The Age of Heroes

by Scott J Robinson

  “I’m just going back to get some of the chicken stew,” Fabi said.

  Rawk followed him over to the counter. “You were fighting for Januze?” he asked, indicating the military tattoo on the other man’s wrist.

  “For about five years.”

  “Why’d you get out?”

  “The King just keeps finding more wars. Each time, he somehow manages to come out on top but the wars are getting bigger. I figured his luck has to run out soon. I know the sensible part of his army is running out. As quick as they can.”

  Rawk nodded, wondering if he needed a bigger army himself. “Do you think Thok could be convinced to come with us tomorrow?”

  “Not a chance. He’s smart enough to know what’s good for him and he doesn’t do things that aren’t good for him. Don’t let his appearance fool you; he may well be the smartest man in Katamood.”

  “Really?”

  “Thok isn’t his real name. It means ‘Wise One’ in...” He shrugged, “Well, some language or other. And the name isn’t used as a joke. Thok works on the wharves because he likes it. It gives him time to think, he says. But he was well on his way to following his father into banking before he had a change of heart.”

  “Banking? Well, can’t blame him for wanting to get out of that.”

  “Exactly.”

  Back at the table. Rawk took a spoon full of stew. “So, you used to be in banking?” he said to Thok.

  The other man nodded.

  “You know about Maradon?”

  Another nod.

  “Has the country recovered from the revolt yet?”

  Thok laughed. “Not yet. One season without crops and everything went to hell. I think, by now, the king realizes how important peasants really are. His epiphany just came a bit too late. They’re close to getting back to where they were, but it will be a while yet.”

  Rawk ate his stew with the three men as afternoon turned into evening and the dinner crowd grew. Conversation shifted to other countries and other battles. Much later, when Galad was telling about the time be chased a verimal up Mount Higen, almost half way across the world, Rawk realized it had been years since he’d been away from Katamood for more than two or three days at a time. And each time he came back, he stayed for longer. He was getting old. Older by the day, it seemed.

  Rawk cleared his throat. “Well, I’m going to bed. I’ll see you at dawn.”

  Back out in the disturbing silence of the hall, Rawk stopped to looked one way and then the other, trying to ignore the mural. Since I’m here, he thought. He kept going the way he had been earlier, along the gauntlet of the mural. The next door led to a taproom, but it was almost overflowing with people, so he kept going. He turned at the end and a little further on he found himself in familiar territory. The Armory was as good a destination as any. He went down the stairs. There were a few men sitting in the dimness, more than the previous time, but it was still much quieter than upstairs. He bought an ale to nurse and found his way to the darkest corner.

  Over the next half an hour the crowd grew until the room was full. When someone asked if they could share his table, Rawk thought it was time to leave. He half rose but stopped when the noise died away to a whisper and Celeste and Grint arrived on stage.

  Rawk felt the power of the music even before they started to play. Two fermi-dwarf bastards were about to fill the room with a type of magic that Weaver would never eradicate. The knowledge of the music was enough to get his heart racing. Then Grint started to play on his drum, and a minute later, Celeste plucked the first note from the mandolin.

  Two hours later, Rawk roused himself as Celeste bade her audience farewell in a quiet, nervous voice that seemed to come from some person other than the one who’d been singing. The room cleared quickly but Rawk stayed where he was, watching as Grint went to talk to the woman serving the drinks behind the bar. The two of them were still at it a few minutes later when Rawk rose to his feet and sauntered towards the stage.

  Celeste sat on her stool, still and quiet, as she watched her brother. From the little he could hear, Rawk gathered it was about money but he didn’t care.

  He stopped near the stage and Celeste finally turned to look at him. She half smiled, looked down at her hands, suddenly fiddling in her lap. She had long fingers, rough and worn from hard work, and dark hair that clung to her head in tight curls, blending with her skin.

  “Hello,” he said.

  She looked up at him and smiled fully. But she didn’t answer. She looked back down at her hands and the folds of dress that they held.

  Rawk opened his mouth to say something else, but he didn’t know what he wanted to say. “I... You sing beautifully. And play.” He gestured to the mandolin. Then thought he should mention Grint. “Your brother, too.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I never thought a fermi or a dwarf could...”

  She looked up at him then, met his eyes for one hard second, before looking away again. “We can do many things.”

  Rawk would have said more, tried to explain himself, perhaps, but at that moment Grint returned.

  “She isn’t going to pay us tonight,” the dwarf said. “Says we’ll get our money when the boss says we do.”

  “But what about—” Celeste looked at Rawk again for a moment. “That wasn’t the agreement.”

  “You don’t need to tell me, Celeste. But like she says, we can take it or leave it.” Grint snatched up his drum and stalked out through the door behind the stage. Celeste followed a moment later.

  Rawk stared at the door after it had closed.

  “Bloody dwarf.”

  Rawk turned and saw the bar tender standing close behind.

  “Comes in here and acts like he owns the place just because he can bang a drum.”

  “What was the agreement?” Rawk asked.

  The woman shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. He’s only a dwarf.”

  “Of course. He should be happy he’s even here.”

  “That’s right.” The woman looked around. “Anyway, it’s time for me to pack up.”

  Rawk nodded. “I should be going, too.”

  Back up in the foyer, Rawk saw light coming from the offices where he had gone to join the Club earlier. He stuck his head around the corner and saw Maris still working behind the desk. He went in further and she looked up.

  “You’re working late,” he said.

  “I’m normally long gone by now but I just needed to finish up some things. It’s been very busy here lately. I’m just about to head home though.”

  “That’s where I’m heading, too.” He smiled.

  “Oh.”

  “So, where is it?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Where’s your home?”

  “Ummm...” Maris stilled her hands. “Does that normally work?” she asked. She looked up at him, as if the ridiculousness of the situation had relieved her of her nerves.

  Rawk thought about that. He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

  Maris laughed. “Really? On who?”

  “Well...” On younger women.

  “You are attractive, Rawk.” She looked him up and down. “Very attractive. And you are a legend; you are Rawk. But... I dream, like any woman, but it’s been more than ten years since a nice smile and a silly line was enough to get me into bed.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  Maris stood up. “I should be going.”

  “Of course.” Rawk looked her up and down as well.

  She caught him doing it and gave a small smile. A cheeky smile.

  Rawk cleared his throat again, reluctant to let her walk out the door. “So are you going straight home?” he asked.

  “It’s late.”

  “Would you like a sugar stick?” Rawk laughed at the look on her face. “No, that isn’t a euphemism. It’s a desert.”

  “A desert?”

  “Yes, it’s... Well, if you want to know you’ll just have to come with me.”

  “A sugar stic
k?”

  “I’m not saying anything more.”

  Maris hesitated but gave a small nod.

  Thersday

  Rawk woke up when he almost fell off the chair. He sat up straighter and tried to work a crick out of his neck.

  Maris was lying on the bed on the other side of the one small room that she called home. The first touch of dawn angled in through the only window, somehow finding its way between the buildings outside. The light painted her face and highlighting a scatter of freckles across her nose. She stirred as he watched, rolling onto her back and throwing up an arm to cover her eyes.

  “Sorry I woke you,” Rawk said.

  She peeked out from behind her arm, as if only just realizing he was there. “Rawk?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.” Was she surprised he was still there, or surprised he’d been there at all?

  “I just...” She looked around. “Why are you still here?”

  “We were talking about Terunde City and...”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “It was late. You suggested that I stay.”

  “I don’t remember that either.”

  Maris sat up and examined her clothes. “I didn’t get undressed.”

  Rawk had spent a couple of hours with a woman, come back to her place and everyone kept their clothes on. He smiled. Given the chance to go back, he wouldn’t change a thing. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’m going into the Old Forest to see if there are any more giants.”

  “Do you think there are?”

  “Not really. But Weaver’s paying me enough to go and look.”

  “Very well.”

  Rawk stood up, and hesitated. “So... Ahhh... I’ll see you at the club or something?”

  Maris said, “Yes,” but the look on her face suggested she wouldn’t be holding her breath.

  “If not, you know where I live, right?”

  “So, I should go to the Hero’s Rest and find you?”

  Had he just suggested that? When he thought about it, it seemed that he had. Actually, there wasn’t any doubt at all. It had been a long while since something like that had happened.

  Maris was older than most of the women he talked to. She was also more interesting than most of the women he talked to. Those two facts were most probably linked.

  Rawk cleared his throat and took a deep breath. It felt as if he was setting himself for battle. “Yes, come and visit any time you like. I can’t guarantee I’ll be there, of course, but it won’t be because I’m hiding.”

  Maris smiled and her face lit up. She was beautiful, but not like Adalee. She was a flower and the younger woman, the girl, was a necklace or some other contrived, ostentatious beauty.

  Rawk smiled too. “But now, I really have to go.” He quickly crossed the room to the bed and touched her cheek. He kissed her for the first time, lingering momentarily, tasting her lips. “I have to go.” And he collected his sword from beside the door, hurrying out into the dooryard before he convinced himself he should stay.

  Half a dozen dwarves grumbled their way past, heading for one job or another. A merchant pushed a barrow laden with vegetables. Rawk paid half an ithel for a radish and preceded the man up the hill.

  At the top, he paused to look back over the city. His city. He thought he could almost see Maris’ house. Or at least her street. Well, it was down there somewhere. He smiled and hurried into the courtyard at the side of the Hero’s Rest. Galad had his feet up on a table and Fabi was looking through his pack.

  Galad looked surprised. “You said you were going home to bed,” he said.

  “I never did. I said I was going to bed, but I didn’t say whose it was.” He wondered, for a moment, how Maris would feel about him playing with that truth.

  “Was it worth it?”

  “I’ll be back in a minute.” Rawk slipped in through the back door and went quickly up to his rooms. He changed his clothes and on his way back out the door he grabbed a dagger, his dwarven staff and a pack. In the kitchen, Kalesie was already working, pounding at dough to make the day’s bread as a big pot of stew bubbled over the stove. The others wouldn’t be too far away.

  “Have you got something I can take, Kalesie?” Rawk asked the woman.

  “Take where?” She didn’t stop working. She didn’t even look up.

  “Into the Old Forest.”

  “There’s some bread left from yesterday. And some cheese and salty beef in the cooler.”

  Rawk found the food, filched a couple of apples and collected his waterskin from the hook behind the door. He started to go outside, so he could fill it from the barrel by the door, but stopped. He turned to the washtub beneath the window.

  “Have you used the tap yet?” he asked.

  Kalesie finally stopped working and turned to look as well. “That thing? Path, no. I don’t trust dwarves and I don’t trust that.”

  “It’s just a tap.” But Rawk had to force himself to go over to the tub where the tap waited like a viper ready to strike. “There’s just a pipe and...”

  “I saw the dwarf that put the thing in there. He was a shifty little bugger if ever I saw one. He was blind in one eye, you know.”

  “It’s just a tap.” He reached out hesitantly and turned the tap. Cool, clear water flowed into the tub and down the drain the dwarf had cut in the base. Rawk watched it for a moment then filled his skin. “It’s just a tap.”

  “If you say so.”

  “It would be silly to not use it.” He turned it off quickly.

  Kalesie didn’t look sure. Rawk left her staring at the offending object and headed back outside.

  “A minute, you said,” Galad said as he hurried over.

  “Stop complaining. Come on.”

  Galad and Fabi both had bows resting against the table near by. They collected them and their packs and rushed to follow Rawk out onto the street.

  It was still early but a crowd was growing before they’d gone a hundred yards. Galad waved and smiled though he must have known they weren’t there for him.

  “Where are you going, Rawk?” someone called.

  “Are there more trolls?”

  By the time they reached the wall, there were at least fifty people following along behind. That was bigger than usual these days, but it wasn’t hard for them to work out that something was going on. Rawk stopped on the top of the wall and raised his hands. “We don’t know if there are more trolls,” he said. “We are going to see.”

  “Are we being invaded?”

  “We are not being invaded. There is nothing to worry about. If there are trolls, and they get past us, then the City Guard will be able to handle them.”

  “Make sure you kill all of them, Rawk. I don’t want a troll coming into my house. My mother doesn’t stop worrying about them.”

  “Tell her there’s nothing to worry about. Now, we must go, before Prince Weaver calls out Hawk Squad again and they steal all my glory.”

  Rawk waved and the crowd cheered. Galad and Fabi waved as well and there was more cheering. The two of them were smiling as they scrambled down the far side of the wall.

  “Is it always like that, Rawk?” Fabi asked.

  He nodded. “It’s a bit annoying sometimes.” He realized it was annoying most of the time. When had that happened?

  -O-

  In the forest, Rawk found the half-trail he’d followed last time and led the way into the ruins of the city. They walked in silence for some time, moving along grassy streets, stepping through the buildings.

  When they reached the place where Rawk had killed the duen, there was nothing to see. The flowers in the house had been crushed but the remains of the creature had gone. Rawk didn’t know if they had been removed by Weaver’s men or by something else. He looked around but could see no evidence to suggest either way.

  “So, where to now?” Fabi asked.

  Rawk looked up. “North-west, I suppose. Further in.” And he rubbed at his knee. He’d forgotten to put the cream
on and it was starting to hurt as well. But his left arm wasn’t too bad. He had to admit, Sylvia, Silver Lark, was a good healer. Possibly even better than Janas. But then elves were like that. It was hard to get them to do physical work, but they reveled in anything involving study or learning. Give them a library and they were as happy as pigs in mud. He grunted. “Come on. Let’s see what we can find.”

  Galad took a moment to string his bow and moved his quiver of arrows to a more accessible position.

  “I can’t believe you use a bow, Galad.” Rawk stepped back out of the house and continued down the street.

  Galad shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re still alive.”

  “Back in the old days a Hero wouldn’t be caught dead with a bow.”

  “And how many of those old Heroes are left, Rawk? Just you?” He hefted the weapon. “Maybe if some of those old timers had a bow they’d still be alive today.”

  “Maybe,” Rawk conceded, “but if we all carried bows then nobody would’ve cared. Anyone can shoot a creature from fifty paces away. Where’s the skill in that? Where’s the romance?”

  “Have you ever tried shooting a bird on the wing? Two birds? Ten? Or a mushon? There is skill involved, let me assure you.”

  “You killed a mushon?”

  Galad smiled and held up three fingers.

  “Three?” Four times in his life, Rawk had walked away from a commission. Three of those had been for a mushon.

  “They were down near Grinport. Harassing a little village just to the east. Even took a child.”

  Rawk grunted. That was one of the ones he’d turned down. If he’d known there were three of them he would’ve run even quicker.

  “The last one was about five yards from me when I got it. They taste like chicken.”

  “Really?”

  “I have a cloak at home made from their skins. Even now, the colors shift and change and blend with the background. It’s hanging on the back of the door and half the time I don’t even realize it’s there.”

  “That must be worth...”

  “Exactly.”

  “You leave it hanging on the back of the door?”