“Oh God.”
“Where’s Morgan?”
“It’s not far. I’ll lead you to him.”
“That’s a good boy. I’m going to let you go now. Behave yourself and you might come out of this alive.”
He let go of the man-at-arms, and gestured for him to lead the way. Justin nodded jerkily, rubbed at his throat, and set off round the corner and down the left-hand path. Hawk and Mistique followed close behind, with Burns bringing up the rear. Hawk leaned in close to Mistique and spoke softly, so that only she could hear.
“Is there any way Morgan could know we’re coming? Could his sorcerer have set up any protective wards in here?”
Mistique shook her head. “If he had, I’d know,” she said softly. “There were wards and magical booby traps crawling all over the alleyway, but I defused them by summoning the door correctly. Keep your guard up, though, just in case. If I were Morgan, I’d have some kind of fall-back defences.”
Hawk nodded. “That’s probably what the dozen bodyguards are supposed to be. I know how Morgan thinks; I’ve met his kind before. He thinks he’s so big and powerful no one would dare just walk in on him. After all, he’s got his own sorcerer and a dozen bodyguards to protect him. Who’d be crazy enough to come in here after him, in his own stronghold?”
Mistique looked at Hawk. “He might just have a point.”
Hawk smiled. “I’ve faced worse odds. Morgan’s just a cheap thug with delusions of grandeur. And I’m going to knock him down and rub his nose in it until he tells me what I want to know.”
The man-at-arms led them through a short series of passageways to a pair of huge, polished oaken doors. Somewhere along the way, the sourceless crimson light had changed to a homely golden glow. There were expensive paintings and tapestries on the walls, and a deep-pile carpet on the floor. Hawk looked at the double doors for a long moment, and then turned and smiled at their guide.
“Well done, Justin. I’m very pleased with you. Mistique, put him to sleep for a while.”
The sorceress locked eyes with Justin, and all the color drained out of his face. His eyes rolled up in his head and he fell limply backwards. Burns caught him and lowered him to the floor. Hawk hefted his axe, breathed deeply, and then reached forward and carefully opened one of the doors an inch. He looked back at Burns and Mistique.
“No mercy, no quarter—but whatever happens, I want Morgan alive. He’s no use to me dead.”
He turned back to the doors, kicked them open, and charged in, axe at the ready. Burns and Mistique charged in after him, eyes darting round the vast chamber as they searched for their first target. Morgan was reclining on embroidered cushions with a beautiful young woman, drinking wine from a silver goblet, and whispering something into her ear as she giggled helplessly. Half a dozen men-at-arms were playing cards at a table in a far corner. There was no sign of any sorcerer.
The men at the table looked round, startled, as the doors burst open, and then scrambled to their feet, grabbing for their swords. Morgan pushed aside his scantily clad companion and struggled to get to his feet, slipping and sliding on the cushions. Hawk sprinted forward, hoping to get to Morgan before the men-at-arms could reach him, but Morgan finally got his feet under him and ran for the far door. Thin streamers of mist shot past Hawk and wrapped themselves around Morgan, bringing him crashing to the floor. The far door flew open, revealing a tall, gaunt-faced man dressed in sorcerer’s black. He gestured quickly, and the misty coils holding Morgan disappeared.
Hawk and Bums threw themselves at the charging men-at-arms. Hawk cut down the first two to reach him with savage sweeps of his axe. Blood pooled thickly on the floor as he stepped quickly over the writhing bodies to attack the next man. They stood face to face for a moment, exchanging cut and thrust and parry, but the man-at-arms was no match for Hawk’s cold fury, and both of them knew it. The swordsman began to back away, and Hawk went after him. He swung his axe with vicious skill, and then caught a glimpse of flashing steel out of the corner of his eye. He threw himself to one side, and the young woman’s sword just missed him. Hawk kicked the man-at-arms in the knee, elbowed him in the face, and turned quickly to face the young woman as she attacked him with just as much skill as the man-at-arms. Hawk wondered briefly where she’d hidden a sword in such a brief outfit, and then was forced to give her his full attention as she pressed home her attack.
She was good with a sword, and worse still, fresh and rested, while he was fighting off a long day’s fatigue. He stood his ground, swinging his axe with both hands, but she deflected most of his blows and easily dodged the rest. Once again Hawk caught a glimpse of movement at his side, and sidestepped quickly as the man-at-arms he’d elbowed threw himself forward and accidentally impaled himself on the young woman’s sword. She froze in shock, and Hawk slammed the butt of his axe against her head. She fell to the floor without a murmur and lay still. Hawk glowered down at her. If he’d had any sense, he’d have killed her while he had the chance, but he always was too chivalrous for his own good, Besides, he rationalized, she might answer questions that Morgan wouldn’t.
He looked around him, suddenly aware the room was strangely quiet. Burns had dealt with the other men-at-arms, and was standing over his last kill, breathing heavily and checking himself for wounds. There didn’t seem to be anything serious. Hawk grinned. There was a lot to be said for the advantage of surprise, not to mention the adrenalin provided by extreme desperation.
He looked across at Mistique, who was standing very still, her face cold, her eyes locked on the other sorcerer, still standing by the far door. Stray magic spat and sparkled on the air between them.
Mists curled and twisted around Mistique like unfinished ghosts, and then leapt forward with heart-stopping speed, only to dissipate and fall apart before they could reach the sorcerer. He raised his hand in a short, casual gesture and all around Mistique the floor bulged suddenly upwards, tearing itself apart. The jagged wood erupted up into thick twisting branches that clutched at the air like gnarled fingers. Barbed thorns thrust out of the crackling wood as the branches stretched towards Mistique. Thick tendrils of mist boiled off the sorceress, and shot forward to engulf the lengthening branches. The unliving wood cracked and splintered as the mists writhed, ripping the branches apart. Beads of sweat appeared on the sorcerer’s face as the mists advanced on him. Sharp wooden stalagmites thrust out of the floor and wall around Mistique, piercing the air with razored points, but none of them came close to touching her. A pearly haze built around the sorcerer, thickening inexorably into a fog that swallowed him up. There was a single, choked cry from inside the fog, and then silence. The fog quickly cleared, dispersed by a sourceless wind, and there was no trace of the sorcerer anywhere. Hawk decided not to ask; he didn’t think he wanted to know. Mistique glanced across at him.
“That’s what comes of overspecialisation. If he hadn’t limited himself to working with wood, he might have been able to do some real damage.”
“You only work with mists,” Hawk pointed out, striding quickly over to Morgan, who was still lying where he’d fallen.
“Mists are different,” said Mistique. “You can do a lot with mists.”
Hawk shrugged, grabbed Morgan by the collar, and dragged him to his feet. The drug baron twisted suddenly, a knife gleaming in his hand. Hawk let go and jumped back, sucking in his gut, and the knife ripped through his furs and out again without touching him. Morgan drew back his hand for another thrust, and Hawk caught him with a straight-finger jab just below the breastbone. Morgan’s face paled, and the knife slipped from his numb fingers. Hawk grabbed him by the shirt-front and slammed him back against the nearest wall. He put his face close to Morgan’s and showed the drug baron his death’s-head smile.
“Talk to me, Morgan.”
“What ... what do you want to know?” Morgan fought to keep his voice even, but he couldn’t face Hawk’s cold gaze. He looked over Hawk’s shoulder at Burns and Mistique, standing together, and his face paled even more.
“Let’s start with the drug,” said Hawk. “The super-chacal. Where is it?”
“In one of the back rooms here.” Morgan looked reluctantly back at Hawk. “There are lots of empty rooms here. More than I can ever use.”
“Have you started moving it yet?”
“No, we’ve been having difficulties setting up a new distribution network, thanks to your interference.”
“It’s nice to be appreciated,” said Hawk. “Now let’s talk about the drug itself. This super-chacal is something new. You didn’t come up with it yourself. Developing a new drug takes lots of time and money, not to mention a staff of high-level alchemists in their own private lab. And that’s out of your league, Morgan. So how did you get your hands on it?”
Morgan tried to shrug, but Hawk had too tight a hold on him. “It came in through the Docks, disguised as spices. All I had to do was make sure it hadn’t been cut with anything, then package it and make the connection with the distributors. The drug itself was financed by outside money.”
Hawk frowned thoughtfully. “Outside money ... Outside Haven, or outside the Low Kingdoms?”
“Didn’t know. Didn’t care. Money’s money; I don’t give a damn where it comes from. This sounded like a good deal, so I went for it. I never got to talk to the real backers; they always worked through middlemen. I can give you their names if you want, but it won’t do you any good. They’ll have left Haven by now. I’d planned to be long gone myself, once the drug hit the streets.”
“You really are a piece of slime, you know that?” Hawk thrust his face up close before Morgan’s, and the drug baron tried to shrink back into the solid wall. Hawk’s voice was calm and even, but his face held a bitter rage only barely held in check. “You knew what the drug was, and what it would do to anyone who took it. You knew that once the super-chacal hit the streets, there’d be a bloodbath that would tear Haven apart. But you went ahead with it anyway.”
Morgan squirmed uncomfortably. “Come on, Hawk, if I hadn’t gone for it, someone else would have. You’re exaggerating the dangers. So we lose a few scum from the streets. So what? No one who really matters would have been hurt. And there’s millions to be made from this drug. Once word gets out, everyone will want to try it. It gives a kind of hit no one’s ever been able to deliver before. Even the weakest man can become strong enough and brave enough to get back at everyone who’s ever done him down. Millions of ducats, Hawk. Think of it. It’s not too late; you can still cut yourself in. There’s enough money in this for everyone.”
Hawk grinned at Morgan, and he shut up. “No deals, Morgan. Now then, you’ve done very well, so far. Just one more question, and I’ll be finished with you. Answer it correctly, and you’ll live to stand trial. You bought off a lot of people in the Guard while setting up this deal, but I’m interested in one name in particular. You bought yourself a Guard Captain. You know who I mean; the well-respected Captain, the one who no one would suspect. The one who made your drugs vanish from Guard Headquarters. I want to know who that Captain is. I want to know very badly. So you tell me the name, Morgan, or I swear I’ll cut you into pieces right here and now.”
“Hawk, you can’t do this,” said Burns. “It’s inhuman.”
“Shut up, Burns.”
“He has to stand trial, Hawk. He’ll tell us everything we need to know, under a truthspell.”
“I need to know now! Talk to me, Morgan!”
“Stop it, Hawk! I won’t stand for this!”
Hawk half turned to shout at Burns, and Morgan brought his knee up sharply into Hawk’s groin. Air whistled in his throat as he fell backwards, momentarily paralysed by the pain. Morgan made a dash for the far door, but Mistique put herself between him and the door. Mists boiled up off her outstretched hands. Morgan produced another knife from somewhere and lunged at her. Bums ran him through from behind with his sword. Morgan sank slowly to his knees, still holding onto his knife. He coughed painfully, and blood ran thickly from his mouth. He fell forward and lay still, and Burns pulled his sword free. He knelt down beside the body, tried for a pulse at the neck, and shook his head. He got to his feet again, and a hand grabbed his shoulder from behind. He looked round, startled, and Hawk punched him in the mouth. Burns stumbled backwards, blood spilling down his chin. Hawk went after him, but Mistique grabbed him from behind and held him firmly.
“Stop it, Hawk! That’s enough!”
Hawk struggled fiercely, but he was still weakened by Morgan’s attack and he couldn’t break her grip. His gaze was fixed on Burns. “You stupid bastard! I told you we needed him alive! How is he going to answer questions now?”
“I’m sorry,” said Burns indistinctly, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “I didn’t think ... I just saw him lunging at Mistique, and I really thought he was going to kill her.....”
“I could have handled him,” said Mistique.
“Yes, I’m sure you could have,” said Burns, looking at the blood smeared across his hand. “I didn’t think ... I’m sorry.”
“Damn you,” said Hawk. “What are we going to do now? He was the only one who knew all the names.” He shook his head sickly, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s all right, Mistique, you can let me go now. I’m all right.”