'I'm Hawk. Captain Hawk.'
'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 defenses.'
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 Burns 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
