An Army of Heroes

by Scott J Robinson

  Crossing quickly to the other side, he paused just into the next alley. It was not nearly as narrow or as famous as Mistook but good enough for his purposes. Rawk faded into the shadows and looked back the way he’d come. There was no change in the rhythm and flow of life. A wagon, piled high with produce went slowly by, iron-rimmed wheels grinding on the pavers. A washerwoman went even slower, heading for her tubs with a full basket on her hip. The lovers kissed.

  A few minutes later, Rawk was satisfied and hurried on. It wasn’t until he was almost at his destination that he slowed down once more. If Weaver suspected him of hiding the exots, he may well have men watching some strategic locations other than the Hero’s Rest. If that were the case, the main offices and warehouses of Keeto Alata would be one of those locations. Across the road from the worker’s quarters, he stopped to watch and wait again. He didn’t see any sentries, but held his breath when a troop of the City Guard marched through an intersection not far away, swearing at a few civilians who didn’t move fast enough. They didn’t slow, even when they knocked somebody over.

  “Maybe Weaver is even more stupid than I thought.” Rawk hurried across the street and mounted the stairs to knocked at the first door. “Zid, are you in there? It’s Rawk?” Of course, amongst all those words there were only two that Zid or his followers would recognize. “Zid? Rawk.” He pushed back his hood. The shadow of Mistook had fled long ago, but the stench remained.

  The door opened a crack and a stranger peeked out. Rawk saw the glimmer from a tattoo and slipped inside. It wasn’t Zid, though. The woman, Jali, tall and slim and muscled like one of the gymnasts from the circus, led him out a second door and into a hallway. Zid was a couple of rooms down.

  “Zid, we have to go now.” Rawk said as soon as he saw the man. Zid didn’t understand and Rawk couldn’t work out how to explain. “You need to get everyone together and follow me.” He got Zid’s sword from where it leant against the wall and gave it to him. Then he took the arms of Zid and Jali and pulled them back into the hall. Then he went to the next door and woke the two men in the room beyond. He motioned to their swords and beckoned them out into the hall as well. Everyone seemed to get the idea and soon all twelve of the strangers were filling the hallway, fully dressed and ready to go. They waited silently to find out what was going on. Rawk couldn’t explain, so he went back to the door he had entered the building by. When he saw that the coast as clear, he made his way quickly across to the mouth of the alley. The others followed silently, watchful and wary, but weapons still sheathed. Professionals.

  Rawk kept moving, from alley to alley, darting across streets or moving slowly, trying to look nonchalant; he wasn’t sure if he was that good at acting. He wiped sweat from his face, and tried to avoid looking at every person they passed. He had his hood up, so it was doubtful anyone would recognize him but it felt as if everyone was watching. Several times they had to hide in the shadows, or rush out of sight when patrols went past.

  They were in a small square, trying to look as if they should be there, when Zid stopped and his companions spread out, looking around, hands poised near weapons. Rawk sensed the portal a moment before it opened in their midst. Weapons flashed out. Warriors dropped into fighting stances. They paused, holding their breath as one. Rawk slowly drew Kaj, a long cold rasp in the quiet.

  Creatures came through, seven of them, a swirling confusion of wings and claws. But still the warriors waited. Buzt, the big man with the dragon tattoo, called out and Rawk saw a line of blood across the man’s forehead. A second later another batted away a claw that was far from accidental. Zid and his followers finally started to fight. They moved with deadly precision, striking at the exots, working in teams as if they had been doing it all their lives. Perhaps they had. Wings brushed against Rawk’s face, a fluttering darkness that felt hot and oily. Rawk dodged and slashed wildly. He missed and something came at him from another direction. Claws clattered across his blade. He ducked and spun, almost hitting a man with a blue tattoo-lizard slinking cross his cheek and nose. The man lunged forward, stabbing over Rawk’s shoulder and using his sword to lift an exot up and away like a puppeteer, even as the long claws slashed. The creature’s claws missed, barely, the tail brushed Rawk’s head as it passed him by, before it slammed into the ground headfirst. Rawk looked away, spinning, stumbling as he searched wildly for the next attack. But the last of the creatures was dying, killed by a deadly whirlwind of blue flesh and steel.

  Rawk breathed, blinked, as he tried to let the world catch up with his racing senses. He discovered that a crowd was starting to gather, shuffling in from the side streets or leaning out windows and doors. They were still at the staring-at-the-exot stage of the process so Rawk took a moment to look at his companions. Nobody was hurt seriously, though perhaps there was poison but they didn’t have time to wonder because, above the rumbling of the spectators, could be heard the sound of approaching soldiers.

  Hood still shading his face, Rawk grabbed Zid and started moving again, stepping over the closest creature as he kept heading west. It was a huge thing of fur and wings and heavily muscled arms. It looked ferocious with teeth and claws impressive enough to keep children awake at night. He realized that, despite this, his companions had waited to see if they would attack. They knew from experience that looks could be deceiving.

  “You there. Stop where you are.”

  Rawk glanced back and started to run. He found the nearest dark alley and ducked down with Zid and his jentre close behind. He skidded to a stop at the back door of a warehouse that was open just a crack. He slid it open a bit more and looked in at a team of dwarves working the night shift. They were unloading a wagon.

  “In we go,” Rawk said, waving Zid in. He closed the door when everyone was through, nodded to a dwarf and hurried across to the main entry.

  Back out on the street he paused to wiped sweat from his face and look around. One way seemed much like the other, so he picked a direction and continued at a fast walk. At the next cross street they turned, and again at the one after that. They hurried along quiet streets, staying away from taverns, drifting through the shadows like ghosts, heading ever towards the forest. Rawk wondered if his heart would stop racing some time before they made it.

  Tewsday

  The Old Forest was a different place at night. Rawk had only been there during the day previously when he could see that the things clutching at his feet and legs were nothing more than the undergrowth. He could see the animals that were making the noises. Beneath the trees, he had been afraid, but never of the forest itself. Struggling along the narrow path, all manner of creatures hiding in the dark and trying to pull him down, he wished he’d thought to bring a lantern, or even a torch. Slivers of moonlight silvered the world but seemed to conceal more than it showed. Shadows were ink-black patches that could have hidden an army of exots.

  Rawk hacked at a vine with his sword and pushed on, happy he couldn’t understand what Zid and his companions were saying. He had a feeling they were questioning his sanity. Or, at the very least, questioning if he had any idea where he was going. He was starting to wonder that himself. Glimpses of the stars and moon reassured him that he wasn’t walking in circles at least. That little piece of knowledge may have been the only thing that kept him moving.

  The forest crowded close.

  In daylight, it took a couple of hours to reach the duen’s abandoned cabin. When the sun started to rise four hours after they had stepped under the trees, filtered thought the canopy like the light at The Sky Tree, the duen’s cabin still wasn’t in sight. But Rawk breathed a sigh of relief anyway. He could see that he was not about to be attacked and he was also able to get his bearings. He knew it wasn’t far away at all.

  Half an hour later, they broke into the clearing around the big wooden building. Rawk sat down right where he was, massaging his knee and looking up at the sky like it was a long lost friend. Zid came and blocked his view. He didn’t look all that impressed. Rawk sighed a
nd climbed back to his feet. At least, he tried. Zid help him up and continued to glare at him.

  “Come on.”

  Around the far side of the building, Rawk unsheathed Kaj and laid the sword on the ground. Then he lowered himself to the grass. He didn’t kneel this time; he just sat and tried to get comfortable. Zid look at him for a moment, then glanced around. He started to say something, but a sound caught his attention. He drew his sword and spun in a fluid, startling instant and his companions followed suit.

  At the edge of the forest, mace in hand, stood a duen. It was not Opok. The creature was bigger, about eleven feet tall, and younger. And it looked much meaner. Rawk quickly got to his feet, empty handed, and tried to calm everyone down.

  “It’s all right everyone. It’s all right.” His heart was racing.

  Zid relaxed slightly so Rawk turned to the duen.

  “My friends do not speak our language, so I cannot explain to them that you are also a friend.” Rawk swallowed. “Is Opok with you?”

  The duen stood silently for a second, two, then stepped slowly aside. Opok came out of the forest and Rawk started to breath again. He closed his eyes for a second.

  “Greetings, Rawk. I be feeling the presence of warriors and was not knowing what to expect.”

  “I didn’t know where else to take them.”

  Opok looked Zid up and down. He said something Rawk couldn’t understand, and Zid replied.

  “Thank Path for that,” Rawk said. It made things much easier for him. “The Prince of Katamood is seeking these warriors. They will probably be killed, or imprisoned at the least, though they haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Opok nodded. “And you wish for them to return to our village? You ask much of us, especially if your prince searches for them.”

  “I know, Opok. But, like you, they’re hunted and far from home.”

  The duen nodded. After a moment of thought, he spoke to Zid again. The conversation lasted for some time. “They can come with us for now,” he said eventually. “Beyond that I make no promises.”

  “Of course. Hopefully Weaver will forget about them soon enough and they can come back. Or they might be able to just go somewhere else once we know...” Rawk wasn’t quite sure what they needed to know.

  “Hope we will. Duen have spent much time away from other peoples. Having them in our village will be strange.”

  “Well, thank you, Opok. Your generosity continues to be a thing of great wonder.”

  “Do not flatter me, Rawk. But we must return to our village; the Kipparo Ceremony is today and cannot be missed.”

  “Well, thank you. And tell Zid that I’ll come to get him as soon as I can.”

  Opok nodded, said something to Zid. The younger duen made his way into the trees and Zid followed a moment later with his Jentre close behind, hands resting lightly on the hilts of their sheathed swords.

  “You must pass a message to Sylvia for me, Rawk.”

  Rawk listened and nodded though he didn’t really understand. “I’ll let her know,” he said once the duen had finished. “Thank you for your help.”

  Opok nodded. “We cannot be staying in the forest forever.”

  “I know.” At least Zid and his followers could pass for human. Most humans would probably kill the Duen on sight, if they could. If they could be convinced to get to know them though... Well, they’d know dwarves for thousands of years and still couldn’t manage to be polite to them most of the time.

  Opok nodded and followed the others, slipping into the trees and out of sight.

  Rawk sighed. The whole day stretched out in front of him and it was a long walk home on his own.

  -O-

  Fire breathes new life into the forest.— Words of Wisdom.

  Rawk grunted. He had never seen any of the graffiti this far west before. He wondered if it was one person or a group of them, spreading their resources. He wondered if they were ever going to actually do anything.

  He continued up the hill.

  “Rawk.” A group of boys called out and raced down the street towards him. “Can you tell us a story? Have you been fighting exots this morning?”

  “No. Why would you think that?”

  “Because you’re limping.”

  “Oh.” Rawk rubbed at his knee and went through several options in his mind. Eventually he shook his head. “No. There haven’t been any exots today.”

  “Then how come you’re limping?”

  “It’s an old injury.”

  “An old injury?” another boy said, as if he couldn’t quite grasp the idea.

  “I’ve been injured hundreds of times over the last forty years, and now my body has decided that it just can’t keep up.”

  It seemed that the idea was uncomfortable for the boys, so they decided to ignore it. “Can you tell us a story? Did you fight something this morning?”

  Rawk shook his head and started to walk again. The boys followed. Rawk sighed. “One time, I was fighting trolls with two of my friends. We followed them into the forest to where they lived. It was a log cabin, with a table and beds and a fireplace for cooking the animals that they trapped. We killed their pets first and then attacked them. They were fighting to protect their family so they fought desperately.” It was the second time Rawk had told the story, but it still wasn’t very good. He needed to spice it up a bit. Some other time though. He couldn’t be bothered today. “They fought bravely and they were going to defeat us. I fell and was waiting for the killing stroke, but a dwarf came from nowhere, from some hiding spot at the edge of the forest. He attacked the troll, which was twice his size, with a little dagger hardly longer than your hand.”

  The boys laughed, those that were left. A lot seem to have already drifted away, probably unhappy with the way the story was going.

  “It isn’t funny,” Rawk said, harsher than he meant to. “I was able to kill the troll, but not before the dwarf died.”

  “That didn’t really happen.”

  “Yes, it did. I wouldn’t be alive today if not for that dwarf. The dwarf would be alive though, if I had not gone hunting for a family of trolls to kill.”

  The boys were staring at him.

  “Do you think I need to work on that story? Nobody seems to like it.”

  The last remnants of the audience stopped, but Rawk kept limping slowly up the hill.

  If the boys had followed for just a few minutes more, they could have seen a story for themselves, though it was not a very exciting one and Rawk didn’t even get involved. A leathery creature with four stubby legs and a long tail had latched onto someone’s foot. The victim was screaming loudly and didn’t stop even when one of Rawk’s paid, street-corner Heroes stepped in and finished the exot off.

  Rawk grunted, pleased he didn’t have to make any effort, and waited for long enough to make sure the injured woman was being assisted, then continued on again. It felt as if he was starting a whole new journey that was bound to be as interminable as the one he had just finished. He didn’t think he was ever going to get home. The day had hardly begun.

  A crow cocked its head at him from the top of a sign. It didn’t make a noise, but the sign screeched in the gentle breeze and set Rawk’s teeth on edge.

  “Are you following me, you bastard?” he asked the bird. At least it wasn’t’ asking for a story.

  A few minutes later Rawk sent another group of children on their way without a story. He was polite about it, but that didn’t make them any happier. When a tall thin man and his gap-toothed wife strode up by his side and started to talk as if he were an old friend it was a different matter. They asked questions and made assumptions, neither of which Rawk was happy with.

  “Leave me alone,” he told them.

  The pair of them stopped talking for a moment, then carried on as if he hadn’t said anything at all.

  “Shut up and go away,” Rawk said, louder this time.

  They stopped, mouths hanging open, and he kept going.

  “I’m Ja
sp Keel. You can’t talk to me like that,” the man said when he managed to get his mouth working again. “Who do you think you are?”

  Rawk stopped, though he knew it was going to take an effort to get himself moving up the hill again. He took a deep breath and rounded on the couple. “Jasp Keel? That two bit merchant who lost a fortune betting on ger seeds?” The man had gone to Yardi begging for work, for any contracts he could get his hands on, when ger seeds proved to be about as popular as tuberculosis.

  Keel’s eyes widened.

  “Yes, I know about that.” He limped down the hill towards him. “Can you see me?” he asked. “Do I look like I want to have a chat with every stranger that walks by? Do I look like I give a damn about your—”

  There was a flash and a pop and Rawk spun about, twisting his knee, to see a dwarf with a camera ducking back down an alley.

  “Path damn it.” He started up the hill again. “Just leave me alone.”

  Eventually, Rawk made it all the way up to the top. He went in through the back gate of the Hero’s Rest and stopped in the Ostler’s yard, sitting down at the table by the kitchen door. He knew it was a bad idea, because he was just going to have to get up again in a minute, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to sleep. He watched as a small, black shape stepped daintily out of the stables, stalking a tuft of seed that was moving slowly with the breeze. A cat. The cat. Not much more than a kitten. It concentrated fiercely, pausing for a moment before taking another step. It had almost reached its prey, but a clatter from the kitchen sent it skittering away, behind the water trough and out of sight. Rawk sighed, wondering if he would ever be able to give up the chase and run away to hide. He was beginning to think it would never happen.

  Kalesie was shouting something, so he rose to his feet and scaled the stairs into the kitchen.

  He discovered the cook standing near the big, central table, knife in hand. About half a dozen different vegetables, in various stages of dismemberment, lay scattered across the scarred surface.