An Army of Heroes

by Scott J Robinson

  She looked at the cup in her hand. For a moment, she seemed to be at a loss for words. “I feel more... aware... when I drink the tea.”

  Rawk smiled. “And you thought I was crazy.”

  “I know you are crazy, Rawk. I am merely still trying to discover all of the causes and symptoms.”

  “Of course. Sorry.” He sat down at his desk. “So, how’s it going?”

  Sylvia sighed, missing a perfect opportunity for a joke about causes and symptoms as far as Rawk was concerned. “It does not seem to be going at all. Your library is relatively small, when considering the depth and breadth of magic’s history, and may not have an answer for us at all, but it is big enough that it could take me a year to discover that.”

  Rawk tapped the books he had just brought in. “Well, good news.”

  “There are answers in there?”

  “Maybe.”

  “So, what you mean is that you have some more books for me to search through?”

  “Yes.”

  Sylvia sighed. “Travis brought those ones in a while ago.” There was a small pile on Rawk’s desk. There was also a small, carefully wrapped parcel.

  “Excellent. Do you need to hire an assistant?” Rawk took up the package, wondering what it could be.

  “An assistant?”

  “Yes.” He pulled at the string to release the cloth covering. Inside, was a pair of spectacles— two circles of polished glass held by a thin wire frame. He purses his lips, glanced at Sylvia, and put them in his drawer. “You tell them the sort of thing you are looking for and they can read some of the books and point out stuff you might be interested in.”

  “I understand how such a system might work, Rawk, but do you really expect me to go around looking for people to read books about magic for me? How long do you think it would be until that rumor began to spread?”

  “Well...”

  “Yes, so stop disturbing me so I can read.” She pulled a book from the shelf, apparently at random, and took it back to her chair.

  Rawk took a book as well and sat with his feet up on the desk. Then he had to get back up to get himself a cup of tea. Finally, he sat down, took a sip, and blinked his eyes into focus so he could read.

  Some time later, Rawk started and nearly fell off his chair. His tankard, still half-full of tea, wobbled on the table but settled as he watched stupidly. Sylvia looked up from her book.

  “What time is it?” But he could hear music coming from The Vault. Celeste and Grint were playing, dancing their melodies down the hall and in through the door. Rawk rubbed at his face and rose to his feet. “It must be dinner time. Are you coming?”

  Sylvia sighed and put down her current book. It was different to the last one Rawk had seen.

  Rawk’s usual table was waiting for him, and Biki put down a drink almost before he arrived. He grabbed the dwife’s arm. “I need something to eat, Biki. And Sylvia too.”

  Biki nodded and hurried away, ignoring the calls of several other customers as she went. She came back with two bowls. One was heaped with a steaming, chunky stew and the other almost over flowed with a salad. Then she was gone again, hardly even pausing.

  “How is Biki working out?” Sylvia asked.

  “Like a dwarf,” Rawk replied, getting his cutlery from his belt pouch. He separated out his spoon and put the knife and fork back. “She doesn’t stop. The bastards never leave her alone but she doesn’t complain. I would have torn someone’s head off by now.”

  “No, you would not, Rawk. Dwarves have been not complaining for thousands of years. Elves too, to an extent. Complaints and retaliation lead to retribution, even more so when the law is always against you, such as in Katamood.”

  Rawk ate his stew and listened to the music. He watched Celeste as she played her mandolin, marveling as her fingers danced across the strings. She was hardly better than dwarves and elves, really, according to most of the people of Katamood. She was just a native. Rawk wondered where the prejudice stopped.

  The food was long gone when Weaver appeared and sat down at Rawk’s table. “Rawk, I knew I’d find you here, listening to this pair. I don’t know how you can do it.”

  Rawk sighed. “Sometime it doesn’t stop.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing, Weaver. No disguise tonight?”

  “No, Rawk, not tonight. I have come to ask you about some more rumors.”

  “Rumors? Well, I hear that Franzo Winkle is selling his dry dock. And Drin Garbut is...”

  “Rumors about you, Rawk. And some exots.”

  “Yes, I killed some more exots. You owe me money. You always owe me money.”

  “I hear differently. I hear that you confronted some exots and led them away into the city.”

  Rawk took a drink. “Do I get paid for that?”

  “The exots looked just like normal men, apparently.”

  “How do we know they were exots then?”

  “They came through a portal. And you hid them in the city.”

  Rawk sighed again. “You really shouldn’t believe the rumors, Weaver. I’ve died about ten times in the last twenty years, remember?”

  Weaver wouldn’t be distracted though. “Just because they look like men doesn’t mean they are men. We cannot trust them. We cannot let them loose in Katamood.”

  “Look, Weaver—”

  “They had these tattoos.” He waggled his fingers near his face. “They almost glowed. That should make them easy enough to find. And if I discover that you helped them in any way...”

  Rawk turned to look at the Prince. He looked very serious. He looked half mad. “That guy?”

  “What?”

  “There was one guy with a strange tattoo but Frew killed him before I even arrived. One guy.” He waved a hand. “I’m sure you found the body.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Right. Just one guy,” he said again. “That was it. There was no army of them. How would I hide them? As usual the details got blown out of proportion. Frew never even mentioned a portal. He was just some crazy foreigner, from somewhere out past Frenable, maybe.” He started to sit back in his seat, but realized Sylvia was trying to hide in the shadows behind him and changed his mind. Instead, he rose to his feet and pulled Weaver up as well. “You really have to stop believing everything you hear on the street, Weaver. You know how every little tale grows with each mile it moves.” Rawk gave a laugh. “I mean, come on, we stretched enough stories back in the day.”

  “There was only one man?”

  “That’s what Frew told me.” He started leading the prince towards the door. “And why would Frew talk himself out of a payment?”

  Weaver gave a reluctant nod. “I better not find out you are lying to me, Rawk. I say who lives and dies in Katamood. Not you. Do you understand?”

  Rawk swallowed as the prince stalked away through the tables.

  “Is it true?” Sylvia asked quietly once Rawk had sat back down. “You are rescuing exots now?”

  Rawk took a drink and suddenly wished for something stronger than water. “The portals open randomly— at least the natural ones do— so they can’t all appear in the midst of a vicious pack of wild animals. Sometimes, people must come through. Normal people like you and me.”

  He looked at the elf and wondered when she had become a normal person.

  “I had not thought about it.”

  “Well, I had. And now I’ve got another job to do tonight, Path damn it.” He sighed and sat back to enjoy the music while he could.

  Half an hour later, Rawk headed to the storage room outside his library and found a blue, rough spun woolen cloak that he had never worn in his life. He couldn’t even remember where it had come from. It was too short, but that just added to the disguise. Pulling the hood down low, he collected Kaj and headed back across The Vault and up the stairs to the taproom. He waited a couple of minutes in a dark corner near the door, trying not to cough on the smoke, then attached himself to a drunken group as they squeezed out ont
o the porch. He hunched his shoulders to make himself look smaller. Someone stumbled down the stairs and the rest of the group followed. Across the road, reasonably quiet at this time of night, one of Weaver’s men was sitting on a step in the half-dark where the street lamps didn’t quite meet. He was whittling, the age-old pastime of men on a stakeout. The man glanced up at the group but dismissed it immediately and went back to his wood and his blade, sending out long, curling shavings.

  Breathing a sigh of relief and trying to calm his racing heart, Rawk stayed with the group, mouthing the words to their song when they started to lurch down the hill. Around the first corner, he straightened his shoulders and almost struck off on his own, but movement a little way down the street caught his attention. Shrinking again, he pushed towards the center of his disguise as they argued about lyrics and weather dwarves should be allowed to sing in taverns on the north side of the river. Rawk bit his tongue and kept an eye on the dark corner where he’d seen the movement.

  There was another spy, standing in an alcove between two whitewashed buildings. But a Hero would never sneak anywhere, so the incognito-soldier hardly even looked at Rawk and his companions.

  “Hey, do you think dwarves should be able to work north of the river?” someone asked.

  Rawk’s heart raced when he realized his companions had stopped to ask the opinion of Weaver’s man.

  “Go home.”

  Nobody seemed offended at all and the singing resumed. It was one of the songs Grint had been singing earlier. Rawk was pretty sure it was one of the dwarf’s own compositions.

  Further down the hill, Rawk finally felt it was safe to leave his new friends behind. They didn’t even notice when he slipped away, heading for Mistook Alley. It was a narrow, winding thing, barely more than a yard wide at some points, that wound its way southwards for almost half a mile before spitting the brave travelers out near the cistern in Carker Square. Rawk drew Kaj. He hadn’t been into Mistook for years; it was scary enough during the day.

  Rawk tried to watch his footing but the only light was seeping into the alleyway out through grimy windows and through the cracks in badly made doors. He almost slipped in a pool of half dry blood. He almost tripped over a moldering pile of rubbish. He also tried to watch out for trouble of the more pointy kind. His heart was hammering in his chest. His mouth was dry. Weaver and his men would never find him in here, not even when he was dead and rotting. Someone stepped out of a narrow door squeezed between two downpipes, his shadow stretching up the wall on the far side.

  “You lost? It ain’t safe here.”

  Somehow, Rawk doubted the man was really concerned about his health. “No, I’ve got this under control,” Rawk told him. He pushed back his hood, clearing his peripheral vision. He should have done it earlier.

  “Rawk? Is that you?”

  Rawk looked around. “Ummm... Yes. Do I know you?”

  “Course not. Doubt you got many friends in Mistook, right.”

  “Not a lot, no.”

  “What you doing here? I saw you kill that bano a few days ago.”

  “Bano?” Rawk breathed shallowly, trying not to inhale too much of the stench.

  “The shark with legs.”

  It didn’t feel right, chatting to the cutthroat in the most dangerous place in the city. He didn’t really have time, but didn’t want to anger the man. “Where did you get that name? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “My papa used to tell me stories, before my ma slit his throat. He was from the mountains up near Kenkona and he used to talk about them all the time. Maybe your shark was something different though.”

  “Perhaps.” It was an interesting thought that the portals might not be leading to other worlds at all. “I would love to stay and chat...”

  “Of course. You obviously on a mission of some kind. Didn’t come here for fun. You want some company?”

  Rawk looked around, licking his lips. One less person trying to sneak up behind him might be a good thing. “Sure. Come on then.”

  “My name’s Fix.” Fix held out his hand to be shaken.

  “Hello, Fix. Good to meet you.”

  “So, where are you off to?”

  “I have to get to—”

  “Ah, a secret mission. Obviously. I wouldn’t trust me either.” Fix showed a row of perfect teeth in a smile. He noticed Rawk noticing. “My papa always said to look after your teeth ‘cause you can’t go next door and steal some more.”

  “A wise man, it would seem. My father always said, ‘Money can be stolen, but a good work ethic can’t.’ Something to keep in mind, if you’re ever looking for a good work ethic.”

  Fix laughed. “Two wise fathers, it would seem. “

  Rawk smiled. “Yes. Though apparently neither of them were really the best for making up catchy slogans.”

  “You’re friends with Prince Weaver?”

  Rawk grunted noncommittally.

  “You gotta thank him for me. One of his Heroes saved my daughter the other day.”

  “One of his Heroes?”

  “Yeah, you know, the ones he’s got standing on corners everywhere looking for trouble. Yeah, my little darlin’ was breakin’ into a shop when a bear-looking thing, with green fur and a long tail, appeared out of nowhere and attacked her. A Hero came and fought it off. He was so quick I didn’t even have a chance to move.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it, Fix. Just so you know, though, I’m the one paying the Heroes.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I don’t think Weaver has come up with an original idea in his life.”

  “What about the canal? And all the pipes and taps and what-not.”

  “Dwarves. All of it is the dwarves.”

  “You’ve got to be joking. Those little buggers are too stupid to come up with their own ideas.”

  “What are you basing this on?”

  “Well...”

  “I can assure you, Weaver sits in his palace taking credit for everyone else’s work.”

  “I thought you said he was your friend.”

  “I thought I grunted noncommittally.”

  Rawk raised Kaj in an instant as three men landed lightly on the street in front of him, daggers in hand. Their faces were dramatic patchworks of light and shadow. There were probably a couple more men to the rear. Either that or it was the stupidest ambush ever.

  “I hope these aren’t friends of yours, Fix. I was starting to like you.”

  “I know Johnny, Rawk, but he isn’t a friend.”

  Rawk smiled. “Good, then you won’t mind if I kill him.”

  Johnny stood up straight, backing away slightly. “Sorry, Rawk. I didn’t realize it was you.” Rawk risked a look over his shoulder. There were two more men there. They were lowering their weapons too, though they didn’t look sure about it. Perhaps they thought they should just rob Fix instead.

  “So, you’re going to let me go on my way?”

  “Of course.”

  Rawk looked up. There was a balcony five yards up, with sagging boards and twisted metal railing barely more than a darker shadow in the darkness. “That’s an impressive jump,” he said.

  Johnny smiled. “Can you tell us a story? One in the city? I’ve never been outside Katamood, so I don’t really know much about the country side.”

  “Well, I’m actually in a hurry at the moment, Johnny, but I’d be glad to come back some time.” He looked at his surroundings, wondering how many people were listening in. Wondering how many of them liked Heroes more than they liked money. “As long as you can guarantee my safety.”

  “Of course I can.”

  Johnny obviously knew that was a lie. Rawk certainly did.

  “Great. Then once I get this mess cleaned up I’ll come and visit Mistook alley again.”

  Rawk started to walk again, brushing past his would-be muggers and continuing on. His neck prickled but no attack came. He doubted he would be so lucky next time.

  The alley continued to wind its way down
the hill. Fix talked continually at his back, giving information about the people who lived behind the lopsided, rotting doors. A matron who cut her hair once a year and sold it to a wig maker. A family of five kids, none of them older than fourteen, who got by collecting scraps of paper to sell to paper makers. There was a man who hunted rats and made shoes from the skins.

  Patches of murky light reached out to hold hands in the darkness, but never quite succeeded. At one point the buildings of each side joined overhead, creating a tunnel as black as pitch. Rawk ran his hand along the wall, worried about splinters and things unknown, worrying about being mugged again, watching the grey rectangle in front of him like a starving man watches a jam filled pastry. He kicked through a drift of trash and sent a pair of dogs skittering away under a rotting building. He suspected they were actually rats, but he didn’t want to imagine any rats that big.

  He came out into the open again and looked up at narrow strip of stars overhead. “Nice weather we’re having recently.” The talk calmed him, let him pretend it was all just a normal stroll through the city. Thankfully it was only half a mile.

  When Rawk stepped out of the alley into Carker Square he took a deep breath. It felt like the first breath he had taken for a long time. A weight shifted from his chest. Quickly stepping back out of the light thrown by the lamps he took a moment to look around.

  “Who are you looking for?” Fix asked. “Who’s going to be watching at this time of night?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll let you know when I do.”

  “Oh.”

  “I thank you for your assistance, Fix, but I think I should be fine from here. You should get back to your daughter.” Rawk pulled a ten-ithel piece form his pouch. “Buy something nice for her.”

  Fix gave a smile and a nod. “That I will, Rawk. That I will.” And he drifted away into the darkness like... like a thief with the easiest ten ithel he’d ever made.

  Rawk waited in the shadows. There was no reason to think anyone would be waiting for him in such a random place, but he watched and listened for five minutes, just in case. There were people coming and going though it must have been almost midnight. There were two lovers holding each other close on a bench, but there was nobody lurking suspiciously. Apart from himself. Finally, he pulled his hood up, gathering the shadows of Mistook about his face, and slipped out into the square.