Once In a Blue Moon (74 page)

“This is what we’ll do to the whole damned Forest once you’re dead.”

Hawk punched him out, and walked on. Chappie paused just long enough to piss on the unconscious man’s face, and then hurried after Hawk. They both had their reputations to maintain. The soldiers let them pass. They had their orders. Hawk came to the command tent and nodded brusquely to the guards on duty. They snapped to attention despite themselves, and pulled back the tent flaps so he could enter. Hawk strode in as though the whole thing was his idea, with Chappie close by his side. One of the guards grabbed at the dog to stop him but jerked his hand back with a howl as Chappie bit off three of the guard’s fingers with one snap of his great jaws.

“Don’t eat those,” said Hawk, not looking back. “Bad for your diet.”

“Start as you mean to go on . . . ,” said Chappie indistinctly.

Hawk smiled at the men waiting for him inside the tent. Cameron and Christof, the Champion and General Staker. They introduced themselves formally, and Hawk just nodded casually back.

“So,” he said. “Let’s get this show on the road. The sooner this nonsense is over, the sooner I can get on with something more important. You do know the Demon Prince is out there somewhere?”

Cameron came forward to look Hawk over. He did his best to loom over Hawk, but even with his size and presence, he couldn’t quite bring it off.

“You’re who they chose?” he said finally. “I don’t even know you.”

“I’m Hawk. And that’s all you need to know.”

Cameron nodded slowly. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter who you are. I never lose. You must have heard that?”

“That’s what they say about everyone. Until they lose,” said Hawk.

“I know you,” said Malcolm. “Or at least I’ve heard of you. You’re the latest Hawk to run the Hero Academy, right? I always wanted to go there when I was a kid. Is it true that all Hawks carry the axe the High Warlock made?”

“Yes,” said Hawk. His hand went to the axe at his side, and he patted it fondly. “It’s a good axe. Gets the job done.”

“I’ve heard of the axe,” said Cameron. “I’ll put it to good use after your death. Who will take the news of my victory back to your people? Where is your official second?”

“That would be me,” growled Chappie.

Cameron smiled at the dog. “How marvellous! A talking animal!”

He reached down to pat Chappie’s head, saw the look in the dog’s eye, and quickly pulled his hand back. He glared at Hawk.

“Your dog is very badly trained.”

“He isn’t trained at all,” said Hawk. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“It’s all part of my charm,” said Chappie. And he pissed up the table leg.

Prince Cameron did his best to give the impression of being above such things. “The clearing is ready. I don’t see why we should wait. Once I’ve killed you, I’ll have my dinner, and then we’ll go into the Castle to accept Rufus’ surrender.” He looked at Hawk. “Is your King in any condition to understand what’s happening?”

“Oh, I’d say so,” said Hawk. “In fact, I think his current condition would surprise you all.”

“I don’t do surprises,” said Cameron.

“I do,” said Hawk.

•   •   •

B
y the time Hawk and Cameron got to the clearing, it was surrounded by Redhart soldiers. Hundreds of them, several rows deep. They roared and cheered for their Prince, who nodded calmly to them. He entered the clearing casually, as though it was something he did every day. He was wearing his full armour, and the sheer weight of it drove his boots deep into the thick mud. The Champion handed Cameron a long rectangular shield, solid steel, with the Royal crest of Redhart emblazoned on it. Cameron drew his massive longsword and turned to face Hawk, who was just standing there, waiting for him. Hawk drew his axe and sank into his fighter’s crouch. Cameron looked at him.

“That’s it?” he said. “No armour, no shield?”

“Don’t believe in them,” said Hawk. “They get in the way.”

Cameron shook his head slowly. “Sometimes, it seems to me there is a very thin line between overconfidence and a death wish.”

“Poor bastard,” growled Chappie, from the edge of the clearing. “He’s already dead, and he doesn’t know it.”

Several soldiers standing near the dog found urgent and compelling reasons to go stand somewhere else.

Cameron looked Hawk over carefully. Everything in the way Hawk held himself made it clear he was a professional, experienced fighter. And his great steel axe head shone supernaturally bright in the Forest gloom. The rain had died away for the moment, and everything in the circle seemed unnaturally clear and distinct. Cameron dug his feet deep into the mud, for better purchase, and strode forward. Huge, overpowering, carried along by the weight of his own legend. Hawk smiled, and went casually forward to meet him. Because he’d spent most of his life fighting legends.

They circled each other slowly for a while, respectful of each other’s obvious competence. Cameron peered over the top of his shield, every movement he made carefully calculated, giving nothing away. Hawk moved lightly through the mud, axe at the ready, holding strength and speed in reserve for when they’d be needed. Neither of them bothered with war cries, or harsh talking. They were professionals. The watching crowd was quiet now, taking in every detail, tense with anticipation. Whatever happened in this circle would decide the war, and the fate of two nations. And whether the watching soldiers would have to go out and fight and maybe die for their country. They had faith in their Prince. He was unbeatable. Everyone knew that. Everyone except Hawk, apparently, who still looked like he thought he could win . . .

The two men surged forward, and slammed together in the middle of the clearing. Sparks flew on the air as axe and sword clashed, and then the two men withdrew from each other and went back to circling. They’d taken each other’s measure, both of them going for the killing stroke, and neither of them had backed down. It was going to be a real fight, after all.

Hawk swung his axe with both hands, and Cameron put his shield in place to block it. The shining axe head sheared clean through the upper part of the shield, hacking it off. The severed part fell into the mud. Cameron backed hastily away. The top third of his shield was gone. Hawk went after him, and slammed his axe against the shield again and again, carving pieces off, whittling it away. Until finally the axe head buried itself in the shield, and the impact drove Cameron to one knee. Hawk jerked his axe free, and the shield split into two pieces and fell apart. Cameron threw what was left away and rose to his feet, his sword held out before him.

Hawk grinned.

The two men circled each other. They lunged and feinted, stamping heavily in the treacherous mud, sometimes slipping and sliding, but always recovering. They darted in to attack and then leapt back again, the sound of steel slamming against steel almost painfully loud on the quiet. Their eyes met. Hawk was still grinning. Cameron was still coldly calculating. The Prince no longer thought this was going to be a quick match, or an easy win.

They threw themselves at each other again and again, cutting and parrying, forcing each other back and forth across the clearing, their breath coming hard and ragged, sweat flying from their faces. The fight went on and on, long after other fighters would have dropped from sheer exhaustion. The speed and frequency of their attacks lessened, as they duelled each other to the limits of their strength, and beyond.

The watching soldiers were crying out at every blow now, as though they could will their Prince to victory through their support. They crowded right up to the edge of the clearing. They’d never seen a fight like this before. They knew this was one of those moments when history becomes legend; and they were there. They knew they would be telling this story to their children, and grandchildren, and anyone who would listen, for the rest of their lives.

Cameron swung his sword round in a long arc, and Hawk ducked under it at the last moment. He felt a breath of air stir his hair as the blade swept past. He swung his axe in a vicious short arc, aiming for the weak spot in Cameron’s armour, where the leg met the groin. Cameron pulled back at the last moment, so the axe glanced off solid steel, denting it deeply. The sheer weight of the armour was slowing Cameron down, for all his great strength, and dampening his responses. He hadn’t expected the fight to go on this long.

The two men stood facing each other for a long moment, heads hanging down, sweat dripping off their flushed faces, both of them drawing in great lungfuls of air. Glaring unyieldingly into each other’s eyes. Neither of them had drawn blood yet. Hawk was still grinning. Cameron raised his sword with both hands and charged forward, bringing the heavy blade down on Hawk’s head with all his strength. Hawk braced himself, and brought his axe up to block the blow, putting all his strength behind it. The long sword hammered down into the axe, and the sword blade shattered. Cameron stumbled on, with half a sword in his hand, unable to stop, and Hawk’s axe punched through his armour and buried itself in Cameron’s chest.

The crowd noise fell away to nothing. Cameron stood looming over Hawk, looking down at the axe head in his chest. He looked more surprised than anything. Hawk jerked the axe blade out of Cameron’s armour, and a great welter of blood followed it. Cameron fell to his knees, as though only the axe’s presence had been holding him up. He opened his mouth to say something, but only blood came out. Cameron fell slowly backwards, into the mud, and lay still, his face entirely expressionless. He didn’t move again.

Hawk watched him for a while, just to be sure, and then slowly straightened up and looked about him. He was breathing so hard he couldn’t speak. He raised his left arm and wiped the sweat from his face. He still held his axe out before him. Blood dripped steadily from the axe head. The High Warlock did good work. All around him Redhart soldiers stood silently, looking grimly back at him. None of them moved, or said a word. The unbeatable Prince had been beaten. They couldn’t believe it. And then General Staker stepped into the clearing, hurried forward, and knelt beside the fallen Prince. He checked for signs of life, and when he couldn’t find any, he stood up to face Hawk.

“You cheated!” he said, almost hysterically. “You must have! There’s no way you could have beaten the Prince otherwise!” He looked about him for support. “This result doesn’t stand! It doesn’t count, because he cheated! I say we hold him as a hostage!”

“Sounds good to me,” said Prince Christof, stepping forward to stand beside the General. “I mean, yes, I went along with this contest, but only because I was sure we were going to win. We didn’t come all this way to give up just because Cameron wasn’t up to the job. We expected too much from a man who spent the last eight years living in a cave. We should never have listened to him. We came here to rescue my sister, Catherine, and conquer a country. And that’s what we’re going to do.”

The soldiers packed together round the clearing cheered him loudly, and nodded vigorously to one another. Cameron had let them down, and they were eager to follow a new leader. Christof looked at Hawk.

“Chain him up. Maybe we can exchange him for Catherine. Before we tear their Castle down.”

“We could send bits of him back to the Castle, one at a time, until they agree to surrender,” said the General.

“Is that how you want to win this war?” said the Champion, stepping out of the crowd. “With such dishonourable methods?”

“That man just killed your Prince!” said the General.

“I never liked him,” said Christof, not even looking at his dead brother’s body, still lying in the mud. “He was arrogant and overconfident, and it got him killed.”

“We agreed to abide by the outcome of this fight,” the Champion said doggedly. “If we break faith, how can we hope to make any kind of deal with them?”

“You’re right,” said Christof. “Hawk’s no use to us as a captive.”

“We could still persuade him to talk,” said Staker. “Make him tell us what’s going on inside the Castle . . . How to get in, past the defences . . .”

Hawk chuckled suddenly, and they all looked at him, startled. It wasn’t the sound of an exhausted, beaten man.

“Come on,” said Hawk. “Bring me down if you can. Who dies first?”

Nobody moved. They’d all just seen him duel a legend to the death, and none of them were in any hurry to take him on. Because they all knew, deep down, that he was the most dangerous man they’d ever seen.

“A man like that would never talk, General,” said Christof. “So there’s no reason to keep him alive, is there? Kill the man, General Staker. Have your men drag him down. Use as many as it takes. And then cut off his head. We’ll send it back to the Forest Court to tell them we won!” He smiled briefly. “Perhaps we’ll strap the head to his dog, and he can carry it back.”

Staker nodded stiffly, and gestured to his soldiers. Hawk brought his axe up and braced himself. The soldiers came running forward from all sides, brave enough as a crowd, eager to get their hands on the man who had killed their undefeated Prince. Hawk swung his axe and cut down three men, one after the other, before the rest ran right over him and hauled him to the ground. The impact knocked the axe out of his hands, and it fell into the mud. Half a dozen soldiers wrestled him onto his knees, and held him there, head down. Hawk still fought them with all his strength, refusing to give up, even as General Stake swaggered forward with his sword in his hands, and stood over him.

“Don’t think you’ve changed anything,” said the General. “You’re just an inconvenience. Now hold still. The harder you make me work, the more I’ll enjoy it.”

He rested the edge of his sword on the back of Hawk’s neck for a moment. Hawk could feel his skin part under the sharp edge. A little blood ran down his neck. Staker lifted up his sword, while the soldiers held Hawk in place. And then Chappie came running forward out of the crowd, crossing the distance with amazing speed. He leapt through the air and tore out the General’s throat with one vicious snap of his massive jaws. Blood spurted, and the General cried out briefly. Chappie hit the muddy ground, skidded past Hawk, and then quickly recovered. He hit the guards hard, and they scattered, crying out in shock and fear. Hawk surged up off the ground and grabbed his axe out of the mud. The soldiers were running for their lives. Chappie moved quickly round to guard Hawk’s back. Staker had both hands at his throat, as though trying to hold together the terrible wound the dog’s jaws had made. Blood pumped thickly between his fingers. His eyes were full of horror. Not to be killed in battle, not to be struck down by an enemy’s sword, but to be beaten by a dog . . . He fell to his knees, his hands dropped away from his ragged throat, and then he fell facedown into the mud and lay still.