Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher) (78 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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“Not unlike being born, this, only in reverse,” said Fisher from somewhere down below him, in between painful-sounding grunts.
No one had the breath to laugh, but Hawk managed to grin. The grin stretched into a grimace as muscles cramped agonizingly in his thighs, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. A pale light showed, further up, marking the end of the shaft and sparking the beginning of a second wind in Hawk. He struggled on, trying to keep the noise to a minimum just in case there was someone still in the cellar. If anyone was to take a look down the drain and spot them, they’d be helpless targets for all kinds of unpleasantness. He tried very hard not to think about boiling oil, and concentrated on maintaining an even rhythm so his muscles wouldn’t cramp up again. As a result, when his head slammed into something hard and unyielding, he was taken completely by surprise and slid back a good foot or more before he could stop himself. He stayed where he was for a moment, his heart hammering, feeling very glad that he hadn’t dropped onto the person below, and then he craned his neck back to get a look at what was blocking the shaft.
“Why have we stopped?” asked Winter, from somewhere below. “Is there a problem?”
“You could say that,” said Hawk. “The top of the shaft’s sealed off with an iron grille.”
“Can you shift it?”
“I can try. But it looks pretty solid, and I don’t have much room for leverage. Everyone stay put, and I’ll see what I can do.”
He struggled back up the shaft, braced himself just below the iron grille, and studied it carefully. There were no locks or bolts that he could see, but on the other hand there were no hinges either. Damned thing looked as though it had been simply wedged into a place, and left to rust solid. He reached up and gave it a good hard push with one hand, but it didn’t budge. He tried again, using both hands, but only succeeded in pushing himself back down the shaft. He fought his way back up again, set his shoulders against the grille, and heaved upwards with all his strength. He held the position as long as he could, but his strength gave out before the grille did, and he started sliding slowly back down the shaft. He used his aching legs to bring himself to a halt again, and thought furiously. They couldn’t have come all this way, just to be stopped by a stubborn iron grille. There had to be a way to shift it.
An idea came to him, and he forced his way back up the shaft until he was right beneath the grille. He drew his axe, with a certain amount of painful contorting, and jammed the edge of the blade into the fine crack between the grille and the shaft itself. He braced himself again, took several deep breaths, and then threw all his weight against the axe’s haft, using the weapon as a lever. The iron grille groaned loudly, shifted a fraction, and then flew open with an echoing clang.
Hawk grabbed the edge of the hole to keep from falling, and hauled himself painfully out into the cellar. He glared quickly about him, in case anyone had heard the noise, but there was no one else in the vast stone chamber. He crawled away from the hole and tried to stand up, but his legs gave way almost immediately, the muscles trembling in reaction to everything he’d put them through. He sat up, put his axe to one side, and set about massaging his leg muscles. His back was killing him too, but that could wait. He just hoped no one would come to investigate the noise. In his present condition he’d be lucky to hold off a midget with a sharpened comb. He shook his head, and concentrated on kneading some strength back into his legs.
Fisher hauled herself out of the drain shaft next, her back dripping with slime, and pulled herself over to collapse next to Hawk. They shared exhausted grins, and then helped each other to their feet as MacReady scrambled out of the drain, still clutching his lantern. For the first time, Hawk realised that there was already a lamp burning on the far wall. Considerate of someone. He frowned suddenly. It might be a good idea to get the hell out of the cellar before whoever it was came back for their lamp. Winter pulled herself out of the drain, waving aside MacReady’s offer of help, and stretched painfully as she moved away from the shaft on slightly shaking legs. Barber was the last one up, and bounded out of the drain as though he did this sort of thing every day and twice on holidays. Everyone looked at him with varying degrees of disgust, which he blithely ignored, ostentatiously studying the cellar. Hawk sniffed. He never had liked showoffs.
“This is a bad place,” said MacReady suddenly. “I don’t like the feel of it at all.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Hawk. “Hang on and I’ll take it back to the store and get you another one. What do you mean, you don’t like the feel of it?”
“Ease off, Hawk,” said Winter. “Mac has a sensitivity to magic. I trust his hunches. Still, this used to be part of the old slaughterhouse, remember? There’s bound to be a few bad resonances left over.”
“It’s more than that,” said MacReady, without looking at her. “Contact Storm. See what he makes of this.”
Winter shrugged.
Storm?
Can
you hear me?
They waited, but there was no reply in their minds.
“Damn,” said Winter. “I was afraid of that. Now we’re in the House proper, the defensive wards are blocking him off from us. We’re on our own.”
“Terrific,” said Hawk. “I already figured that out when he didn’t offer to levitate us up the drain shaft.”
“There’s more here than just old slaughterhouse memories,” said MacReady slowly. “There have always been stories about Champion House. Hauntings, apparitions, strange sightings; uneasy feelings strong enough to send people screaming out into the night rather than sleep another hour in Champion House. The place has been quiet the past year or so, ever since the sorcerer Gaunt performed an exorcism here, but all the recent activity has awakened something. Something old, and powerful.
“Did any of you ever wonder why Champion House has four stories? Four stories is almost unheard of in Haven, with our storms and gales. The amount of magic built into this House to keep it secure from even the worst storms staggers the imagination. But there had to be four stories. The original owner insisted on it. According to legend, the owner said the House would need the extra weight to hold something else down.”
“If you’re trying to spook me,” said Fisher, “you’re doing a bloody good job. How come you never mentioned this before?”
“Right,” said Hawk.
“I never really believed it before,” said MacReady. “Not until I came here. Something’s down here with us. Watching us. Waiting for its chance to break free.”
“Mac,” said Winter firmly, “stop it. When our mission is over, we can send a team of sorcerers down here to check things out, but in the meantime let’s just concentrate on the job at hand, shall we? The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can get out of here.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” said a voice behind them.
The SWAT team spun round as one, automatically falling into defensive positions, weapons at the ready. The stairs leading from the House down into the cellars were packed with armed men, dressed in various clothing but all wearing the distinctive black iron tore of the mercenary on their left wrist. Their leader was a large, squarish figure with a barrel chest wrapped in gleaming chain mail. He grinned down at the SWAT team, raising an eyebrow at their generally filthy condition.
“One of my men came down here to collect the lamp the sorcerer left behind, and heard suspicious noises down the drain. So, being a good and conscientious lad, he came and told me, and I brought a whole bunch of my men with me, just in case. And here you are! The Gods are good to me today. I reckon Madigan will be good for a tidy little bonus once I turn you over to him. Now you can drop your weapons and walk out of here, or be dragged. Guess which I’d prefer.” He looked them over one at a time, waiting for a response, and seemed a little shaken at their calm silence. His gaze stopped on Hawk, covered from head to foot in blood and gore, and for the first time his confidence seemed to slip. “Who the hell are you people?”
Hawk grinned suddenly, and a few of the mercenaries actually flinched a little. “We’re the law,” said Hawk. “Scary, isn’t it?”
He launched himself forward, swinging his axe with both hands, and suddenly the mercenaries realised that while they were crowded together on the stairway they had no room in which to manoeuver. They started to retreat up the stairs, pushing each other aside for room in which to draw their swords. Their leader leveled his sword at Hawk, but Hawk batted it aside easily and buried his axe in the man’s chest. The heavy axehead punched clean through the chain mail, and the force of the blow drove the dead mercenary back against his men. Hawk jerked his axe free and charged into the mass of mercenaries, cutting viciously about him. Fisher and Barber were quickly there at his side, with Winter only a second or two behind them. Hawk burst through the crowd and blocked off the stairs so that none of them could break free to warn Madigan.
Winter and Fisher fought side by side, cutting down the mercenaries one by one with cold precision, while Barber spun and danced, his sword lashing out with incredible speed, spraying blood and guts across the cold stone walls. His face was casual, almost bored. Soon there were only two mercenaries left, fighting back to back halfway up the stairs. Winter ran one through, and the other immediately dropped his sword and raised his arm in surrender. The SWAT team leaned on each other, breathing hard, and looked thoughtfully at the single survivor.
“We don’t have the time to look after prisoners,” said Barber.
“We can’t just kill him in cold blood!” said Hawk.
Barber smiled. “Sure we can. I’ll do it, if you’re squeamish.”
He moved closer to the mercenary, and Hawk stepped forward to block his way. The prisoner looked at them both frantically.
“Barber’s right,” said Winter slowly. “We can’t take him with us, and we can’t risk him escaping to warn the others.”
“He surrendered to us,” said Hawk. “He surrendered to me. And that means he’s under my protection. Anyone who wants him has to go through me.”
“What’s your problem, Hawk?” said Barber. “Got a soft spot for mercenaries, have we? It didn’t stop you from carving up this young fellow’s friends and colleagues, did it?”
“That was different,” said Hawk flatly. “Isobel and I kill only when it’s necessary, to enforce the law. And the law says a man who has surrendered cannot be killed. He has to stand trial.”
“Be reasonable, Hawk,” said Winter. “This scum has already killed the Gods know how many good men just to get in here, and he was ready to stand by while defenseless hostages were killed one by one! The world will be a better place without him, and you know it. Talk to him, Fisher.”
“I agree with Hawk,” said Fisher. “I’ll fight anyone dumb enough to come at me with a sword in his hand, but I don’t kill helpless hostages. And isn’t that what he is? Just like the ones we’ve come to rescue?”
“I don’t have time for this!” snapped Winter. “Barber, kill that man. Hawk, Fisher; stand back and don’t interfere. That’s an order.”
“Come here, friend,” said Barber to the sweating mercenary. “Cooperate, and I’ll make it quick and easy. If you like, I’ll give you back your sword.”
He stopped as Hawk and Fisher stood side by side between him and the mercenary. “Back off,” said Fisher flatly.
“We only kill when we have to,” said Hawk to Winter, though his eyes never left Barber. “Otherwise, everything we do and everything we are would be meaningless.”
“You’ve got soft, Hawk,” said Barber, his voice openly contemptuous. “Is this the incredible Captain Hawk I’ve heard so much about? Sudden death on two legs, and nasty with it? One should never meet one’s heroes. They’re always such a disappointment in the flesh. Now get out of my way, Hawk, or I’ll walk right through you.”
Hawk grinned suddenly. “Try it.”
At which point the mercenary took to his heels and ran up the stairs as though all the devils in Hell were after him. Hawk and Barber both charged after him, with Fisher close behind.
“Stop him!” yelled Winter. “Damn you, Hawk, he mustn’t get away, or all the hostages are dead!”
Barber pulled steadily ahead of Hawk as they pounded up the stairs. Hawk fought hard to stay with him, but it had been a long, hard day. His stamina was shot to hell, and his legs were full of lead after climbing up the drain. Fisher ran at his side, struggling for breath. Somehow they managed to at least keep Barber and the mercenary in sight. There was a door at the top of the stairs, standing slightly ajar, and Hawk felt a sudden stab of fear as he realized that if the mercenary could get to it first, he could slam it in their faces and lock them in the cellar while he spread the alarm. Winter would be right. He would have thrown the hostages’ lives away for nothing. His face hardened. No. Not for nothing.
The mercenary glanced back over his shoulder, saw Barber gaining on him, and found an extra spurt of speed from somewhere. He’d almost reached the door when it flew open suddenly, and Wulf Saxon stepped through to punch the mercenary out. He flew backwards into Barber, and the two of them fell sprawling in a heap on the stairs. Hawk and Fisher stumbled to a halt just in time to avoid joining the heap, and looked blankly up at Saxon. He smiled at them charmingly.
“I take it you’re here to rescue the hostages. So am I. From the look of things, I’d say you needed my help as much as I need yours.”

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