Rawk took the chance to catch his breath.
Travis and Natan were still exchanging blows. It seemed surreal. One man who hadn’t picked up a sword in years and another who thought anything more energetic than walking was undignified. They hacked and bashed at each other, stumbling around the furniture, before they stopped and stared, then started again. Silver Lark had moved closer. She stood just beyond the range of their battle, watching silently.
Rawk returned to his own fight, blocking and slashing as Waydin moved in quickly. Rawk started to retreat, shifting his weight onto his back foot just slightly. In that moment, he saw Waydin relax. And he lunged back in. The guard reacted, but too late. Rawk felt the moment of resistance as Kaj encountered cloth, then skin then cartilage, then the blade slipped neatly between two ribs and let forth a spurt of blood.
Then Rawk’s knee gave a crack that sent a flare of pain up and down his leg. He grunted in pain. Kaj slipped from his grasp as Waydin fell backwards and he fell downwards. Lying on his side, he clutched at his knee and groaned.
A pistol fired, the noise loud in the sudden silence.
Rawk looked for Sylvia and Travis but Weaver moved to stand in the way.
“Well, this is an interesting turn of events.” The prince glanced at where Kaj was still sheathed in Waydin’s chest almost two yards away, then crouched down, leaning his cheek against the golden pommel of his own sword. He had collected a mace from somewhere. It was lying on the floor by his side.
Rawk grunted in reply. He screamed a moment later when the prince pounded the side of his knee with the mace. He may have passed out. If so, he almost wished he hadn’t woken up again. His knee was nothing but pain. A whole world of pain all of its own. He could barely think. He gritted his teeth, fighting to stay conscious.
“I didn’t want it to come to this, Rawk. Really. I have loved you for so long...”
“You don’t love me, Weaver. You love the idea of me perhaps, the idea of owning someone like me when all the women of Katamood couldn’t.”
Weaver surged to his feet, his face transformed. “Don’t tell me what I think,” he spat. “You don’t know me at all.”
“And if you think I could love you, then you don’t know me.” He fumbled at his belt.
Weaver glanced towards the movement. He laughed. “If you’re after your dagger, I believe it’s over there in Toma’s neck.”
Rawk didn’t look away from him. He rolled carefully onto his back, though his leg screamed like Weaver had hit it again. “Well, if you’re going to just kill me when I’m lying on the ground unarmed, just get on with it. I don’t want to look at your face anymore.”
Weaver sneered. “Gladly.” He stepped back in, and pressed the tip of his sword against Rawk’s rib cage, right over his heart.
The sharp point dug into his skin. And he could feel when the pressure eased for a moment as Weaver drew the sword back and prepared to press it home.
Rawk rolled towards the prince. His chest pushed the weapon aside so he was no longer directly beneath it. It still seemed to bite deeply as it plunged downwards. But when he met less resistance than expected, Weaver overbalanced slightly, and Rawk rammed his dinner-knife into the other man’s stomach.
“This is for Maris and Bree and all the other innocent people you have killed.” He tore the knife sideways. Blood streamed down his hand and arm, mixing with his own blood, as the prince examined the bone handle, a surprised look on his face.
“Are you really surprised, Weaver?” Rawk gasped. He didn’t know which hurt more— his arm or knee or his chest. “Did you really think you could beat me?”
Weaver tried to reply but all he managed to do was cough up a huge mouthful of blood.
As the prince finally toppled to the floor, Rawk closed his eyes laid his head on the thick carpet. He wondered if the prince had killed him. He was still on his side, holding the sword upright with his chest. There was a lot of blood. Perhaps something vital had been hit, though Rawk tended to think that his whole body was vital. But at least the pain in his knee didn’t seem quite so bad.
“Rawk? Oh, Path. Rawk!”
He opened his eyes and looked around as best he could. “Celeste?”
She was kneeling by his side, hands fluttering as she tried to work out what to do.
Another voice. “Pull it out.” Silver Lark. Rawk couldn’t see her. He just kept looking at Celeste.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Rawk groaned as the sword slid free, sucking blood with it, sending out sharp flares of pain. Then there were hands on the wound and a spreading, stuttering warmth like the blush of first love.
“Are you all right, Celeste?” Rawk asked quietly, seemingly using an impossible amount of energy.
“Am I all right,” Celeste replied, wiping at her face with a shaking hand. “I haven’t been stabbed.”
Rawk took that as a yes. “What about, Travis? And Kristun?”
Silver Lark glanced towards Kristun. “Travis will be all right.”
Rawk gave a small nod. “You beat Natan?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He was going to kill Travis. I shot him before he got to, but he hardly seemed to notice. He just turned on me and… I can create a small amount of heat, so I warmed the liquid in his eye.”
Rawk smiled. “A rapier.”
“Yes, and then I found an actual rapier and stabbed him in the throat while he was distracted.”
“You stabbed him?” Rawk still couldn’t see Silver Lark, so he kept watching Celeste. The woman gave a small nod.
“I was aiming for his chest,” Silver Lark’s voice admitted.
“And you are healing me,” he whispered.
Just then, the warmth disappeared and Rawk could feel nothing at all.
“Barely. I need to find some medical supplies.”
Rawk didn’t really hear. He couldn’t hear anything at all. There was just the dullness in his chest, the pain in his knee, and Celeste’s face.
Epilogue
“I don’t want the job. Path, that’s terrible idea. I think we’ve seen the proof that Heroes shouldn’t be in charge of anything.” He looked around at the others, crowding into a small chamber in the palace. Thacker at the far end of the table, looking as harried as he ever had. Sylvia and Rake on one side, Gannon and Yardi the other. Thok and Red Raven were against one wall, trying to look inconspicuous, as if wondering why they were even there. Zid and Opok had taken up position on the other wall. The duen, sitting on the floor, had been muttering quiet translations for his companion
“Are you comparing yourself to Weaver?” Sylvia asked.
“Yes. 40 years ago we were very similar.”
“But 40 years...” Thacker started to say.
“No. I’m not going to run Katamood. I refuse. It’s just a terrible idea.” Even if he thought he could make a good fist of it, Rawk had better things to do with his time. Anything would be better.
“The people love you.” Thacker tried.
“They love you too, Thacker.”
“I think a dwarf running the city is a bad idea right now. The humans from the north wouldn’t stand for it.”
“If we put me on the throne everyone to the south would just be wondering what had changed as soon as I did anything they didn’t like.”
“Who then? Sylvia?”
Sylvia almost choked, though it was obvious it could not be a serious suggestion for the same reasons that Thacker wouldn’t work. Opok would do a good job too, probably but nobody even suggested him as a joke.
“Well, that’s why I asked Thok along. I think he should run the city.” Rawk watched as the others narrowed their eyes.
Sylvia spoke for all of them. “But...”
“Words of Wisdom played a big part in the rebellion.”
“That was you?” Rake asked. His beard had been shaven short so a big flap of skin could be sewn back onto his face.
Thok
winced. “It was. How did you know, Rawk?”
“I didn’t. It was just a guess but seemed likely.”
“Either way, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Of course it is. You’ve studied history and politics. You may be even smarter than me,” Rawk said. “And for the most part, nobody knows who you are so they can’t possibly hate you just yet. And anyway, we don’t really want someone who’s keen for the role; I think that would just lead to problems down the track.”
“No, I mean, I don’t think it’s a good idea to go looking for a new prince at all.”
“A princess then? I don’t know of any woman more qualified than you.” Though even as he said it, Rawk was turning to look at Yardi. If she could run a business...
Yardi said, “No,” before he could even voice the thought.
Thok sighed and said, “No,” as well.
“Well—”
“Rawk, just shut up and listen for a moment.” Thok seemed to gather his thoughts. “If you put one person in charge then chances are things will go badly. They will do things to favor themselves. Or their friends. Or their race. Or they won’t be able to see all the problems. Or... Or they die unexpectedly and everyone is left fighting over the position again. Who would have taken over if Weaver died?”
“Right...” Thacker said slowly.
Red Raven sat up to listen.
“So you have a council.”
Thacker laughed. “You can’t run a city by committee. Who ever was in charge would just get rid of the people who didn’t agree with him so you eventually get back to having a prince anyway.”
“The committee has no say on who gets appointed.”
“So... Who does then?”
“The people.” Thok looked around at everyone. “Everyone who wants to be on the council puts up their hand, and then the residents of the city vote. The five people— or ten people or whatever— with the most votes are on the council. And a year later you go through the process again.”
“Voting might work with small groups, but a whole city?”
“Look, I don’t know all the details but it could work. It would be fairer for everyone and better for the city.”
Opok rumbled from his place by the wall. “I be thinking the idea could work.”
“Perhaps,” Sylvia agreed. She was nodding and looking thoughtful.
Red Raven was nodding as well. “Imagine if Yardi did get elected. She would know how to get business to come to the city. Or how to help the ones that are already here. And an old soldier—” he looked at Gannon, “and a sailor and... All those people working for an area of the city that they understand.”
“But who would want to do it?” Thacker asked.
“You’d pay them out of the taxes,” Thok said. “Not a lot though, because you don’t want them to be in it for the money.”
“It could work,” Thacker admitted.
“Right,” Rawk said, “I think we should have a vote on whether people should vote?” He looked around at the others and smiled.
Sylvia shook her head and sighed.
When Rawk stood up an hour later, leaning on his walking stick though his false leg made it all but superfluous, it had been decided that Thok, Thacker, Sylvia, Yardi and Gannon would be on the first Council of Katamood, but only long enough to work out how to organize voting and getting the residents of the city to do it. None of them really wanted to job, so Rawk guessed the details would be worked out rather quickly. But he intended to leave them to it, otherwise they’d turn to him again and wonder how he’d managed to avoid the job himself. He took up his walking stick and limped from the room as quickly as possible.
Out in the hall he paused to adjust the strap on his leg. Since the engineer had added a spring to the ankle of the contraption it was much more comfortable and sometimes he forgot he was wearing it at all. As he was doing up the last buckle he was almost knocked over when Rake and Red Raven rushed out behind him, as if they’d also been having thoughts of escape.
“Is that still hurting you?” Rake asked, watching Rawk fiddle. “You should get Kristun to…”
Rawk cleared his throat. “I just loosened it while I was in there and didn’t want to slow down long enough to fix it.”
“Do you still need the walking stick?”
Rawk looked at the item in question. “It’s more for show most of the time. Or just in case. Now that I’m used to the leg I hardly even have to think about it.”
“Well, go back to Tudem if there’s problems. He may need to make some adjustments when everything has settled properly.”
They were all making adjustments. So many people had died under Rawk’s leadership. Frew, Kristun, Heron, Crisp, Poe and Buzt. Fabi and Galad. And then there were the thousands of militia, fighting for their families and for their city. And now that small group he’d left in the meeting room was trying to make sure those deaths had a purpose.
Red Raven looked back over his shoulder. “You may all feel safe here, but I will be retreating further.”
Rawk sighed and glanced at the door as well. He gave a small nod and followed the elf.
Out at the edge of Placton Square, at the top of the stairs that led to the main door of the palace, Rawk stopped again. The sun was sinking in the west and dwarves on stilts were working their way around the square, lighting the lamps. Grint, Biki, Juskin, Travis and Clinker sitting on a seat not far away. Celeste was there as well, still wearing mourning white for her grandmother but finally smiling just a little bit. They all rose and joined the new arrivals.
Rawk told them what had transpired in the palace but nobody said anything. For a minute they all stood in silence before Zid cleared his throat and said something in his own language. Opok translated.
“Zid be wishing to return to the forest, for a short time at least. And I be agreeing. We can not help here and we must be preparing our own people for dealings with Katamood.”
Rawk nodded. “Thank you, Opok. You saved us all.” He bowed to the duen and to the warrior in his butterfly cloak and watched as the two of them headed down the hill.
When they were gone from sight, Rawk look towards the canal. He couldn’t actually see it from where they were, with the Hero’s Rest and other buildings blocking the view, but it wasn’t something that Rawk was likely to forget. The dwarves had flooded the last section that morning and the first ship— belonging to Keeto Alata— had passed through, rising up on the first of ten lochs as it headed westwards. There were three more ships lined up ready to go through as well.
“The Age of Heroes is over,” Rawk said softly.
“I’m not sure it works like that.”
Rawk turned and looked at Celeste and smiled. He looked her up and down before he spoke. “Maybe not normally, but it does this time. And it didn’t end today, it ended the day those bakers and chandlers and wharf workers held back professional soldiers with pistols and muskets.” He shook his head. “Nothing will be the same now.”
“Perhaps.” Juskin came up to stand beside him, halo of red hair as wild as ever.
“No. I am officially declaring that the Age of Heroes is over and the Age of Machines has begun.”
“The Age of Machines?” Grint asked.
“Yes. Machines make us all equal.”
Red Raven wasn’t so sure. “Having an easy-to-use machine that can kill people from fifty yards away is one thing, Rawk. Having the will and the skill to use it are entirely different things.”
“Nothing will be the same.” Rawk flexed his leg. He looked at Celeste again. “Even this council that Thok dreamed up will prove my point. Regular people wont be relying on kings and Heroes and gods to run their lives. The Great Path is dead.”
They stood there for a long time, looking between the buildings towards Mount Grace. “Well, my face is aching,” Rake said. “I think I’m going home.”
Rawk shook his hand.
“Me too,” Travis said. “You’ve made more work for me, as usual.�
�� He was still quiet, but Rawk thought that the banter was proof that his old friend was going to be all right.
“You wouldn’t have it any other way, Travis.”
Biki and Justin went with him, already working out between them what they needed to do to finish cleaning the mess Weaver had left behind. Even two weeks later it seemed that the end of that chore was no closer at all.
Silver Lark went too, heading towards the river to see to her patients.
“And when do you want us back at work?” Grint asked.
Rawk shrugged. “Tomorrow? I’ll go broke if we don’t start getting some customers in again.”
“Fine.” The dwarf nodded, looking from Rawk to Celeste and back again. “You coming, Raven?” he asked after a moment and the elf nodded. “You too, Clinker.”
The lad scowled. “I was going to—”
“Let’s go to the Hero’s Rest and let Demon have a run around. He must be getting tired of being stuck in your satchel today.”
“He loves it.”
“Come on anyway.”
Rawk shook the dwarf’s hand. Then Raven’s and Clinker’s. “Take care of Demon.” The kitten shoved his head out of the satchel and Rawk gave him a scratch.
When he looked around a moment later Rawk discovered that he was alone with Celeste. He cleared his throat and quickly looked away. They wondered a fee steps out into the square. The crowds were starting to return. There was even a line of people waiting at the pie shop.
“Great Path isn’t really dead,” he said eventually. “That’s impossible, because I worked out what Path is, you know.”
“Really?”
The Hero’s Rest a hundred yards away across the expanse of cobbles. Closer by was the road that led down to the richest part of town with views of the harbor and the river. “Yes. Path isn’t a God. Path is just what it says it is. A path. It’s a metaphor for the journey through life. Each choice we make is an intersection that sends our life one way or the other.” He held up two fingers in Path’s symbol.
An Army of Heroes Page 29