The Age of Heroes

by Scott J Robinson

  Then again, maybe Weaver could wait.

  -O-

  Rawk woke with a start. His arm ached from shoulder to wrist. His leg ached. His head ached. With a deep breath he rolled over and got his feet on the floor. They hurt too.

  It was a moment before he noticed that Travis was sitting on the floor near the door. He had a jug of steaming water ready to go and started to work before Rawk had levered himself upright.

  “Don’t you knock?”

  “I did.”

  “Oh.”

  “I was going to leave if you didn’t wake up soon.”

  “No stamina.”

  “The water is getting cold.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Lunch time. I think you pretty much walked up stairs and went to sleep.”

  “I needed it. I feel better now, but... Path, I was tired.”

  Rawk knelt down with his head over the bowl and Travis laid the towel over his head then set to work on the wound on his upper arm, carefully unwrapping the bandage then packing it with drained tealeaves from the jug.

  “You were lucky.”

  “Lucky? I was nearly killed by a harien troll. How in Path’s name is that lucky?”

  “A harien troll? Never heard of it.”

  “That’s what the book calls it.”

  “That book you were reading the other night?”

  “No, another book from my vast collection.”

  “Well, I wasn’t sure if you’d made it past the title.”

  Rawk sneered but it was wasted under the towel. He changed the subject. “I forgot to ask, how did you go at the club the other night?” He winced when Travis shoved some more tea onto his arm. “That well, hey.”

  “It was great.”

  “Look, Travis—”

  “No. Just shut up and breathe.”

  Rawk stopped talking and took a deep breath.

  “It was all right,” Travis said when he started working on the other bandage. “We... I don’t know. I think I ruined everything.”

  “You make being an adult sound like so much fun. I can’t think of why I haven’t tried it sooner.”

  Travis packed the drained leaves onto the latest wound. “You risk your life every time you go out to face a monster, Rawk—”

  “Did I ever tell you about the musket bamak?” All he’d risked with that monster was sneezing because of all the ridiculous fur. Nobody knew that though.

  “Shut up, Rawk. You risk your life all the time, knowing that the reward at the end is worth the risk.”

  “So?”

  “And yet you can’t see that the bigger risks in other parts of your life would bring greater rewards as well.”

  Travis finished packing the second wound so Rawk pulled the towel away from his head and sat up. “Like what? A woman to nag me about coming home too late and drinking too much? Children tripping me up wherever I walk and asking constant questions?”

  Travis shook his head. “The only time you drink alcohol is when you think it would ruin your image to do otherwise. And you already have a whole city that follows you around and asks questions all day.”

  Rawk thought about that for a second. “Right, so why would I want to add someone else to that?”

  “Why? I don’t know. You’d have to take a risk to find out.”

  “And what woman would want me anyway, Travis? Not knowing if I’m going to come back each time I go out. All the women throwing themselves at me.”

  “Of course. Rawk the great Hero. Conqueror of beast and women alike. Why would he give up either of those things?”

  “Nothing good ever comes of love, Travis.”

  “What? A couple of days ago you were saying that I’m too old to be waiting. And if I stand still too long I’ll drop dead.”

  “That’s you, Travis. I’m a completely different story.” Rawk cleared his throat.

  “You are already growing up, Rawk. For some reason, you just don’t want other people to know about it.”

  “Did you bring something to drink?”

  “No.”

  Rawk looked at the wounds on his arm. If he moved too much the tea would fall away. “Do you want to go and get me something?”

  “No. I’ll be back in a little while to help bandage those up again.”

  “You can’t just leave me here.”

  Rawk watched as Travis did just that.

  “Well...” Rawk really needed a drink. He picked up the jug and looked inside. There was still water in there. He swished it around, examining the tealeaves that Travis hadn’t been able to fish out. He sniffed, though he already knew perfectly well what is smelt like after breathing the fumes for the last ten minutes.

  “Path.” He raised the jug to his mouth and took a small, careful sip. He licked his lips and spat out a tiny piece of leaf. He took another sip. If it was poison, he hoped it was the poison of choice for whoever tried to kill him. It tasted good.

  Rawk felt himself relaxing even more. He took a drink and closed his eyes.

  After a few minutes he roused himself. He rose carefully, not wanting to upset the tealeaves on his arm, and headed for the bed. He’d only taken one step when he noticed a cane chair in the corner of the room. He grunted and changed direction. Someone must have been reading his mind. Again.

  Travis returned a few minutes later. “Ready to rewrap your arm?” He handed over a flask of water.

  “I guess.” Rawk put the water down on the floor.

  “You don’t want it now?”

  “I’ve been drinking that.”

  “The tea?”

  “Yeah. It’s good. Even better than breathing the fumes.”

  Travis looked doubtful. He worked on the arm as he gave it some thought. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  “Not a clue.” Rawk winced as Travis finished tying off the bandage.

  “Too tight?”

  “No. All good. Surprisingly good, actually.”

  “Ready for another fight, then?”

  Rawk grunted. “If I have to. I could eat a horse before that though.”

  “We’ve run out of horse. We’re onto the dogs now.”

  “Well, get me at least four of them, then. I’ll be down soon.”

  -O-

  Rawk took out his knife and fork and set them on the table as he looked around the taproom. When his lunch came, he went to work and didn’t look up for some time. When he did, he was surprised to see someone standing anxiously by his table. It wasn’t a soldier, which made a nice change, or a woman which was... something... and it took Rawk a moment to work out who it was. In the end, the huge book in his hand gave the man away.

  “Juskin, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  Rawk sat back and wiped his knife and fork on the cloth. He packed them away before he forgot. “What can I do for you today? You don’t strike me as the kind of man who spends his days in taverns.”

  Juskin looked around as if just realizing where he was. “No. I should be in my shop. I have been looking for you all morning.”

  The old man didn’t seem like the type to chase Heroes around the city either. “Well...”

  “I was told you normally have lunch at the Golden Wheel on Wensdays.”

  “I do. But not today.”

  “So I see.” He repositioned his spectacles while he looked around again, then slipped into the seat opposite Rawk without being asked.

  “Ahhh...”

  “I was in the markets this morning. Stall holders often have no idea about the value of their stock and I can make a huge profit if I resell.”

  Rawk raised his eyebrows.

  Juskin laughed. “Relatively huge, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Anyway, I was looking this morning, as I said, and came across a book I thought you might be interested in.”

  “What gives you that idea?”

  Juskin looked at the book in his hands, then carefully laid it on the table and spun it arou
nd for Rawk to see.

  “Encyclopedia of Myth?”

  “Yes. It is quite a bit better than the Compendium.”

  “Great.”

  “No, really. I have marked the page.”

  Rawk sighed. “I’ve had enough of books. That other one is still giving me a headache.”

  “Are you sure that isn’t from being hit on the head?”

  “If you are trying to make me read you aren’t—”

  “I saw the picture of the troll in the newspaper,” Juskin said. “It wasn’t a lot like the one in the Compendium.” He opened up the book. “This one, however...”

  Rawk looked at the picture. He blinked, hoping his eyes would adjust quickly. He sat back slightly so he was further from the page. It was a much better drawing than the last one. And there was no doubting it was the same as the creatures he’d killed. But it had a different name. He pushed his plate out of the way, and pulled the book closer. And he waited again, pretending to read.

  “Duen Giant?” he said eventually.

  “I suppose it is impossible to be certain, but it seems a better likeness than the one in Magan’s book. That is, of course, as long as the dwarf who drew the picture for the newspaper is a skilled artist.”

  “A dwarf?”

  “Yes. At least I assume so. The newspaper is produced by dwarves.”

  “Path. Can’t they ever mind their own business?”

  “This is everyone’s business, Rawk, wouldn’t you say? Creatures that have not been seen for hundreds of years are returning to Katamood.”

  “So, what does it say, then?”

  “I haven’t read it in detail. I just saw that there was a lot of information. Several pages of it.”

  Rawk read. “Duen Giants roamed the lands north of Manapee more than two thousand years ago. Wherever they went, violence followed. It is suggested they were almost constantly involved in conflicts, across the breadth of the continent, including the Battle of Hapahide and the Siege of Makanua Rock that was remembered in the famous folk song of the same name. It seems they were nomadic, presumably in order to find more enemies to battle.”

  There was more, but Rawk closed the book. He ran his hand over the cracked leather of the cover. There was a tree of some kind stamped there, below the title. “So this is better than the other book?”

  Juskin shrugged. “I have never heard of the author, but... It seems better, wouldn’t you say?”

  “You’re the expert.” But it did look much better. Though that didn’t mean much. There were thousands of swords in the world that looked better than Kult but he wouldn’t swap for any of them. Well, maybe he would now. “I’ll take it off your hands, one way or the other. How much?”

  Juskin gave it some thought. “A hundred ithel.”

  Rawk narrowed his eyes. “We just agreed that it is better than the last one.”

  Juskin nodded. “Better for your purposes doesn’t mean it is worth more in a monetary sense.”

  “It normally does when you’re haggling.”

  Juskin smiled. “Usually when buyers haggle they try to get the lowest price possible, Rawk.”

  “Yes, and sellers try to get the highest price. So, now I want to know what your angle is.”

  The old man shrugged. “I want you to come to me next time you need a book. And the time after that. And besides, I only paid forty ithel for it.”

  “Huge profits?”

  “Not terrible for one morning’s work, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Well, I don’t have 100 ithel on me right now.”

  Juskin waved the comment away. “I trust you. And I know where you live.”

  “I could be killed by a troll tomorrow.”

  “Or a duen giant.”

  “Or one of them.”

  “That’s a risk I’m willing to take. I’ll start an account for you.”

  “Thank you. Would you like a drink?”

  “No, thank you. My shop has been closed for long enough already.” And with that, he rose to his feet and wound his way across to the door.

  Rawk opened the book to the duen giants again.

  There were pictures on the initial page, a male and a female. The both held weapons, but their expressions were blank, as if the artist was unwilling to commit, unwilling to give the creatures a life of their own when he only had stories to work from.

  Rawk turned the page. There were two more pictures. One was... He sat up. One was of a child. A girl, with ribbons and fetishes in her long, shaggy hair. Apart from the blank expression she could have been the one that Rawk had killed by the edge of the forest.

  “Path.” He swallowed. “A child?” He pushed the book away. I killed a child? He’d done similar things in the past, but this time it felt different. He didn’t know why. The damn dog was probably a pet...

  Rawk jumped when a newspaper slapped down on the table in front of him.

  “For Path’s sake, Weaver, don’t do that.”

  “Don’t do that? Really? I’ll stop when you stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “You killed another troll.”

  “Oh, right. I was going to see you, but I’m not feeling all that great at the moment.”

  Weaver looked around the taproom and quickly sat down. “You probably deserved to die, Rawk,” he whispered fiercely. “And then what?”

  Rawk looked around too. Ramaner was at a table near the door with two other Guards. “What does it matter to you?”

  “What does it matter to me? Really? What does it matter to me?” He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. “I’m trying to run a city here, Rawk. I’m trying to...”

  “Yes? You’re trying to run a city and I’m trying to make a living as a Hero.”

  “Make a living?”

  “The troll is dead. That’s all that matters isn’t it?”

  “It is not all that matters.” He unfolded the newspaper and slapped it down again. It wasn’t nearly as dramatic the second time.

  “How often do they make these things?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you the only person who gets them?”

  “What? No, of course not. There are thousands.”

  Rawk looked at the paper and all the neat lines of writing. “But how do they do all that writing? I only killed the troll yesterday.”

  “I don’t know. And I don’t care. Just read the damn thing.”

  Rawk blinked rapidly, trying to get his eyes to adjust. “Once again, Rawk has come to Katamood’s rescue, venturing far into the Old Forest, seeking more of the trolls that would threaten the fair city. Prince Weaver had the same thought, sending Hawk Squad to do some searching of their own, but Rawk did not trust them to do the job right. He went out on his own, knowing that stealth would be needed if he was to find any more of the trolls. And a few miles beyond the edges of the forest, he came across one of the foul creatures.

  “By the time Hawk Squad arrived, the battle was all but done. Rawk was gravely injured but fought valiantly while Hawk Squad lurked at a safe distance, waiting for the final moment. When it was done, Prince Weaver’s men rushed in to help our Hero back to the city and the careful ministrations of a healer.”

  “That isn’t how it happened,” Rawk said.

  “The newspaper says it was.”

  Rawk grunted. “And you believe it?”

  “I don’t see why I wouldn’t.”

  “Yes, well...”

  “So now, apparently, you are better than Hawk Squad. The entire Hawk Squad combined, mind you. Perhaps that’s why they hung back, waiting for you to be killed.”

  “They didn’t hang back.”

  “They were obviously trying to get rid of the competition.”

  “I didn’t write the damn story.” Rawk looked at the newspaper again and at some of the other things written in it. The work on the canal was ahead of schedule but the sewers were behind. A ship from Hadron had docked yesterday bringing news of war in the north. Though that wasn�
�t news as there was always war in the north. Plans for the Summer Fete were going well. And the Veteran’s Club had asked Celeste and Grint to come and perform for a few more nights.

  It didn’t say where the newspaper came from or who had written any of the stories.

  “I never said you wrote it,” Weaver said.

  Rawk looked at him and saw the look on his face. “Hey, I never talked to anyone about it either. I came straight here from Janas’ place and didn’t stop to chat along the way. I’ve hardly been down stairs since.”

  “Janas is dead, Rawk.”

  “I know she is, Weaver. I don’t see your point.”

  Weaver sat down as well. “So, now what am I supposed to do?”

  Rawk folded up the newspaper. “Have a drink?”

  “Are there more? And where are they?”

  Rawk sighed. “I still say we aren’t about to be overrun by these things. There might be another couple, but it won’t be anything your men can’t handle.”

  Weaver didn’t look sure.

  “This one was bigger than the first one, Weaver, and meaner, but I still managed to kill it on my own.”

  “You nearly died.”

  “It fell on me.”

  “Deaner says you stabbed it with a staff.”

  “It had a longer reach than my sword. You’re full of not having a point today, aren’t you? Anyway, all that stuff supports my argument that the first one was a shaman, actually.”

  “One was big and mean so it’s a warrior and the other was small so it was a shaman?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Old Mother Farel’s so small she must be a shaman, then. I’ll let her know she can call on the spirits to help her cook dinner in future.”

  “It might help. You never know.”

  There was a long pause before Weaver spoke again. “And how did you best the warrior, Rawk?” He leaned closer and put his hand on Rawk’s knee. “A suicidal charge that wasn’t suicidal after all?”

  Again, Rawk thought of telling the truth. I was crawling along the ground, chin deep in flowers, when I came across a weapon I’d dropped earlier in my panic. I spun about as the troll was attacking and caught it by surprise. I got lucky. And he wondered how detailed Deaner’s report had been. “You remember that mistamil in Hagamon?” he said instead.