The Age of Heroes

by Scott J Robinson

  “That damn crow is following me,” Rawk said.

  Fabi looked. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “It’s the same one.” Rawk threw a stick at it. The bird didn’t even move as the stick sailed harmlessly past. “It’s big and black and has beady eyes. It looks exactly the same.”

  “Well, as long as you’re sure.”

  Rawk wanted to throw something else, but there couldn’t reach any suitable ammunition.

  “So, we go home now?” Fabi asked eventually.

  “I guess so.”

  “And Galad?”

  It looked like Galad was still in pain. His face was twisted, his hand still clutched at his neck trying to hold in the blood. His face was pale, too pale, his mouth open in a silent scream. He would still be alive if Rawk hadn’t spotted him sitting in the refectory. He’d be siting somewhere right now, maybe telling someone about the three mushon he’d killed.

  Rawk looked at the body. “He was a good man.”

  He hadn’t really realized how good until the day before, sitting with him in the Veteran’s Club, drinking and talking. It had been the first time he’d ever seen him as anything other than a rival. It was the first time he’d thought about the man behind the Hero. He’d liked him. Maybe they could’ve been friends. Rawk gave a bark of laughter and realized how it might sound. He tried to explain, without explaining, before Fabi could even ask the question.

  “What happened isn’t funny,” he said. “But...” He shrugged. “It’s strange how life travels along nicely for so long, then decides to slap you in the face, a lot, just when you least expect it.”

  “Yes. Strange. I suppose.” Fabi obviously didn’t care about the details. “And speaking of strange.” He gestured towards the dwarf with his chin.

  Rawk tore his eyes away from Galad, away from the slowly growing pool of blood, and looked at the dwarf. “I have no idea who that is or where he came from.”

  Fabi nodded.

  “He saved my life.”

  Fabi’s eyes narrowed. “Him? He’s just a dwarf.”

  “I know.” It was crazy. Crazy that the dwarf was even here, and crazy that he would attack the duen with a dagger. The creature was literally twice his size.

  Fabi crawled to the dwarf and started going through his pockets. The first thing he found was a small block of paper sheets. He looked at the top one, then threw it to Rawk.

  Rawk looked. There was writing... “He works for the damn newspaper thing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Someone’s been following me, writing about everything I do.” He looked at the dwarf again. He didn’t look any different to any of the others. Just a dwarf.

  “I’ve read some of those stories.”

  “They aren’t true.” He read some of the drawf’s scrawled notes. They stuck to the facts and ended mid battle. Mid sentence. “Well, not everything.”

  “So now what?”

  Rawk sighed. “I saw a shovel inside.”

  “You want to bury Galad out here?”

  He nodded. “And the dwarf.”

  “You want to bury the dwarf?”

  “Are you up to carrying them back to Katamood? Either of them?”

  Fabi checked his shoulder, working it gently. “Don’t think so.”

  “Well, me either.” He pushed himself to his feet.

  “We can just do one though. We don’t have to worry about the dwarf.”

  Rawk looked at the dwarf and sighed. “He saved my life.” It wouldn’t have to be a very big hole anyway. This was probably the type of place Galad would like to rest. Quiet and green. Peaceful. And the dwarf deserved to be there with him.

  Faraday

  Rawk sat down. He was dressed in nothing more than a towel and used that to wipe his hand so he could pick up the Encyclopedia of Myth from the floor by the chair. With the book in his lap, he closed his eyes and sat while he simply enjoyed breathing.

  A few minutes later, he flicked through the pages until he found the right one.

  “Duen giants are said to have roamed the lands north of Manapee more than two thousand years ago. Wherever they went, violence followed. It is suggested they were almost constantly involved in conflicts, across the breadth of the continent, including the Battle of Hapahide and the Siege of Makanua Rock that was remembered in the famous folk song of the same name. It seems they were nomadic, presumably in order to find more enemies to battle.”

  He examined the two pictures for a moment, then turned the page. The picture of the girl stared back at him.

  “Not much is known about the duen but it is possible they lived in large clan or family groups that acted as separate units in battle. It seems the children were kept aside, protected from the fighting.”

  Rawk grunted. Not much is known, but let’s speculate anyway...

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re all wet,” Travis said when he came in.

  “I had a shower.”

  “Really? So it doesn’t scare you any more?”

  “It never scared me,” Rawk said. He knew Travis didn’t believe him.

  “Anyway, you’ve got a visitor.”

  “Fabi?”

  “Who?”

  “Big black guy with a beard?”

  “That’s him. Did he go with you yesterday?”

  Rawk nodded.

  “Hubb was here too, for a while.”

  “Did he want to see me?”

  “Not sure. He had some breakfast but then people started challenging him to arm wrestle.”

  Rawk grunted. “He never gets a break, apparently. When people see him they expect him to drop everything so they can validate their manhood or something.”

  “I wouldn’t imagine many of them would leave feeling validated.”

  “Not that I’ve seen.” He decided he wasn’t going to get time to rest. The cream for his knee was under the chair. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “I’ll let Fabi know.” Travis slipped out the door.

  Rawk rubbed the cream on and, once he was done, dressed and made his way downstairs. Fabi was sitting at the bar.

  “How are you feeling?” Rawk asked.

  “I’ve been better.”

  Rawk nodded. “Me too. Come on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

  But in the end he suggested Fabi wait in the square while he went in to see Weaver on his own.

  “You aren’t trying to rip me off, are you?” Fabi said it like a joke, but he was probably worried it was the truth.

  “Of course not. It’s just that I can win an argument with Weaver, but witnesses would make it a lot more difficult.”

  “Oh, right then.”

  “I won’t be long.”

  Rawk entered through the guardroom to the right of the main gate. He waved to the men as he went through but didn’t pause.

  The public areas of the palace were ostentatious, as those things normally were. Brocaded drapes that hid the plain stone walls. Artifacts from all around the world—gold, silver, ivory, silk, ebony, diamonds—stood on tables or shelves on the walls. If someone, sometime, had thought it was valuable, Weaver probably had it in the palace somewhere.

  The contrast with the private areas was stark. Beyond the five Guards and the stout wooden door, the plain stone walls were sparsely adorned with weapons and simple tapestries. There were suits of armor, shields and trophies taken from vanquished foe. A banner, a tunic, a helm with a slice through the crown.

  Rawk made his way to Weaver’s private chambers. A Guard at the door knocked then let him through at a call from beyond. The room was the same as the passages outside, only more so. Every inch of wall seemed to be covered with something. There was a shield Rawk had used for a while many years earlier. There was a cloak he’d taken from a Habon prince. There were broken weapons and weapons that could have no practical purpose.

  “Rawk. Good to see you.” Weav
er stood by his desk, shirtless and disheveled as if he’d just gotten out of bed.

  Rawk sat down in his usual chair. It was a plain wooden thing, hard and uncomfortable. He grunted.

  “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Galad is dead,” he said, quietly.

  Weaver looked shocked. “He is? Well, that was about the last thing I expected you to say.”

  Sitting on the chair, Rawk wondered about expectations. The front of the palace was gaudy and bright because that was what people expected. But back here was the opposite, because that was what people expected as well. Prince Weaver, the ex-Hero. Prince Weaver, the common man. Rawk wondered which one was true. He wondered if even Weaver knew any more.

  The Prince sat down in his chair, eager for the story. “You found more trolls? Did one kill Galad?”

  And Rawk decided he’d had enough. He’d had enough of everything that was expected of him. His knee ached. His arm was a constant burning pain. His back popped and creaked when he moved. He wanted to rest. He wanted to... He didn’t know what he wanted. But he knew he didn’t want to sit here telling stories about the death of a good man to please Weaver. And the dwarf. Weaver would brush the dwarf’s death aside. Or maybe the dwarf would become a man in years to come. Nobody wanted a dwarf to save the Hero.

  And the duen. Rawk remembered the picture in the book and the girl in the forest. The look on her face when she saw the collar. The look on her face when she died. Had he killed a child who was out looking for her pet?

  “No,” Rawk said eventually. “There were no more trolls.” He wondered if the duen actually liked arm wrestling at all. Or did they do it simply because people expected them to?

  “None?”

  He cleared his throat. “We went in but...”

  “You found nothing?” Weaver sat back, disappointed.

  “Nothing at all.”

  “Then how...?”

  “A tree fell on him.”

  “Galad died when a tree fell on him?”

  “Yes. Stupid, I know. After all he’d been through... He killed three mushon, you know?”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “I only found out yesterday myself.”

  “He was one of the good ones. Not up to your standard, obviously, but... He was good.”

  Rawk nodded.

  “So... I’ve reported. Now I’d like my one thousand ithel, plus the money for the stuff I did kill.”

  “What? Oh, yes, of course. Three thousand one hundred ithel all together, right?”

  “Oh, there’s also the fire sprite.”

  Weaver sighed. “A small elemental? Two hundred, if I remember correctly.”

  “And a kitten.”

  “I heard about the demon kitten. I can’t pay you for it though because you let it escape.”

  “Nothing gets past you, does it?” Rawk had to sit and wait while Weaver went to organize things. He sat with his eyes closed and tried not to think. But it wasn’t easy.

  Weaver came back a few minutes later carrying a full purse. “It’s all there,” he said.

  Rawk weighed it in his hand.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “I’ll be on my way, I guess.”

  “Very well. Thank you for your efforts.” Weaver clasped his hand. “It’s been good to see you back in action, Rawk. It’s just like old times, isn’t it?”

  “Something like that.” He had the old bit right.

  “Are you claiming Galad’s possessions?”

  “Does he have any family?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Rawk nodded. “Then I am. But I’ll leave it for a while, so let me know if someone else claims as well.”

  “He was buying the rooms he lived in. Paper work came through about a month ago.”

  “Tell me about it when we see if anyone turns up.”

  Fabi was waiting at the edge of the park but before he could make his way to the other man, Rawk felt a touch on his elbow.

  “Hello, Rawk.”

  “Janas?” He looked around, wondering if someone was playing a joke. “But... You died.”

  The old lady laughed. “Of course not. My sister did though. I’ve been over in Westport with her family.” She smiled a gap toothed smile. “I hear you’ve been busy. Are you all right?”

  “Yes. A few aches and pains, but...” He shrugged.

  “Well, come and see me this afternoon, if you like.”

  Rawk cleared his throat. “I’ve actually found a new healer—”

  “A new healer? But what’s wrong with the old one?”

  Rawk cleared his throat. “I heard that she died.”

  “Well, I didn’t.”

  “Sorry, Janas. Things change.”

  “Not for you, Rawk. Not for the last twenty years.”

  “The world moves on. We move on. And sometimes it’s hard to tell which is which.”

  Janas grunted and spat on the ground. It looked like she was going to say something, but she stormed off without uttering another word.

  Shaking his head, Rawk crossed the road.

  Fabi was sitting on a stone wall that surrounded an ancient oak tree. “Who was that?”

  “Janas. She used to be my healer.”

  “I heard she died.”

  “Me too.”

  Fabi stared after her for a moment. “Well, did Weaver pay?”

  Rawk nodded. He put the purse in the other man’s lap.

  “All of it?”

  “There’s 3300 ithel in there for you. And he’s going to give us a bit extra in a few days.”

  “Why?”

  “He wants us to keep quiet about the duen because he doesn’t want anyone to know there were more of them.”

  “We aren’t allowed to say anything?”

  Rawk winced. “No. Sorry.”

  “But...”

  “I know. You want to be a Hero and Heroes need publicity.” Rawk looked across the square at the Hero’s Rest. It looked much as it had for a long time, except for the tank on the roof, but it seemed different, like a boat drifting away from shore. “You should find some other work. A different type of work, I mean. Become a fisherman. Or a butcher.”

  “Fighting is all I know.”

  Rawk nodded. “Still.” He shrugged. “Become a bodyguard for a rich merchant, if you must, but not this. Not this. The money will help you get set up.”

  “So, are you retiring then?”

  Rawk laughed. “I retired a couple of days ago. Don’t tell anyone about it though because, with all these exots around, I think neither Weaver nor the world is going to let me get away.”

  Fabi didn’t say anything.

  “I’ll see you around, Fabi? You know where to find me if you want a drink? I’d like to have a drink with you.”

  “Of course.” He shook the purse. “It will be my shout.”

  “Even if you don’t want a drink, come and visit anyway. Apparently I don’t have a lot of friends, so...”

  “That’s probably because people never consider being friends with a legend. They expect you to be too important for the likes of them.”

  Rawk nodded and gave a small smile. “Things aren’t always as you expect.”

  He took a strip of meat from the pouch on his belt and headed for home.

  < < O > >

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BOUT THE AUTHOR

  Scott J. Robinson grew up in a small town in rural Australia, the kind of place where you had to make your own fun. And from a young age, his idea of fun was to create strange worlds and populate them with interesting people.

  He now lives in a different small town, with his wife and three children, and still enjoys creating strange worlds. Though now, he actually finishes some of the things he starts. When not writing he enjoys photography and camping and recently retired from an amazingly mediocre cricket career.

  For more information visit

  www.tengama.com

  or email

  scott@tengama.com

  Other books by Scott J. Robinson

  Tribes of the Hakahei

  Book 1: The Space Between

  Book 2: Singing Other Worlds

  Book 3: The Time Comes

  Book 4: A Different Kind of Heaven

  Kim McLean is just another tourist visiting Sherwood Forest when aliens attack on the back of giant bats. She didn’t think her day could get much weirder after that, until she follows an elf and a dwarf through a magical gateway to another world.

  Then, as the endless alien hordes keep coming, she gets involved with bureaucrats and soldiers, governments and people who should know better, and she starts to wonder if her definition of weird needs to be revised.

  All she knows for sure is that it’s up to her to save the human race.

  Travelling to distant worlds and different universes, she gathers strange companions and uncovers long forgotten secrets as she tries to end the death and destruction.

  But the war was being waged long before Sherwood Forest was attacked and Kim soon suspects that they aren’t even fighting the right enemy.

  The Brightest Light

  Kade was once the up and coming star of The Skyway Men, a ruthless criminal organization. Then he made one mistake. Then another. Then one too many. Lucky to be left alive, he was banished to a backwoods skyland that flew the quietest wind-lanes.

  When he’s finally offered another chance Kade can’t believe his luck.