Hero Grown

by Andy Livingstone

  The woman nodded. Brann heard movement behind him and metal brushed cold against his skin as his bonds were slashed. He flexed and rubbed the circulation back into his wrists before his hands dropped automatically to check his sword, axe and knife on his belt and the knives on his forearms. He didn’t need to draw attention to the blade in one boot and the one under his tunic behind his neck; he could feel both pressing against him. At his movement, there was the sound of weapons being drawn all around him, but he kept his eyes on the pair facing him.

  The man held up a hand of restraint. ‘Relax, my friends. It is clear our new friend merely feels more comfortable knowing the tools of his trade are with him.’

  Brann heard his voice emerge harsh. ‘My friends are among those who I know, not those I do not.’

  ‘A sensible approach, my young acquaintance. Do you at least know who we might be?’

  Brann shrugged. ‘I know what you are.’

  The woman’s voice was cold. Not unpleasant, just matter-of-fact. ‘And what might that be?’

  ‘I have a friend who leads her life on the side of society that the laws seek to control, but do not. I can recognise gang leaders when I see them.’

  The man feigned outrage. ‘Gang leaders?’

  ‘Oh, you are perfectly legal then?’

  The man feigned horror. ‘Now you really do seek to insult us.’ He sighed theatrically. ‘There are gang leaders, then there are those who lead them. And those who lead them, and those who lead them, and so on and so forth. And then there are us.’

  ‘So you control the criminals of Sagia.’

  The woman sighed. ‘It is a large city. It is administrated in quarters.’

  ‘So you control a quarter of the criminals of Sagia.’

  ‘A quarter of the city, not the people. Some work independently of us, it is their choice. So long as they do not interfere in our work, they are welcome to do so.’

  ‘So you control the criminal activity in a quarter of Sagia.’

  The blond man beamed at his sister. ‘You see, he has got it!’

  He still felt grumpy. ‘So why am I here?’

  The man raised his eyes in anguish to where the roof should have been. ‘Or perhaps not.’

  She looked at him still coolly, and spoke the same. ‘We were asked to help.’

  ‘Why would you?’

  ‘More than one reason, but one is that it suits us. When eyes are turned one way, they are not turned another.’

  The man grinned. ‘We like it when we know which way eyes are turned. And which way they are not.’

  ‘So what can you do?’

  ‘We can create impressions. We can create disruption, confusion, alarm.’

  ‘How can this be achieved?’

  She was as matter-of-fact as she would have been giving him a list for the market. ‘A deception and a decoy.’ Her brother’s eyes flicked briefly to a figure standing to one side, almost in the shadows, his wrists bound and head bowed almost enough to conceal the swelling and fresh blood on his face. Something familiar about him nagged briefly at Brann until he realised that the man had the same build and height as he, and while his features were different, his skin was pale. The woman continued. ‘The details you can leave to us.’

  He was happy to do so. ‘Do you know where? And when?’

  She almost smiled. ‘We will when you tell us.’

  So he told them.

  She nodded. ‘We can do that.’

  Brann smiled, though there was as much warmth in his eyes as in hers. ‘Then we can work together.’

  ‘You met with The Triplets?’ Sophaya was astounded.

  Brann frowned. ‘There were two of them, not three.’

  She sliced a knife casually through an apple, reclining on the high windowsill where he had first seen her what seemed a century ago. ‘No one ever sees the third, Abraxas. He is the organiser, the one who is aware of everything, remembers everything, plans everything. He is their brain, but it is said that he is scared of his own shadow and is uncomfortable in the presence of anyone but his brother and sister. Few meet the two, and fewer still do so with life still in them at the end of the meeting. Dareia and Phrixos do not normally meet with anyone other than their own lieutenants or the other three Shadowlords, unless it is to deal with treachery amongst their own. They take betrayal badly, and personally.’

  ‘I guess I was fortunate.’ He was still surly after being dragged from his meeting hooded once more, but he chided himself. It had not been of her doing.

  ‘I guess you were considered important,’ she said. ‘Though you will be fortunate to escape without a broken nose if you adopt that tone with me again.’ She flicked her knife to send a chunk of apple bouncing from his head.

  He smiled. ‘Apologies, Sophaya. You did not deserve it. I don’t like being under someone else’s control like that.’

  ‘No one does.’ She arched her back and dropped from the sill, more like a cat than ever. ‘But your apology has saved your nose.’

  Cannick was stomping down the stairs with Hakon in tow, their arms cradling an impressive collection of weapons. ‘Oh, you’re back,’ he said simply. ‘When do we move?’ The steel was dumped on the table with an ear-ringing clatter.

  ‘Tonight.’ Brann slumped in a chair, weariness catching up on him. ‘Sundown. What of the arrangements here? Our Lady?’

  Cannick smiled. ‘She will be safe. She had somewhat of a reunion. She will take residence for the time being with her daughter.’

  So his suspicions had been true. He was glad. ‘And the delivery has been made?’

  The grey head nodded at a pile of guards’ armour heaped in the corner of the room. ‘While you were visiting the less reputable elements of society. You are certain the blue plumes are correct?’

  Brann nodded. ‘I have seen the rotation schedule. The Fourth Millen has responsibility for the citadel this week.’

  Hakon looked doubtful. ‘The right armour or not, some of us will never pass for locals.’

  ‘You need not worry on that score, friend Hakon,’ Marlo said brightly. ‘The Imperial Host is well named, for its numbers seem countless. It can only be so if it draws from the full extent of the Empire, and the Empire is a large place of many people. People with greatly differing appearances.’

  Breta strolled across the room, steaming leg of chicken in hand, and sat beside Brann. ‘So that is settled. The clothes are right. Now tell us how we will spend our night.’ He looked at her in surprise, and she raised her eyebrows in return. ‘What? Did you expect us to miss out on this excitement? Last time you just took us into the desert and I was left labouring in a forge with a lazy oaf.’

  ‘Hoi!’ Hakon objected. ‘I wasn’t lazy.’

  She ignored him and offered Mongoose a bite from her chicken as the smaller girl perched on the bench beside her. ‘We are hardly likely to wander off just when it starts to get interesting.’

  Brann nodded, pleased. Two more swords at their disposal, especially when they were carried by hands as adept as these two pit fighters, would be more than welcome.

  ‘So,’ Grakk said, uncoiling from his seat by the fire with sinuous ease and looking Brann over, ‘you should tell us what is expected and get some sleep. You need to be at your best, as we all do.’

  So he did, and he did.

  They moved through the city as the sun slipped from sight. The streets were quiet but not deserted, and they drew little more than a cursory glance at most from those they passed. It was not unusual to see a squad of soldiers leading a couple of captives of some sort.

  Cannick took the lead, the bearing of the old warrior lending itself to the image of the sergeant in charge of the troop. Grakk, Sophaya and Mongoose had their hands bound before them and were led by a rope around their necks by Brann. Gerens and Hakon on one side, and Breta (a man to any watching, in her armour and the helm with the grill across the mouth and nose, leaving only her eyes visible) and Marlo on the other escorted the captives. Bra
nn had left his new weapons at the house in favour of a sword, long knife and shield matching those of the others and in keeping with the standard issue of the Imperial Host, though it had been a wrench to do so.

  It was close to the end of the guard shift as they approached the first citadel gate, and the slouch to the guards’ demeanour lent strength to their hope that food, rest and diversion would be foremost on their minds.

  Grakk coughed and Cannick halted the group to let him speak, ostensibly examining the security of the captives’ bonds. The tribesman’s voice was a murmur, but they had packed close enough to hear him. ‘Remember, they may be bored, they may be hungry, they may be tired, but they are also soldiers of the Imperial Host. Duty is all and standards are there to be kept, so they will always be attentive. Do not be complacent and play your part without laxity. Especially you who are soldiers: carry yourself as such.’

  Brann felt his stomach lurch. He had not been any less nervous when he had walked into the Arena for the first time. If anything, this was worse, for on that occasion his faith in Grakk’s ability had meant it was only his own life that he saw hanging in the balance.

  With an unintelligible bark of command, Cannick led them forward. As expected, the guards dropped spear points and raised shields at their approach. ‘Your business?’ the burlier of the two asked.

  Cannick curled a lip in disdain. ‘Baby-sitting. Taking these slaves to be held for the Prince’s decision on their fate for stealing from him.’

  ‘Which prince?’ The younger guard was slimmer, taller and more curious.

  Cannick grinned. ‘If I say they picked the worst one to do it to, who would you think?’

  A sharp laugh greeted that. ‘Not Kadmos? Those three had better enjoy the feeling of the chain around their necks before the executioner’s garrotte is added to it.’ He looked at the trio, who were doing their best to look dejected. ‘At least you should be given a royal send-off. I hear the Prince is partial to wielding the wire himself.’

  ‘So I have heard. It should be quite the spectacle.’ Cannick smiled and nodded in thanks as the spears parted to allow them passage, and he stepped forward with purpose. The others followed, but Brann’s stomach knotted even further. Where was the shout? They needed it now, or at least soon. Very soon. The within-twenty-paces sort of soon.

  The shout came before they had even cleared the archway, to his relief.

  ‘Alarm! Alarm! To arms! To arms!’

  The clamour on top of the walls was soon matched below. A tall guard with haughty bearing, his deportment and insignia that of an officer, strode from the guard house set immediately inside the wall. He looked at Cannick. ‘You. What are you waiting for? Take your men to their post. Immediately.’

  Grakk stumbled into Cannick. ‘Captain,’ he muttered.

  The veteran roughly pushed his captive back in annoyance. ‘At once, captain. As soon as I deliver these captives.’

  ‘Fool!’ the officer snapped. ‘Do you not hear the alarm? Leave them here. The guard house has a cell. You can return for them later.’

  The fear in Cannick’s face was plain. ‘Captain, these slaves are for Prince Kadmos. He has plans for them. My orders are to take them directly to him.’

  This time the captain roared. ‘Your orders are for peacetime, soldier, and when we know we have peace you can fulfil them. For now, your duty is to your commanding officer and to the expectations he has that you will be where you are supposed to be. Leave them with me or, by the gods, I’ll garrotte you myself.’

  Cannick was clearly distressed, but had no option but to nod obedience. The guards took the ropes from Brann and bundled their three bound ‘captives’ into the guard house. Cannick looked at his remaining companions and forced himself to remain in character. ‘Right, you cretins, you heard the captain. With me.’

  He set off at a trot into the area beyond the wall, the four behind following in tight pairs into a scene of bustling commotion. Torches flared in every part, bringing light to the night, and soldiers spilled from every crevice of the citadel like ants from a poked nest. Ordered and drilled as they may have been, still the sudden call to action could not help but produce a milling of bodies that baffled the eye. While each man or squad moved with a definite purpose of their own, the overall effect was of whirling confusion. It would be easy for a few people to lose themselves in the mass, so they did.

  Cannick looked at Brann. ‘What do we do now? We are three light already. And we have an additional task now to free them.’

  Brann snapped at him, his tone as much a result of his nerves as anything else. ‘What is done is done. We stay with our target. We have no option and to discuss it is to waste the time to be achieving it. Right now, we need a vantage point.’

  Cannick nodded. ‘At least we know they are safe for the time being.’ He led them to steps leading to the top of the wall, and they climbed fast to see the source of the consternation. At the parapet, they stopped, mouths agape in surprise.

  A host of campfires flamed in the darkness of the plain as though the stars had fallen from the sky and lay burning where they had landed. Dust that must have been raised by the movement of the horde rose in the light of the fires, and Cannick grabbed the arm of a passing sentry to ask what he knew.

  ‘An army, crept to the shadow of the walls, sergeant. Three in all: the one you see, one facing the back of the keep, and one mirroring this on the other side. Who’d have thought they could approach unknown?’

  ‘Who indeed?’ Cannick kept his grin from his face until the man had hurried on his impatient way.

  A deception and a decoy. This would be the first. Brann smiled. ‘It seems The Triplets keep to their word.’

  Hakon frowned. ‘But the dust? There must be thousands of them to raise such a cloud.’

  ‘I saw something similar in the dry lands across this sea, once, when hired as a young warrior to a local lord,’ Cannick said. ‘He wanted to convince an enemy his numbers were many times the truth. It’s amazing the dust cloud a few horses dragging branches and brush can make.’ He looked out over the glowing fires and the dust swirling red in the flames. ‘Would you bet against it?’

  Hakon grinned. ‘I would not.’

  ‘That may be so, and it is an admirable effect,’ Gerens said, ‘but when do we move?’

  Brann’s eyes had been scanning the scene below them. He pointed to a short column of soldiers moving in the direction of the citadel’s interior. ‘If they continue their course, as soon as possible. We should descend closer to the next wall and join them if we can.’

  The troop was indeed heading their way and they leapt low hedges to latch onto its tail, passing with the men through each of the walls as their commanding officer’s cursory words satisfied the guards at each gate. Shortly before the fourth wall, the column wheeled to climb to a broad tower that held at its top a mighty trebuchet, and Brann’s group neatly peeled from the rear to angle towards the final gateway. As they approached, Cannick spoke over his shoulder. ‘Move fast and purposefully. It’s amazing where it will get you.’

  They broke into a trot and headed for the gateway, an opening that was more of a tunnel through a wall as thick as a ship is long. At its inner end, a guard sought to grab Cannick. ‘Where do you head?’ he demanded.

  The old warrior shrugged him off. ‘Where do you think?’ he shouted back, and continued his run without a pause. Before the guard could answer, they were beyond him and a plethora of other matters demanded his attention.

  They paused beyond the wall to assess the scene. The well-to-do were streaming from their villas towards the sanctuary of the keep, leading Brann’s eyes to the building itself. His gaze followed the switch-back of the ramp to the great doorway and then rose to the terrace, where small figures – the royals – stood, watching the scene unfolding from their lofty perch.

  Brann indicated the stream of people converging on the keep like a multicoloured river funnelling into narrow rapids. ‘It looks like our progr
ess may be slowed. At least they are heading in our direction.’

  He was pleased to discover that his assessment was wrong. The sight of soldiers amongst them lent a reassurance to the panicking throng, an effect that Cannick soon exploited.

  ‘Do not fear, good people, do not fear,’ he bellowed, removing his helmet to allow his words to carry better. ‘The Imperial Host will ensure your safety. Please make your way to the keep in an orderly fashion.’ The people parted before him and appreciative hands clapped them on the back and arms as they passed. Cannick warmed to his task. ‘No need to hurry, stout walls and brave soldiers will keep all at bay. The only risk to your safety, my lords and ladies, is through panic, so keep yourselves calm and safe and trust in your army. If we could just be permitted to reach the keep ourselves, we will assist in ensuring your security and wellbeing.’

  Light applause broke out among those immediately around them and a small cheer threatened to break out. Brann touched Cannick’s arm. ‘I know you’re enjoying this, but it’s time to rein it in. We don’t need the attention of those looking from above turning onto us.’

  The veteran warrior grinned and shrugged. ‘Spoilsport.’

  The effect had already been created, however, and they had reached the foot of the ramp. They kept to one side and eased their way up, the back-and-forth nature of the construction allowing those they approached to see them coming and be prepared to let them pass.

  Breta looked approving. ‘This has worked surprisingly well.’

  ‘This,’ Brann said, ‘is only the start. Most of our task lies ahead.’ They were approaching the door and Brann moved close to Hakon. ‘Now,’ he said quietly, ‘would be a good time for panic.’

  ‘I can do that,’ the big boy said brightly. He turned suddenly and stopped, staring into the darkness beyond the walls. The fires themselves could not be seen but their glow crept into the sky above the top of the battlements. When he shouted, there was alarm in his voice. ‘Oh by the gods, they are coming! They are coming!’

  Consternation broke out around them immediately as Marlo grabbed his arm and added in an exaggerated whisper loud enough to be heard four rows of people away, ‘Quiet, you fool! It’ll be bad enough when the people realise they are cannibals!’