The sorcerer nodded slowly. 'I can See them, Rowan. Two large factions, closing on each other. Damn. There's going to be another riot. Charles, Rowan. Gather your equipment. Hawk and Fisher, come with me. You're about to see what happens when the rules break down on the Street of Gods. You should find it an interesting experience. If you survive it.'
Out on the Street of Gods, everything felt different. There was a vague unfocused tension on the air, and the crowding buildings felt grim and oppressive. Hawk and Fisher hurried along beside the God Squad, weapons drawn and at the ready. Tomb took the point, striding confidently in the lead, his robe of sorcerer's black billowing impressively around his stocky frame. He was smiling calmly, his stance relaxed and at ease.
Rowan hurried along at his side, stretching her legs to keep up with him. She carried a bulging satchel on one shoulder, and her face had taken on an uncomplicated expression of bulldog determination. Away from Tomb's comfortable study, she looked stronger, more focused, almost elemental in her single-mindedness. Charles Buchan strolled along behind them, his long legs easily meeting their pace. He wore a brightly polished chain-mail vest, and a long sword on his left hip. He carried himself well, his bearing calm and controlled. His face was a smiling, pleasant mask, but his eyes were very cold.
Hawk kept a watchful eye on the Squad as they hurried down the Street of Gods. Even with their practiced professionalism, he could all but see the tension rising off them. He started to wonder if he ought to feel more worried himself. After all, this was their territory; if they were worried, there was probably a damned good reason for it. The Street itself seemed increasingly uneasy. There were fewer people around than previously, and they hurried on their way with heads bowed and eyes downcast. The street preachers were crying of universal death and destruction. A painted clown with razor blades buried in his bleeding eyes sang a bitter song of love and loss. Two shadows with nothing to cast them tore at each other like maddened animals. A tall angular building began to melt and run away like boiling wax, while the gargoyles on its guttering screamed in agony.
Hawk increased his pace and moved in beside the sorcerer Tomb. 'Pardon me, sir Tomb, but if my partner and I are heading into a dangerous situation, I think we have a right to know what we're getting into.'
'Of course,' said Tomb. 'You'll have to forgive us, Captain, but I'm afraid we're not used to working with strangers. Rowan and I both have the Sight, the ability to see and sense things at a distance. It seems a longstanding rivalry between two religions has boiled over into open fighting on the Street. The way things are, if we don't put a stop to it quickly, it'll develop into a full-blown riot, and the Beings themselves may be tempted to get involved. Normally, things wouldn't get this bad this quickly, but with three dead Gods and the murderer still at large, tempers are running short.'
'Wait a minute,' said Hawk. 'If things are that serious shouldn't we call in the SWAT team?'
'Oh, I don't think so,' said Tomb. 'It's only a riot. We can handle it.'
'Famous last words,' muttered Fisher behind them.
Hawk gave Tomb a hard look, but the sorcerer seemed perfectly serious. 'All right,' said Hawk, 'Give me some background on this. You said two religions. Which religions?'
'They're based on two lesser Beings,' said Tomb. 'Neither of them especially powerful or important, but both with long-established followings. Dusk the Devourer is head of a no-frills nihilist cult. Everything is vile and awful, the world's going to be destroyed, and only the faithful will be saved and transported to a better world. I can't prove it, but I'm fairly sure Dusk itself is a manic-depressive.
'The other Being is the Chrysalis. It's a huge cocoon about twenty feet long. It's supposed to perform the occasional miracle, but I've never seen any. The Chrysalis' followers believe that eventually the cocoon will open and the God within will emerge in all its glory to purge the world of evil. Whether it wants to be purged or not. They've been watching the cocoon for over four hundred years, but nothing's happened yet.
'Interestingly enough, each religion is the other's particular nemesis. Every God must have its Devil, though I've never been sure why. Good business, I suppose. Anyway, normally the two groups of followers content themselves with blazing sermons, veiled insults in the Street, and the occasional scuffle after the taverns have closed. But with things as they are, nothing's normal anymore. The Street of Gods is like a forest in a drought, waiting for a single spark to set everything alight.'
Hawk nodded. 'Either that, or they heard Fisher and I were coming and wanted to put on a good show to welcome us.'
Rowan muttered something indistinct. It didn't sound complimentary.
They heard the riot before they actually saw it. From up ahead came a roar of massed voices, raised in rage and hatred, and darkened with that animal single-mindedness found only in crowds that are rapidly turning into mobs. Hawk fell back a pace to walk beside Fisher. If they were going into a fight, he wanted someone at his back he could trust. The roar grew louder and more savage as they approached a sharp corner. According to the official maps, the Street of Gods was perfectly straight, but in this, as in so many other ways, the Street of Gods went its own way. They rounded the corner, and there was the riot, spread out before them.
A hundred men and women milled back and forth across the Street, mouths turned down in angry snarls, their eyes wild and furious. They were screaming and shouting and shaking their fists, and glaring in all directions. Some had clubs or staves or lengths of steel chain, while others had bricks or stones. Already there was blood on the cobbles, and several people lay unmoving on the ground, trampled on unnoticed by the mob. The scent of violence was heavy on the air, ready to erupt at any moment.
Hawk came to a halt well short of the mob, and looked the situation over carefully. The setting couldn't have been worse. The Street at this point was long and narrow, with only a few exits. Even if he could persuade the mob to break up and disperse, getting it separated into smaller, more manageable groups was going to be difficult. Breaking up a mob was one thing; keeping them separated was what counted. There had to be somewhere for them to go. The size of the watching crowd worried him as well. There were hundreds of them, filling the Street all around. Presumably they followed other faiths, and were happy at the chance to see two of their rivals knocking the hell out of each other. Even the street preachers had given up trying to spread the Word, and were busying themselves taking bets from the onlookers.
Tomb had come to a halt not far away and was watching the mob narrowly, lips pursed thoughtfully. Rowan was kneeling beside him, ferreting through her satchel. Hawk leaned over to take a look at what she had in there, and then quickly retreated as she glared at him viciously. Buchan was standing close at hand, his arms folded across his mailed chest, staring majestically out over the mob. He looked as though he was only awaiting the word to step forward and generally beat heads together until everyone agreed to see reason. Hawk looked quickly at Fisher, and was relieved to see she didn't appear too impressed. She caught him looking at her, realized why, and grinned broadly. Hawk looked away, and pretended he hadn't noticed. He hefted his axe thoughtfully, and watched the mood of the mob grow worse. This was the God Squad's territory, and he didn't want to interfere, but somebody had better do something soon or there'd be brains spilled on the cobbles and a riot you'd need a small army to contain.
Rowan drew a pair of slender copper rods from her satchel and plunged them into the ground. They sank easily into the solid stone as though it were nothing more than wet mud. The mystic then drew a protective circle around herself and Tomb with blue chalk dust. Hawk frowned slightly as he realized he and Fisher and Buchan weren't included in the protection. Whatever Rowan and Tomb were up to, he hoped they were careful to aim it in the right direction. The mystic and the sorcerer then paused for a technical discussion. Hawk moved over a little to stand beside Buchan, who was still silently studying the mob.
'Who's winning, sir Buchan?'
'Hard to tell. Strategically speaking, this is a mess. There's no cooperation; it's every man for himself and Devil take the hindmost. Quite literally, I suppose, as far as they're concerned.'
'How do you tell the two sides apart?'
'Blue robes are Chrysalis, grey robes are Dusk.'
'Are we going to break this up or not?' said Fisher, moving over to join them. 'I can't just stand around and watch; it's bad for my reputation.'
'It's better not to butt in too early,' said Buchan. 'Let them work off some of their bile on each other first.'
'You mean we're just supposed to stand by and let people die?' said Fisher, her face falling into an ominous scowl.
'It's for the best,' said Buchan. He looked at her and smiled slightly. 'You're new to the Street, my dear. We know what we're doing.' He realized Fisher was still glaring at him, and stirred uncomfortably. 'I suppose you've
