan occupied.”
“Right,” said Fisher. “We kill Madigan, you kill the sorcerer, and then we all get the hell out of here. Simple as that.”
“I’m afraid not,” said Madigan calmly. “It’s a good plan, and it might even work, though I hate to think what might happen to your precious city if the forces Ritenour is working with were to break free. But it’s all immaterial. To get to him you have to get past me. And you’re not that good. Any of you.”
He was standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up at them, and his smile was a death’s-head grin. He looked pale and drawn and ill, but his back was straight and the sword in his hand was quite steady.
Hawk and Fisher ran down the stairs and circled around him, weapons at the ready. He moved easily to follow them, never letting either of them entirely out of his sight. He laughed softly, charged with energy, as though all the strength he’d ever had was his again, gathered for just this moment. He laughed at them, and in that harsh, mocking sound there was no trace of weakness, or thought of failure. His eyes burned in his gaunt face, and every move he made was calm, calculated, and very deadly.
It’s like he knows we can’t win,
thought Hawk.
That whatever happens, he’s already won.
He pushed the thought aside, and moved warily forward. Madigan was all that stood between him and Ritenour, and no matter how good he was, Madigan was only one man. Hawk had faced a hell of a lot worse in his time. He swung his axe in a vicious arc, and Madigan’s sword was in just the right place to deflect it. The return thrust had Hawk jumping desperately back, and Fisher darted in quickly to draw Madigan’s attention. Their swords clashed again and again in a flurry of spark, but Fisher was the one who was forced to retreat. Hawk tried to circle round behind Madigan, but the terrorist drove him back with a flurry of blows that took all of Hawk’s skill to counter.
Hawk and Fisher threw themselves at Madigan, but neither of them could touch him. He moved as though inspired, parrying and striking back with a tireless energy. His strength was incredible, his speed bordering on inhuman. He thrust and cut and parried with a simple economy of movement that was too brutal to be truly graceful, but somehow he was always in just the right place to block a blow or strike at his opponent’s weakness. Hawk was hard put to save himself a dozen times over, and blood ran thickly down his side from a blow he hadn’t seen coming till it was almost too late. If he or Fisher had been fighting alone they would have been dead by now, and all of them knew it. Madigan was never where he should be, and their weapons swept harmlessly past him again and again while his sword crept gradually closer with every attack. Madigan had been a legend in his day, and there in the cellars under Champion House, it was his day again, for a while. Hawk and Fisher fought on determinedly, grunting with the effort of their blows and fighting for breath, but Madigan just smiled at them, his eyes wild and fey, his time come round again in the last minutes of his life.
Ritenour’s chant grew louder as he shuffled round and round in his pentacle, eyes squeezed shut as though against a blinding light. The air in the cellar grew steadily more tense, and an alien presence slowly permeated the stone chamber, pressing relentlessly against the barriers that held it back from reality and the waking world.
Winter watched the fighting from the foot of the stairs, unable to move. There was no point in trying to help. Hawk and Fisher were much better fighters than she, and Madigan was making them look like fools. If she even raised a sword against him, he’d kill her. She thought about trying to sneak past him to try and get to Ritenour, but she’d seen what happened when Hawk tried to circle round Madigan. The terrorist had blocked him off without even trying. There was nothing she could do. Nothing.
Think, dammit, think! You’re supposed to be the tactician, the one with plans and strategies for every contingency. There’s always something you can do!
And of course there was. The answer came to her in a flash of inspiration, and she knew she had to act on it immediately, while she still had the courage. Because if she stopped and thought about it, she’d come up with all kinds of reasons not to do it. She ran forward, her sword held high above her head, and threw herself at Madigan. He spun round impossibly quickly, and his sword plunged into her stomach and out her back. Winter dropped her sword and forced herself along the blade until she could grab his sword arm with both hands. He tried to break her grip, but her hands had closed like vises. She smiled at him. There was blood in her mouth, and it rolled down her chin as she spoke.
“Did you think you were the only one prepared to die for what they believe in?”
Madigan snarled at her and backed desperately away, dragging her with him, but Hawk’s axe came swinging round in a wide arc out of nowhere and smashed into his rib cage. Bones broke and splintered, and the force of the blow drove him to his knees, crying out in pain and shock. Winter sank down with him, still smiling. Their eyes met for a moment, sharing hatred, and then the light went out of Winter’s eyes and she slumped forward.
Hawk jerked his axe free in a gusher of blood, and Madigan cried out again as the pain cleared his head. He clung somehow to his sword as he lurched to his feet, avoiding Fisher’s sword with desperate speed. Blood was pouring from the gaping wound in his side, but he ignored it. He was dying anyway, and the knowledge gave him strength. He bolted for the stairs, blood spilling onto the ground as he ran. A slow numbness crept through his body as the poison began to win out over his need and desperation. He could no longer feel his hands or his feet, and the strength was draining out of his legs. He forced himself on, concentrating on the flaring pain in his side to keep his head clear. He coughed painfully, and blood filled his mouth. He spat it out, and glanced back over his shoulder. Hawk and Fisher were pounding up the stairs after him.
He laughed giddily. Let the fools chase him. While they were preoccupied with him, Ritenour was completing the ritual. All he had to do was buy the sorcerer a little more time, and he’d spite Hawk and Fisher yet. He was glad he hadn’t killed them, after all. He wanted them alive when the Unknown Door opened, so that they could see what he’d let loose on their precious city. He wanted them to know they’d failed before they died screaming, in agony and despair. He laughed breathily, ignoring the pain and the blood, and then Wulf Saxon appeared on the steps before him. Madigan snarled at him and lunged forward, his sword still steady in his numb hand. Saxon slapped the blade aside and hit Madigan in the face with all his strength. The blow picked Madigan up and threw him back down the stairs, almost crashing into Hawk and Fisher. They pressed back against the wall, and Madigan slid and tumbled the rest of the way down the steps and back into the cellar. He lay still at the bottom of the stairs, his head at an unnatural angle, his neck broken.
Hawk and Fisher ran back down the stairs, and stood staring down at Madigan’s body. Hawk stirred it with his boot, and the head lolled limply from side to side. And then Madigan’s eyes snapped open, and Hawk fell back a step, his heart jumping painfully. Fisher raised her sword and stood ready to strike. Madigan stared up at them, and his mouth stretched slowly in a ghastly grin.
“You’ve achieved nothing. Won nothing. I was dying anyway. I’ve beaten you. Beaten you all. Your precious city’s going to burn, and everyone and everything you ever cared for is going down into Hell. You lose, heroes! You lose!”
Hawk lifted his axe and brought it sweeping down with all his strength behind it. The razor edge sliced through Madigan’s neck and bit deeply into the stone floor beneath. The terrorist’s head rolled away across the floor, still smiling. Hawk glared down at the twitching body, and jerked his axe out of the floor as though he meant to strike at the body again. Fisher grabbed him by the arm.
“Forget about him, Hawk! We still have to stop the sorcerer. He made us forget the bloody sorcerer!”

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