A World Without Heroes

by Brandon Mull

  Ferrin nodded. “They are masters of coercion. If conscriptors are sending assassins after you, the emperor must be more interested in you than I appreciated. On to more immediate concerns. Only one guard remains in the building.”

  Jason started to sit up, but Ferrin pushed him down. “No need to look. He has fallen asleep in a chair with his back to our cell. I suspect a second guard awaits outside the front door.”

  “How do we get out of the cell in the first place?”

  “I do not wish to permanently harm the guards if possible. They acted against us with no malice. But we cannot allow ourselves to be unjustly executed. My first plan involves the two of us feigning sleep. You begin groaning louder and louder, as if in the grip of a relentless nightmare. I’ll lie near the bars. When you hear me make my move, come lend a hand.”

  Taking off his shirt, revealing a sparsely hairy chest and moderately developed musculature, Ferrin plucked off his left arm at the shoulder and set it on the floor. He replaced his shirt, and then sprawled on the floor with his back to the bars, concealing the fact that he held his left arm in his right hand. He winked at Jason, who lay gawking at the disconnected appendage.

  Jason closed his eyes. Rolling over, he uttered a mounting series of moans culminating in a shout. Through the slits of his eyes Jason saw the guard stir in his chair. Closing his eyes, Jason let out a long, painful groan, tossing his head from side to side.

  “That’s enough,” the guard growled.

  Jason began panting, then commenced a fresh series of grunts and groans. He heard footsteps, and risked slitting his eyes fractionally. The guard stopped well out of reach of the bars.

  “Hey, you, wake up and shut up!”

  Jason turned his head away from the bars, then back. He groaned louder, growling at the end.

  “Pipe down,” called a voice from a neighboring cell.

  The guard took a step closer. “Wake up!” he demanded.

  Through his cracked eyelids Jason saw Ferrin leap to his feet and lean against the bars in a quick motion, holding out his severed arm to extend the length of his grasp. The hand of his detached arm caught the guard by the throat, and Ferrin hauled him brusquely against the bars.

  Jason dove over to the bars, staying low and seizing the guard’s ankles. Ferrin released his hold on the severed arm, which continued to squeeze the guard’s throat. With his free arm Ferrin seized the man by the back of his head and pounded his forehead against the bars. Jason clung tightly to the struggling feet until the guard sagged.

  After yanking the guard’s legs and arms through the bars of the cell, Ferrin told Jason to keep hold of the guard’s feet and to watch him closely. Welts began to discolor the guard’s face. Ferrin took off his shirt again and seamlessly reattached his arm. Then he reached through the bars and made an underhand motion as if he were pitching a horseshoe.

  As his arm swung forward, the hand detached from the wrist and sailed through the air, bumping against the wall near the peg where the keys hung. “Prongs!” Ferrin spat, using the word as profanity. The hand scuttled back to the cell on nimble fingers. Ferrin reattached it and tried again. This time the hand hit the keys but failed to catch hold of them. They jingled tauntingly as the hand slapped to the floor.

  On the fifth try two fingers curled around the key ring, supporting the swinging hand precariously. The guard remained slumped, motionless, against the bars.

  Moving dexterously, three fingers gripped the key ring while the thumb and index finger inched the ring off the peg. The keys jangled against the floor. Jason watched in fascination as the hand dragged the keys across the floor like a crippled spider. Ferrin’s eyes were intent with concentration.

  Ferrin reconnected the hand, picked up the keys, and pulled his shirt on over his head. Hastily reaching through the bars, he began trying keys. The gated section of the bars swung open. Ferrin scooped up the guard and hauled him into the cell. The man suddenly thrashed out of his grasp and twisted to lunge at Ferrin, who kneed the guard in the gut and shoved him to the floor. Ferrin pounced onto the man, hooking one arm around his neck in a choke hold while the other covered his mouth, muffling his protests. The man squirmed and lurched, desperate to break the hold, but Ferrin held firm as the guard’s face reddened.

  After the man lay limp, Ferrin maintained the stranglehold for a moment. “This one likes to play possum,” he said. “Even when he’s locked in the cell his shouts could bring trouble.”

  Ferrin rolled the guard onto his back and squatted beside him, staring. After a few seconds he swatted the man between his legs. The guard did not flinch. “He’s out for now,” Ferrin said, exiting the cell with Jason and shutting the door. He tossed the keys to Jason, who began stabbing keys into the lock of Rachel’s cell.

  “I wondered what all the groaning meant,” Rachel said.

  “Ferrin is a genius,” Jason replied, inserting the correct key and opening her cell.

  “Should I finish off your friend?” Ferrin asked, jerking his head at Tad, who stood glaring at them, hands fisted around the bars of his cell.

  Jason frowned. “I can’t see killing him while he’s at such a disadvantage, all penned up.”

  Ferrin raised his eyebrows. “Chivalrous. You realize he will continue to hunt you once he gets free. His presence means he has taken a vow to see you dead. Were your situations reversed, he would end your life without a twinge of remorse.”

  Tad spat through the bars.

  “No,” Rachel said. “Don’t kill him. Not like this.”

  Tad smirked.

  “She’s right,” Jason said. “It’s one thing to act in self-defense. This would be something else.”

  “It’s your neck,” Ferrin said. “You want out?” he asked the bearded man in the cell with Tad.

  “No. I’m only in for another day. I caused a public disturbance. Matter of fact, would you mind giving me a knock on the head so the constable don’t blame me for not raising an alarm?”

  “Come to the bars,” Ferrin said. He trotted over and punched between the bars, striking the man square in the eye. The man stumbled back and sat down hard, cupping a hand over the injury.

  “Why doesn’t Tad raise an alarm?” Jason asked.

  “He can probably guess what I would do in self-defense,” Ferrin said. “Give me the keys back.” After unsuccessfully trying a couple keys, Ferrin unlocked a closet and retrieved their belongings. Jason wrapped his cloak around his shoulders. The closet contained no additional weapons. Ferrin crossed to a desk, reached underneath, and pulled out a loaded crossbow that had been cunningly suspended on hidden hooks. “I like to keep my eyes open when people don’t think I’m watching,” he said. “They might have other arms stashed someplace, but we have no time to search. The guard we subdued was unarmed. Let’s see if we can get out the front door. Keep your knife handy.”

  Jason gently placed his thumb over the flower-shaped trigger, ready to eject the blade. Moving cautiously, Ferrin guessed the door key on the first try. He turned it and thrust the door open. A startled guard turned around. Ferrin leveled his crossbow at the man. “Make no sound. Come inside.”

  The guard, holding a crossbow at his side, hesitated. “Move now or die,” Ferrin stated coolly.

  The guard came inside. “Lay down your weapons. Knife, too.” The guard put his crossbow on the table, along with a leather belt connected to a sheathed long knife.

  Ferrin escorted him over to the cell where the other guard lay unconscious. Ferrin tossed the keys, and Jason unlocked the cell. Ferrin shoved the guard inside. “Kneel and hold still,” Ferrin insisted.

  The guard complied. Ferrin struck a measured blow to the back of his head with the heel of his hand. The man slumped to the floor.

  “Is he out?” Rachel asked.

  Ferrin nodded without checking him. Jason had a suspicion Ferrin had done this before.

  Ferrin crossed to the table and buckled the belt with the long knife about his waist. He handed Rachel the
other crossbow.

  “Does it have a safety?” Rachel asked.

  Ferrin glanced at the weapon. “To fire, slide this lever back, then use the trigger. Come.”

  The trio slipped out the front door into the night. “Walk carelessly,” Ferrin advised. “No reason for us to look suspicious. We are merely escaped fugitives about to steal some horses to avoid a death sentence.”

  They strolled down a side street. Ferrin held his crossbow casually at his side. Jason clung to his poniard, keeping it under his cloak. Rachel hid her crossbow likewise.

  At a signal from Ferrin, Jason and Rachel ducked into a small livery stable. A horse snorted and stamped. Ferrin put a finger to his lips. “You ride horses?”

  “Only twice,” Jason whispered, not mentioning that once was a pony ride at a circus as a child and the other walking single file along some trail in Arizona for a couple of hours on a guided excursion.

  “I’ve ridden quite a bit,” Rachel said.

  Jason rolled his eyes. Of course she had!

  Ferrin forced open a rickety closet door. Two of the horses started whinnying. Jason held his poniard ready as Ferrin saddled and bridled a big gray mount. Next Ferrin prepped a smaller white horse. He then bridled a roan with a long, thick mane, slightly shorter and broader than the first horse.

  Ferrin led the gray horse out of its stall. He handed Jason the reins, nodded for Rachel to retrieve the white horse, and went to retrieve the roan. Jason patted the sleek neck, smoothing the fur.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” exclaimed a gruff voice. Jason turned to see a man entering the stable clutching a hoe like a weapon. He had messy hair and an open shirt that revealed a hairy chest.

  Jason realized the man could not see Rachel and Ferrin, since they were currently in stalls. “I just love to pet horses,” Jason said, his voice pathetically dreamy. “They’re my most favorite ever. I can read their minds.”

  The stableman looked baffled. “These are private horses, son.” An edge of stern accusation remained in his voice. He took a step closer.

  Jason saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Ferrin stepped out of a stall holding his head in his hands. “Beware the boy,” the head said. “He took my head. Yours will be next.”

  The startled man backed away, hoe raised protectively.

  Ferrin’s body set down his head, then seized a pitchfork and charged. The man threw down his hoe and ran. Ferrin’s headless body flung the pitchfork sidearm so it spun end over end horizontally. The pitchfork tangled in the stableman’s legs, and he fell heavily against the plank floor just shy of the door.

  The body tackled the stableman as he began to rise. The gray horse tried to rear, nearly jerking Jason off his feet. He barely maintained his hold of the bridle.

  “Toss me to my body,” Ferrin’s head demanded. “Make it a good throw.”

  Keeping one hand on the bridle, Jason crouched and scooped up the head. An underhand toss sent Ferrin’s head spinning through the air to the outstretched hands of his body, which straddled the terrified stableman.

  “That is much harder than it looks,” Ferrin said while reattaching his head to his neck. “Catching your own head, I mean.”

  “I bet,” Jason said.

  The stableman lay motionless, breathing loudly through his nostrils, glazed eyes staring. “Leave me be,” he pled.

  Ferrin hauled him to his feet. “We mean you no harm, except to borrow a few horses. They will be returned. Just keep quiet and don’t make trouble for yourself. Why don’t you kneel right here?”

  A practiced blow left the stableman unconscious on the floor.

  “You need to teach me that one,” Jason said.

  “You all right, Rachel?” Ferrin called.

  She led the white horse out of the stall. Pausing, she stared at the stableman on the floor. “Now we’re real criminals.”

  “They made us criminals,” Ferrin corrected, returning to the roan’s stall. He led out the gelding, hoofs clomping on the planks. “Mount up,” he said, bounding easily onto the roan’s bare back.

  Jason stuck his boot in a stirrup and hoisted himself up awkwardly. Rachel mounted the white mare smoothly.

  Ferrin walked his horse over to Jason. “Don’t stick your foot so far through the stirrup. If you fall you’ll get dragged. And don’t pull so tightly on the reins. They aren’t there for your stability. Grip with your knees. Ready?”

  “I guess.”

  Ferrin smiled. “You can read horses’ minds. That was very nice. My kind of crazy.”

  “Thanks. The headlessness was a slick scare tactic.”

  “It kept our unfortunate friend off balance. Let’s go.”

  Leaning down, Ferrin lifted a latch and shoved open the main stable doors. Rachel followed, and Jason trotted after them onto the street, bouncing up and down with the jerky gait. Then Ferrin touched his heels to the roan’s sides, and the steed sped up to a canter. Rachel’s mare started loping as well.

  Without any urging, Jason’s mount matched the pace of the other horses. For a horrible moment Jason thought he was going to get jounced out of the saddle to one side or the other. Each loping stride provided a fresh opportunity to lose his balance.

  The town blurred by, dark buildings interrupted by an occasional lit window. Holding his reins loosely in one hand and clutching the pommel with the other, Jason tried to grip with his knees as Ferrin had instructed. Soon he discovered that if he let his body rock in synchronization with the horse’s strides, the ride became less jarring.

  They rode out of the town, Jason a few lengths behind Rachel and Ferrin. The town receded behind them, and Jason gradually grew more comfortable astride the running horse. He began to notice the cool night air washing over him, the bright stars glittering above through gaps in unseen clouds, the occasional twinkle of fireflies off to either side of the road. Somewhere in the night a pack of coyotes or wolves started howling. The howls rose in a cackling chant, intensifying until a heart-freezing shriek pierced the night. Jason’s horse began to gallop, racing past Ferrin and Rachel, Jason tugging ineffectually at the reins. The howls ended abruptly. As he bounced along the dark road, Jason envisioned animals feeding on a kill.

  He finally managed to yank his horse to a stop. Ferrin pulled up alongside him and dismounted. “We should walk for a while. These are hearty steeds, but we must conserve their strength.” Rachel drew up and dismounted gracefully.

  Jason clambered down. He rubbed his thighs. “Much more of this and I’ll be bowlegged.”

  “You did fine,” Ferrin laughed.

  They led their horses along the lane.

  “Will they chase us?” Rachel asked.

  “Very likely. But not far beyond the outskirts of town. Now, your friend with the new arm, he is another story. I expect he will get released, so sleep with one eye open.”

  “Are we outlaws now?” Jason asked.

  “Perhaps in that town. Not all towns have constables. And there is little communication between them. The only centralized power in the land belongs to Maldor.”

  “I’ll wear a fake mustache and glasses if I ever go back through there,” Jason said.

  “Our manner of escape should help clear our names,” Ferrin said. “Constable Wornser is no fool. We had plenty of opportunities to kill, if murder were our game. Still, if either of you ever comes back this way, go around the town.”

  They walked on in silence.

  After a time they remounted the horses and trotted them. Jason marveled at how tireless the horses seemed.

  As dawn began to color the sky, Ferrin led them off the road. They went over the shoulder of a hill and made camp in a hollow on the far side. Ferrin tethered the horses while Jason and Rachel laid out their blankets.

  “I’ll keep watch,” Ferrin volunteered.

  Jason fell asleep quickly but did not slumber long. He awoke with the sun barely above the horizon. He walked out of the shade of their hollow into the morning light, stretchin
g the sore muscles in his legs.

  “If you’re up, I may catch a nap,” Ferrin whispered.

  Jason gave a nod. About fifty feet away stood a limbless stump of a tree, with a hole in its side the size of a dinner plate. Jason selected five rocks of similar size. He stood as if he were on a pitcher’s mound, the first rock in his hand. He checked first base, went into a windup, and hurled the stone at the hole. Two of the five rocks went inside. Only one missed the tree entirely.

  He wandered back over to the shade of the hollow. The horses nibbled at grass near where they were tethered. Rachel rested her head on her arms, her breathing slow and even. Ferrin lay on a patch of dirt, hands folded on his breast.

  What a peculiar guy. He certainly knew how to handle himself in a fight. Whoever had jumped him and left him to die with his head in a sack must have really known what they were doing.

  As Jason stood watching, the fingers and thumbs began dropping off Ferrin’s hands. They wormed off his body and squirmed toward Jason across the ground. Jason jumped back, his voice cracking. “Uh, Ferrin, you’re coming apart.”

  Ferrin’s mouth bent into a small grin, and he opened one eye. “Did I startle you?”

  “You are weird.”

  Ferrin collected his fingers. “You have good aim with rocks.”

  “Do you know what baseball is?”

  Ferrin shook his head.

  “It’s a game we have where I come from. One of the people in the game has to throw balls with a lot of accuracy. I used to do that.”

  “I enjoy sports. Tell me the rules of baseball.”

  Jason stared at the ground, wondering how to begin. He had never explained baseball to somebody with no knowledge of the game. “Well, there are two teams. While one takes their turn batting, the other team is on the field to defend against hits.”

  “What is batting?”

  “I’m getting there. A pitcher throws a ball, and the batter tries to hit it into play, or over the rear wall, which is a home run, unless it goes foul.”

  Ferrin looked perplexed.

  Jason rubbed his chin. “There are four bases arranged in a diamond shape, and the hitter is trying to advance around all the bases. When he gets to the fourth base, which is where he started, he’s home and scores a run.”