Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher) (42 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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All in all, everything was calm and peaceful, and showed every sign of staying that way. Which was probably why Fisher was so bored. Ap Owen’s people seemed to regard her as an outsider, and her appointment as some kind of negative appraisal of their own abilities. As a result, none of them were talking to her. Ap Owen himself seemed friendly enough, but it was clear he was the worrying type, constantly on the move, checking that everything was running smoothly. Fisher wandered aimlessly around for a while, committing the layout of the house to memory and trying to get the feel of the place.
It was an old house, creaking and groaning under the weight of the winter cold, with a somewhat erratic design. There were rooms within rooms and corridors that led nowhere, and shadows in unexpected places. But everything that could be done to make the house secure had been done, and Fisher couldn’t fault ap Owen’s work. She should have felt entirely safe and protected, and it came as something of a surprise to her to find that she didn’t. Deep down inside, where her instincts lived, she couldn’t shake off the feeling she—and everyone else in the house—was in danger. No doubt part of that uneasiness came from knowing there was a pocket dimension nearby. After what had happened in the Hook she was more than a little leery of such magic, for all of ap Owen’s reassurances. But more than that, she had a strong feeling of being watched, of being under siege. She had only to look out of a window to feel the pressure of unseen watching eyes, as though somewhere outside a cold professional gaze was studying her dispassionately. and considering options.
And so she’d ended up back in the study, staring out the wide window at the bare, innocent lawns and wondering if she was finally getting paranoid. Ap Owen acted as if he was expecting an attack at any moment, and she was beginning to understand why. There was a definite feeling of anticipation in the air, of something irrevocable edging closer; as though her instincts were trying to warn her of something her mind hadn’t noticed yet. She threw aside her chicken leg, turned her back on the window defiantly, and looked around for something to distract her. Unfortunately, the study was briskly austere, with the bare minimum of chairs and a plain writing table. Bookshelves lined two of the walls, but their leather-bound volumes had a no-nonsense, businesslike look to them. There was one portrait, on the wall behind the desk, its subject a straight-backed, grim-faced man who apparently hadn’t approved of such frivolities as having your portrait painted. The study had clearly been intended as a room for working, not relaxing.
Fisher leafed through some of the papers on the desk, but ap Owen’s handwriting was so bad they might have been written in code for all she could tell. She looked thoughtfully at the wine decanters left over from the delegates’ break, and then looked away. She’d been drinking too much of late. So had Hawk. Haven did that to you.
There was a definite crawling on the back of Fisher’s neck, and she strode back to the window and glared out at the featureless scene again. The snow-covered lawns stretched away before her, vast and unmarked. There were no trees or hedges, nothing to hide behind. Everything was quiet. Fisher yawned suddenly, and didn’t bother to cover her mouth. She’d been hoping to snatch a couple of hours’ sleep here, but it seemed her nerves were determined to keep her restless and alert. She almost wished that someone would attack, just to get it over with.
She started to turn away from the window, and then stopped, startled, and looked quickly back again. The wide open lawns were empty and undisturbed; no one was there. But for a moment she could have sworn... It came again, a sudden movement tugging at the edge of her vision. She looked quickly back and forth. and pounded her fist on the windowsill in frustration. There couldn’t be anyone out there. Even if they were invisible, they’d still leave tracks in the snow. Things moved at the corner of her eyes, teasing her with glimpses of shapes and movement that refused to come clear. She backed slowly away from the window and drew her sword. Something was happening out there. There was a sound behind her and she spun round, dropping into a fighter’s crouch. Ap Owen raised an eyebrow, and she flushed angrily as she straightened up.
“Dammit, don’t do that! Come and take a look, ap Owen. Something’s going on outside.”
“I know. Half my people are giving themselves eyestrain trying to get a clear look at it.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“I have a very nasty suspicion,” said ap Owen, moving over to join her before the window. “I think there’s someone out there, hiding behind an illusion spell. It must be pretty powerful to hide his trail as well, but as he gets closer to the house the protective wards are interfering with the spell, giving us glimpses of what it’s hiding.”
“You think it’s just one man?”
“Not really, no. Just wishful thinking. I’ve put my people on full alert, just in case.”
“Does whoever’s out there know we’ve spotted something?”
“Beats me. But they haven’t tried anything yet, which suggests they still trust in the illusion to hide their true strength.”
Fisher scowled out the window, and hefted her sword restlessly. “All right, what do we do?”
“Wait for them to come to us. Let’s see if they can even get in here before we start panicking. After all, it would need a bloody army to take this house by force.”
There was a sudden, vertiginous snap and the world jerked sideways and back again, as the house’s wards finally broke down the illusion spell and showed what lay behind it. The wide lawns were covered with armed men, and more were pouring through the open gates. Dressed in nondescript furs and leathers. they advanced on the house in a calm, professional way. Fisher swore respectfully. There had to be at least two hundred men out there.
The four marble statues had come alive, and were cutting a bloody path through the invaders. They were coldly efficient and totally unstoppable, but were hard put to make any impression on so many invaders. Half a dozen guard dogs blinked in and out of existence as they threw themselves at the intruders, leaping and snapping and now and again tearing at a man on the ground, but again there were simply too few of them to make any real difference. No one had expected or planned for an invasion on such a scale as this.
“I don’t want to disillusion you. ap Owen,” said Fisher grimly, “but it looks to me like they’ve got a bloody army. We are in serious trouble.”
“You could well be right. From the look of them, they’re mercenaries.” He yelled something out the study door, and four footmen burst in, each carrying a longbow and a quiver of arrows. Ap Owen grinned at Fisher. “They don’t have much use for bows in the Guard, but I’ve always believed in them. You can do a lot of damage with a few bowmen who know what they’re doing.”
“No argument from me,” said Fisher. “I’ve seen what longbows can do.”
The footmen set up before the window, pulling off their long frock coats to give them more freedom of movement. Fisher and ap Owen struggled with the bolts that held the window shut, until Fisher lost her temper and smashed the glass with the hilt of her sword. Ap Owen threw the window open and stepped back to let the archers take up their position. Bitter cold streamed in from outside, and the archers narrowed their eyes against the glare of the snow. The attacking force realised the grounds were no longer hidden behind the illusion spell, and ran towards the house, howling a dissonant mixture of war cries and chants. Sunlight flashed on swords and axes and morningstars. Fisher couldn’t even guess how many attackers there were anymore. The archers drew back and released their bowstrings in a single fluid movement, and four of the attackers were thrown backwards with arrows jutting from their bodies. Their blood was vividly red on the snow. The archers let fly again and again, punching holes in the attacking force, but they just kept coming, ignoring their dead and wounded.
“They’re professionals, all right,” said ap Owen calmly. “Mercenaries. Could be working for any number of people. Whoever it is must want us shut down really badly. An army that size doesn’t come cheap. I didn’t think there were that many mercenaries for hire left in Haven.”
“How long before reinforcements can get here?” said Fisher tightly.
“There aren’t going to be any,” said ap Owen. “We’re on our own. Low profile, remember? Officially, no one knows we’re here.”
“And we’re expendable,” said Fisher.
“Right. We either win this one ourselves, or we don’t win it at all. What’s the matter, don’t you like a challenge?”
Fisher growled something under her breath. The first handful of mercenaries to reach the window ducked under the flight of arrows and clambered up onto the windowsill. The archers threw aside their bows and grabbed for their swords. Fisher thought briefly of the door behind her. She didn’t believe in suicide missions. On the other hand, she didn’t believe in running, either. She moved quickly forward to join ap Owen and the archers, and together they threw the first mercenaries back in a flurry of blood and gore. More of the attackers crowded in to take their place. The war cries and chants were almost deafening at close range. Fisher glanced at ap Owen, saw him palm a pill from a small bottle, and swallow it. He caught her gaze and smiled.
“Just a little something, to give me an edge. Want one?”
“No thanks. I was born with an edge.”
“Suit yourself. Here they come again.” He breathed deeply as the drug hit him, and smiled widely at the mercenaries. “Come and get it, you lousy bastards! Come one, come all!”
The main bulk of the attack force hit the window like a breaking wave, and forced the archers back by sheer force of numbers. Fisher was swept aside, fighting desperately against a forest of waving blades. In moments the room was full of mercenaries, most of whom ran past the small knot of beleaguered defenders and on into the house. Fisher and ap Owen ended up fighting back to back, carving bloody gaps in the shifting press of bodies. The archers fell one by one, and Fisher and ap Owen were slowly driven back across the room, away from the window, as more mercenaries poured in. There seemed no end to them.
Ap Owen laughed happily and mocked his opponents as he fought, and none of the mercenaries could get anywhere near him in his euphoric state. Fisher fought doggedly on. Mercenaries fell dead and dying around her, their blood staining the expensive carpet. Her footing became uncertain as bodies cluttered the floor, and it was getting harder to find room to swing her sword. She yelled at ap Owen to get his attention.
“We’ve got to get out of here, while we still can!”
“Right!” yelled ap Owen, grinning widely as he slit a mercenary’s throat. “Follow me!”
They made a break for the door, ploughing through the startled mercenaries, and cutting down anyone who got in their way. They burst out into the hall, and Fisher was surprised to find it deserted. Ap Owen headed for the stairs, with Fisher close behind.
“They don’t know where the Talks are really being held, so they’re wasting time searching the house,” said ap Owen breathlessly, as he took the steps two at a time. “But I know where there’s an emergency entrance into the pocket dimension. We can hide out in there till the fighting’s over.”
“What about your people?” protested Fisher angrily. “You can’t just abandon them!”
“They know where the entrance is, too. If they’ve got any sense, most of them are probably already there.”
Fisher heard boots hammering on the stairs behind her, and threw herself forward. The mercenary’s sword swept past her head, the wind of its passing tugging at her hair. Fisher kicked backwards, and the swordsman’s breath caught in his throat as the heel of her boot thudded solidly into his groin. Fisher turned around to finish him off, and found herself facing a dozen more mercenaries charging up the stairs towards her. She put a hand on the groaning swordsman’s face and pushed him sharply backwards. He fell back down the stairs and crashed into his fellows, bringing them all to an abrupt halt. Fisher smiled angelically at the chaos, and turned her back on them. Ap Owen was nowhere to be seen.
She swore harshly, and hurried up the stairs to the landing. She paused at the top of the stairs to get her bearings, and an axe buried itself in the wall beside her. She ran along the hallway, glaring about her. Ap Owen couldn’t have gone far. If he had, she was in trouble. He’d never got around to telling her where the doorway to the pocket dimension was. Sounds of hot pursuit grew louder behind her, and from all around came shouts and curses and war cries as the invaders spilled through the house, searching for the Peace Talks.
A mercenary burst out of a door just ahead of her, and Fisher ran him through while he was still gaping at her. She jerked the sword free and then had to back quickly away as two more men charged out of the room at her.
She put her back against the railing that ran the length of the hall and swung her sword in wide arcs to keep them at bay. Two-to-one odds didn’t normally bother her, but this time she was facing two hardened professionals in very cramped surroundings, with nowhere to retreat and no one to guard her blind sides. It was at times like this that she realised how much she missed Hawk. She cut viciously at one mercenary’s face, and he stepped back instinctively. Fisher darted for the gap that opened up, but the other swordsman was already there, forcing her back with a flurry of blows. Fisher fought on, but she could feel her chances of getting out alive slipping away like sand between her fingers.

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