Once In a Blue Moon (49 page)

“Because I decided I was doing it for all the wrong reasons,” said Jack. “And you and I are definitely going to have a few words about this
dealing with dark forces
thing.”

“Of course, Uncle. Do bear in mind what I said earlier, about show business. Not everything is necessarily what it appears, in the magic game.” He grinned down at Chappie. “I love your dog. Is he a pure breed? Of some kind?”

“Too bloody right,” growled the dog. “One of a kind, that’s me, and proud of it. And somebody had better lead me to a food stall soon or there’s going to be trouble.”

“Oh . . . ,” said Raven. “You’re
that
dog! You know, there’s a lot of stories told about you in the magic community. The High Warlock’s dog . . . The wise dog, who cannot die. How is it you’re still alive, Chappie?”

“Because he’s too mean to die,” said Hawk briskly. He glared at the dog. “Business first, sausages later.”

“You never did know how to enjoy yourself,” said Chappie.

•   •   •

T
hey all strolled along, through the Tourney, passing endless stalls and markets and attractions. People gave them even more room than before, now that the notorious Necromancer was walking with them. Chappie kept darting off to nose for fallen food among the stalls, but he always caught up with them. Nobody bothered him either.

“You know,” Raven said to Hawk and Fisher, “I have to say, you don’t look a bit like your official portraits, either of you. And nothing at all like the official statues set up in your honour.”

Chappie sniggered loudly. “I really must find the time to piss on them.”

“Do you want to buy a dog?” Fisher said to Raven. “You can have him cheap.”

“Really cheap,” said Hawk.

“You’d be lost without me and you know it,” said the dog complacently.

They continued on, through the many attractions set up to wring as much money from the crowds as possible and keep their minds occupied during those inevitable times when nothing much was happening. A bored crowd is a dangerous crowd. They might decide to make their own excitement. Hawk found a stall selling meaty, chewy things and bought a whole bunch of them for Chappie, to shut him up. And while he was standing around, trying to pretend the dog at his side making a disgrace of himself was nothing at all to do with him, he happened to spy a sign saying
Ride the Unicorn!
Hawk drew Fisher’s attention to the sign, and they both regarded it thoughtfully. Hawk drifted in the sign’s general direction, and the others followed after him, keen to see what might occur. The sign led into a small enclosure, where a dwarf in a cut-down bearskin was loudly proclaiming his wares to some mildly interested onlookers.

“Ride the lovely unicorn! Isn’t he magnificent? Give the children a thrill! Boys, is your sweetheart really true to you? Put her on the unicorn and find out! Fathers, is your daughter all she should be? Put her on the unicorn and set your mind at rest!”

There were some takers, and an awful lot of giggling, as the dwarf led the unicorn around the small enclosure on a long rope. Hawk looked the unicorn over carefully, waited for a quiet moment, and then approached the unicorn’s owner. The dwarf looked around, and nodded easily. He seemed a cheerful enough sort.

“Excuse me,” said Hawk.

“Take your place in the queue, squire; I’ll get to you in a moment. Very popular, the unicorn ride.”

“It’s just that I can’t help noticing that the white dye job is wearing off in several places,” said Hawk. “And he’s wearing iron shoes instead of silver. And I know for a fact that unicorns have curlicue horns, not straight. What you have there, in fact, is a shire horse painted white with a bit of old bone stuck on his forehead.”

The dwarf grinned. “Keep your voice down, squire. The Tourney organisers think they’re getting a bargain.”

And back he went, loudly proclaiming his wares to the eager queue. Hawk nodded slowly and left him to it.

•   •   •

I
t didn’t take Hawk long to search out the axe-fighting circles. One of the bigger clues was the number of large muscular men being carried off on reinforced stretchers, while healers did their best to apply pressure to gaping wounds. First blood in an axe fight was always going to tend toward the dramatic. The rest of Hawk’s family stood patiently beside him, as he watched big burly men with all kinds of axes going at one another with great gusto. There was much howling of battle cries, staggering back and forth in the blood-soaked mud of the circle, and men grunting explosively with the effort of their exertions. The stewards had given up trying to wash the blood out of the circle and stood casually to one side, chatting easily and completely ignoring the fights, until a sudden heartfelt scream announced another loser, and winner. Hawk grinned.

“That’ll do me,” he said briskly.

“Are you sure about this, Father?” said Gillian. “Some of those contestants are so big I’m not sure they technically qualify as people. That last one looked like someone had shaved a bear and then strapped an axe to his paw.”

“Trust me,” said Fisher, “your father’s taken down a lot bigger, in his time.”

“I shall pray for you, Father,” said Jack.

“Stand well back,” Hawk said cheerfully. “You don’t want to get blood and gore all over you.”

“Give them hell, Father,” said Gillian.

Hawk strode into the circle, and the supernaturally bright sheen to his axe head immediately drew everyone’s attention. Hawk announced his name loudly, and there was an instant loud buzz from the watching crowd. The stewards stood up straight, conversed briefly but animatedly with one another, and then the bravest one came forward to bow very formally.

“Pardon me, sir Hawk, but . . . given your name, and that entirely disquieting axe you’re carrying, might you by any chance be . . . ?”

“Yes,” said Hawk. “I used to run the Hero Academy. That’s my wife, Fisher, over there, looking beautiful and exceedingly dangerous, as always. You have any objections to my taking part in this Tourney?”

“Me? No!” said the steward quickly. “Honoured to have you here!” He turned away, got out of the circle as fast as he could, and addressed the crowd. “My friends, allow me to present to you a real hero! A Hawk, from the Hero Academy, has chosen to honour us with his presence today! Give the man a big hand!”

The crowd responded with a polite but frankly rather lukewarm round of applause.
Anyone could claim a big name and a big reputation,
their faces seemed to suggest.
Show us something.
Hawk smiled easily about him, sweeping his heavy axe back and forth before him as though it were nothing. The blood-soaked mud squelched loudly under his boots as he surreptitiously dug his feet in, for a better purchase. A large northern barbarian stepped into the circle to face him: easily a head taller, barrel-chested and broad-shouldered, wearing just a loincloth and furred boots, the better to show off his appallingly developed physique. Hawk nodded amiably to his opponent. The barbarian just growled back at him, from deep in his throat. And then he surged forward, horribly quickly for someone of his size and bulk, his massive axe whistling through the air, without waiting for the steward to start things. But Hawk had been expecting that. He stepped quickly forward, ducked under the wildly sweeping axe, and slammed his own axe head deep into the barbarian’s exposed hip. The steel blade juddered on the bone, with a loud chunking sound the whole audience could hear. The barbarian was brought to a sudden halt, his eyes wide with pain and shock. Hawk jerked his axe out and stepped back. Blood jetted on the air, until the barbarian clapped one huge hand across it. Hawk looked steadily at his opponent.

“First blood.”

The crowd cheered and applauded loudly. This was more like it. Maybe this Hawk really was who he said he was, after all. And then the crowd’s applause died away, as they realised the barbarian hadn’t left the circle. He was still standing his ground, blood seeping thickly through the fingers of the hand covering the great wound on his hip. He still held his axe in his other hand, and his dark, deep-set eyes blazed with bitter fury. He raised his axe suddenly and threw it at Hawk, the huge blade tumbling end over end as it flew through the air. But Hawk was no longer standing where he had been. He’d known what the barbarian was going to do before the man did it, reading the barbarian’s intentions in his tensing muscles. By the time the flying axe flashed through the space where he’d been, Hawk was right there in front of the startled barbarian. He brought his axe up and down with brutal speed and strength, and buried the heavy axe head in the barbarian’s shoulder, right beside the neck. It smashed through the collarbone and drove the barbarian to his knees through sheer impact. The barbarian cried out once, in shock and pain, and blood sprayed from his mouth. Hawk jerked the axe free, like a woodsman yanking his blade out of a tree trunk, and blood sprayed everywhere. The barbarian fell forward, onto all fours, his hands pressed deep into the crimson mud. Hawk brought his axe sweeping down, with all his strength behind it, and cut off the barbarian’s head. It bounced and rolled across the ground like a football, ending up at the feet of the watching crowd, who shrieked happily. The headless body collapsed and lay still.

The steward loudly proclaimed Hawk’s victory, while two of his fellows hurried forward to drag the body out of the circle. Getting the head back from the crowd took somewhat longer. Hawk strolled back to join his family. Fisher grinned, Gillian shook her head slowly, and Jack looked at him steadily.

“Was that really necessary, Father?”

“Yes,” said Hawk. “Break the rules once, and I’ll give you a second chance. Piss me off a second time and you’re a dead man.”

“Age has not mellowed you,” said Fisher.

“And aren’t you grateful?” said Hawk.

“You were right,” said Gillian, still a little dazed at what she’d seen. “Only a fool turns his back on a cheat.”

“Not actually the biggest man I’ve ever seen you kill,” said Fisher. “But bloody close.”

“Size isn’t everything,” said Hawk.

He strode back into the circle, shaking drops of blood from his axe head. He smiled at the new opponent facing him. “First blood?”

“Oh, I think so,” said his new opponent quickly.

Hawk took on twelve opponents, in swift succession. Some were stronger, some were swifter, a few were even more skilled, but none of them were as strong
and
as fast
and
as skilled as Hawk. Or had his experience. Hawk had fought men and demons in his time, in duels and skirmishes, battles and wars. He wasn’t unbeatable, but there was no one at the Tourney who even came close. The crowd around the circle grew steadily thicker, as he beat men up and chopped them down, and didn’t even raise a decent sweat. He didn’t have to kill anyone else. Some of them even walked out of the circle, glad to still be alive. As the news spread, people came running from all over the Tourney to see what was happening. They’d never seen anything like Hawk before. They cheered and applauded and stamped their feet as the steward announced Hawk champion axeman of the day.

Fisher sniffed loudly as Hawk left the circle to the roar of the madly applauding throng. She insisted on leading the family off to the next fighting circle, where she wasted no time in announcing herself as Fisher of the Hero Academy. She stepped into the circle, swept her sword before her, and loudly declared herself ready to take on all comers. A large crowd had followed her. They pressed together several ranks deep around the circle, smiling widely in anticipation. More people were hurrying forward, from all around. The news was spreading. Hawk and Fisher were here.

A hell of a lot of swordsmen came forward to challenge Fisher. Only two champion swordspeople were ever allowed on the day of Tourney, and with the first already awarded to Gillian by Prince Richard, defeating Fisher was their only chance to qualify. And they hadn’t come all this way to be put off by a legendary name. There was a certain amount of scuffling in the queue, as the various swordsmen sorted out the right pecking order, and then the first man stepped into the circle to face Fisher. A tall, heavily built fellow in well-used chain mail, he looked like he knew his business. Fisher grinned, and went forward to meet him.

Clearly an ex-soldier, with many scars, he towered over Fisher. He didn’t make the mistake of underestimating her. He edged forward, cautiously, ready for an extended bout of swordsmanship. Fisher just slammed right into him and drove him back with an intimidatingly fierce display of speed and savagery. She drove him this way and that, making it look easy, and then beat the sword right out of his hand. The ex-soldier just stood there for a moment, blinking, and looking at his sword lying on the ground. And then he decided to get the hell out of the circle while he still could. It wasn’t, technically speaking, first blood, but he knew he was lucky to be walking away with all his fingers still attached. Several quite experienced swordsmen waiting in the queue decided they wouldn’t bother after all.

There were still plenty of hard-faced swordsmen and -women who were more than ready to have a go. Fisher took them all down, quickly and efficiently, always stepping back at first blood, if only so she didn’t get any on her. The crowd loved her, shouting her name over and over. They were packed so deep round the circle now that those at the back were having to stand on benches to see what was happening. Hawk beamed fondly on Fisher, always proud to see her taking on the world and winning.

The thirteenth fighter shouldered everyone else out of his way, and strode into the fighting circle. Fisher looked him over, and immediately decided this was one to take very seriously. He was only average height and weight, lithely muscular in an athletic way. But he moved with a graceful and economical style that marked him immediately for what he was. He stood poised before Fisher, studying her with cold, unblinking eyes; and he didn’t bow.

“So, you’re one of the trainers from the Hero Academy,” he said, in a flat, cold voice. “Mongrels. Troublemakers. Too proud to show the proper obedience to your proper masters. Too arrogant to bow down to the Brotherhood of Steel. It’s time you upstarts were taught a lesson in real swordsmanship, by a properly trained fighter. I am a Bladesmaster, thanks to the Brotherhood—unbeatable with a sword in my hand. Defend yourself, bitch.”