The Age of Heroes

by Scott J Robinson

  “It flows down to sea.”

  “I swim in that water.”

  “You do not. And anyway, apparently the pipes go so far out that the crap gets washed further out to sea without ever getting close to shore.”

  “It does? How do you know?”

  “You saw them laying the pipes.”

  “All I saw was dwarves doing something or other. It was dwarves, so I didn’t pay all that much attention.”

  “Well, anyway, it’s true. The pipes go underground out to the point, mostly, and then they go way out to sea. Some dwarves told me.”

  “And you trust them?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because... dwarves.”

  “Has any dwarf ever actually lied to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “One you weren’t trying to kill? Anyway, Weaver came up with the plan. Do you trust him?”

  Rawk grunted and shoved his head back under the towel. “Don’t you want to know where I’m going later?”

  “No.”

  “I’m going to the Old Forest.”

  “Why?”

  He cleared his throat. “The wolden wolf was wearing a collar.”

  “What?” a woman said from the doorway.

  Rawk sat up so fast he almost fell over. He thought he might have pulled a muscle in his neck. He definitely hurt his knee. He cleared his throat.

  “Hello, Melia.” That was quicker than he had expected. He thought it wouldn’t have been until the next day, at least.

  “Hello, Rawk.”

  “Good to see you.” Unlike Silver Lark, Melia looked older than she had twenty years ago, but she still looked good. Even now, it was obvious where Adalee had gotten her beauty.

  Melia raised an eyebrow and Rawk cleared his throat again.

  “Did I hear correctly?” she said.

  Rawk didn’t want to commit to any line of conversation. He could pretend her arrival was a coincidence. “Hear what?”

  “Was the wolden wolf wearing a collar?”

  That. Right. “Yes.”

  “Does Weaver know?”

  “No. I don’t see why he needs to.”

  “Because—”

  Rawk waved away the words she hadn’t yet spoken. “Yes, I know. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell him anything. Let’s change the subject.”

  She raised her eyebrow again. “Really?”

  Rawk knew he’d made a mistake but it was too late now.

  “You would rather we talk about Adalee?” Melia asked.

  “No.”

  “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

  “I didn’t know who she was, Melia.”

  “Stay away from her.”

  “What would your mother have done twenty years ago if she’d found out?” Rawk entered dangerous territory.

  Two raised eyebrows. “She’s young enough to be your daughter.”

  Rawk scratched his nose. “I was actually worried...”

  Melia laughed. It was the very thing that he had first noticed about her. It was the thing he remembered most. “Don’t be ridiculous. Do you know how many daughters you have, by the way? How many sons? It could be dozens.”

  Travis cleared his throat. “I’ll just come back later, Rawk.” He slipped out the door.

  “Grow up, Rawk. If Edwin finds out...”

  “He’ll probably be flattered.”

  “You obviously don’t know Edwin. He’ll come up here with half a dozen men and worry about the consequences later.”

  She started to leave.

  “It was nice to see you again, Melia. We should—”

  “Don’t, Rawk.”

  Rawk shook his head. “So now everything I say is about trying to get a woman into bed?”

  Melia stared at him for a moment. “Stay away,” she said. “If you so much as look at Adalee again, Edwin will be the least of your problems. I will cut off your balls with a very dull knife before he even gets close.” She left him there on his knees, towel draped over his head like a desert tribesman.

  “Path. That went well.” He probed at his neck, trying to see if the injury was serious.

  -O-

  People rarely went to the Old Forest. The Fermi said the forest was a strange and powerful place. Everything converged in there, they said. The past and future. North, south, east and west. This world and other worlds. Badgers and weasels as well, for all Rawk knew. The Fermi wailed all sorts of woe upon those who ventured within.

  As he stood looking at the trees, shading his eyes against the early afternoon sun, he decided that they were at least partially right. North south, east and west did meet there, or close enough. Katamood occupied a narrow strip of land that linked two huge continents and the oceans on either side brought ships from all around the world. The markets of Katamood were filled with people from all over the world because it was the natural place to meet. He grunted. Weaver’s canal might not be such a bad idea after all, if only it didn’t look so horrible.

  Rawk glanced over his shoulder. There were Guards at the top of Sparrow Tower, but they weren’t paying him any attention. There was also a small crowd on the top of the ruined wall, come to watch the Hero pay tribute to his latest conquest, he suspected. They could believe whatever they wanted.

  He looked at the place where the wolf had lain. The ground was dark with blood but the area still seemed so benign, as if nothing had happened there at all, as if a life and death struggle had not taken place. A magnificent creature, gone so quickly. All that remained was a story about a wolden wolf. Hardly fitting. Weaver was probably already arguing with his tailor about the fit of his new cloak and deciding what sort of clasp he should use.

  Rawk made his way to the first of the trees and got down on his hands and knees. After a short search he found the collar. It was longer than he remembered. He could have worn it as a belt, if he liked studded red leather. Had the exot really been that big? That seemed impossible, and he’d stood face to face with it. And if the collar was big, the implications were even bigger. Who put the collar on it? And where were they now?

  Rawk checked over his shoulder again and stepped into the shade. He stopped a few paces in. He drew his sword and gripped the collar tighter.

  Some places are called old because they’ve been around a long time. Others are called old because they give the impression they’ve been around forever. They are deep and heavy in all the ways it is possible to be. The Old Forest was like that. He could feel the weight of the place on his shoulders. He could feel the weight of it in his lungs. And it took a moment, standing there with the sound of pumping blood loud in his ears, before he realized that the weight wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. The weight on his shoulder could be a comforting hand as easily as it could be a yoke. Nothing there made him feel uneasy. It was merely the unknown eating at him. The unknown and the collar in his left hand. He shifted his grip on Kult and continued forward, following a wisp of a path that would probably disappear at any second and leave him lost like someone in a fairy story, comforting hand or not.

  Brambles caught at his leg and he cursed. He hacked with his sword, wondering if he should just tell Lakin about the collar and be done with it. But Lakin would tell his commander and the commander would tell someone else and Weaver would get involved and all of a sudden it would be a big thing. Weaver would introduce a thousand new laws to make sure everything, and everyone, was under control. And he would send platoons of men into the Old Forest to investigate. Rawk felt the forest in his blood and knew he didn’t want that to happen. Not until he was sure, at any rate. Not until he had a chance to kill the exot and claim the bounty for himself. It was too good an opportunity to hand over to Weaver.

  He finally pulled his foot free and looked around. He ducked, and the club whistled over his head.

  “Path!” Rawk wanted to back-pedal, but the briar was there, ready to trip him up. He scrambled away in the other direction.

  The creatu
re was as big as a house. Well, it seemed to be. A small house, admittedly. It was shaggy and grey and had shoes the size of water troughs. And the club was a small tree. Literally. It looked as if it had been freshly torn from the ground.

  Rawk turned back and set himself, Kult at the ready. The sword might have been ready, but he wasn’t. His hand was shaking. He wiggled his leg, trying to work out if his knee would behave. He wanted to wipe sweat from his face but wasn’t willing to take the risk.

  The exot gestured and it took a moment for Rawk to realize what it was referring to. He held up the collar, but apparently he should’ve hidden it.

  The creature’s eyes narrowed. “Where is Kaj?”

  Rawk swallowed. “The dog is dead.”

  It charged forward and Rawk dived away. The tree-club hummed through the place he’d been standing. He found his feet and drew in a deep breath as he backed away a few more paces, trying to give himself time to think. He’d dropped the collar and the exot moved to pick it up.

  Rawk watched. What would he have done twenty years ago?

  Twenty years ago he would have run out onto the open ground so the audience, however small, could see. After all, it was no use fighting a giant if nobody knew about it. But he was about twenty yards from the open ground and would never make it.

  The giant stalked towards him.

  The next time the club started to swing, Rawk dived towards his enemy. He hit the ground and rolled, swinging his sword. The keen edge bit into flesh near the knee and the creature wailed in agony.

  Rawk pulled the sword free. Up on his feet, he grimaced as he limped two steps to the side. He attacked a hamstring and the creature cried out again, a very human sound that echoed around the forest. Rawk swung Kult for the third time and the sounds ended in a soft gurgle.

  He stood and watched, not moving, until a slow steady drip of blood started to set his nerves on edge.

  It wasn’t his blood. So that was a good thing. Though the bandage on his arm reddened by the moment. Rawk sat in a patch of dirt and breathed. He quite liked it, even without the tea. He flexed his hand and looked at the growing stain of red on his bandage.

  Rawk licked his lips.

  The creature stared at him with one blank eye. A curtain of long, grey-white hair covered the other. It didn’t look fierce now. It didn’t look dangerous. Just sad. Sad and alone. There was a metal amulet and ribbons in the hair, red and green and yellow, and a tattoo on the one visible cheek. A bird of some kind, maybe. Impossible to tell for sure. It still clutched the collar in its huge hand.

  “Now what?” he asked. The creature didn’t answer. He looked back towards the city and, through a gap in the trees, saw several men racing across the open ground from Sparrow Tower. They slowed as they came closer, wary of whatever had made the noise, but they kept coming.

  At least he wouldn’t have to drag the damn giant out into the open.

  Rawk sat quietly, taking deep breaths and waiting for the soldiers to arrive.

  -O-

  “That’s not a wolden wolf either,” Waydin said.

  Rawk turned to look at him. There were ten other soldiers with him. “How can you tell?”

  Waydin stared at the creature and didn’t reply.

  “Right. Well, I’ll keep that in mind in the future. Now, seeing we’ve established that it isn’t a wolden wolf, do you have any idea what it actually is?”

  Waydin chewed on his lip for a moment, then shook his head. “Some type of troll maybe. But I’m not an expert.”

  “I’m somewhat of an expert, but I’ve never seen anything like.” Rawk hauled himself to his feet with a grunt of effort.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” He dusted himself off. “So, what do we do now?”

  Waydin looked around, as if instructions might be written on a tree. “Not my problem. I’ll tell someone, then do what I’m told.”

  “As ever.”

  “I think the dwarves all the way out in the lighthouse would have heard that scream.”

  “Well, you let me know how it goes, will you. I’m going home.”

  “That’s it?”

  “What do you want me to do? You can tell Lakin as well as I can.”

  “Yes, but they’ll probably want to ask you some questions?”

  “Like what?”

  Waydin shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  But he was probably right. They normally did have all sorts of questions. And they usually managed to turn up during lunch or dinner to ask them.

  “They know where to find me.”

  Rawk trudged back across the open ground. The small crowd cheered as he came closer but their hearts weren’t in it. They watched the forest, ready to run if any creatures emerged. If they were worried they should have been running already, at least putting a few more potential victims between themselves and the threat. But they were people, so they stood on the grass and on the tumbled down wall, cheering and keeping an eye out for more excitement. Rawk flexed his hands, returned greetings and shuffled towards the Hero’s Rest.

  He would sit in the taproom, drinking cool water and telling anyone who would listen about his bravery. That was a good way to spend the afternoon. He just had to get there first.

  It was just like the good old days. Except he didn’t remember them ever feeling like this.

  At the base of the hill, Rawk came across one of the many little markets that dotted the area. He was half way along the street, smiling to the locals as he tried to negotiate the press, when he noticed a stall selling books. He slowed as he went past, trying to scan the titles. But the writing was too small to read, so he stopped and pretended to adjust his boot so he could lean in closer. Nothing that would help. He sighed and almost kept walking, so he could sit in the taproom of the Hero’s Rest and drink some water and regale the customers with tales of the day’s deeds. But his arm ached. And his knee and his back. And at his age if you stand still too long you fall over dead. And it was time to grow up, apparently.

  So he tried to work out where the next of the city’s markets might be and turned aside. He was just three blocks from the market they called Mount Cheese, after the two streets that met at the little square, when he came across a bookshop. The narrow building had a bright green, tiled roof and red plaster between the exposed frame of the wall.

  Rawk stood across the road and wondered if he should continue to the markets instead. There was probably no right answer. Or, at least, none that he would find until he went into the shop to see if they had what he wanted. He straightened his torn shirt, winced at the flare of pain in his arm, and hurried across the street before someone saw him or he had a chance to change his mind.

  He might have changed his mind anyway, halfway through the door, but a bell rattled and clanked with the movement and a stoop backed, red haired old man came from out the back.

  “Hello, hello, hello,” he said, blowing dust of a scroll case. “What can I...” When he looked up his eyes narrowed. “So, what can I do for you today, sir?”

  Rawk cleared his throat. “I want to buy a book.”

  “Do you now? A particular book? Or will any do?”

  “Not a particular book. But a book about a particular subject.”

  “So, even a scroll would do, at a pinch?” The old man smiled.

  “I suppose it would, old man.”

  “My name is Juskin.”

  It still felt rude to not introduce himself. “Hello, Juskin, I’m—”

  Juskin waved him away. “I have too many customers to remember all their names, my friend. You just buy your book—or scroll—” he smiled again, “and be on your way. I am sure to forget you were even here a moment after you leave.”

  Rawk gave a nod and decided he liked Juskin. “I would prefer a book, I think. Scrolls just seem to be waiting to be squashed or torn if you ask me.”

  “So, what would be the subject of this book?”

  “Ahhh... Exots. Or ancient creatures. Or peopl
es. Or...” He cleared his throat again and looked around. There was nobody else in the shop. “I killed something today...”

  “Oh, so not just any mythical, ancient peoples. But a particular mythical, ancient people.”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmmm...” He went around behind the counter and hauled himself up onto a stool. “You don’t know the name of this creature by any chance? No, I thought not.” He pulled a contraption of timber and glass from inside his robe and put it on his face. “That makes it decidedly more difficult, of course.”

  “And expensive, I imagine.”

  Juskin looked over the top of the thing on his face and drew himself up. Rawk held up a placating hand and the old man settled down again a moment later. “If you want haggling and tricks you’ve come to the wrong place.”

  Rawk gave a rueful smile. “I must admit that it isn’t often I shop beyond the confines of the markets.”

  “That is true with most people, unfortunately. Do all your shopping in the one place. You may end up with bruised apples and books with missing pages, but they were cheap and you got home quicker, right?”

  “Right. Look, I’m sorry, but what in Path’s name do you have on your face?”

  “They are called spectacles. I read about them in an old book that I found and had a dwarf make them for me. It took months to get everything right.”

  “And?”

  “They help me see. Too much reading has effected my eyes, I’m afraid.” Juskin pulled a book from under the counter and thumped it down, sending out a huge puff of dust. “Now, what did this creature look like?”

  “Ten foot tall. Solid. Hairy.”

  “Two legs and two arms?”

  “I said it was a person, didn’t I?”

  Juskin looked over the top of his spectacles again. “You think all ‘people’ look like us?”

  “Well, don’t they?”

  “Three doors down is a hatter who was born with only one leg. And I know of a woman who has webbing between her fingers, like a duck.”

  “Yes but...”

  “And horhars?”

  “A horse with a human head?”

  “What else?”

  “They aren’t real.”