Hawk saw Fisher fall, and screamed in fury that he couldn't get to her. He swung his axe savagely at Pike, and the mercenary was forced to retreat. The heavy axe blade smashed through Pike's defenses and knocked him to the ground. Hawk stepped in for the kill, and Da Silva's head-breaker swung round in a tight arc, slamming into Hawk's side, knocking the breath out of him. Hawk staggered backwards, favoring his injured side, and snarled soundlessly at his opponents, daring them to come after him.
Adamant swept his sword back and forth, keeping the mercenaries at bay. For some reason they seemed more interested in keeping him occupied than in trying to kill him. Whatever the reason, it hadn't prevented them from whittling away at him like a carpenter with a block of wood. Blood ran freely from a dozen wounds, staining his fine clothes. Dannielle screamed behind him, and he spun round to see her struggling with a grinning mercenary. Adamant ran him through and turned quickly back to face his opponents. Their attitude changed immediately with the death of their companion, and for the first time they began to press their attack in earnest. Swords seemed to come at him from everywhere at once, and Adamant realized sickly that he couldn't keep off such an attack for more than a few moments. One of the mercenaries beat aside his sword and lunged forward. Dannielle screamed and threw herself in the blade's way. It plunged into her side. She grabbed the blade with both hands as she crumpled to the ground. Adamant screamed hoarsely, and ran the mercenary through. Two men stepped forward to take his place, their faces grim and determined. Adamant lifted his head and screamed at the dark sky above.
"Damn you, Mortice! You promised you'd protect her! Help us!"
The mercenaries froze in their attack, looked briefly startled, and then vomited blood explosively. They fell to the ground, kicking and shaking helplessly as blood poured from their mouths. Adamant looked round dazedly as one by one the attacking mercenaries dropped, coughing up their life's blood in harsh, painful spasms. In a matter of moments, Hawk and Adamant were the only ones left standing, surrounded by the dead and the dying. Adamant turned his back on them and knelt beside Dannielle, lying at his feet, curled around the bloody wound in her side. He took her hand, and she clutched it tightly. Her breathing was quick and ragged, and her face was covered with sweat.
"Screwed up again, didn't I?" she said breathlessly.
"Be quiet," said Adamant gently. "We've got to get you to a doctor."
Dannielle shook her head. "Bit late for that, James. I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"Everything."
"You've nothing to be sorry for, Danny. Nothing at all. Now, shut up and save your strength."
Dannielle gasped suddenly and clutched at her side. Adamant's heart missed a beat before he realized she was smiling in amazement.
"My side; it doesn't hurt any more. What's happening, James?"
<em>Just doing my job</em>, said Mortice's voice quietly in their minds. <em>The wound is healed. But you'd better get back to the house as fast as you can. You're right on the edge of my limits. I don't know how much longer I can protect you</em>;
His voice faded away and was gone. Adamant helped Danielle to her feet and looked around him. Hawk was checking quickly through the bodies.
"Where's Bearclaw and Kincaid?" said Adamant hoarsely.
"Dead," said Hawk.
"And Captain Fisher?"
"Taken. Roxanne and her two friends must have had their own magical protection."
Adamant rubbed tiredly at his aching head. "I'm sorry. So many dead, and all because of me."
Hawk turned and glared at him. "Stop talking nonsense. There's only one man responsible for all this, and that's Hardcastle. And Isobel isn't dead. She was alive when they took her. Now I'm going to get her back. Can you and Dannielle get home safely without me?"
"I think so. Mortice is back looking after us."
"Right. Go home and stay there until the result comes in. I'm going to find Isobel, and then I'm going to pay Hardcastle a visit. This has gone beyond politics now.
"This is personal."
Stefan Medley sat on the grimy bed in the dimly lit room, staring at nothing. He'd been sitting there ever since Roxanne left. He'd tried to work out what he was going to do next, but he couldn't seem to concentrate on anything. In the space of a few moments his whole world had collapsed, and he was left alone in a filthy little tavern he wouldn't have been seen dead in by daylight.
It hadn't seemed so bad when he was there with Roxanne. They only had eyes for each other, then. Now he could see how cheap and shabby it really was. Just like him. He rubbed tiredly at his aching temples, and tried to think. He wasn't safe as long as he stayed in Haven. Adamant would have no choice but to believe he'd defected to the other side. And Adamant was a first-class duelist. Even assuming Adamant wouldn't kill a man who'd once been his friend, there were certainly many in the Reform Cause with ready swords and no love for traitors.
Traitor. It was a harsh word, but the only one that fitted.
Hardcastle would be after him too, as soon as Roxanne revealed he wasn't going to defect. He'd insulted Hardcastle too many times, frustrated his plans too often. And Hardcastle was well-known as a man who bore grudges.
Medley frowned. With so many hands turned against him the odds were he wouldn't be able to get out of Haven at all. And when he got right down to it, Medley wasn't sure he wanted to leave Haven anyway. It was a cesspool of a city, no doubt of that, but Haven was his home and always had been. Everyone he knew, everything he cared for, was in Haven.
But all that was gone, now. He'd thrown it all away, all for the love of a woman who didn't love him. His friends would disown him, his career was over, his future; Medley sighed quietly, and lowered his head into his hands. He would have liked to cry, but he was too numb for tears.
There hadn't been many women in his life. There had always been girls, part of the social whirl, but they never seemed to have time for a quiet young man whose only interest was politics, and the wrong kind of politics, at that. The bright young things, with their games and laughter and simple happy souls, went to other men, and Medley went on alone. There were a few woman who saw him as a potential business partner. Marriage was still the best way to acquire wealth and social standing in Haven, and Medley's family had always been comfortably well off. There were times when he was so lonely he was tempted to say yes, to one or other of the deals his family made for him, but somehow he never did. He had his pride. He couldn't give that up. It was all he had.
Roxanne had been different. No empty-headed, powdered and perfumed flower of the lesser aristocracy. None of the quiet calculation of a woman looking for a husband as an investment. Roxanne was bright and wild and funny and free, and just being with her had made him feel alive in a way he'd never known before. He could talk to her, tell her things he'd never told anyone else. He'd never been so happy as in the few precious moments he'd shared with her.
Looking back, he supposed he'd been a fool. He should have known a living legend like her couldn't really have seen anything in a nobody like him. Roxanne was beautiful and famous. She could have had anyone she wanted. Another hero or legend, like herself. Someone who mattered. Not just another minor politician, in a city full of them. How could he ever have believed that she cared for him?
No one had ever cared for him before. Not really. Not in the way of a man with a woman. He hadn't realized how bleak and lonely his life had been, until she was there to share it with him. She'd made him feel alive, for the first time in a long time.