An Army of Heroes

by Scott J Robinson

  “Did you have a late night?”

  “There was a new act down in The Vault. They did overtime.”

  “Really?”

  Rawk winced. He knew what was coming but couldn’t help himself. “Yes.”

  “Really? I heard that you didn’t go to The Vault at all. A little birdie told me that you spent hours at some cheap elf tavern. I heard that you were there with an elf, a dwarf and a fermi.”

  “Is that what you heard?”

  “I don’t understand you, Rawk. You won’t spend time with me and yet—”

  “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that?” He raised his eyebrows. “The elf was my healer and the other two were Grint and Celeste. And the tavern wasn’t cheap.”

  The prince looked slightly mollified. “People will talk.”

  Rawk wondered why it mattered. They were an elf, a dwarf and a fermi. Or, at least, close enough that for any witnesses it wouldn’t matter. But did it actually make any difference which particular elf, dwarf and fermi they were? “People always talk. But we just went out and had something to eat. We were intending to go back to The Vault to listen to the new act, but got caught up and ended up staying where we were for a few hours.”

  Weaver didn’t say anything. His lip twitched.

  Rawk sat down on a step. “Grint and Celeste have lived in Katamood their whole lives. Did you know that their father helped build the battering ram you used to knock down the door of the North Watch?”

  Weaver’s lip twitched again. “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “He died a couple of days later. He was trying to repair a wall that was hit by one of your catapults, but it fell on him.”

  “A lot of people died before the city was free.”

  “I know. There are a few statues around commemorating them, but they all seem to show only humans.”

  “Nobody wants to see a statue of a dwarf.”

  “Dwarves might. Celeste’s grandmother moved in with her recently because her home was taken so you could build your canal.”

  Rawk knew he should let it rest, but Weaver could never take a hint so he knew he would have to move him on— to either another place or another conversation— in another way.

  There was a moment of silence. “You told me there were no more trolls in the Old Forest. You told me Galad died when a branch fell on him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, there’s a rumor.”

  “There usually is.”

  “About you and the trolls and a dwarf.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

  Weaver nodded slowly. “Perhaps. But I may have to look into it. The safety of Katamood is at stake.”

  “I can guarantee you that Katamood is completely safe from trolls. You have enough things to worry about without adding that to your pile as well.”

  “Such as what?”

  “All the other exots turning up in the city every day? I killed some more last night.” He was going to say another one, just because it was a really interesting idea, but that would mean he would get paid less. “Four of them, with weapons.”

  “I did hear something about that.”

  “And then there’s the Sorcerers holding meetings with the leader of the City Guard?”

  “That is not proven.”

  Rawk laughed. “So you believe a rumor the old ladies are spreading through the city but you won’t believe me?”

  “Well...”

  “Exactly. I have things to do, Weaver.” Rawk got back up and pushed past Weaver. He didn’t look back as he went through to the taproom. And halfway to the front door, he bumped into Natan coming the other way.

  “Watch it.” The big man looked around, a touch of heat in his voice. His dark eyes opened wide when he saw Rawk. “Oh, it’s you. Apologies. I’ve been working all night and am quite exhausted.” He looked away for a moment and Rawk turned to follow his gaze. It was only Weaver, staring as if force of will alone could make him give up the trolls. “I see you have been busy, too.” Natan said. “Now, excuse me, I must go and get some sleep.”

  “Sure.” Rawk glanced at Weaver then hurried from the tavern. He didn’t care what the people thought.

  Making his way down the hill, Rawk caught glimpses of the incomplete section of canal. The dwarves never seemed to stop. And not just those ones; there were dwarves everywhere doing the hard, dirty work that nobody else wanted to do. They were still working on the sewers, digging the deep drains along each street and carting the dirt and stone off to who-knew-where. They were probably adding it all to some huge pile and had a plan for what they would do with it all at the end. Whatever they did, Weaver would take the credit. He was already taking the credit for the canal and the sewers but Rawk doubted he was being completely honest.

  There was a shout and Rawk had Kaj in his hand before he thought. He looked around, but all he saw was a woman shouting at a dwarf work gang, waving her fist like she could hurt them if she wanted. When she stormed away with threats of calling the City Guard, Rawk stayed where he was. The dwarves were all standing around a timber-framed machine, poking and prodding and tinkering. And standing in the middle of them was Clinker.

  Rawk had not seen the lad since he’d shouted at him for something that wasn’t his fault.

  “Path.”

  Rawk looked around and started through the traffic towards the dwarves as one of them climbed onto a seat to work the machine with his feet. Another shifted a lever and they all stood back to watch as big, spinning brushes moved jerkily forward and scrubbed at the wall.

  Rawk read the graffiti they were cleaning. Here comes the storm. Let it wash us clean— Words of Wisdom. “What does that even mean?”

  A couple of the dwarves turned to look at him. One of them shrugged. He was big for a dwarf, with a mismatch of blond hair and an unkempt red beard tied with five guild ribbons of different colors, all in various stages of coming undone. “Storms is generally considered ta be bad things, but they clean the city better than a dozen dwarf work gangs could. Bad things can lead ta good things.”

  Rawk raised an eyebrow and the dwarf shrugged.

  “Maybe.” He laughed. “I’m an engineer, not a philosopher.”

  For a minute, Rawk watched the machine as it worked. “Hello, Clinker,” he said eventually, without turning from the machine.

  The lad was making an effort not to look at him too. He didn’t reply.

  “I see you got your machine working.”

  The contraption was doing a great job. The wall was almost clean already; the task would have taken a great deal longer with scrubbing brushes, though it wasn’t clear how long it had taken to haul the machine up the hill. Clinker still didn’t reply.

  “I want to apologize, Clinker.”

  The whole work gang was making an effort to mind their own business.

  Rawk turned to look at the boy properly. “I was wrong. You were doing a great job and it was only because Falling Leaves used magic that you failed at the end. Nobody could have done any better.”

  Clinker finally turned in his direction. He cocked his head to one side. “Magic?”

  “Sylvia didn’t tell you?”

  “I haven’t seen her.”

  “Don’t stop seeing Sylvia because of me. She probably can’t get by without your help and you don’t punish all of your friends just because one is a bit of an idiot.”

  “Are you my friend?”

  Rawk hesitated. He looked at the dwarves, who were still looking anywhere but at him. And in that moment, Clinker sighed and looked away. The boy was still shorter than he should have been, even for a dwarf of his age, and his hair still stood up at all sorts of crazy angles, but he had changed. There was a stillness to him that had not been there before. And not just a stillness of body; a stillness of his soul. Rawk wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

  “Of course I’m your friend,” he said.

  Clinked looked back again. “Kikum stole my
money,” he said after a moment.

  Rawk sighed this time. Kikum had said he was Clinker’s friend too though that had always been doubtful. “Well, I don’t need your money.”

  “He didn’t get all of it. Just ten ithel.”

  “Just ten ithel?” That was a fortune for most street urchins.

  “I hid some coins and told him about it, just like it was an accident and all. The next day the money was gone and he hasn’t talked to me since. Larsi says it was probably worth the money.”

  “Do you trust Larsi though? She’s just a girl, right?”

  Clinker blushed and looked away. Yes, he’d changed.

  “Sylvia has the rest of your money?”

  “I guess I’ll have to see her some day.”

  “And will Thacker buy your machine?”

  The dwarf who’d spoke earlier laughed. “Too right Thacker will buy the machine. We can keep the whole city clean with a couple of these things, even without a storm ta help. We might even be able ta adjust it to clean the streets.”

  “And how much will he pay?”

  The dwarf pursed his lips and examined the machine as it finished removing the graffiti. “Maybe a hundred ithel up front and a few ithel a month in royalties for each one.”

  “Path! Really? You’re rich, Clinker.”

  The boy motioned to the older dwarf. “I need to give some to Kristun.”

  But the dwarf held up his hands. “I don’t want your money.”

  “But you helped.”

  “Barely. One little idea.”

  Clinker wrinkled his nose and didn’t look pleased.

  Rawk turned to Kristun, remembering what Clinker had said when he’d mentioned him all those weeks ago. “Ah, you must be Kristun ga Meyer, the engineer, not Kristun ga Lund the tanner.”

  “That’s right. How do you know that?”

  “I know everything.”

  “Clinker been talking about me, has he?”

  “Perhaps. Anyway, the Hero’s Rest isn’t far away, so if you aren’t going to take Clinker’s money, at least go up there and have a drink. Tell Travis to put it on my bill.”

  Kristun narrowed his eyes.

  “Not just you. The whole gang.” All of the dwarves were looking at him. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. But, Clinker, you’ll come and talk to me if you see me now, right?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Good. Good.” Standing there with all the dwarves looking at him was making Rawk nervous. “I’ve got to go.” But when he turned to leave, he discovered there were a handful of humans looking at him as well. They all looked a little shocked. Some looked disgusted. One held up two fingers in the sign of the Great Path.

  “Mind your business,” Rawk said and stalked off.

  Fifty yards down the hill, Rawk slowed down to catch his breath and look around. Nobody was looking at him. Well, no more than usual. They hadn’t heard the conversation though that probably wouldn’t matter. There’d be a rumor spreading through the city by the time he’d had lunch. Actually, he’d probably be Clinker’s father by lunch.

  A fleet of wagons rumbled slowly past, tarps hiding the mountainous loads. A crow flapped down amongst some doves, scaring them away and inspecting the breakfast they’d left behind. A horse clattered along the canyon of the street. On the far side, a woman was standing in the doorway of a shop, holding the door open with long fingers covered in bejeweled rings. She smiled at Rawk and, after a moment, sauntered across the street to his side.

  “Hello, Rawk.” She was as slim as an elf, but with full breasts and a little nub of a nose. “I am Redella.”

  “Hello, Redella.”

  Her breasts were threatening to spill from her dress every time she breathed.

  “I like your dress.”

  “Thank you.” She pulled herself up straighter, which made Rawk like the dress even more. “It is my own design.”

  Rawk looked back at the shop she’d been haunting. He could see racks of dresses through the rippled glass of the windows. “It’s your shop?”

  “Yes.”

  “How’s business?”

  Redella shrugged and Rawk was distracted enough that he didn’t catch what she said.

  “Pardon?”

  She smiled. “Business is good. In fact, I was going to have a celebratory drink tonight and was wondering if you would join me.”

  Rawk raised his eyebrows.

  “I will be at the Mayflower after sundown.”

  “Well, my schedule changes by the minute these days, but I just might join you.”

  There was a shout up the street and Rawk reached for his sword. He pushed Redella behind him, Hero that he was, and turned to face the threat. But, again, there was no threat. Not to anyone around here, anyway.

  Rawk relaxed and Redella asked, “What is it?”

  Two-dozen men came into view, marching double time Rawk recognized the leader and called out to him. “Paker, what’s going on?”

  The captain looked his way for a moment. “There’s trouble brewing south of the river again. Looks like there might be another riot.” He smiled. “Come on down, you might get to break some dwarf heads too.”

  “Maybe I will.” But he stayed where he was as they continued down the hill.

  Redella shaded her eyes to watch as well. “I don’t know why we put up with them.”

  “The Guard?”

  “No, the dwarves. And all the others.”

  “Others?”

  “Elves and kedda and fermi and all the other races. They should be thankful we let them live in Katamood.”

  Fermi were human. Rawk wondered who decided which humans were worthy of respect and which were just like dwarves and elves. “Most of them were probably here before us, you know. Do you think Katamood is a human word?”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Should they be thankful that they lost their houses so Weaver can have his damn canal?”

  “Prince Weaver cannot fix every problem, now can he?”

  “Then he shouldn’t create the problems.” Rawk knew that Thacker and the dwarves had made preparations for all the people who would be made homeless, but they had yet to convince Weaver that their plans were a good idea. Celeste’s grandmother had been thrown out of her home; it could have been Celeste. He looked at Redella. “I just remembered that I have things to do this afternoon. I won’t be able to make it to the Mayflower.”

  “Some other day, perhaps.”

  “Maybe.” He managed a smile before he hurried down towards the river.

  -O-

  Rawk crossed over Dragon Bridge in the wake of Paker and his troop of City Guard. A few weeks ago the square on the far side had been filled with tents and ramshackle houses cobbled together from the detritus of the city. The settlement had looked like it had been washed up by the river, and it didn’t look any better now. Just bigger and more crowded. Moving along the path that wandered from the bridge to the road on the far side, Rawk noticed four other troops of soldiers hiding in the empty, haphazard streets. He knew what men looked like when they were teetering on the edge of a battle. There was a restlessness about them, an energy that pushed them towards the fray, even if they wanted to go the other direction. These men were one shout, one misheard word, away from charging. Of course, it helped that their opponents would be largely unarmed civilians.

  But, at the moment, those opponents were nowhere to be seen. They possibly didn’t even know the soldiers were there. Rawk started to run, as much as his knee would allow.

  In the center of the square, the ersatz buildings hung back from the cistern, leaving a small clear space. This was where the gathering of locals had started. It was where the most vocal of them were. It was where the riot would live or die. There was no obvious leader, nobody urging them towards action, so Rawk started to push his way forward. The cistern would let him get up above the crowd. He had almost made it but a dwarf climbed up first and shouted for attention.


  “Fellow citizens...”

  Rawk swore. The other noises slowly died down.

  “How long are we going to sit and wait for Weaver to throw us some scraps from the food that he stole from us?” The dwarf looked around. “This is our city. This is...”

  Rawk jumped up onto the edge of the cistern. Heart racing, he held up his hands to silence the muttering from the crowd. It didn’t work. “There are soldiers watching you right now,” he said. “Trained, professional soldiers.” Some of the audience fell silent then, other shouted to let the soldiers come.

  “This is the way he treats us,” the dwarf shouted, trying to wrest back the initiative. “He sends soldiers instead of emissaries.”

  “Have you talked to Thacker about what you intend to do?” Rawk asked. “Have you told him that you are going to defeat the soldiers here and then storm the palace? He might be interested to know.”

  “Thacker is useless,” the dwarf shouted. “I am Gupter. I am one of you. I have worked with you to build shelters and to keep warm at night. I have found food for you. What does the great Rawk know of our lives?”

  The crowd cheered.

  “I know of life,” Rawk said. “And going out to fight those soldiers is a quick way to lose it.”

  “I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees.”

  Rawk had to hold up his hands for quiet again and it was a long time coming. “Gupter is an idiot,” he said eventually. Gupter was furious, but Rawk kept going. “If you die on your feet, you are dead a long time. In some situations, like this one where you have no hope of winning, that is the same as giving up. But if you live on your knees for another day, then there’s a chance that the day after that you will get a chance to live on your feet.”

  “We are already dying. Our children are starving.”

  Rawk found that hard to believe. He doubted very much that Thacker would let anyone die. He wondered which local thug he would have to beat up to get the food moving in the right direction again. “I will see what I can do to help.”

  “What will you do, Rawk?”

  “I will talk to Thacker today to see what can be done. I will talk to Prince Weaver. People are already working on your behalf. Let them keep doing that before you do something that cannot be undone.”