Hero Grown

by Andy Livingstone

  ‘Sea,’ he breathed. He smiled in delight. ‘The sea!’ It was almost a shout. He branched off abruptly in the direction of the smell, but was halted by a huge hand that grasped his tunic between the shoulder blades. He permitted Hakon to hold him. Friend.

  ‘Calm yourself, little one,’ Hakon said. ‘Plenty of time for that. Right now we have a mission of shopping, and Sophaya has been given responsibility and Gerens has been given a task. Neither should be tested on those scores.’

  They entered the market, a bustling collection of stalls surrounding an open square where some brightly dressed men and women cavorted acrobatically while more than a few passers-by stopped to laugh and throw coin appreciatively. Sophaya proved to be as adept at gathering the required supplies as she had been at relieving Cannick of his knife, and soon Gerens and Hakon had their arms filled. ‘As the new boy, you are excused bearer duties,’ she had told Brann. ‘This time.’

  While the girl paid for their last items, bread shaped into two long batons, and called to Hakon to come to add them to his already considerable bundle, a stall behind the rest caught Brann’s eyes. His feet took him to it, followed closely by an attentive Gerens. Rolls of fabric were piled upon each other, more colours than he knew existed, but one caught his eye. His fingers felt at the soft brown fabric, a thought nagging at him just out of reach of his mind’s grasp. A tall slender slave girl stopped beside him to peruse the wares.

  ‘You like that colour, do you?’ she asked.

  He looked at her, then back at the cloth. He frowned. ‘You should choose that one.’ He touched a deep green. ‘This would be nice on someone with brown hair. And brown eyes.’

  A shout drew his attention to the square. A wiry man was running along one side, a shoulder bag that was more than half filled in one hand. A matronly woman at the far end of the area was shouting something about a thief, but it was the shining blade in his other hand that Brann’s eye was fixed upon. That, and the route the man was taking straight towards Sophaya.

  Three paces took him onto the stall between him and the square and he ran along it, scattering spices in clouds of colour and scent, until he leapt onto the next. It was one selling roasted meat and, as he passed, he leant down and seized a heavy-bladed knife from a steaming haunch, sending a spray of hot grease into the face of the stunned vendor, provoking a shout of pain and anger. Planting a foot on the end of the stall, he launched himself. The wooden board jerked backwards, tilting a pot and its contents over the unfortunate merchant, whose shouts turned to a pained screech, and Brann flew past the startled Sophaya to land with a roll to rise and take the running man in the chest with his shoulder. The man staggered back and barely managed to hold his balance, doing so only by flailing his arms. Brann ducked under the knife and, in a movement too quick for most to follow, cut his blade across the man’s throat, continued his turn, reversing the knife in his grip and using the heel of his other hand to hammer the end of the handle to spear the point up under the ribs and into the heart. He maintained the spin and used the movement to drag the knife clear with both hands. He skipped a couple of paces to clear arm’s length from the body as it folded in on itself and fell to the cobbles in a splash of its own blood.

  Brann’s arms shot aloft, the blood-drenched knife in one hand, and he spun slowly in a circle to take the acclaim.

  But no cheers came, nor chants, nor stamped applause. Only silence.

  Then came the screams. A woman, heavy with child, lumbered across the space, her wails hysterical and relentless. She cradled the body and looked up at Brann. ‘You monster,’ she screeched. ‘All he wanted was the bag. All he had was the knife to cut the strap. You monster, you monster, you monster…’

  As confusion brought Brann’s arms back down, Gerens strode from the stalls and, without pause, took one of those arms in a fierce grip and steered him among the stalls and away from the uproar, into an alley. They were immediately joined by the other two and, once out of sight of the square, they broke into a run. At first, Gerens took them away from their path home, then doubled back until they stood panting at their building. Sophaya rapped the rhythmic knock on the door and, without waiting further, Hakon pushed them through and slammed the door shut.

  Cannick leapt from his seat at the sight of Brann, his tunic front soaked in blood and streaks of crimson splashed across his face and arms.

  Gerens steered Brann towards the table and sat him on the bench. ‘He is unhurt.’ He took a damp cloth and wiped his face and arms free of the blood. Brann relaxed. This was an activity that was familiar.

  Sophaya looked at Cannick. ‘Remember the question I asked earlier? I now agree he will not harm us. Others, however, I am not so sure.’

  The old warrior moved around the table to examine the boy for himself. Brann felt expert fingers feeling their way around his torso and testing the movement of his arms and head. Cannick looked at Sophaya as he did so. ‘This is what comes of your responsibility?’

  She shrugged. ‘Everything was fine until one fool started running about with a knife.’

  ‘It seems we have been too hasty in reintroducing our friend to the world. We have more of a problem than we thought.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Hakon. ‘You know that thing you said about not attracting attention?’

  Sophaya looked indignant. ‘That’s not my fault. I paid for everything.’

  ‘Enough.’ Cannick’s voice was a growl. ‘I spoke of the task of dealing with the problem within our friend.’

  Grakk rose calmly from his seat by the hearth. ‘More still than that. Some people see our young friend as a source of great fortune. The loss of that source, they will have taken with bad grace. And now they know the area to start seeking that source.’

  A cheery rap at the door heralded a dark-haired boy’s entry. He burst into the room with enthusiasm. ‘How are we all this fine day? We must hasten to the Crooked Corner Market. Apparently there was some excitement there.’

  ‘We know, and we must not,’ growled Cannick.

  ‘Oh.’ The boy was crestfallen, but then his eyes fell upon Brann. His smile returned redoubled and he strode across to seize him in a hug. ‘Brann!’

  Brann frowned. His body wanted to break the grip and target the throat, but a name appeared in his head and he felt himself tense as he halted the urge. ‘Marlo.’ He lifted his arms and mimicked the boy’s hold on him. It seemed important to the boy for some reason. ‘You are my friend.’

  ‘Of course I am!’ Marlo pulled back and Brann let him go, though his blood-wet tunic was less willing to release Marlo’s clothing. The boy looked down. ‘You have spilt something on yourself.’

  Brann looked at him. ‘It is blood. There was a man with a knife. I stopped him.’

  ‘That you certainly did, Chief,’ Gerens grunted, but Marlo was frowning at Brann. He stared closely at him.

  ‘Brann?’

  This was strange. They had already done this bit. But if the boy wanted to try it again… ‘Marlo.’

  The slender boy looked at Cannick. ‘Is he… you know… all right?’

  The man blew out a long breath. ‘Physically, yes.’

  Concern was plain in the boy’s face. ‘But…’ Cannick nodded. ‘Can he be helped?’

  Cannick sighed. ‘We hope so. We must hope so.’

  ‘What can I do?’

  Grakk faced the confused boy. ‘What you must do, Marlo our friend, is speak to your Cassian. Whoever Brann’s unknown friend in high places may be, he or she must now go beyond facilitating his escape from the City Below. He must aid our escape from this City in its entirety.’ He looked at Cannick. ‘Would you ask some of our erstwhile maritime colleagues if they would live here for a while to watch over the Lady?’

  The veteran’s grey head nodded. ‘When should they move in?’ He was already moving towards the door.

  Grakk’s face was grim. ‘Tonight. We must be out of this place before dawn.’

  Chapter 6

  The girl fidgete
d, awkwardly. It looked even more ungainly on the thin frame that accentuated her height.

  ‘I make you nervous, girl?’

  ‘No, my lord.’ The piercing eyes swivelled to meet hers. ‘I mean, yes, my lord.’ The eyebrows arched. ‘I mean, you have a fierce demeanour, but on this occasion it is that which I must report that unsettles me.’

  ‘You bring bad news?’

  ‘I bring news. It is not for me to say whether it is bad or good, my lord.’

  ‘Yet still you are troubled.’ He stared at her, assessing. ‘You are not at ease with what you saw.’

  Eyes down, she shook her head.

  ‘Then spit it out, girl, and be done with it.’

  She coloured. ‘Of course, my lord.’ She cleared her throat, as if to clear the way for the words. ‘There was an incident at a market. A man was killed. He killed a man.’

  ‘This troubles you? Men have died at his hand already. As have wild beasts, a couple of warrior women from the Southern Deadlands and various combinations of all of these. This is known to many. And neither is it unknown for men to die in altercations in the city. Yet you come to me claiming such news of disturbing sights.’

  ‘The man was a thief, my lord, no more. He was not a threat, nor a danger. But the boy, he is not the boy he was. No man acts like he did.’

  ‘In what way?’

  She paused. ‘I engaged him. He is distant. With most people, there is the person on the surface and if you reach, you find the person underneath. With him, it is as though the person on the surface is all that exists. He is… not there. The boy I saw before is not within. Everything seems new to him, to the surface boy, but for fragments of memories, fragments he does not comprehend himself. Distant, yes, as though he watches and hears from far away and without understanding.’

  ‘And within? What of that? He is empty? He is a shell beyond this surface simpleton?’

  Her eyes lifted, wide at the memory, staring from a face gone pale. ‘Oh no, my lord, not empty, far from empty. Beneath the surface sits a monster, waiting, watching, ready.’ She drew a long, shuddering breath. ‘The thief, he carried a knife for cutting bag straps, purses, hanging meat, nothing more. But the sight of the blade woke the monster, and the monster became the man. He slaughtered the thief without hesitation.’ She paused, reassessing. ‘No, beyond that, it was as though he was driven to it, was eager for it. He butchered the man faster than you could clap your hands. And then he sought acclaim. Women were screaming and men were retching, but he saw it as a source of approval.’

  ‘The blade brought out the monster?’

  She thought on it, then shook her head. ‘I think the blade was just a sign of what he sought, like spoor to a hunter. The fight was his quarry. At the sign that blood might be spilt, the monster emerged, thirsty to be the one to spill it.’

  ‘He fought well?’

  ‘He fought a man who had little or no training and only a small knife. But it was not that he disregarded the ease of his opponent. It was more that it was immaterial to him, that he saw only the fight and acted solely to win it.’

  He nodded slowly, lost in thought.

  ‘My report is satisfactory, my lord?’

  He nodded again, but absently this time. He waved a hand, a gesture vague in its movement but clear in its message.

  She left.

  Obedience and wit. She showed promise; already she exceeded his expectations. She would prove useful, if nurtured.

  ‘You are popular with the young today.’ The hoarse whisper was so close that he would have jumped had he not been expecting it. ‘A young boy and then a young girl. People will wonder where you get your energy from.’

  ‘They can wonder all they like. The less they know of the truth, the more it suits me.’

  She poured the customary drink from the water jug. ‘And the truth is?’

  ‘You know it fine. It is their energy I need, and their eyes and ears. Facts are the bricks of which plans are built. Rumour and conjecture construct only folly and ruin.’

  ‘And the facts?’

  He sighed. ‘The boy brought news that discovery is likely, and escape necessary. News and a request also: that assistance may be given to make escape possible.’

  ‘And will it be given?’

  ‘It will. It must. Those who seek them are many and have much to lose. But so, too, do we. So the aid will come their way.’

  ‘And the boy himself? I heard the slave girl’s words. She spoke truly, and with perception. I saw what transpired. It was as she said.’

  ‘He is now a killer.’

  ‘He is that, and more.’

  ‘You achieved your goal.’

  ‘I achieved half of my goal: the portion within my influence. The remainder must be completed by others with skills of their own.’

  ‘I saw him. You may have overstretched. He may be lost, too far broken.’

  ‘That is the risk we take.’

  An edge crept into her tone. ‘It is the risk you have taken, old man. You play with the fate of many when you play with the fate of this one. Should you be proven wrong, we may be lost.’

  Rage burst from him. ‘You dare to lecture me, crone? You think me unaware of the stakes we face? Great danger requires great boldness, for only great boldness can accept the challenge of great risk, and without meeting risk face-to-face we capitulate to danger. If we do not have him right, we may as well not have him at all, and then we have nothing. Then we have already lost.’

  She smiled. ‘Now who said you had energy no longer?’

  ‘It is not energy I need. It is the strength to endure what I most detest. What I now have no choice but to face.’

  She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘And what is it that you detest so fiercely?’

  He sighed. ‘Resting my faith in others. And sitting, unable to play a part, while I wait for news of their success or failure.’

  ‘That is life, old man.’

  He placed his hand on top of hers. ‘That is as may be. But it does not mean I have to like it.’

  ****

  The small party slipped from the doorway as midnight struck. Clad in the white robes of the Servants of the Moon, they followed Marlo’s lead through barely enough light to see the narrow streets before them or the uneven surface underfoot.

  Hakon was grumbling. ‘Only we would try to sneak unseen through the darkness in bright white.’

  ‘Sometimes the best way to be unseen is to be seen,’ Grakk murmured.

  Hakon stopped, and Brann peered into his hood to determine the problem. Seeing a perplexed look, he offered help. ‘Something obvious draws no attention.’

  Hakon grunted, unconvinced.

  Cannick hissed at them. ‘Quiet, you fools. However we are dressed, we can still talk our way to death. Now form up.’

  They arranged themselves into the circle adopted by the moon priests and moved steadily through the sleeping city, the echoes of their scuffling steps the only noise around them.

  Then the clamour erupted.

  A crash several streets to their right heralded an orange glow that grew to lighten the sky in that direction, and shouts were interspersed with screams of alarm.

  From another angle, cries sought to urgently organise some sort of activity, and from yet another, the roar of a beast caused further consternation. Windows lit up in random patterns and the streets began to fill, citizens passing them in a rush and heading in various directions.

  Marlo grabbed a barefooted boy of apprentice age by the arm. ‘What’s going on?’ He tightened his grip as the lad wriggled in his eagerness to be on his way. A coin calmed his impatience.

  ‘What’s not going on?’ he said, grinning through his breathlessness. ‘A bear has got loose in the Street of a Hundred Anvils. What is a bear even doing near there in the first place? And the Northern boy, you know, the runaway fighting champion, has been spotted in The Pastures – and him with a fat merchant’s ransom offered for his capture alive. And would you beli
eve there’s talk of a spinster in the Blue River Quarter taking a turn and throwing coins from her window.’

  Cannick nodded at the sky. ‘And then there’s the fire over by.’

  ‘And then there’s the fire over by,’ the boy agreed. ‘Now unless you want to pay me more to stay and chat…’

  Cannick nodded to Marlo, and as soon as the boy’s arm was released he was haring on his way.

  ‘That’s a happy coincidence,’ Grakk observed. ‘Four incidents that are commanding a considerable amount of attention and creating even more confusion and, by fortunate chance, every one of them leading people away from the path we follow.’

  Cannick nodded sagely. ‘Very handy.’ He looked at Marlo. ‘Whoever your master’s contact at the palace may be, he has certainly delivered on his promise to assist.’

  The boy nodded. ‘It does seem a lot that he has achieved in a short time. I have to admit, I hadn’t expected as much myself. Would you like me to continue guiding you now?’

  Grakk pulled his hood more deeply over his head. ‘Of course. Please do.’

  The disturbances allowed them passage to the edge of the city free of incident and, before long, Brann saw the deeper blackness of a towering wall against the dark of the sky. A small gate was set into it and, to the side of the portal, a brazier lit the slumped form of a snoozing guard, a sword on his belt and a billy club lying by his side.

  ‘Another stroke of luck,’ Grakk noted. ‘Although on this occasion it is merely good fortune, unless our benefactor was remarkably detailed in his planning.’

  Marlo smiled, his teeth bright in the darkness. ‘He is, but I think you may be right regardless.’

  Sophaya slipped up beside them. ‘If we are blessed with good fortune, it would be a sin to waste the opportunity.’ Brann nodded. This girl did tend to move directly to the most immediate truth.