Call of the Hero

by Robert J. Crane

  “The real Samwen Longwell was a friend of mine,” Cyrus said. “He was an honorable man, a King in Luukessia across the sea. We fought side by side against the scourge when first they appeared. He was decent and good – things your Lord Protector is not. I wondered at the provenance of that man who sits atop the Citadel. I could not believe the state of this city, that it could be ruled by my friend.”

  Cyrus smiled darkly. “Then I was taken up there for a meeting, and I found out the truth – it is not Samwen Longwell who rules this city. It's a dark sorcerer who I knew too well in days long ago. He tread on Longwell's fame to take hold of this place, used magic to adopt a false face, and has been leeching the life from Reikonos ever since.” Cyrus raised his voice, put rage in it both for the crowd and to reflect how he felt about Malpravus's insult to the memory of Samwen Longwell, wherever he was. “He has fooled you, fooled your ancestors, in order to drag this town under his heel. Well, I mean to set it free.” He paused, saw uncertainty, but also genuine zeal for him.

  “For too long, the so-called Lord Protector has lorded his power over you but protected little,” Cyrus said. “He has simultaneously run the Machine that puts pain and fear in the people but also run the City Watch and let you do little as these corrupt criminals run rampant. The people are crushed, and perhaps you've heard this – I know have, many times since I came back just days ago – 'There is no hope in Reikonos.'” Cyrus looked around. “Why not?”

  “Because we're surrounded by the bloody scourge on all sides but the ocean!” someone called from the back.

  Cyrus cracked a smile. A few people laughed. “Good point.” He felt a strange weightlessness, a curious one. All his problems orbited around him like children around a maypole – Vara, Baynvyn, the fallen state of Reikonos and Arkaria in general – and yet this, talking in front of these soldiers felt–

  Right.

  “What are we to do against the Lord Protector?” someone called. “Even if he is who you say he is...”

  “He has so much power,” Willems said, standing in the forefront of the crowd.

  “He has power because you give him power,” Cyrus said. “Without the City Watch, all he has is criminals and mercenaries to do his bidding.”

  “There are a lot of criminals and mercenaries in this city,” Willems said. Finally Cyrus was beginning to see the wellspring of this man's doubt. He'd seen the hints of it when they'd met at the granary, but now it was all coming to the surface.

  “Then we'll kill them,” Cyrus said. “Let me tell you a fundamental truth about the people of Reikonos that I know hasn't changed since I left a thousand years ago – we fight. I was born in this city. Raised in this city. Reikonosians are fighters. Our tolerance for terrible leaders only stretches so far, and Malpravus – the 'Lord Protector' – is so far beyond terrible as to be comical. He vacillates between supporting a criminal organization that runs roughshod over the city and participating in benign neglect, and now he moves to starve the people out. Well, the way I see it, you are men, and you have choices.

  “First, you can surrender and do his will,” Cyrus said, ticking the point off on his finger. “Hell, you might even be able to betray me to him, which I'm sure he'd absolutely love. I doubt you'd succeed, and the consequences for you would be devastating if you did,” Cyrus saw a series of nods from men in the crowd, darkly contemplating their fellows in warning, “but...it's a possibility. He might reward you for it – again, if you succeed. More probable? You'd fail. And then you'd either die or continue to receive the same loving inattention he gives you now. No grain for yourself or your family, because he's got other plans for it.

  “Second option: Leave this place and keep quiet about what you've seen. Hide in the city. There will still be no grain for you or your families, no bread to be had. Reikonos will starve, and it will happen soon, because Malpravus has shut down all ship traffic. You know this. This city doesn't live without food, and there is no food coming in nor any plan to start bringing it in again.” In this, Cyrus was certain Malpravus had inadvertently made a grave error, one which Cyrus intended to exploit to its full value in front of the people who lived based on those shipments. “So your second option seems to be to sit on the sidelines and starve with the rest of the people.

  “Or...third, you throw in your lot with us and we do something about this intolerable state of affairs,” Cyrus said, and saw the nodding start in earnest now. “How many of you men have been forced to do something in the course of your duties that you'd rather not have?” More nodding. Big surprise that Malpravus had turned the City Watch against their own consciences and decency. “How many times have you been told to let the Machine operate, to let them do things that turned your stomach?” Now the nodding was getting fierce. Everyone had a story about the excesses of the Machine, it seemed. “How long have you sat by, held your tongues and your spears and your swords and even your guns while you saw injustice perpetrated on the people of Reikonos?” Cyrus lowered his voice. “I know how hard it is to swim against the currents of a whole society. To feel as though you'll drown under the powers set against you.” He raised his voice to the heavens. “But you are not alone. You have all thought these things, perhaps even talked about these things – well, it is time to act. You are the City Watch, and the only thing your Lord Protector is asking of you is that you watch this city die. I don't believe you signed up for that.”

  “No!” Someone shouted, and a chorus of agreement followed that made Cyrus cringe for its loudness.

  “I am going to knock that bastard, usurping 'Lord Protector' off his throne.” Cyrus pointed at the truncated Citadel in the sky. “Already, my friends and I have struck blows at Malpravus. We burned the headquarters of the Machine and some of their operations. We have fought that sorcerer in his lair and we have lived. Now, we fight him so that the people of Reikonos can live. But there is much to be done and few enough of my folk to do it all. Malpravus means to have a war.” Cyrus put his arms out in invitation. “I was a general. I can fight him myself, but to finish the Machine and retake the city, I need an army. Not a City Watch, mere enforcers of corrupt law, but an Army of Reikonos like in days of old. Men to take up arms and fight for this city against the predations of a man who would see it die.” Cyrus let the silence fall over them. “I am Cyrus Davidon, the General of Sanctuary, the Lord of Perdamun, and I have come home to free Reikonos from the usurper that sits on its throne. Are you with me?”

  The bellow that followed sounded in the night like a war cry over an old army. Their faces were animated, alive with rage and feeling. Spears and swords were raised, a few rifles, even.

  McCoie brushed against him, and Cyrus looked back at the guardsman. The man's face was pinched, and he beckoned Cyrus lean in, whispering something as soon as he got close. Another guard stood worried behind him, watching, breathless, and it didn't take much imagination to realize that a message had just been passed to McCoie, and now to him.

  Cyrus blinked upon hearing it. “Are you sure?” he asked. McCoie nodded.

  A long breath forced its way out of Cyrus's lungs. “Tell me everything you've heard,” Cyrus said, now very glad he'd just rallied these men to his cause. “Because it sounds like we'll need to hurry.”

  Chapter 48

  “Malpravus is forcibly emptying every ship's hold in the docks right now,” Cyrus said, staring over the table in the center of the Great Hall. It was round now, somehow, and the food upon it had vanished in favor of a map of the docks that Cyrus had conjured from one shown to him by McCoie when he'd shared this bit of news. “That's where the majority of the Machine's crooks are, but he's also got a fair number of loyalist City Watch there as well.” He planted a finger in the center of the dockyards. There were rows and rows of airships drawn upon it.

  “Why can't these ships just take off?” Curatio asked, frowning as he leaned over the table. Every member of Sanctuary was here save Vara – thinking of her caused Cyrus a pang. Shirri, too, was missing, task
ed with keeping Guy busy at Granary 18 with their newfound army. The young sorceress had taken the news a bit sourly, but had gone off to do her duty. A true member of Sanctuary, she was already proving to be.

  “Each airship dock has a locking mechanism,” Cyrus said, parroting back what McCoie had told him. “It's part of the deal when you set down here, your ship is locked into place to prevent it from falling over. But also, it keeps you from leaving without ripping your ship apart.” He shook his head. “Apparently it's a mechanism of control that every dockyard in the world uses to maintain their – well, control.”

  “So Malpravus is grabbing the remainder of the food in the city that's not already in his grasp,” Vaste said, nuzzled in next to Birissa just a little too close for Cyrus's comfort. “What then?”

  “McCoie says the whispers are that they'll burn the docks when done,” Cyrus said, feeling that pang again, this time having little to do with Vara. “That will effectively end commerce in and out of Reikonos.”

  “He really does mean to starve the city,” Pamyra said under her breath. She, too, leaned over the table, absolutely engrossed in what Cyrus had said.

  “So it would seem,” Alaric said tautly. He surveyed the map from a little further back, standing stiffly next to the table, eyes anchored upon it. “When does McCoie think this will happen?”

  “Could happen as soon as they've emptied the ships,” Cyrus said. “Or sooner, if they get itchy. Apparently grain dust and wood ships are quite explosively flammable, and docks elsewhere in the world have gone up in massive conflagrations completely by accident.” He shook his head. “We need to be wary of using fire in this attack lest we prompt the calamity we are attempting to stop.”

  “Duly noted,” Alaric said. “I see little good news in this.”

  Cyrus shrugged with one shoulder. “We have an army waiting at Granary 18, which is only a short distance from here. They are eager for the fight, and the sooner we put them to it, the better off we'll be.”

  “We would be fools not to believe that Malpravus has at least one rat aboard our ship at this point,” Curatio warned.

  “That would favor a quicker move, wouldn't it?” Vaste asked. “Before he can get wind of it?”

  “This has 'trap' written all over it,” Birissa said, shaking her head. “We need this yard. He must know we need it, that's why he's trying to destroy it.”

  “Agreed,” Cyrus said. “This is the flashpoint, and it's too tempting not to be a trap of some stripe.”

  Alaric raised fingers to his forehead, massaging his scalp just below the hairline. “What can he muster?”

  “Himself, for one,” Curatio said.

  “You drained him,” Alaric said, looking sideways at the healer.

  “Not nearly as badly as he drained me,” Curatio said. “Do not count on him to be weak. He sits atop the portal to the realms of the gods, after all. I know not what state they are in given the hobbling of magic, but while we can hope they are depleted, I would not care to count upon it.”

  “Hope for it, yes, let's do that,” Vaste said, “and be pleasantly surprised if Malpravus turns out to be drained. But let's not go staking our lives on it as cavalierly as some of us bet gold, because he's not going to let you weasel out of paying your due in this.”

  “He has mercenaries,” Cyrus said dully. “Baynvyn. That clockwork maker. Q – Qui – uh–”

  “Qualleron,” Birissa said with a harsh grunt.

  “Coordinator Stiehle may find his way in,” Alaric said quietly.

  “May I suggest you summon a replacement helm, then?” Curatio asked with a smile.

  Alaric's cheeks reddened, then he nodded. “I forgot I could do that. Thank you.” He closed his eyes, and after a moment's contemplation, a perfect replica of his helm appeared upon his head.

  “Lots of Machine thugs,” Cyrus said. “They've reorganized under Stiehle after we burned their headquarters, it seems. They're like an army, albeit a badly disciplined one that feeds mostly on fear. Loyalists remain in the City Watch. Probably half of their number, ones we haven't gotten to or that aren't interested in us.” He shook his head. “Whatever they've got waiting, it'll be enough to stymie us, at least in Malpravus's view. Surely there will be guns aplenty.”

  “Alaric can already smell the dishonor,” Vaste said.

  “I can smell danger,” Alaric said, not taking his eyes off the table. “Dishonor is merely a distant second in terms of concern.”

  “Is there any sort of organized resistance to the Lord Protector in this city?” Curatio asked. “Any quarter we can look to for aid?” He directed this question to Hiressam, who had remained silent, staring at the table.

  “No,” Hiressam said, shaking his head as he lapsed out of his pensive mode. “The Machine has been quite adept at ferreting out any pockets of disloyalty. There is little spine for resistance in this city that has not been ripped out.”

  “He's right,” Pamyra said, looking up. “My daughter and I were among the few who stuck a thumb in the eye of the Machine, and you saw what it got us. They don't allow dissent to form long before ripping it out, root and branch.”

  “I think we have about all we can rely on,” Cyrus said, taking that hopeless bit of comment on board. “At least for now. Any other assistance we could muster would be in the form of a mob like the one we had at the square before the City Watch showed up to haul us in front of Malpravus. High in passion, perhaps, but low in organizational effectiveness. And near useless in a battle, which is what we're heading into.”

  Alaric adjusted his helm. “It seems the die is cast, then. We march into this battle and can only hope we are better prepared than our enemy for it.”

  “A poor supposition on which to hang our lives,” Curatio said.

  “Yes, let's not hang my life,” Vaste said. “I watched how it went for that lot in Vara Square, and it looked like a painful way to die, twisting at the end of a rope.”

  “Cyrus,” Alaric said, looking him right in the eye plaintively. “You are the general, and for good reason. Your experience in battle is well-earned. If you say to me now, 'Do not do this thing', then it will not be done.” He looked around the table. “We will find...some other plan.”

  That was a hell of a thing; Cyrus could almost feel the air catch in his lungs. His eyes flittered, looking down at the map table.

  How many Machine thugs are out there? In the docks? Close at hand?

  How many City Watch, loyal to Malpravus?

  How many mercenaries besides Baynvyn and the others we've already faced?

  How many riflemen?

  How much resistance at the wall? It bordered the docks on the southern side, and clear upon the table were the four massive cannon mounts, a measure for dealing with interlopers within the city bounds, or dangerous ships from without.

  Will Malpravus be there?

  “I...” Cyrus stared at the table, and his eyes blurred.

  Where the hell is Vara?

  “Oh, I think you broke him,” Vaste said.

  “Not broken,” Cyrus said, “just trying to formulate my opinion cogently.”

  “This could take a while,” Vaste muttered.

  “We have no good options,” Cyrus said, shooting Vaste a sour look. “Our troops are not troops, they're guardsmen. Our enemies are not troops, they're criminals and guardsmen. The mercenaries are the biggest kink in this – well, them and Malpravus. And the cannons,” he pointed at the segment of wall beyond the shipyard, “and whatever guns they have.” He shook his head. “The fact our troops are not troops is not a small worry. The longer we wait, the more their enthusiasm wains. They're like vegetables, and they become less fresh by the hour.”

  “I hate vegetables,” Vaste muttered.

  “Me, too,” Birissa cooed in his ear.

  “Waiting may give Curatio more time to recharge,” Cyrus said, “but it also gives our enemy – who outnumbers us, outpowers us, and, I fear, outthinks us – more time to prepare. He has the
vaster resources to draw upon, we have little but a mob to rally, and unless we just want to burn points around the city of little concern to Malpravus, that nets us nothing.” Cyrus thumped the table, more out of frustration than anything. “No, we should act now. If we're going to be defeated, let it be swift and the accounting thorough, because our options only diminish with each passing hour and day. We will not train an army out of a mob before Reikonos starves. We have no other places to look for help. We're on our own.” He nodded, a strange calm coming over him, reconciling him to that dismal news. “Let us use what we have to strike swiftly into the jaws of Malpravus's trap. Because it's die swiftly or die slowly for Reikonos, and I know which one I prefer.”

  An awful quiet settled over the table. “Agreed,” Pamyra said, nodding once. “Better to die in battle than slowly fade away without food.”

  “Well, we're not going to starve, fools,” Vaste said. “Sanctuary can at least keep our arses fed.”

  “Yes, we could sit here and watch the city starve, Vaste,” Alaric snapped. “Unable to help but a small amount–”

  “And probably be mobbed by the week's end as the hunger ratchets up,” Curatio said. “I agree, at last. Swift action or none. We act now and hope we can fight through to success or watch it all die slowly in the days and weeks to come.”

  “Aye,” Hiressam said, “it's all bad choices, but this is the least bad.”

  “I think we have a decent chance,” Birissa said heartily. “Especially if we use all the means at our disposal.”

  Cyrus found Alaric's gaze over the table, and nodded at the old knight. “Now,” Cyrus said. “We go now.”

  “Indeed, we do,” Alaric said, with a nod of his own. “And by the dawn tomorrow, we will have the thing known, one way or the other. Victory or defeat will be claimed this night, and the question of whether the people of Reikonos live or die will be answered by the time the city wakes on the morrow.” The Ghost smiled, but it was grim, and fit the mood of the moment better than anything else Cyrus could imagine.