The Age of Heroes

by Scott J Robinson

  Through the door they followed a short passage and made their way down some worn stairs. The Armory was low roofed and dimly lit. Brick columns around the walls created deep shadows that somehow avoided all the efforts of the lamps. There were tables and chairs and a bar over to the side. And up the front was a low stage. Nobody was on it yet.

  “Nothing happening, by the looks of it,” Rawk said.

  “The lamps are lit, so someone will be on stage soon, I imagine.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “You sit down while I get some drinks. Do you want anything to eat?”

  “No.”

  Rawk found a table at the back and lowered himself into the chair. There were a few others in the room, nursing drinks or finishing up a meal. Nobody paid him any attention.

  “Here we go.” Travis set a mug down in front of him and took a seat.

  “How much was it?”

  “I’m paying tonight.”

  “Is this a date, Travis?”

  Travis laughed. “You wish, big fella. Can’t a friend buy you a drink occasionally?”

  Rawk stopped, mug half way to his mouth. “We’re friends?”

  “What else would you call it?”

  “Well...” Rawk grunted. “I suppose.”

  Travis looked offended and Rawk held up a hand.

  “It isn’t that I don’t like you, Travis, I’ve just never thought about it.” He’d never really had friends before, unless you counted Weaver. Travis had run the Hero’s Rest for more than five years and gone above and beyond the call of duty in a lot of areas, helping with things that weren’t a part of the job. Rawk smiled and raised his mug. Is that what friendship was? Is that what it felt like? He gave a smile. “Well, here’s to friendship, I guess.”

  Rawk downed some drink and nearly choked.

  “Are you all right?”

  He coughed and spluttered. “Fine. But it’s water. I was expecting ale.” He looked over to the bar to see if anyone was watching.

  Travis shook his head and sighed. “Don’t worry, I said it was for me. I told them a healer had told me I could only drink water for a week.”

  “Oh. Right then.” He sat back, wiping water from his chin. “So when is this show going to start?”

  But just then, two people walked onto the stage. The woman was small, with dark skin and hair. She wore a nervous smile and carried a mandolin. The other was a dwarf with a flat, handheld drum.

  “A fermi and a dwarf?” Rawk said. “I won’t...” He rose to his feet.

  “Oh, sit down, Rawk.”

  “You knew about this? You didn’t talk to Faramon at all, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t. This is the show I came to the other night.” He looked up at the stage. “They’re amazing and I thought you’d like it.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  Travis laughed. “You can sit stonily at the back of the taproom all you like, Rawk, but it’s obvious how much you like music. I don’t know why a Hero isn’t allowed to like music, by the way. Is a Hero not allowed to have fun? Are they not allowed to be people?”

  “Well, a Garalon fiddler is quite different to... to this.”

  “Yes, it is. Because this is wonderful. This is like an ocean compared to your Garalon fiddler’s muddy puddle.”

  “I doubt that very much.” He was still standing with Travis’ hand on his arm.

  “Sit down, Rawk.”

  “I will not—”

  “As a favor. For a friend. We can leave after the first song, if you want.”

  Rawk continued to stare at the pair on the stage. “This is why I don’t have friends,” he said when he eventually sat down.

  “Yes. Because you’re stubborn and difficult and don’t know how to relax.”

  “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “I know what you meant, now shut up.”

  Up on the stage, the dwarf had pulled up a little stool and started to play his drum, striking it with a double-ended stick.

  Rawk had never heard anything like it. When he thought of drums he thought of the snare drums or the bass drums played by the military. Or perhaps the war drums of the northern plains. This was... different. Light and lyrical, with the soft echo of the room adding a chorus to the background. And then the woman played a stream of mandolin over the top, and Rawk could have listened all night. He stared. The audience was silent. They ignored their drinks and their food and their companions.

  The music swept around the room for several minutes before the woman began to sing. Rawk started to rise, though he didn’t know where he was going, then sank back to his seat. Her voice was soft and smooth, clinging to the notes around it like snowflakes in the breeze. He sat through three songs before he looked around again.

  “Who is she?” he whispered into the bubbling silence between songs.

  “Her name is Celeste. The dwarf is Grint. He’s her brother, I think.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. Her father’s a dwarf or something. But she looks more like her mother, obviously.”

  Rawk couldn’t believe it. “How can a fermi-dwarf bastard sound like that?”

  “Have you heard the dwarves sing?”

  “Of course, they never bloody stop.”

  “Yes, but have you listened? Every one of them can sing. I have yet to meet a dwarf that couldn’t.”

  “They just sing those work songs.”

  “When they’re working, yes. And they do it well. I imagine they sing other songs after hours. The fermi aren’t terrible either, though nothing like dwarves.”

  The pair on stage were playing again, so Rawk shushed his companion and turned to listen. This time, Grint sang as well.

  Munday

  The offices of Keeto Alata were on the mezzanine floor of a huge building down by the river. Rawk had seen the outside of the building often enough, but had never had reason to venture beyond the door. Climbing the stairs he looked out over the low wall to the warehouse down below. Most of the floor space was taken up by rolls of brocaded silk, though there were bales of something else piled almost to the ceiling in the back corner and also a couple of dozen timber crates. A few dwarves were loading a wagon, working by hand. It was obviously hard work, but they chatted amongst themselves, joking and laughing. The thick, throat-clogging scent of wheat filled the air.

  Rawk continued across the large, open office. He smiled when the receptionist looked up. The young man’s eyes went wide then stood up so quickly he knocked his chair over. He quickly righted it but apparently didn’t use the time to work out what he was going to say. “Ahhh...”

  Rawk held up a hand. “Hello. I’m Rawk.”

  “I know who you are.”

  Rawk sighed. “That’s excellent.” He waited a moment. “Now would be the perfect time for you to tell me who you are.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “So?”

  “I’m Hurno.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Hurno.” Rawk smiled but it didn’t put the other man at ease. “I was hoping to speak with Yardi, if I could.”

  Hurno looked over his shoulder at the closed door. “Yardi is doing accounts this morning. She asked not to be disturbed.”

  “Well, could you disturb her just for a moment, to see if she will talk with me.”

  Hurno looked unsure. “I really don’t think I should. Somebody made a mistake with the books and—”

  Rawk called out. “Yardi!”

  Nothing.

  He tried again and a minute later the woman in question came through the door. She looked surprised.

  “Rawk?” She was as thin as a Queran beggar, though she ate more than a party of Heroes.

  “Yardi. Hurno said you were busy but I thought you might talk to me anyway.”

  “Of course. Hurno, this Rawk. He last great Hero, a giant among men. You not make giants wait.”

  Rawk smiled. Yardi spoke at least four languages and, though she generally got the words right, she often switched gram
mar and syntax mid sentence. It was amazing how such an intelligent woman could sometimes sound so silly.

  Hurno looked flustered. “Sorry, I—”

  “It does not mind. Come Rawk. I have been working on the books since before the dawning so somewhat of a distraction is welcome.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Somebody seems to have mislaid a few thousands ithel worth of sugar cane.”

  Rawk closed the door behind him and looked around the office. It was sparsely furnished with just one behemoth of a desk in the middle of the floor, three chairs, and a cabinet to one side. There was a door in the back wall that probably led to the mess. There was also a jungle of potted plants, lining the walls and hanging in baskets from the ceiling.

  Yardi saw him looking. “They help me to relax.”

  “Really? Do you have to employ someone to keep them alive?”

  The woman shook he head. “I manage all of that. It gives me time to think.”

  “Right.” Rawk was doubtful. He liked plants well enough, but had never really considered having them inside.

  “So, to what do I owe the pleasure? It a long time been.”

  “What do you know about Edwin Dan Beketh?”

  She shrugged her bony shoulders. “Not a muchness. He arrived here from Tharpin when he was just a boy and started working as a runner for Gagan Fen. He ended up managing some operations before striking out on his own. Most everyone knows that. He is not one of the richest men in Katamood, but I believe that is mainly because he has a plethora of interests outside his businesses. He likes to enjoy life and not waste it working. And... he is tendering for the Melaworth contract.”

  Rawk shook his head. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “The details matter not.” She waved the details away. “The contract is worth muchness, that is all you need to know.”

  “Is he close to getting it?”

  Rawk grew nervous as Yardi stared at him for a moment. “He is in the top two or three.” She blinked slowly. “There are a few more things we need to be checking.”

  “So it wouldn’t be a huge tragedy if he got the contract?”

  Yardi’s nose twitched. “If I remember correctly, you were not going to be coming in here asking for favors.”

  “I didn’t ask for a favor. I just asked a question.”

  There was a long stretch of silence. “From what I have seen, it would not be a tragedy.”

  Rawk nodded. “Right. Yardi, I need a favor.”

  Yardi sighed and slumped back in her chair. “What is it all about?”

  “I’m getting old, Yardi.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “This is news? We are all getting old.”

  “I know but... I’m starting to think that nothing is as it used to be.”

  “Again...”

  “I can remember when husbands used to come after me. And paramours. Now I’m being chased by fathers.”

  Rawk looked up when Yardi burst out laughing. “You tumbled with Adalee Dan Beketh? Oh, Rawk, when will learn?”

  “I think the day is fast approaching. And thank you for your support, by the way. Melia has already threatened me with castration.”

  Yardi tried to say something but it was lost amidst a fresh burst of laughter. Rawk sat in silence and waited for her to calm down. It took a while.

  “So, can you give him the contract?”

  “I really should deny you, just to be watching the fun.”

  “You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course. But Edwin can have the contract, I suppose. I’ll announce it in about a week.”

  “Thank you, Yardi.”

  “What are old friends for, Rawk?”

  “Are we still friends? I mean, these days we hardly see each other and when we do we talk business.”

  “If friendship was about how much time you spent with someone, Hurno out there would be my best friend. Luckily, it’s about what you would do for each other. So, you can make up your own mind.”

  “Where do you think we would be now, if I hadn’t gone away?”

  “Married, I dare say.”

  Rawk nodded. “Married and miserable.”

  “I would be miserable. You would be deliriously happy.”

  “Sorry, yes, that’s what I meant.” He smiled. “Deliriously happy and working for you on the docks back in Fabez.”

  Yardi was suddenly serious. “I think we would have driven each other crazy very quickly, Rawk.”

  “I can see that now,” he agreed, “but at the time...”

  “I know. I would have said yes in an instant.”

  They sat in silence until someone knocked on the door.

  Yardi cleared her throat. “Yes, Hurno?”

  The young man stuck his head in. “The chancellor is here.”

  “She’s early.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll be out in a moment.”

  The door closed again.

  “Slip out back if like.”

  “Will Huron tell?”

  “He knows better than.”

  “Good. Are we friends, Yardi? Or is this something else?”

  Yardi thought for a moment. “Yes, we are friends. It’s complicated, but we are friends.”

  “Thank you.” Rawk slipped out through the room’s other door.

  -O-

  Rawk put the dagger back onto the cloth and picked up another, longer weapon and tilted it to catch the light.

  “That is genuine redami steel.”

  Rawk didn’t say anything. He tapped the dagger on the side of the wagon.

  “And that is a ruby from the mines of Frensch.”

  “You think I’d buy a dagger because of a ruby on the hilt?”

  “Well...”

  “You think I’m some lord who wears weapons for show?”

  “Of course not, Rawk. I was just—”

  “The tang is broken,” Rawk said. He tossed it down onto the cloth.

  “I’m sure it isn’t.”

  But Rawk had already wandered away. The markets were buzzing with activity. Five ships had berthed in the harbor that morning, disgorging an array of cargoes and hordes of foreign sailors with coin to spend. They moved around the stalls, chattering in their own languages and stuttering through half sentences with the locals. They shopped with abandon, seeming to want some of everything. A tall, bearded man bought a whole carton full of sweets. Another, no bigger than a dwarf, handed over fifty ithel for rolls of bright, colorful silk. He lugged them away, one on each shoulder. A woman, with blue and red hair and five rings in her ear, haggled to the last ithel over a carved wooden figurine. And wherever they went, the merchants worked harder to find sales amongst the locals as well.

  One huge sailor, tattooed and hairless, swaggered over to a tent where another big man sat at a table.

  “This will be interesting,” Rawk muttered.

  Hubb had been making a living from arm-wrestling for at least five years. He sat in his seat at various markets and people came and handed over their money. He did lose, but not often.

  The sailor pulled out some coins, thumped them down on the table and sat down in the second chair. He stretched his arm, loosened his wrist and got ready. Hubb had been wrestling for most of the morning and was more than ready. It was all over very quickly. It always surprised Rawk how it took just a second for many strong men to lose. He’d come to the conclusion, long ago, that it was as much to do with technique as strength.

  Rawk found a seat by the side of the river, watching as the crowd swirled past. Hubb took money off two more men who should have known better then stood up, stretched, and made his way towards Rawk.

  “Anyone would think you’ve retired, Rawk. Sitting around here sunning yourself.”

  “Someone is looking for me so I thought I’d sit around in a public place for a while.”

  “Do you want Dan Beketh to find you or do you want enough witnesses that he’ll have second thoughts?”

/>   “You know about that?”

  “Everyone does.”

  “Well, let’s just pretend I want an audience,” Rawk said. Then he changed the subject. “I thought you retired.”

  “I did.” Hubb sat down and stretched his legs out before him.

  “Did you run out of money?”

  “I just spent so much time telling people I wasn’t wrestling any more that I might as well have been doing it.” He scratched the back of his hand. “It was like every time I walked into a room someone saw it as a challenge.”

  Rawk grunted. “I know what you mean.”

  “Wolden wolves following you around looking for a fight?”

  “No. It’s just, you know, expectations.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  “You could come back and do Hero stuff again.”

  Hubb laughed. “Not on your life. I’m too old for that stuff now.”

  “Do you miss it though?”

  He sat back. “Sometimes. Not so much though. Times change. We change.”

  “Perhaps.” Rawk hadn’t changed. He was starting to think he was the only one. These days the main part of his work involved walking around waiting for work and letting people marvel at how marvelous he used to be. He wondered why he didn’t buy weapons for show.

  After a couple of minutes talking, Hubb sighed and rose to his feet. “Back to it, I suppose. I think that guy over there is waiting for me.” He sauntered back to his table leaving Rawk on his own.

  Not far away, five dwarves were working at a bronze statue. It had been tilting further and further for the last few years but the dwarves had straightened it out and were now scrubbing rust from the metal. They worked with huge brushes and leather gloves that protected their hands from the acid they were using.

  One of the dwarves saw Rawk and doffed his hat. “Mornin’ to you, sir,” he said.

  Rawk grunted.

  “Just need to finish cleaning this and we’ll be out of your way.”

  “You aren’t in my way,” he replied.

  “Right you are, sir.”

  “But that acid is hurting my eyes.”