Swords of Haven

The afternoon dragged slowly on towards evening as Adamant led his party through the bustling streets of the High Steppes, making speeches, addressing gatherings, and generally beating the drum for Reform. The crowds were thicker than ever as even those who’d been working spilled out onto the streets to make the most of the unofficial holiday. Street traders sold out their wares, closed their stalls, and joined the celebrations. Conjurers and mummers provided traditional entertainments, innkeepers ran low on stock and began hauling dusty bottles from off the back shelves, and fireworks splattered the darkening sky.

Adamant finally took a break from the crowds, who were more interested in partying than politics, and led his people into the more upmarket sections of the Steppes. He was looking for personal endorsements and promises of funds. What he got were kind words, good wishes, and vague promises. When anybody could be bothered to speak to him. Adamant declined to be disheartened, and pressed on with unfailing enthusiasm.

Bearclaw was a. big man in his late forties, with broad shoulders, and a barrel chest that was slipping slowly towards his belt. He first won fame by killing a bear with nothing but a knife, and he still wore the animal’s claws on a chain around his neck to prove it. His shoulder-length hair was still jet-black because he dyed it regularly. He’d served in a hundred different campaigns as a freelance mercenary, and he’d come away with credit and scalps from all of them. He didn’t really give much of a damn for Reform, but he liked Adamant, and the idea of supporting the underdog appealed to him.

Kincaid was an average-height man in his mid-forties, with a shock of butter-yellow hair and icy blue eyes. He was muscular in a lean kind of way, didn’t smile much, and was even more dangerous than he looked. He’d made his reputation by fighting in the infamous Bloody Ridges campaign alongside the legendary Adam Stalker. He was famous throughout Haven, and moderately well-known outside it. There were several broadsheets and songs telling of his heroic deeds, all of them written by Kincaid under an assumed name. Like his friend and sometime fighting companion Bearclaw, Kincaid wasn’t what you’d call political. But it had been too long since his last campaign, and he was bored sitting around waiting for a call to action that never came. He hated just sitting around; it make him feel old. If nothing else, working with Adamant was bound to supply enough material for a new broadsheet.

The afternoon wore on, and took its toll from all of them. Adamant seemed as full of bounce and vinegar as ever, but some of his party were beginning to wilt under the strain. Dannielle in particular seemed to be having an increasingly hard time keeping up with him. She’d disappear now and again for a quick sit-down and a rest, and return later revi talised and full of bounce. But it never lasted. Dark bruises began to appear under her eyes. Medley was becoming increasingly distracted as he tried to keep up with the growing number of reports on how the campaign was going. Hawk and Fisher stayed close by Adamant and kept their eyes open for trouble. As Guards, they were used to spending long hours on their feet, but the pace was getting to them too. Things nearly came to a head when Adamant visited the few members of the Quality who lived on the edges of the Steppes, in a last-ditch gamble for funding and support. Mostly they got the door slammed in their faces; the rest of the time they were invited in, only to be subtly sneered at or not so subtly threatened. This did not go down well with Fisher. She tended to take it personally when she got looked down on. In fact, she tended to get very annoyed and hit people. After one unfortunate incident, Adamant decided it would be better if she waited outside thereafter.

Back in Adamant’s study, Hawk and Fisher sank immediately into the nearest chairs, put their feet up on his desk, and watched interestedly as Adamant bustled around checking reports and planning future strategy. Medley did his best to listen and pay attention, but he was beginning to look decidedly wilted round the edges. Dannielle had already disappeared upstairs for a little lie-down. Hawk for one did not blame her. He could quite happily have spent the next few months just sitting in his chair doing nothing. He smiled slightly. He’d always suspected he was officer material.

Bearclaw and Kincaid had gone in search of the kitchens to do a little restorative foraging. The butler Villiers came and went bearing messages and reports for Adamant, with a haughty expression that suggested he considered himself above such things. Hawk and Fisher helped themselves to the wine. Medley finally shuffled the reports into some kind of order, and Adamant settled down behind his desk to listen. He glared at Hawk and Fisher until they took their boots off his desk, and then looked expectantly at Medley.

“Lord Arthur Sinclair, standing on the No Tax On Liquor platform, was last seen passed out cold in the middle of a riotous party that covered an entire block. The Guard have roped off the area and set up barricades. Anyway, Sinclair is officially out of the running, or will be as soon as anyone can wake him up long enough to tell him.

“Now we come to the bad news. Hardcastle has been campaigning just as hard as we have, if not more so. His speeches have all gone down very well, and his people are handing out booze and money like they’re going out of fashion. He’s made the rounds of some very influential people, and gained a lot of support. The Quality may not like him much, but they’re scared to death of James Adamant. It also appears that Hardcastle has picked up some very powerful support from something on the Street of Gods. Mortice isn’t sure who or what is behind it, but just recently Hardcastle’s sorcerer Wulf has been using all kinds of powerful magic he didn’t have access to before. He’s still not strong enough to break through Mortice’s wards, but Mortice can’t break through Wulf’s either. So, as far as magic goes we have a stalemate. For the moment.

“The rest of the bad news concerns General Longarm.” Medley paused for a moment to gulp thirstily at a glass of wine before continuing. “Longarm and his militants are doing surprisingly well. There’s no doubt his armed supporters have been practicing subtle and not-so-subtle intimidation, but there does seem to be some real grass-roots support for Longarm. People are responding well to his theme of political strength through military strength. He’s also sworn to accept any man with a sword into the militant branch of the Brotherhood, once he’s elected. A lot of people want that. Being a Brother of Steel opens a lot of doors, and not just in Haven.”

“Solid, professional soldier; not very imaginative. Had a reasonably good record with the Low Kingdoms army, before he retired and moved here. Came to politics late in life, which is probably why he takes it so seriously. Speaks well in public, as long as he sticks to a prepared text. This offer of guaranteed entry into the militant Brotherhood sounds a lot like desperation tactics. Might be worth sounding out other militants to find out whether it’s a genuine offer or just something Longarm came up with off his own bat.”

“It’s not really our district,” said Hawk slowly. “But I have heard a few things. Ever since Councillor Weaver came to power in The Downs, street crime has dropped by more than half throughout the area. That’s been very popular. On the other hand, it seems clear that militant Brothers have been working as unofficial Guards in The Downs, and that hasn’t been at all popular. There’s no doubt they’ve been cracking down on street violence, but they’ve also been pushing their beliefs very strongly, and anyone who dares speak out against that gets very short shrift. I’m not just talking about bloody noses either; apparently the militants can turn quite nasty if they’re crossed. I haven’t any hard figures on how the election’s going there, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Weaver lost his Seat.”

“What’s this; still tired? I don’t know what the Guard’s coming to these days. James, darling, will you please come with me and talk to the cook? I’ve been trying to get her to agree to the menu we decided on for tonight’s banquet, but she keeps going all mulish on me.”

Hardcastle and his people trudged determinedly round the High Steppes, making speeches, shaking hands, and gener ally waving the flag. The crowds had been drinking most of the day and were starting to get a little rowdy, but Roxanne and the mercenaries kept them in line. And the speeches were still going down very well. As long as Hardcastle kept talking the crowds would listen, rapt and enthusiastic. Hardcastle was glad something was still going right; the news from the rest of the Steppes was almost universally bad. Somehow Adamant had put together an army of fighting men and turned them loose, and they were wiping the streets with Hardcastle’s mercenaries. He’d lost nearly every advantage he’d gained, and areas that should have been safely under his thumb were now singing Reform songs and throwing stones at his people.

Hardcastle fought to hold on to his temper. He couldn’t afford to let himself be distracted. He still had to make the rounds and talk to the people who mattered; people of standing and influence. Adamant might crawl to the commoners for their grubby little votes, but it was the Quality and the merchant houses who really ran Haven. That was where the real power lay. When they spoke, people listened—if they knew what was good for them. And so Hardcastle went from house to house, knocking on doors and glaring at servants, only to find himself fobbed off with vague promises and excuses as often as not. Apparently they were disturbed by the rising violence in the streets. Hardcastle fumed quietly to himself. These were the same people who’d bleated the loudest to the Council at the advances Reform had been making.

He stood before Tobias’ door, and waited impatiently for an answer to the bell pull. It was taking a long time. Roxanne was idly trimming a fingernail with a nasty-looking dagger, and Wulf was staring off into the distance, lost in his dreams of power. Hardcastle looked at his followers and mercenaries, standing clumped together and muttering rebelliously under their breath, and he gestured irritably for them to disperse across the street. He wouldn’t put it past Adamant to launch a sneak attack, if he thought he could get away with it. It was what Hardcastle would have done. Besides, he didn’t need an army to visit a friend. Assuming the friend would talk to him.

Geoffrey Tobias had a reputation for being tight with money, and his house reflected it. Tobias was one of the six richest men in Haven, but his house was a cheap and nasty two up, two down, in one of the more subdued areas of the Steppes. The walls hadn’t been painted in years, and wooden shutters covered the windows, locked tight even though it was still light. Tobias believed there were always thieves and cutthroats waiting for a chance at his money. Hardcastle shrugged. The man was probably right. A miser living on his own and apparently unprotected was an obvious target. Not that he was unprotected, of course. Hardcastle had no doubt the nasty little house was absolutely crawling with defensive spells.

Tobias had always been careful with money, but since he’d lost his Seat on the Council he’d given all his attention to his financial dealings. The man who had once been one of the real firebrands of the Conservative Cause had become a bitter and secretive recluse. He wouldn’t see anyone he didn’t absolutely have to, and even then strictly only by appointment. But he’d see Hardcastle. Hardcastle was a friend, and more importantly, he had something Tobias wanted. The offer of a Seat on the Council ...

The door finally opened a crack, and Tobias glared out at them. He recognised Hardcastle with scowl and opened the door a little wider. He was a grey, shabby man with pale skin and stringy grey hair that hung listlessly around his shoulders. His clothes were filthy and years out of style, and you had to look hard to see that under the dirt and wrinkles they had once been of exquisite style and cut. His face was all sharp planes and angles, with a down-turned mouth, and his eyes were cold and knowing. Tobias looked at Hardcastle for a long time and then sniffed loudly.

He stepped back to allow Hardcastle to enter, and then slammed the door shut behind him. The narrow hall was gloomy and oppressive and smelled of damp. There was cracked plaster on the walls, and the floor was nothing but bare boards. Tobias led Hardcastle down to the end of the hall, pushed open a door and gestured for him to enter. He did so, and found himself in a comfortable, brightly lit room. The walls were covered with highly polished wood panels, and there was a deep pile carpet on the floor. A huge padded armchair stood by the fireplace, next to a delicate wooden table covered with papers and set with an elegant silver tea service. Tobias grunted with amusement at Hardcastle’s surprise.

“Leave? I didn’t leave anything, and you damned well know it! I was forced out of my Seat, by that little snot Blackstone and his whining Reformers. He promised them the earth and the moon, and they believed it. Little good it did them. Their precious Blackstone is dead, and his successor couldn’t make money if his life depended on it. Just wait till the Heights is hurting for money and can’t balance its budget, and see how fast they scream for me to come back and save them!”

“That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.” There were flecks of blood around Tobias’ mouth. He patted his lips with a folded handkerchief, looked indifferently at the crimson stains on the cloth, and put it away. “What do you want here, Cameron? I’ve no influence anymore.”

“That could change,” said Hardcastle. “With a little persuasion I think I can get you official Conservative backing in the next election for the Heights. Full support; right across the board. Of course, a large contribution to Conservative funds would help to sway things in the future. That’s how the world works.”

“Oh, I know all about how the world works, Cameron.” Tobias chuckled briefly. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t really care about the Heights anymore. I still get mad about how they treated me, but I wouldn’t go back if they got down on their knees and begged. Being a Councillor always meant more to my poor Maria than it ever did to me. I still miss her, you know....” Hardcastle looked nonplused for a moment, and Tobias chuckled again. “Not used to being caught out, are you, Cameron? You’ve been surrounded by Advisors for too long. You can’t trust Advisors. They just tell you what they think you want to hear.”

“I go my own way, Cameron. Always have, always will. I don’t lean on anyone. Don’t worry; you can have your contribution. Tell my lawyers how much you need, and I’ll see it gets to you. Buy some more mercenaries. Buy whatever it takes to crush those Reform scum into the dirt. Make them pay for what they did to me.”

In Brimstone Hall Jillian Hardcastle sat on her bed, her back pressed against the headboard, ,hugging her knees to her. Her husband had finally returned. She could hear him moving about downstairs, talking to people. His people; none of them were hers. She had no friends, no one came to visit her, and she wasn’t even allowed a servant of her own. All she had was her husband, the great Cameron Hardcastle.

She looked at her bare arms, and the bruises stood out plainly even under the extra layer of makeup. She’d have to put on some long gloves before she went downstairs. Her back still ached, but it was bearable now. At least there hadn’t been any blood in her urine this time.

She often thought about leaving, but she had no one to go to. And wherever she went, Cameron would be sure to find her. He had people everywhere. She sometimes thought about killing herself, but she could never find the courage. Hardcastle had beaten all the courage out of her.

She heard footsteps outside on the landing, and fear rushed through her like icy water, freezing her in place. It was Cameron, come to look for her. She knew it. She stared fixedly at the closed bedroom door, barely breathing, her stomach churning with tension. The footsteps approached the door, and then went on past it, continuing on down the hall. It wasn’t Cameron. Just one of the servants.

She ought to go down and welcome Cameron home. He expected it of her. If she didn’t go downstairs, he would come looking for her, and then he would be angry. But she couldn’t go down to meet him. Not yet. She’d go downstairs in a minute, and greet him in the polite monotone he’d taught her. She would go down. In a minute. Or two.

Hardcastle sank into his favourite chair, looked around his warm, comfortable study, and sighed gratefully. It had been a long hard day, and he wasn’t as young as he used to be. He started to order Jillian to fetch him a drink, and then scowled as he realised she wasn’t there. She ought to have been there. It was her place to be at his side, to carry out his wishes. He’d have to have another little talk with her, later on.

He got to his feet, ignoring his protesting back, and poured himself a large drink. He rather thought he’d earned it. There was a polite knock on the door. He grunted acknowledgement, and Wulf and Roxanne came in. He dropped back into his chair, noting sourly that neither of them looked particulary tired. Roxanne leaned against the fireplace with her arms folded, waiting patiently for new orders. Hardcastle made a mental note that she wasn’t to be offered a guest room for the night. They’d probably wake up in the early hours to find the whole damned Hall going up in flames. Wulf was standing to attention before him, waiting to report on the day’s activities. Let him wait. Do him good to be reminded of his place. Hardcastle sipped unhurriedly at his wine and nodded to the sorcerer to begin.

Most of the reports were pretty straightforward. All the minor candidates had dropped out. That simplified things; he wouldn’t have to have them crushed or killed, after all. General Longarm was still making a nuisance of himself, but he was nothing more than a retired soldier with delusions of grandeur. And with all the mercenaries currently battling on the streets, soldiers weren’t particularly popular right now.

Adamant was still a problem. The Brotherhood of Steel had declared in his favour, and were actually out on the streets sticking their noses into things that didn’t concern them. Hardcastle scowled. He’d better send word to the right people, and have them called off.

Wulf droned on, showing off as usual on how professional he was, and Hardcastle waited impatiently. He had a question he wanted to ask, but he didn’t interrupt. He didn’t want the sorcerer to be able to hide behind the excuse of any other business. Wulf eventually ground to a halt, and Hardcastle looked at him steadily.

Wulf met Hardcastle’s gaze unflinchingly. “It will take time before I can use my power safely. For the moment I’m still concentrating on the wards that hold the Abomination safely within me. We were lucky to find him while he was still relatively weak after his awakening. If he was to escape now, he would be very angry with us. He’d destroy us, the whole of Haven, and probably most of the Low Kingdoms. We’re talking about one of the Transient Beings, Cameron, not some low-level demon. We can’t risk something like that getting loose.”

Hardcastle glared at him. “That’s not good enough, sorcerer.” He looked across at Roxanne. “According to my sources, Longarm is planning an attack on Adamant tonight. I want you to use your inside contact to get into Adamant’s house. Stay hidden and wait for the attack, and then take advantage of the confusion to make sure Adamant dies. You’d better kill your contact as well. Is that clear?”

The banquet at Adamant’s mansion was a noisy affair. There were so many guests that even the main dining hall was barely sufficient to hold them all. The single great table had all but disappeared under huge servings of food and wines, and there wasn’t a spare place left for anyone. The huge candelabra and dozens of wall lamps filled the hall with a blaze of light, and the guests filled the air with a roar of chatter. It was a victory celebration, in every way that mattered. No one had any doubts as to the election’s outcome. This night would be Reform’s night. They could tell. They could feel it on the air and in the streets.

Adamant sat in the seat of honour, of course, with Dannielle on one side and Medley on the other. Dannielle was busy feeding Adamant by hand with something covered in a sticky sauce, half of which seemed to be ending up on his face, to their mutual amusement. Medley was busy sampling several wines to see which was the tastiest. The two warriors, Bearclaw and Kincaid, sat side by side discussing old battles, and using the table cutlery to mark troop positions. The rest of the guests were Adamant’s followers and party faithfuls, being rewarded for their services to Adamant’s campaign. Servants came and went, bringing yet more courses and side dishes. Adamant’s food taster sat quietly to one side, nibbling at a light salad, having given up trying to keep up with everyone else. A dozen or so dogs wandered round the hall, enjoying all the noise and attention, and feeding on bones and scraps thrown to them by indulgent guests.

Hawk and Fisher were there too, but they weren’t part of the banquet. They were on duty. They’d get their dinner later in the kitchens. If they were lucky. Reform only went so far, after all. Hawk was fatalistic about such things and, if anything, preferred to have his attention free to watch for threats, but Fisher was simmering with barely repressed bile. Hawk kept a watchful eye on her. She tended to take such things personally. At the moment she was scowling dubiously at a chicken leg she’d snatched from under the nose of a resentful hound. The animal was about to challenge her for it, but one glare from Fisher was enough to change his mind.

“Damn right I am,” said Fisher. “I’m hungry.” She gnawed industriously at the leg for a while, and then gestured with it at the banquet table. “Look at them all, stuffing their faces. There’s not one of them who’s worked half as hard as we have today. I hope they all get wind.”

“Don’t take it so hard,” said Hawk. “I’m sure Adamant would have invited us to table if he could, but it would do his image no good at all, and he knows it. The Cause is great for political reform, but it’s got a long way to go before it can start meddling with the social structure.”

“That’s right,” said Hawk. He frowned, and bit his lip thoughtfully. “You wander over and take up a position by Adamant. I’ll take a quick look out the door and see if anyone’s about. It’s always possible Adamant’s people are just getting slack now the worst is over, but ...”

She headed casually in Adamant’s direction, while Hawk made unhurriedly for the main door. No point in upsetting the guests if they didn’t have to. The banquet hall was set right in the centre of the mansion and had just the two doors. The far door led straight to the kitchens; a servants’ route. Hawk had checked it out earlier. It was too narrow and twisting to move an attack force through. The main door led out onto a wide corridor that ran pretty much the length of the house, with only a couple of bends. Hawk scowled. He didn’t like the direction his thoughts were taking. Any attack force would have to get past all of Adamant’s men and Mortice’s protective wards. He’d have been bound to hear something. Unless the attack force was very, very good. Hawk stopped before the main door and listened. He couldn’t hear a thing over the racket the dinner guests were making. Why the hell had Medley and Dannielle chosen this particular time to disappear? He reached out a hand to the doorknob, and then stopped as the doorknob began to turn slowly on its own. Hawk backed away.

The door flew open and a dozen cloaked and masked men burst in. Hawk yelled a warning to Fisher, and drew his axe. The guests at table screamed and yelled and struggled to get to their feet. Fisher moved to stand between Adamant and his attackers, sword at the ready. Bearclaw and Kincaid rose to their feet and looked around for weapons. Neither of them had worn swords to table. That would have been an insult to Adamant. Bearclaw seized a heavy silver candlestick and hefted it professionally. Kincaid broke a bottle against the wall with practiced ease.

The attackers came spilling round Hawk like rushing water past a rock. He stood his ground and cut down two men with his axe. Bearclaw came charging forward, deftly avoided a vicious sword stroke, and clubbed the man to the ground. He quickly stepped over the fallen body to tackle another intruder, and Kincaid came forward to guard his back with the broken bottle. Two swordsmen thought he’d be an easy target. Kincaid smiled easily, cut one man’s throat, and blinded the other, his hand moving too quickly to be seen. He threw aside the bottle and snatched up a dead man’s sword. Blood flew on the air as he moved swiftly among the scattering enemy, his sword darting back and forth in textbook cuts and parries.

Three men got past Hawk and the two warriors, and made straight for Adamant. Fisher met them with her sword. The first man went down almost immediately, clutching at the wide rip in his gut. The second forced Fisher back step by step with a whirlwind attack of cuts and thrusts. The third man closed in on Adamant. Fisher tried desperately to finish her man so that she could get back to protect Adamant, but her opponent was too good to be that easily dismissed. Fisher cut and parried and then faked a stumble. The masked man thought he saw his chance and moved in, and Fisher ran him through. She jerked her sword free and turned quickly round just in time to see Adamant throw a bowl of soup into the third man’s face,_blinding him. The intruder clawed at his eyes, and Adamant kicked him in the groin. As the man sank to his knees, Adamant took away his sword and looked around for another victim.

Hawk cut down two more men, the wide head of his axe punching through hidden chain mail as though it wasn’t there. Bearclaw and Kincaid fought back to back, and the last two intruders went down in a flurry of blood and steel. A sudden silence fell across the dining hall, broken only by the gradually slowing breathing of the fighting men and mutters of shock and amazement from the guests. Bearclaw bound up a nasty-looking gash in his shoulder with a dubious-looking handkerchief taken from his sleeve.

The guests stirred uneasily at that, and Adamant moved quickly forward to address them. “It’s all right, my friends, the worst is over. Please stay where you are while I have my people search the house and make it secure.” He moved quickly over to Bearclaw and Kincaid and kept his voice low as he spoke to them. “Joshua, Laurence, find out what’s happened to my men-at-arms, and report back here when the house is fully secure again. And remember, Danny and Stefan went off on their own just before the attack; make sure they’re all right.”

The two warriors nodded silently and left the hall sword in hand. Hawk wanted to go with them, but knew he couldn’t. His priority had to be Adamant’s safety. He went over to Fisher, and made sure she was all right. They looked around at the mayhem they’d helped to cause, and shared a grin. Adamant approached them and nodded his thanks.

“It may not look like it,” he said quietly, “but this is still something of a disaster. A whole lot of nasty questions come to mind, starting with how the hell they got in. Mortice’s wards are supposed to keep out anyone I haven’t personally vouched for. And why the hell didn’t Medley’s intelligence people warn him there was a raid in the offing?”

They moved quickly among the bodies, pulling off masks and studying faces. Hawk and Fisher didn’t recognise anyone, but Adamant remained kneeling beside the body of a grey-haired man with a harsh, scarred face that hadn’t relaxed at all in death. Hawk and Fisher moved over to join him.

“We have something of a problem, James,” he said quietly. “Not with the house; that’s secure. It seems there were fifty of the intruders originally. Your people took care of the others before they got this far. No one heard anything because of the noise of the banquet. We’ve got quite a few casualties, and even more dead. These people were professionals.”

Kincaid led the way out into the main corridor. There were bodies and blood everywhere. Preoccupied as he was, Adamant still had room in him to be sickened at the sight of so many men who had died in his behalf. He stepped carefully over the bodies, nodding here and there at a familiar face, and then he stopped and knelt by one man. It was the butler, Villiers. He’d taken a dozen wounds before he died, and a broken sword was still clutched in his hand.

“He never believed in Reform,” said Adamant. “But he stayed with me anyway, because I was family. He never left us, even during the bad days. He protected me as a child. And all it got him was a bad death, in a house where he should have been safe.” He got to his feet, and nodded for Kincaid to carry on. They walked on down the corridor. When Adamant spoke again his voice was perfectly steady. “You haven’t said anything about Stefan. Is he all right?”

Adamant nodded, not really listening, and Kincaid led the way up the stairs to the next floor. His face was fixed and drawn. She must be dead, thought Hawk. Anything else, he would have said. They moved along the hallway to Adamant’s bedroom. Bearclaw was waiting outside the door. There was pity in his face as he looked at Adamant. Pity, and something else Hawk couldn’t read. Bearclaw opened the bedroom door, and everyone drew back a few steps to let Adamant go in first.

In the bedroom, Dannielle was sitting on the bed. Her face was flushed, and she wouldn’t look Adamant in the eye. Kincaid picked up a small silver snuff box from the dressing table and handed it to Adamant. He looked at it blankly for a moment and then opened it. Inside was a small amount of grey-white powder.

“Oh, that’s typical, James. Never mind why I’m taking drugs; all you care about is your precious reputation.” Dannielle glared at him sullenly, her voice shrill and bitter. “I’ve been sniffing dust ever since you started campaigning for the Steppes. The best part of three months, and it’s taken you till now to notice. It’s all your fault, anyway. You never had time for me any more; all you talked and thought and dreamed about was your bloody campaign. I tried to go along, to be a part of it for your sake, but you never even noticed I was there.

“We aren’t all as strong as you, James. You’ve been full of energy right from the beginning, inspired by your Cause, running full tilt from one thing to the next, with the rest of us straggling along behind you, trying to keep up. I just couldn’t anymore. I was tired all the time, and lonely and depressed. So I started sniffing dust now and again, just to give me a boost, make me feel human, and keep me going. Only the campaign just ground on and on, and I got more and more tired, and there were always more and more things that needed doing for your bloody Cause. And I needed more and more dust just to feel normal and get me through the day. I even had to embezzle from you to pay for the dust.”

Adamant started to say something heated in reply, and then stopped himself. When he spoke again his voice was low and cold and very controlled. “Perhaps you’re right, Danny. I don’t know. We’ll talk about it later. In the meantime, I have to think about how best to keep this quiet. A lot of people are counting on me to swing this election, and I won’t let them down. If news of this gets out, I’ll be ruined. I’ve made a lot of enemies in my stand against the drug trade, and they’d use a scandal like this to destroy me. Who else knows, apart from us? Who was your supplier?”

“I’m going to have to put out some kind of statement about the attack,” said Adamant as they went back downstairs. “To reassure my followers that I’m all right. Rumours spread like wildfire in Haven, particularly when it’s bad news. I’d better talk to Stefan. He’s probably still in my study with his lady friend.” He smiled briefly. “I did promise no one would barge in on them while they were there, but I’m sure he won’t mind, under the circumstances.”

He led the way back to his study, and knocked briskly on the door. “Stefan, it’s James. I need to see you. Something’s come up.” He waited a moment, but there was no reply. Adamant smiled slightly, produced a key, and unlocked the door. He knocked again, and pushed the door open. Medley and Roxanne were sitting together. For a moment nobody moved as the two sides stared at each other, and then Roxanne grabbed her sword belt and drew her sword.

She started towards Adamant, sword at the ready, and then stopped as Hawk and Fisher moved quickly forward to protect him. Medley got to his feet, but stood where he was, staring at Adamant’s horrified face. Roxanne grabbed a burning brand from the fire and set it to a hanging tapestry. Flames ran up the wall. She grabbed Medley’s arm and urged him towards the other door. Hawk and Fisher went after them as Bearclaw and Kincaid tried to beat out the fire before it could spread. Adamant just stood where he was, watching.

Roxanne backed away from Hawk and Fisher one step at a time, her sword sweeping back and forth before her, keeping the Guards at bay. She was grinning broadly, and her eyes were full of death. She glanced back over her shoulder just long enough to be sure that Medley was safely through the door. Then after a moment’s hesitation, she turned and ran after him. Hawk and Fisher plunged after her, but she slammed the door in their faces and turned the key on the other side. Hawk lifted his axe to break down the door, and then lowered it again. His job was to protect Adamant, not to chase after traitors. Medley and Roxanne would keep for another day. He put away his axe, and after a moment Fisher sheathed her sword. Kincaid and Bearclaw had torn down the burning tapestry, and were stamping out the flames. Adamant was still standing in the doorway, staring at nothing. Hawk glanced at Fisher, who shrugged uncertainly. He moved tentatively towards Adamant, and the politician’s eyes came back into focus. He had to swallow two or three times before he could speak.

“My wife is taking drugs supplied by one of my main backers. My guests have been attacked in my own dining hall, and most of my men-at-arms are dead. And now it turns out my closest friend has been a traitor all along. I never knew politics could cost so much.” For a moment he couldn’t get his breath, and Hawk thought Adamant might cry, but the moment passed and some of his strength came back to him. His face hardened, and when he spoke again his voice was strained but steady.

“Not a word of this to anyone. We can’t afford for my supporters to know how badly we’ve been betrayed. It will all come out after the election, but by then it won’t matter, whatever the result. So, we’ll go back to the dining hall, reassure my guests, and keep our mouths shut about all this.

Medley followed Roxanne through the packed streets, dazed and unquestioning. It was all like some horrible nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. One moment he’d been cherishing a snatched moment with Roxanne, and the next he was running for his life. He didn’t know where he was running to; Roxanne had taken over as soon as they left the house. He couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything; all he could see was Adamant’s face, and the look of betrayal in his eyes. Roxanne led him through increasingly narrow and squalid streets until finally they came to the Sheep’s Head Inn, a quiet backwater tavern they’d used before for their few assignations.

The bartender showed no interest in seeing them again, but then he never did. That was one .of the reasons why they’d chosen the place. Roxanne collected the key and led the way up the back stairs to their usual room, and for the first time they were able to sit down and look at each other.

“Is that all you’ve got to say?” said Medley. “My life is ruined, my reputation isn’t worth spit any more, and all you can think about is fighting a couple of Guards? We’ve got to get out of Haven, Roxanne. James won’t move against us while the election’s still running, but once that’s over he’ll send every man he’s got after us. His pride won’t let him do anything else. And you can bet he won’t have given them orders to bring us back alive.”

Roxanne looked down at the floor, and then back at him again. “Sorry, Stefan, but I told you; I work for Hardcastle. You were just another job. Hardcastle’s sorcerer set me on you, as a way of getting to Adamant. You told me all kinds of useful things without realising it. You were fun, but now the masks are off and the game’s over. You lost. I’m sorry to rush you, Stefan, but I have to be going now.”

She got to her feet, and Medley stood up to face her. “So it was all nothing but lies; all the things you said to me. I betrayed my best friend and dragged my honour through the mud, all for you; and now you’re telling me it was all for nothing? I can’t believe that, Roxanne. I won’t believe that.”