Call of the Hero

by Robert J. Crane

  “Double the gold seems excessive,” Curatio said. “How about one and a quarter times your usual rate?”

  Mazirin stared him down. “Double.”

  Curatio smiled. “I think we've reached an impasse here. Apologies for wasting your time, Captain.” He started to turn away.

  A flicker of emotion passed over Mazirin's face. “Then I'll be leaving immediately.” And she turned to go, albeit a little less crisply than she normally seemed to walk.

  “Well, you'll be leaving as soon as we release your ship,” Curatio said, and his entire voice was suffused with an undergirding of glee. “I'm told the docks here use a most curious metal key device. Quite large, unwieldy. There are precious few of them, however, and even fewer men available to cart them about, unlocking ships.” The healer's mouth was a thin, subtle smile. “You understand, of course, that we must prioritize releasing the ships that are going to be bringing in our grain. But I'm sure we'll get to yours...eventually.”

  Mazirin froze, strangely transfixed, her back to them. It was impossible to see her face; her long, black hair, so tightly braided only yesterday, now spread out to either side of her face, curtaining her expression from their view. “Is that so?” she asked, though, voice just a touch higher than it had been before.

  “That is so,” Curatio said, so very amused.

  Cyrus watched, and realized at last that this entire thing had been a negotiation. Alaric's breath seemed to have caught in his throat, for he made almost no sound but a slightly straining noise that made Cyrus look at him sidelong once more.

  “One and half times my usual cargo rate,” Mazirin said, wheeling on him.

  “That seems eminently fair,” Curatio said with a smile. “Payment on delivery – but we can get your ship unlocked for departure immediately.” She had seemed about to explode back into argument until he mentioned the last part.

  “Fifty percent up front,” Mazirin said. “For the risk.”

  “Twenty,” Curatio said.

  “You have struck a hard bargain,” Mazirin said, then nodded at him. “I will expect your gold and my ship unlocked within the hour. We will proceed to Emerald and return with grain in two days.”

  “Excellent,” Alaric said, sounding just a bit choked. “Excellently, uh...bargained and done. It is, indeed, a pleasure to have you, uh, working with us on this, Captain.”

  Mazirin favored him with a slightly irritated look, but said nothing, instead spinning about on her heel and leaving.

  “I feel as though several things just happened here that I don't quite understand,” Cyrus said.

  “I wouldn't fret about it,” Curatio said, a little grimly. “After all, you have a lot on your mind, with your wife having run off to Termina.”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” Cyrus said, and all thought of what had just transpired went out of his head as surely as if it had been pulled out by amnesia of resurrection, returning his mind instead to thoughts of Vara.

  Chapter 74

  Guy

  The gagging was maybe the worst part. Maybe. It was debatable, since certain bodily fluids – blood, worse – were leaking out of the corpses.

  “You're doing a fine job,” Vaste said, passing Guy with two bodies stacked on his broad shoulders. His robes were sopping, disgusting, and Guy nearly retched as they passed.

  It was down to threading their way through the ships looking for stray corpses, now. The “big” battles had mostly been cleared. A whole lot of their men here were on corpse duty, and they were making quick work of it, overall. They'd already carted truckloads to the wall and tipped 'em over into the moat just to get 'em out of here. Guy doubted there was a truckload left, but they were really having to delve now.

  Which was how he found himself nipping 'round the side of a Chaarlandian freighter. They'd done a bit of resisting, they had, and the Machine had done some pushing back. Seemed to have left bodies everywhere, some small, silly, running battle fought around this ship resulting in a half dozen dead. Looked like it had been an unpleasant bit of business, too. Some of the bodies were showing all the signs of maiming, probably for revenge. This didn't exactly surprise Guy. He'd watched the Machine work for years, after all. They weren't the most patience, pleasant people. Vengeance was inflicted plenty. Hell, it was practically a motto of the organization, really.

  The smooth plank and metal arrangement of the hull above him cast a shadow that was broken by beams of pale moonlight shining down. Guy searched the darkness for the outline of a body. That was all he had to go on, really; wasn't like he could carry a torch or a lamp, not and hope to get a body on his shoulders to carry.

  How had he been roped into this again? Hell, how had he been roped into any of this?

  Right. That damned Davidon impersonator. Everything had gone wrong since he'd shown up at the coal yard.

  There was a shape just ahead, lying against the skeletal wooden frame of the dock. Guy peered into the night, easing closer. Listening for a breath, a sound. Anything, really, to herald that there was a still-living person here, or an animal, maybe a dog, that had snuck in.

  No, it was a carcass. Because of course it was. A proper carcass, pool of blood oozing around it.

  Just to be sure, he checked the neck. No beat of the heart felt there, nor at the wrist. No breath came from its mouth, weak or otherwise. With a grunt, Guy dragged it out from beneath the beam of the wooden frame. Pushing it, prodding it – it was a heavy one, too, but he finally managed to maneuver it upright. He'd need to get it over his shoulders, then lift with his legs, which were already hurting. Guy was going to need a break after this, regardless of what that big green oaf said.

  He'd almost got it, ready to lift, when a voice in his ear made Guy just about leap whilst shitting himself.

  “Guy.”

  “Davidon! Whaaaaaaf! What the ffffff–” Guy leapt back from the corpse.

  A beam of pale moon shone down from overhead, highlighting a grey face, perspiration glinting in the white glow from above. The lips were drawn in a rictus, the eyes fixed on him.

  This thing was dead. And yet–

  “I see you,” came the smooth voice pouring out of the body. “I know of you, Guy Harysan. Have heard tales.”

  “Who – the hells – are you?” Guy asked, bumping his head on the hull of the ship behind him.

  The body twisted, flipping over onto its belly. “A friend to many, one could say.” It stared up at him with eyes that seemed to glimmer with otherworldly light. “A friend to you, even, perhaps.”

  Guy let out a string of syllables that couldn't have been assembled to form any word, really. When he got hold of himself again, he asked, “What – what do you want?”

  “A friend in return,” the body said, popping on up. Slowly, it did a little dragging, forcing. Bones were broken, skin was torn asunder. It stood, but did so in a very unusual way. It was clearly dead; the head hung to one side, blood dripped onto the stone below, watering the stray grass blades that peeked up between the cobblestones. “I know the Machine has hunted you. Unfairly, I would say. They have failed to see your value.” The corpse took a step closer. “I am not so blind as them, Guy. I see much use in someone such as yourself, who sits in the camp of my enemies.”

  “You're that...Depravus, then?” Guy asked.

  “Malpravus,” came the voice. “And yes. A misunderstood name for my misunderstood soul.”

  Guy didn't know what to say to that.

  “I have ruled this city for almost a thousand years,” Malpravus said through the body. “Have looked out for its people. Why, all along, Guy, you have worked for me. In your time with the Machine, I mean.”

  “They, uh...cast me out,” Guy said, trying to wrap his noggin around talking to a dead body. It was a bit of a trip.

  “The leaders have become somewhat unforgiving,” Malpravus said soothingly. “I have allowed them, perhaps, too free a hand. Humanity tends toward corruption. I don't see any wrong in what you did; confronted with dea
th by Cyrus Davidon and his harlot, you did what you had to do. No one else in the Machine would have died holding on to the information you parted with.” The corpse took a step closer, and a cut flap of skin revealed itself at the side of the head where a knife had slashed it, showing pale bone beneath. “Their anger for you is merely a redirection of the anger they feel in their hearts when thinking of how similarly they would have acted. That is all. That is the source of the wellspring of their hatred for you, Guy. That is why they hunted you. But...” The corpse lifted a hand. “...I would offer you forgiveness.”

  “For a price, of course,” Guy said, feeling a bit choked.

  “Everything has a price,” came the answer. “Running has a price, as you have seen. My question for you, though – which is the currency with which you would you pay? For money is but a promise of value, and here I ask: what are these new friends of yours giving you?”

  “My life,” Guy said.

  “I see,” Malpravus said. “I could offer the same. But the difference is...” The corpse leaned closer, and death whiffed off it. “...My word will be worth something in the end. Theirs will not. For only one of us can win this, Guy, and while they may hold the yards, I hold the food...and the power...and have always held the reins of this city.”

  “I–” Guy started to speak, but a footstep on stone made him turn–

  A staff crashed into the corpse and shattered its skull, splattering Guy and collapsing the body upon itself. While Guy was sputtering through the ichor on his face, he managed to get an eye open through it to find–

  That damned troll, ten feet tall and leering down at him, head of his stave covered in blood.

  “When I told you he controls corpses,” Vaste said, bringing down the staff on the carcass once more, “I assumed it would motivate you to hurry and dispose of the bodies. Not present you with an incentive for listening.” He raised his staff high again and brought it down so swiftly it blurred, echoing a mighty crunch through the valley of the ship hulls.

  “Guy...” the shattered jaw of the corpse moved. “...Think it over...”

  Vaste brought his staff down one last time, shattering the jaw. That done, he looked in disgust at his staff. “Damn him. I should have known he'd try something like this.” He shook his head, then landed a heavy hand on Guy's shoulder.

  “Wh – what?” Guy asked, and suddenly found himself being pushed along. “What did I do?”

  “You listened,” Vaste said, half-pushing, half-dragging him as Guy tried to squirm from his grasp. It was no good, though; the big green man's hand was too big, too clawed, too strong for him, and he found himself marched away from the body, out onto the wide paths and deeper into the dockyards.

  Chapter 75

  Alaric

  “What is the purpose of this?” Alaric asked, staring at the small circle of the Sanctuary – well, officers, for lack of a better word. It comprised all the old suspects save for Vara – Curatio, himself, Cyrus, Vaste – plus the new people they'd accumulated over the last few days' events. Hiressam, Shirri, Pamyra, Birissa, plus Guy. They'd gathered in the shadow of the Yuutshee, the sun rising in the distance and clanking noises and shouts coming from overhead. Alaric wondered at the provenance of this location; was it mere coincidence they stood here or was there some more purposeful reason...?

  “Apologies for dragging you away from the very important work of floating around as early morning mist,” Vaste said tightly, his hand gripped on Guy's neck as though the roguish Machine man might go sprinting off at any moment. “I know how important it is for you to malinger out there, seeking opportunities to float through an open window just as a woman is changing her frock.”

  Alaric blinked a few times, surprised at the suddenness – and savagery – of the reply. “I...have never done that.”

  “That's a real waste of a talent there, mate,” Guy offered.

  “Some of us have honor,” Hiressam said sharply, “and peeping is not honorable.”

  “I, for one, am thankful for your honor,” Shirri said, gently pulling at her collar self-consciously. “But am also curious about the nature of this meeting.”

  “Well, we have taken the dockyards,” Vaste said, “so it was inevitable we'd need to meet. Coordinate. Talk things over. Have breakfast, maybe.” His voice went suddenly higher. “Oh, and also, I found Guy here talking to a corpse that spoke in Malpravus's voice.”

  “Oh, hells,” Curatio said. “When?”

  “I – it was talking to me,” Guy said. “I didn't start the conversation, all right?”

  Shirri's eyes were wide and glassy. “Malpravus can do that?”

  “It's truly unfortunate the art of necromancy wasn't entirely forgotten in this diminishment of magic,” Pamyra said quietly. “Of all the magical arts, that one was ripe to be lost to the mists of time and memory.”

  “What did the voice say to you?” Cyrus asked quietly.

  Guy's eyes shifted back and forth. “Asked me to...well, pick a side. That was not...yours.”

  Alaric felt a pang within. “Naturally. Malpravus tries to stir dissent in our newly-formed ranks.”

  “You have to admit,” Curatio said with a wan smile, “it's far more like him to attempt this than, say, marshal his forces and storm the front gates in a counter-assault.”

  “Yes, it is entirely Malpravus to be a wretched turd,” Vaste said, keeping that hand on Guy. “But my question is – what are we going to do about it?”

  “Feed the people,” Alaric said. “Hold the docks. Figure out our next move.” He shifted to look at Curatio.

  “Well, in the vein of feeding the people,” Curatio said, “we've launched about fifteen airships thus far, all with captains who accepted our deal to make grain runs. A further fifteen should be launched within the hour, and another thirty the hour after that. Our people are learning quickly, aided by some of the dockyard administrative staff, who are showing up to work this morning not realizing this facility is under...new management.”

  “How many of those ships do you think will return filled with grain?” Pamyra asked.

  “Not nearly as many as left,” Curatio said. “But we have to hope that enough will find our offer of gold enticing, especially for so short a run as they are making. A day or so to Emerald Fields, now apparently called just 'Emerald.' A day back, then they find themselves richly rewarded.”

  “Appealing to a man's greed is a powerful motivation,” Guy said, nodding. When he caught the eye of everyone there, he seemed to realize it was in an unfavorable way. “I've heard, I mean. I don't know about greed myself. At all. Clearly, since I'm working for charity these days.”

  Alaric nodded, then looked up at the Yuutshee, whose squarish hull still rested in the dock above them. “I thought Captain Mazirin was slated to depart first?”

  Curatio raised an eyebrow as he – and the others – shifted to look at the ominous wooden wall of the hull. “So did I. They've certainly been unlocked and cleared.” Shouts from above, muffled, reached them, but in another language. “Perhaps they're having difficulties.”

  Alaric tried to put that out of his mind. “What about the defenses of the yards?” Here he turned to Cyrus.

  Cyrus had been staring straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought. At Alaric's question, though, he stirred to answer. “We have guards manning the wall, patrols walking it, barricades set up along the exterior points.” He had his arms folded in front of him. “So far we've seen no hint that Malpravus is even watching us here, let alone planning a move to retake the docks. Traffic outside is light, though, and no one's lingering. If he wanted to observe, later today would be the safer time to do so, once the city wakes a bit more and people are moving about.”

  “How do you feel about our ability to defend these yards against an attempt to retake them?” Alaric asked.

  “Generally awful,” Cyrus said. “They're big, Alaric. There's a lot of wall to cover, and we're only really worried about assault from three sides, though I do hav
e guards watching the fourth just in case Malpravus pulls some foolishness, or the scourge figure out how to cross the moat. That's a lot for our middling force to cover. This isn't an army; it's a civil guard meant to discourage thievery in the streets and the occasional angry, unarmed uprising.”

  “If we mean to encourage said uprising, though,” Alaric said, “perhaps we should start gathering some people for it and putting them to work.”

  Cyrus brushed a hand over his face. “Yes, that's a perfectly fine plan, as things go, and would be a nice trade for all the grain we're going to be shelling out to the hungry in exchange for their aid, but might I suggest that employing randomly chosen people off the street will not necessarily help increase our security.”

  “You think you're secure now, employing as your army a City Watch that was so recently loyal to Malpravus?” Vaste asked.

  “The troll makes an excellent point,” Hiressam said. “I hate that the troll makes an excellent point.”

  “That's because you're an anti-troll racist,” Vaste said, “probably motivated by the base motives of xenophobia and arse envy.”

  “Probably just the xenophobia,” Birissa said, causing Vaste's shoulders to sag.

  “I am no such thing,” Hiressam said, a little indignant. “If anything, I'm Vaste-irritated, not xenophobic.”

  “We're all Vaste-irritated,” Curatio said. “These are the burdens we must labor under, though, and he does raise a good point.”

  “Cyrus will see to the defense,” Alaric said, brushing all those concerns aside. “We have other worries.”

  Shirri blinked a few times into the quiet that followed. “Other worries besides defending this place, keeping the city in grain, and defeating Malpravus?”

  “I suppose our other worries fit easily the aegis of all those concerns,” Alaric said, “I meant merely that we have to concern ourselves with, yes, defeating Malpravus and his schemes while Cyrus sees to building the army that will guarantee the physical safety of the yards and Curatio takes care of having the food brought in. I was speaking, specifically, to the need to defeat Malpravus and create a workable strategy to begin distributing food.”