“It’s not wrong to grieve, boy. We’ve all lost friends and loved ones. That’s what brought most of us into the Cause in the first place. You’ll get your chance to avenge him.”
“He always looked out for me,” said Glen. “Taught me how to work as part of a team. I wish I’d listened to him more now.”
“I wonder what they talked about,” said Madigan.
Glen looked at him, puzzled. “Who?”
“Bailey and the man who killed him, Wulf Saxon. They talked for a moment, before Saxon broke Bailey’s neck. If I can find the time, I think I’ll have Ritenour call up Bailey’s spirit, and ask him. It might be important. Saxon is becoming dangerously meddlesome.” He realized Glen was staring at him, shocked. “Is something wrong, Ellis?”
“Bailey’s dead. He died for us! It isn’t right to disturb his rest.”
Madigan put his hand on Glen’s shoulder. “He died for the Cause, because he knew nothing was more important than what we plan to do here tonight. He’d understand that sometimes you have to do unpleasant things because they’re necessary. We took an oath, Ellis, remember? All of us.
Anything for the Cause.
”
“Yes,” said Glen. “Anything for the Cause.” He got to his feet and sat on the edge of the buffet table while he cleaned the blood from his sword with a piece of cloth. He didn’t look at Madigan or Bailey.
Madigan sighed quietly, and moved to the other end of the table, where the sorcerer Ritenour was dubiously sampling some of the more exotic side dishes. He picked up a wine bottle to study the label, and Madigan produced a silver hip flask and offered it to him. “Try some of mine. I think you’ll find it a far superior vintage to anything you’re likely to find here. Whoever stocked this House’s cellar had a distinctly pedestrian palate.”
Ritenour took the flask, opened it, and sniffed the bouquet cautiously. His eyebrows rose, and he studied Madigan with a new respect. “You continue to surprise me, Daniel. It’s hard to picture you sampling vintages in between the kidnappings and assassinations.”
Madigan shrugged easily. “Every man should have a hobby.”
Ritenour poured a healthy measure into a glass, and then stopped and looked at Madigan suspiciously. “Aren’t you joining me, Daniel?”
“Of course,” said Madigan. He took back the flask, found himself a glass, and filled it almost to the brim. He rolled the wine in the glass to release the bouquet, savored it for a moment, and then drank deeply. He sighed appreciatively, and then lowered the glass and looked coldly at the sorcerer. “Really, Ritenour, you don’t think I’d poison my own wine, do you? Particularly a fine vintage like this.”
Ritenour bowed slightly. “My apologies, Daniel. Old habits die hard.”
“A toast, then. I think we’re ready to begin the final phase. To success!”
They both drank deeply, and Madigan took the opportunity to look around the room. Most of the hostages were still in shock from the sudden death and violence, and the dashing of their hopes of rescue, but some were clearly seething with anger at being betrayed by those they’d thought they could trust. Violence was bubbling just below the surface, and several of the mercenaries were watching the situation carefully, swords at the ready. Sir Roland and his fellow conspirators had been herded off to one side by the mercenaries, at their own request, and now stood close together, their faces wearing an uneasy blend of self-righteousness and apprehension. Some of them looked to Madigan for support, but he just looked back impassively. The traitors had done as he’d expected, but their usefulness had passed. They were expendable now. Just like everyone else.
As he watched, the crowd of hostages suddenly parted as the two Kings strode forward together to glare at the traitors. A thin line of mercenaries kept the two groups apart with raised swords. King Gregor of the Low Kingdoms ignored them, fixing Sir Roland with a burning gaze. The traitor stared back unflinchingly, with mocking self-assurance.
“Why?” said King Gregor finally. “Why did you betray us? I trusted you, Roland. I gave you wealth and position and favor. What more could you want?”
“Power,” said Sir Roland easily. “And a great deal more wealth. I’ll have both, once Outremer and the Low Kingdoms are at war. My associates and I had been planning for some time on how best to take advantage of a small, carefully controlled war on our outer borders, and we weren’t about to abandon all our plans just because both Parliaments suddenly got cold feet. War is too important to the right sort of people to be left to politicians.”
“You won’t get away with this,” said King Louis of Outremer, his voice calm and quiet and very dangerous. “There’s nowhere you can go, nowhere you can hide, that my people won’t find you. I’ll see you dragged through the streets by your heels for this.”
Sir Roland smiled arrogantly. “You’re in no position to threaten anyone, old man. You see, you don’t really understand what’s going on here. To begin with, you can forget about being ransomed. Madigan doesn’t give a damn about the money. Like us, he’s in favor of war, so he’s planned an atrocity so shocking that war will be inevitable, once carefully planted rumors have convinced both sides that the other is really to blame.”
“What ... kind of atrocity?” said King Gregor.
“You’re going to be executed. Your Majesty,” said Sir Roland. “You, and King Louis, and all the other hostages, save for those few like myself, who can be trusted to tell the story in the right way. Isn’t that right, Madigan?”
“In a way.” said the terrorist. He looked at Ritenour, ignoring Sir Roland’s angry, puzzled gaze. “It’s time, sorcerer. Have you absorbed enough magic from the House?”
“Yes,” said Ritenour, putting down his empty glass and patting his mouth delicately with a folded napkin. “It’s been a slow process. I couldn’t risk hurrying it, or the build-up of power would have been noticed by those monitoring the situation from outside. But your hostage negotiations brought me the time I needed. I’m ready now. We can begin.”
“Begin?” snapped Sir Roland. “Begin what?” He started toward Madigan, and then stopped as the mercenaries raised their swords threateningly. “What is this, Madigan? What is he talking about?”
Madigan looked at him calmly. “You didn’t really think I’d settle for just the Kings and a handful of hostages, did you? That wouldn’t have had nearly enough impact. No, traitor, my hatred for the Low Kingdoms and Outremer Parliaments requires a more extravagant gesture than killing two political figureheads and a crowd of toadying hangers-on. I’m going to destroy your whole city. Starting with everyone in this House. Do it, sorcerer.”
Ritenour grinned, and gestured sharply. An oppressive weight fell across the room, crushing everyone to their knees, except for Madigan, Glen, and Ritenour. Hostages and mercenaries alike screamed and cursed and moaned in horror as the life drained slowly out of them. A few tried to crawl to the door, dragging themselves painfully across the rich pile carpet, but Glen moved quickly to block their way, grinning broadly. The victims clawed and clutched at each other, but one by one their eyes glazed and their breathing slowed, and the sorcerer Ritenour glowed like the sun. Stolen lives boiled within him, the mounting energy pressing against his controlling wards, and he laughed aloud as his new power beat within him like a giant heart. The glow faded away as his control firmed, and he looked slowly around him. Lifeless bodies covered the floor from wall to wall. Mercenaries in their chain mail, hostages in their finery, and the two Kings, staring up at the ceiling with empty eyes. Ritenour wanted to shout and dance and shriek with glee. He looked triumphantly at Madigan, who bowed formally. Over by the doorway, Glen was giggling. They all looked round sharply as they heard hurried footsteps approaching down the corridor outside, and then relaxed as Horn and Eleanour Todd appeared in the doorway. Horn and Todd looked briefly at the bodies on the floor, and then nodded to Madigan.
“Everyone inside Champion House’s walls is now dead, Daniel,” said Todd briskly. “Everyone but us, of course.”
Horn laughed. “You should have seen the mercenaries’ faces when the spell hit them! Dropped like flies, they did.”
“We’ll have to move fast,” said Todd, ignoring Horn. “The mercenaries out in the grounds are unaffected, but it won’t be long before the city sorcerers watching this place realize something’s happened. They’ll hold off for a while out of caution, but once they realise there’s no longer any contact with anyone inside the House, they’ll come charging in here like a brigade of cavalry to the rescue.”
“They’ll be too late,” said Madigan calmly. “By the time they’ve worked up their courage, the ritual will have taken place. And then it will be too late for many things.”
Horn chuckled quietly, brimming with good humor as he stirred a dead body with his foot. “You know, in a few minutes we’re going to do what no army’s been able to do for centuries. We’re going to destroy the city of Haven, and grind it into the dust. They’ll write our names in the history books.”
“If we don’t get a move on, they’ll write it on our tomb-stones,” growled Todd.
Madigan raised a hand, and they fell silent. “It’s time, my friends. Let’s do it.”
Down below the parlour’s double windows, Hawk was clinging grimly to the thick, matted ivy that covered the ancient stone wall. Fisher was clinging equally grimly to his waist and trying to dig her boots into the greenery. Hawk clenched his hands around the ivy, and dug his feet deeper into the thick, spongy mass. For the moment it was holding his weight and Fisher’s, but already he could hear soft tearing sounds as parts of the ivy pulled away from the wall. Fisher tested the mass of leaves under her feet with some of her weight, and when it held she cautiously transferred her hands to the vines, one at a time, taking care not to throw Hawk off balance as she did so. They both froze where they were for a moment, and struggled to get their harsh breathing back under control.
“Tell me something,” said Fisher. “Did you know this ivy was here when you jumped out the window?”
“Oh, sure,” said Hawk. “I saw it when I looked out the windows that first time. Mind you, I was only guessing it would hold our weight. But it looked pretty thick. Besides, under the circumstances we didn’t have much choice. Didn’t you know about the ivy?”
“No. I just assumed you had something in mind. You usually do.”
“I’m touched. You want your head examined, but I’m touched.”
They grinned at each other, and then looked carefully about them.
“All right, clever dick, what do we do now?” said Fisher.
“There’s a window directly below us. We climb down, break the glass with as little noise as possible, and climb in. And we’d better do it quickly, before some bright spark up above thinks to look out the window to see where we landed.”
They slowly clambered down the thick carpet of green leaves, which creaked and tore under their weight, but still clung stubbornly to the wall. Hawk wondered vaguely if perhaps the magic in the House’s walls had somehow affected the vines as well, but didn’t have time to dwell on the matter. He was pretty sure they couldn’t be seen against the ivy in the evening gloom, but once someone discovered their bodies weren’t where they were supposed to be, all hell would break loose. He pushed the pace as much as he dared, but while it was only a few more feet down to the third-floor window, it seemed like miles.
He grabbed at another strand of ivy as he lowered himself toward the window, and it came away in his hand. He swung out away from the wall, holding desperately on with his other hand, suddenly all too aware of the long drop beneath him. He tried to pull himself back towards the wall, and the vine creaked threateningly. Fisher saw what was happening and reached out a hand to grab him. She couldn’t reach him, and pushed herself further out from the wall. The whole mass of ivy beneath her ripped away from the wall, and she fell like a stone. Hawk snatched at her as she fell past him, and grasped her hand in his. She jerked to a halt and swung back towards the wall. Her feet thudded to a halt beside the third-floor window, but there was no ivy within reach of her free hand or her feet, which she could use to stabilize herself. She hung beneath Hawk, twisting and turning, and his mouth gaped soundlessly in agony as her weight pulled at his arm, threatening to tear it from its socket. The vine he clung to jerked and gave under his other hand as their combined weight pulled it from the old stone wall bit by bit.
“Drop me,” said Fisher.
“Shut up,” said Hawk quickly. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
“You’ve got to let me go, Hawk,” said Fisher, her voice calm and steady. “If you don’t, our weight is going to rip the ivy right off that wall, and we’re both going to die.”
“I won’t let you go. I can’t.”
“If you die, who’s going to avenge me? Do you want those bastards to get away with it? Do it, Hawk. While there’s still time. Just tell me you love me, and let go. Please.”
“No! There’s another way! There has to be another way.” Hawk thought furiously as the ivy jerked and trembled beneath his hand. “Isobel, use your feet to push yourself away from the wall. Get yourself swinging, work up a good momentum, and then crash right through the bloody window!”
“Hawk,” said Fisher, “that is the dumbest plan you’ve ever come up with.”
“Have you got a better idea?”