***Hawk the Slayer is the copyright of Terry Marcel and the estate of Harry Robertson. I have been a fan of Hawk for over 30 years and this (and hoepfully subsequent others) is my homage to the stories that so beguiled me as a youth. I hope you enjoy! ***
It
was a time when magic was leaving the land and the people no longer believed in
heroes. The war had been costly for all and darkness was sweeping from the
North. From this there came stories of a mighty warrior welding a wondrous
sword who championed the old ways and fought for the light. His name? Hawk.
This is how he came to be.
He had come to the tavern
to forget; to become someone else. His every decision had been perverted by
forces he never even knew existed –the life he knew as Prince of the realm had
kept him secluded and naïve and he had suffered for it. Had he though? If he
could bare the real truth then no, he hadn’t suffered at all but those around
him had. His father and wife dead by the hands of his once beloved brother,
Voltan. And it was all his fault.
Hawk looked around him;
there was much talk and fervour around –the Purging’s were in the next village
and the crowds were getting restless. Over the last few months the True Faith
had swept in from the North, slowly at first –little more than a few buildings
converted into churches, preaching of a single deity that ruled over all. To
the True Faith the Deity stood over all else; no longer were there Spirits of
the woods, the fields, the streams. No more belief in magic and the ‘old ways’
as they were now called; they were considered dangerous. The one Truth said to
worship no other and as the movement grew in strength so the Purging’s were
born. Those that did not align themselves to the truth were scourged of the old
ways until only an empty shell remained, which could then be filled with the
Spirit of Truth. The Unfaithful were never killed but converted, hollowed out.
The country was slowly put
to the sword as the True Faith gained more power and a state of war was
declared on those that were Unfaithful, though there was no ‘enemy’ to fight.
In the end it was all political but the nobles were forced to choose a side.
Hawk’s father had chosen to remain impartial –in truth he was steeped in the
old traditions and had taught both Hawk and Voltan their importance- but when
his castle was threshold was threatened King Ferdyn relinquished his neutrality
(at least on the surface). His favourite son, Voltan, was sent to the war
leaving Hawk embittered and alone, jealous of Voltan’s position. Hawk longed to
be a warrior but did not have the stomach for it; he was a womaniser and loved
the more refined things in life. The Old Ways did not sway him as much as they
did Voltan, who coveted the legendary Elvin Mindsword. Ferdyn had promised it
to him upon his return.
Hawk heard a ruckus behind
him but he tried to ignore it. A beggar was being harassed and jeered but Hawk
did nothing to intervene. The beggar should have known his place and kept
outside, content with the scraps that others left him. It was then that he felt
someone tug hard at his scabbard and he turned around quickly. It was the beggar,
trying to lift the Mindsword from him. He was about to push him away and make
an issue of it but he suddenly found himself at the business end of two other
swords. The harassment had been a diversion whilst the beggar had picked the
pockets clean.
Hawk allowed the thieves
to leave with his sword knowing where they would be going. It wouldn’t be too
hard to get it back. No one had lifted a hand to help him. After a couple of
minutes he left the tavern and walked to the side alley where the beggar sat,
going through his hard earned money. He was alone. The sword was on his lap.
“Give me the sword.” Hawk
said to the beggar as he walked toward him. “Give me the sword or I’ll take it
from you.” He was almost level with the beggar now who was grinning maliciously
at him.
“You will, will you, my
fine friend?” Came a voice behind him. The beggar’s accomplices had followed
him out of the pub and now blocked the entrance to the street. There were four
of them.
“This is no concern of
yours. All I want is the sword, you can keep the rest.” He replied.
“We’ll keep it all.” The
beggar spat and motioned to the men who advanced, weapons raised. Hawk
concentrated on the sword, felt the green glow within himself as the Mindstone
started to glow and pulsate in time –the connection was becoming easier to
establish each time he used it. The beggar felt the sword pulsate and was
astonished when it started to vibrate. Just before taking hold of it the sword
flew off of his lap and straight into Hawks hand to the shock of the thieves
around him.
“How the hell did he do
that?”
“Don’t know… and I’m not
sure we want to know. This might not be a good idea.” Replied another.
“He’s only one man!” The
beggar snapped. “Got any questions? Well, ask his corpse!” He lunged, dagger in
hand ready to skewer Hawk, hoping to catch him off balance but Hawk was ready
and neatly sidestepped him, slamming the back of the beggars head with the haft
of his sword. Despite the overwhelming odds he didn’t want to kill any of them;
he’d had enough of killing but equally knew that the thieves would have no such
concern. The rest of the thieves rushed him and it was impossible to use the
sword properly.
Just then he heard a deep
voice and the rest of the thieves stopped and looked round.
“AHEM! This is most
unbecoming, it’s certainly not very sportsman like! Do any of you… gentlemen
feel like testing your prowess on an easier target?” The man who spoke stood
firm at nearly seven foot, rooted to the ground like a wise oak. He was dressed
entirely in black except for a metallic breast-plate and he was completely bald
and clean shaven. His left hand hung by his side, the fingers drumming on his
leg whilst the other was behind his back.
“Looks like you’ve got an
admirer.” One of the thieves said to Hawk. “Its payday lads, make the most out
of it.”
Four of the thieves
charged for the giant but were slammed aside when he suddenly showed what he
had been holding behind him –a huge metal mallet- which he swung at them. They
never stood a chance. The remaining thieves turned and ran, knocking over Hawk
in the melee. The giant stood over him and held out his hand.
“Thank you, I’m very
grateful.” Hawk had a chance to study the face that towered above him. Despite
the sudden violence of his actions there was a silence behind his eyes; an
unknown resignation.
“It’s not often one finds
a nobleman alone in such an alley. Are you lost per chance?” The Giant asked.
“I’m not sure why you think
me a nobleman. I’m just…” Hawk thought for a second. He wanted to remain
incommunicado for the time being; there was still too much he had to atone for.
He could no longer be known as a man of the blood, he was no longer noble so he
had to adopt a title more befitting. “I’m just a man who’s lost his way…”
“Haven’t we all.” The
giant agreed, solemnly. “I am called Gort. I am the last of my kind.”
“In many ways, so am I. I
am called Wren.” Hawk replied.
“Wren? Well.. if you say
so.” Gort looked at Hawk who quickly sheathed his sword, not wanting to draw
any more attention to himself. Hawk now had to move on, too many people would
be talking about the altercation in the tavern and he wanted to remain away
from the spotlight. The less people knew he was around the better, but where to
go next? “If it’s places to lose yourself I know of a couple.” Gort ventured.
“Am I that transparent?”
Hawk asked, smiling. There was something about Gort that was easy to like;
despite his sadness there was a sense of a childlike glee as he smiled back.
“The old teachings state
that one can only recognise in others that which is obvious in you.” Gort
replied.
“It could be considered
dangerous to hold such beliefs.” Hawk acknowledged. “If I didn’t hold to them
as well.”
“I knew that I could trust
you.”
“Trust is a strong word to
use these days. I’m not sure that I’m worthy of such a word.” Hawk replied,
feeling the sense of his burden again.
“I have a sense of
people.. and of words. But enough of that, shall I take you one of those
faraway places, Wren?” Hawk nodded and followed Gort to the horses. “There’s
enough food and drink to last us a few days there. Maybe after that you’ll have
more of a sense as to where you want to be.” Hawk just looked at him, one
eyebrow raised. “I have a nose for these things, but I won’t pry. Not yet,
anyway.”
The journey to Gort’s was
uneventful. Hawk had previously maintained that provided you kept your own
company other people didn’t bother you unduly; however the events in the tavern
made him aware that maybe it no longer held true. There used to be a concept
such as unity and community but this seemed to be slowly dying. How much of
this was due to the True Faith? The True Faith seemed to put more store in
materiality as the means to gain a position in their church and sought to cause
friction in the togetherness that was part of the old ways. Confusion and
suspicion were rife now and there seemed to be more crime now.
Gort kept quiet, he
understood the need for silence and knew when to talk. As a magical being
himself it was second nature; like the dwarves and elves he was in harmony with
the world around him. When the world thrived so did he, but the times were so
different now. It seemed as if the time for magic had passed; no one trusted
the old ways anymore. Worse still he and his were hated and feared. The Faith
were to blame but how to fight such an entity when your power stemmed from the
energy that it was supressing. Gort was supposed to be a giant and had been in
his youth, but as the belief in the old ways died so too did his stature. He
knew that the same thing was happening to the dwarves and elves; their powers
which had been magical in nature were deserting them –the iron hills, once a
thriving industrial empire were now almost finished and the iron smelted using
modern methods. That very iron had been used to imprison the fey folk; the same
fey folk that had been protecting them all this time from the darkness. Was it
any surprise then that the darkness was encroaching at the same time as the
True Faith?
Hawk could see signs of a
past battle in the distance; and what looked to be a hamlet now smouldering and
ravaged.
“No.” Gort exclaimed and
geed his horse onwards. “What could have happened? Why would anyone want to
attack us? We were peaceful.”
“Careful, Gort – you don’t
know what exactly’s happened.” Hawk tempered. “There could still be danger.”
“The only danger to them
is me.”
Hawk looked around at the
devastation, it seemed too meticulous, too planned. This wasn’t a raid or a
battle field; there was thought behind it –but what. He kept his thoughts to
himself until there was evidence to back things up.
Gort saw the burnt out
husks of his former hamlet; saw the ruined hall where he had gone to commune
and it seemed most damaged of all the buildings. However one thing seemed
strange –there were no bodies; no dead nor wounded. If this was a battle then
where were the casualties?
Gort’s hut was still
standing surprisingly, arrows imbedded in the door and windows smashed but it
was structurally sound. Hawk opened the door gradually and Gort waited until it
was fully open. Suddenly a plate was thrown haphazardly, followed by a bowl and
a goblet, all smashing on the floor. Gort and Hawk looked at each other.
“Hold! Throw anything more
and there won’t be anything to eat off of!” Gort shouted. “Get your priorities
right!”
“Gort! You’ve returned!”
Came a cry from within. As Gort walked in to his cabin he was greeted by dirt
streaked children, clothes torn and ragged.
“What happened?” Hawk
asked. The children said nothing, burying their heads in Gort’s massive frame.
“It’s ok. You can trust
him. He’s a friend. His name is Hawk.”
“You knew?” Hawk replied, raising
an eyebrow.
“I wouldn’t say it was
obvious, but now is not a time for subterfuge. Something has happened to my
hamlet –this is bigger than either of us.” Hawk nodded and got down on one knee
so he could be the same height as the children.
“Please, tell us what
happened.”
“Slavers came.” One of the
girls replied, sniffing. “They waited until we were in communion before
attacking.”
“They waited until I was
away more like.” Gort replied.
“You can not blame
yourself.” Hawk confided. “It’s clear that they have been taken somewhere. You
can still help them.”
“Me help them? What about
you?” Gort snapped back. Hawk hung his head in shame, unsure of whether he
could trust his judgement any more. Without thinking Gort took him by his
vestment and banged him against the wall. “So this is how the world is? I help
you, save your life, show you succour and this is how you repay me?”
“I can not trust my
judgement in a fight, Gort. You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”
“I’m asking you in the
name of friendship; of the old ways. I’m asking you to be a man!” He turned his
back on Hawk in disgust and walked to the children. “Tell me, young ones, where
did they take the others?”
“I overheard them talking
about the hunchback of the river, but I thought they were joking.” A boy
sniffed. Gort knew immediately who they were talking about and he involuntarily
shivered. If it was true then they needed to be quick, each hour mattered now.
“Slavers.” His voice was
filled with hate and the children were glad they were not on the receiving end.
They had only known him as the gentle giant, playing with him in the dappled
dewed mornings, this was an avenger.
“What are you going to
do?” Hawk asked, turning to Gort.
“I’ve had dealings with
Sped the hunchback before. Let’s say that this is his idea of payback. There
will not be another transaction –this time I’m going to end it.”
“What will you do?”
“Whatever is necessary.
What is it to you? Will you be joining me after all?”
“I can not abandon you
after you have shown me so much, but if we approach this wrong then there could
be much bloodshed on both sides.”
“What do you suggest then,
my friend?”
There was about an hour’s
ride through the beech woods to the river which gave Hawk enough time to put
things into perspective. It helped having Gort by his side.
“You’re looking at me in
that way again, Gort.”
“Which way would that be?” Gort smiled warmly and then turned to Hawk before continuing. “There
is a difference between being alone and being lonely. You have chosen to
isolate yourself and I wager that it is due to a mistaken belief that it is
better to be alone than to hurt people by making wrong decisions.”
“You see much.”
“Maybe too much?”
“No. I do need to talk
about it.” Hawk replied.
“There’s nothing wrong
with making wrong decisions.”
“What would you say then
if I were to tell you that the evil that is spreading the land is due to my
poor judgement?” Gort kept his eyes in front, now was not the time to
interrupt. This was Hawk’s time. “Voltan was not as now; he was the strong one,
brave and righteous; favoured by my father and engaged to Eliane. I coveted all
that was Voltan’s and did my very best to find ways to wrest it from him; all
the time appearing to be the dutiful brother and son. My brother went off to
fight in the wars on behalf of my father –through the dark times.”
“The dark times were harsh
for all of us.” Gort conceded.
“But not for me. Voltan
entrusted me with the safety of his beloved; bade me look after her whilst he
was gone fighting. And so I did, and more. I spent the time slowly poisoning
her mind against him but with the smoothest of tongues. She never realised what
I had done, not even when we were betrothed and….” He hung his head then, the
events still so fresh in his mind, sickened by the weight of causality. The war
had been far from glorious; the atrocities too grisly to comprehend, with
casualties high on both sides –a far cry from the noble ballads of old. Hawk
knew that the only thing that had kept Voltan going throughout those deadly
days and black nights was the thought of his beloved.
“What you did was wrong,
ill-conceived and pig headed, even; malicious certainly… but evil? No; far from
it. You did it out of jealousy and pride; nothing more. What happened
afterwards was not of your doing – you can take responsibility for what you did
and so you should, but you can not take responsibility for what other people
have done.”
“But Eliane… my father…
they died because…”
“Did you kill them? Did
you take the sword to your father and kill him yourself?”
“No – but the end result
was the same. I as good as killed them.” Gort stopped riding and took Hawk by
the shoulder.
“Voltan made his decisions
and he made them alone. There were other options open to him, there always are.
He could have chosen to fight you, to challenge you to Eliane’s hand; but he
did not. He went a different path.”
“Eliane once said that the
war had turned his mind inwards….” Hawk mused.
“Who knows what horror’s
he faced when he was at war. Who knows what horrors he still faces. I can not
help but feel sorry for what he must have endured.” Gort replied and Hawk hung
his head in shame. “But in the next breath I condone him to hell for everything
he has done since. He chose the dark path, you did not choose it for him. In
many ways you have been trying to atone for his decisions by hiding yourself
from the world; and in doing so you deprive the world of its beacon of hope and
strength.”
“How do you mean?”
“The Mindsword. Did you
never wonder why it chose you?”
“How do you mean? Chose
me?”
“I do seriously wonder
about you people sometimes. The Elfin Mindstone, did you never think about
breaking that word apart and wondering why it comes to your hand? You think it
comes to everyone who wishes it?”
“I never really gave it
much thought.” Hawk admitted.
“The sword will only go to
the person who is worthy to hold it. When you looked in to the heart of the
stone so the stone looked into the heart of you. Had you not been worthy you
would soon have known about it.” Hawk had a lot to think about and the river
banks were fast approaching –now was the time for the plan to unfold.
The banks of the river
Shale used to be an idyllic, one might say almost picturesque spot. Children
used to bathe and play; fish could be caught by the boat load without fear of
exhausting the waters. Then came the slavers who saw the richness of the
natural harbour, secluded enough to be hidden if necessary, with perfect access
to the main throughways and causeways. There used to be many families jockeying
for possession of the river, many factions at war with each other, frittering
the meagre profits through bloodshed and skirmish. Then Sped the hunchback came
from the west and changed things within a week. He called all the heads of the
four families that ran the river to a meeting and then gave them an offer
–serve him or die.
He was a ponderous person,
malshapen and misformed; surely a laughing stock but those that laughed at him
would often end up dead or crippled. He possessed very few enviable qualities;
he wasn’t gregarious or jovial in any way; he didn’t speak more than necessary
(except during his selling patios) preferring his spiked club to do the talking
for him. When he gave his ultimatum to the four families he let them laugh for
at least three minutes before smashing the skull of the most powerful of them;
the other three family heads came into line quickly after that. He was not one
to be crossed; there was only one person who had ever done so and Sped had
finally had his revenge.
Hawk knew this when he
walked into Sped’s camp and had reasoned that it would be wiser to put Sped off
guard from the first. If Gort had attacked straight away then the battle could
have been over quickly but with casualties on both sides.
“Ah – a customer!” Came a
shout; voice cracked with drunken hatred and bile. “What’ll it be, my posing peacock?” Hawk
looked at Sped with obvious disgust, never had he met such a loathsome
creature. Part of him wanted to kill him straight away; his sword demanding to
be slaked. “What are you in the mood for: blonde, brunet? I have the finest
slaves on the river Shale!”
“I hear you laid waste to
a hamlet not far from here.”
“Eh? What are you saying?
What’re you accusing me of?” Hawk saw the studded club in Sped’s flatulent
fingers and so wanted to wrest it from him, but that was not the plan.
“I would take them off
your hands.” He replied.
“Oh, would ya now?” Sped
spat, his voice raised now; an obvious sign to his underlings that trouble was
brewing. Hawk counted half a dozen. The club in Sped’s hands tapped the ground
hard and Hawk knew that it wouldn’t take that much provocation to make him use
it.
“And what will you offer
me for such a pretty hoard?” Sped asked.
“I thought that you might
let me have them, as a good will gesture.”
“Of course you did. Well,
you thought wrong, my fine friend.” He gestured to three of the underlings who
advanced on Hawk. “You’ve got guts to walk in here alone. I guarantee that
you’ll make someone a fine slave, but you need to be taught a lesson in
humility first.”
The underlings charged
Hawk who just stood there ,he knew that all eyes were on the upcoming battle
which gave Gort the chance to sneak into the camp without being seen. In swift
succession Gort managed to silence the three remaining guards with swift blows
with his mighty hammer as Hawk did his best to dispatch the other three.
“You’ve bested those
slatterns but you won’t stand a chance against the rest of us, scum-sucker.”
“Honestly, this is what
the river has come to! Behold the humble hunchback!” Gort remarked.
Sped spun round, shocked
by what he saw. His worst enemy standing there, gloating; large as life. “You.”
Sped spat at Gort as he hefted the club in a fighting stance. “It’s always you.
This time we’ll end it, dung eater. This time I’ll have my reckoning.” A tap on
the shoulder made him whirl around again where he was now faced with the tip of
the Mindsword.
“There’ll be no reckoning.
Not this time.” Hawk was firm, he knew of the darkness inside of him and knew
now that Gort was right; there was always a choice to make. He was no longer
alone in that choice now. “You’ll go about your business, far away from here.
We don’t want to see you here again, hunchback.”
“There won’t be a third
time, worm.” Gort affirmed. Despite his initial desire to see the hunchbacks
skull squashed like a pumpkin he knew that Hawk was right.
Back at the hamlet, Hawk
was torn between conflicting desires. For once he had a place to stay, where he
could be accepted and stay hidden; but was that really what he wanted? He had
stayed to help rebuild the shacks and huts and Gort was happy once more. Hawk
felt satisfied with what they had accomplished.
“What will you do now, my
friend?” Gort asked him that evening.
“Thanks to you I now
understand that I have a path to follow. I have ignored it for too long, the
powers of darkness are growing stronger by the day and there is no longer any
belief in the old ways to combat them. Someone needs to stand against the
tyranny, against the horror –to show that there are alternatives… that there is
choice; and I have you to thank for that.”
“It won’t be easy.” Gort
conceded. “But you know that you have an ally here if ever you need one; you
also have a home should you ever need one.”
“Thank you, but my path
lies out there.”
“God speed then. Remember
we are one, you have but to ask and I will be there.”
“God speed, Gort; and
my thanks.”
