Once A Hero

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Rik caught Gena's eye. "I've entered palaces at midnight with less difficulty than this."

  Waldo shot Rik a sharp glance. "I have no doubt you have, Master Durriken. We have built much here in Aurdon that others covet."

  "I can see that, Lieutenant." Rik replied to the man respectfully, not rising to the bait of disdain in Waldo's voice.

  The guards at the last gate snapped to attention as the group rode through. The pace of travel slowed, less, Gena thought, because the streets were crowded than because the people lining the streets here appeared to be a better class of denizen than those choking the avenues and courtyards outside the third ring. And she marked in Waldo's attitude a change that allowed her to think he was not so much concerned with riding even these people down as he was with being able to strut importantly before them.

  As she had come to expect, she became the object of stares and whispers, much to Waldo's apparent consternation. While the inhabitants of an urban center such as Aurdon doubtlessly would scoff at the way the farmers had feared her on the road, they, too, woutd feel a trickle of terror if she met their gazes openly. Gena accepted that the novelty of seeing an Elf for the first—and perhaps only—time invited study, and she did not hold with other Elves who maintained this proved Men to be little better than the lowing bovines they tended in fields.

  Curiously enough, Gena noticed a certain amount of deference being paid to Durriken. He seemed to have noticed it as well, because she caught him furtively glancing about, yet he accepted it and even nodded to one or two women who curtsied as he passed. His reception appeared to anger Waldo—if his scowl and stiff spine could be trusted to measure his mood—but the lieutenant did nothing to act on his feelings.

  Waldo reined his mount to a halt before a stone building with the ivory patina of age in the stone walls and columns. Dismounting, he turned the reins of his horse over to one of his scouts, and two others came forward to care similarly for Spirit and Benison. Rik dismounted with a flourish, then patted Benison on the neck. He offered Gena his hand, and she took it less for assistance than the desire to touch him and be close.

  Hand in hand they followed Waldo up broad steps, between two statues of perched Fishers and through cast-iron doors a full fifteen feet in height and half that in width. Without introduction or travelogue, he led them across the marble-inlaid foyer, around the decorative pond in which aurfish swam lazily, and on into a long hallway in which the spaces between the arched windows were covered by heavy tapestries. Though she recognized none of the scenes depicted, Gena assumed they came from Fisher family history because of the way the knotted sleeves played prominently across the top of each tableau, and because the tapestries themselves were fastened to the wall by iron hooks made to look like the talons of a Fisher.

  Halfway down the corridor Gena began to hear the sounds of fighting, the ringing skirl of steel disengaging itself from steel. As no shouts of alarm accompanied it and Waldo did not react to it, she assumed the sound was not alien to the house this late in the day. Waldo turned right and pointed them through a doorway that opened onto a wide porch standing above a small courtyard surrounded by a splendid garden.

  Despite all the combatants being covered in studded leather armor and wearing full helms, Gena recognized Count Berengar instantly. The locks of flame-red hair hanging down from beneath the helmet only provided confirmation of the conclusion she had based on his tall stature and heavily muscled body. Clad in black, using a rapier in each hand, he moved with a fluid grace she remembered well from the dance floor at the reception where they had met.

  The two men he fought worked well as a team, yet remained unable to pierce his defenses. Berengar kept his blades wide, facing them straight on, waiting for them to choose an avenue for attack. Normally that would have resulted in his death, but Berengar's extended reach, fast parries, and swifter ripostes meant closing with him was to enter a sphere of death in which he held sway.

  "M'lord, I have arrived with your guests." Waldo's announcement and a muffled "Hold," from Berengar brought the fight to a halt. As Berengar handed his blades to a servant and doffed his helmet, Waldo turned to Rik. "You will surrender your flashdrakes to me now, sirrah."

  Gena felt a jolt through Rik's right hand, but her grip prevented his drawing one of the handcannons or punching Waldo. Rik shot Gena a sharp glance, then almost instantly let his anger go. "I beg your pardon. Lieutenant? Did you ask to examine one of my flashdrakes?"

  "No, I demanded their surrender. It is the law here in Aurdon."

  "Waldo! What is this?" Berengar rushed up the steps and stopped several short of the landing, keeping himself at eye level with Durriken. "These are my guests."

  The soldier blinked with surprise. "But the law, it is clear. He . . ."

  "He is my guest." Berengar shook his head and sighed, then looked up at Durriken. "Forgive this discourtesy, please. Waldo is correct in that it is a law here in Aurdon that only nobles may possess flashdrakes. I can clearly see these are of Dwarven manufacture, not the poorly constructed imitations that the Haladina occasionally circulate." The big man looked back at the people standing in the arena below. "While we have chosen to eschew flashdrakes in favor of more honorable weapons, the law was passed to prevent commoners and peasants from being harmed by the combustion of inferior examples of hand-cannons. If you will give me your parole that you will not use them except in most dire need, I believe we will have no difficulty with your continued possession of them."

  Durriken nodded graciously. "You have my word on it, my lord."

  "Splendid." Berengar stepped up to the landing and smiled at Gena. "My dear lady, it is once again an honor to bask in your radiance." He bowed, then took her right hand and kissed it gently, his moustache and beard tickling her flesh.

  Gena looked up at him and smiled. "And I, we, are honored to be received in your home. You are looking well."

  "And with you here, I am much, much better." He turned to face Durriken. "I understand from the men Captain Floris sent back that you are Durriken, a finder of items long lost."

  Rik bowed his head. "I am."

  "Fortune smiles, then, that you have come with Lady Genevera." Berengar's glance flicked past their joined hands, his bright blue eyes narrowing for a moment; then he pointed them past Waldo and back into the house. "I have arranged for adjoining suites for you. I would have used but one; however, my parsimonious forebears made the guest accommodations quite small. Please use one as your parlor and the other as your private chamber."

  "My lord is most generous."

  "I hope you will think so after we have a chance to speak more fully." A hint of urgency drifted into Berengar's voice. "As Lady Genevera can tell you, I tend to be more direct than other nobles, and I know you must be wondering why I asked for her to come here with all haste. I realize you are road weary and wish to rest, especially after having to deal with Haladina on the road, but I feel letting you know the reason I summoned you is quite important."

  He looked at her quite solemnly. "You know, of course, that Neal Elfward played a key role in the history of Aurdon."

  Gena nodded. "I do."

  "Good." Berengar's eyes narrowed. "I've asked you here because I need your knowledge of him—and good Durriken's skills will likewise be valuable, I think. You see, I need to unmake what Neal created. If I do not, a city that has prospered over five centuries will cease to exist inside five years."

  Chapter 4:

  Deceiving The Lords Of Aurium

  Late Summer

  Reign of the Red Tiger Year 1

  Five Centuries Ago

  My Thirty-fifth Year

  ***

  THE FINAL TWO hours of our journey to Aurium took the form of a nightride. We rode through dark woodlands and the northern foothills of the Central Mountains. Though we had seen no signs of Haladin mayhem since the ambush, I let Aarundel ride point and had Shijef ranging through the woods ahead of him. Aarundel's keen night vision made him proof against th
e sort of trick that had gotten me, and Shijef s orders allowed him enough leeway to cause the sort of trouble that would raise an alarm for us.

  The woods abruptly ended in a stump meadow that marked the source of the wood used to build most of Aurium. While the merchants who controlled the town dared name it "City of Gold" in the Elven tongue, truth was that the town had been built of tree-flesh and only recently had acquired a building of stone. It was supposed to have a palisade, which could help in defending it against the Haladina, but I knew of no local militia or native troops that called Aurium home.

  We rode past some woodcutter camps, and that sparked some optimistic comments from my fellows. We had all feared that a Haladin force had somehow eluded our detection and laid siege to Aurium. Given the nature of the Man-town, a torch or two would have had it burning hotter than the firewell in Jammaq. Chances were, however, that the Haladina wouldn't burn it because of its control over river traffic.

  Up ahead, on the crest of the last hill leading to the Aurium valley, Aarundel stopped his horse and whistled. I rode forward and drew abreast of his position. From our vantage point I could see little because the city lay a good half mile ahead or us in the darkness, but that did not bother my eagle-eyed companion. Where I saw dots of light in a pool of brooding darkness, he saw much more.

  "The gates are open, Neal. There are no custodians on the walls."

  I looked hard out into the darkness but saw nothing more nor less than I expected. The night's breeze came up from the river and into my face, but I smelled nothing to indicate the lights I saw were the embers of a fire that had consumed the town. "Does all else look normal?" I gave him a quick smile. "Excepting the fact it's a Man-town."

  "Absent that consideration, I see a nimiety of normality." Aarundel's face remained impassive, but he let some amusement bleed into his words. Though we were good friends—brothers born of different races—Aarundel held himself tightly and seldom let down the fierce Elven facade that reminded others of the excesses ascribed to Elven Legions by the Eldsaga. When we were alone he would open up, but being soul-kin meant I understood the part he was playing and why he played it.

  Blackstar shuddered and shied toward Aarundel's horse, which meant only one thing. I looked down to my left and a half-dozen paces forward. Crouched there sniffing the wind, Shijef turned his nose toward Aurium. "Lifeblack pools." He raised his head and let out a howl that echoed through the valley. "Lifeblack floods."

  More than the howl, his words sent a shiver down my spine. Over the dozen years through which I have suffered my Dreel slave, I learned one fact that was true. Like an old man whose bunions can foretell a gathering storm, Shijef just out and out knows when violence is building in an area. Given his choice, he would seek it out the way a lonely man hunts for a smile and a laugh.

  He undoubtedly knew the ambush in the woods was coming, but he did not warn me because he knew the chances of my getting killed were—in his eyes—minimal. While my death would end his servitude to me, he was a creature of curious honor. As much as he hated me for enslaving him, he accepted that his servitude was the prize I won in our contest. As a result, he pledged himself to preserving my life. He left me to the Haladina on the trail because the man was not a threat, but killed the horseman because he could have killed me.

  It had taken me a long time to see Shijef as more than a bear and a tiger mixed together with a lot of anger and a limited vocabulary. Not only was he intelligent, but he understood emotions and concepts like honor and friendship. I never imagined we would be friends because, unlike Aarundel and me, our partnership was not one of willing participation. Still, I had some admiration for the Dreel and trusted his reading of murky and complex situations under the right circumstances.

  Circumstances such as these.

  I glanced at the Dreel. "Shijef, are there Haladina in the town?"

  "Not sandmen." The monster half hopped a bit down the hillside. "Denmen."

  "Civil strife during a war?" Aarundel's saddle groaned as the Elf shifted his weight and reseated his feet in the stirrups. "Is intervention warranted?"

  "It is, I'm thinking." I squeezed my knees together and urged Blackstar forward. Shijef's predictions of death coming to a place could be deflected or contradicted with proper action. If we could stop whatever was going on in Aurium, it would frustrate the Dreel, and that would be punishment enough for what he did to the Haladin warrior. "Being as how the Red Tiger is not wanting a whole Reithrese navy descending on Polston, saving this inflated barter-post is likely within our duties."

  The fifteen of us rode on into the valley and up to the gates. I put Senan in command and set him to closing the gates and seeing how secure the town was. The wooden palisade looked in fine repair, but the open gates bothered me. While I felt fair certain no Haladina had gotten this far north, I had no desire to have them inside Aurium when I learned I was wrong.

  Aarundel, the Dreel, and I headed deeper into the town. It took neither the Elf's vision nor the Dreel's deathsight to direct us toward the center of the trouble in Aurium. Most of the town lay quiet and shut up tight against possible violence. Not a shutter opened as we rode through the muddy streets—the fear in the air clung like swampscent and smelled not nearly as sweet.

  When we reached the stone building on the top of the hillock at the town's heart, I immediately knew what had to be going on. Two groups of Men stood on either side of the building's wooden doors. They had no weapons in hand, and were valiantly doing their best to ignore each other. Our arrival made that easy, though the eldest of each group stepped forward to give us orders—bringing the two groups of five into conflict again.

  Without a word between us, Aarundel and I reined up just short of the men and dismounted in unison. Mirrors of each other, we flipped our reins to each of the groups' self-appointed legates. "Obliged, gentlemen. Now you'll be opening the doors for us."

  "That is not possible," one Man blurted out quickly. His deep flush and hot words told me he was not in a good mood. He hastily signaled to one of the other Men in his group to take Blackstar's reins. "The doors are closed until the council makes a decision."

  The sounds coming from beyond the doors sounded to me like those from a bloodpit duel, but I'd seen politics go malignant and become war before. "Good, then we are yet in time. They'll not be wanting to make a decision before they have had our counsel."

  The Man in front of me moved to block my path. I could see from the emblem crudely embroidered on the breast of his tunic that he was bound to the Fisher Clan. A bird in flight, it had a fish in its beak and a purse clutched in its talons. I knew the Fishers to be one of the two clans that lived in and around Aurium.

  Opposite him, stood his equal in the employ of the Riveraven Clan. Like the Fishers, they took their name from that of a bird that frequented the tri-river valley. Common wisdom had it that river-ravens were rats with wings and that Fishers regularly placed their eggs in river-raven nests to be tended. I'd also heard people wonder if the two clans wouldn't have gotten along well had their forebears been wiser in their totem-choices, because the two families seemed to everyone outside them to complement each other.

  "Goodman, I do not doubt you've been given a duty to perform here tonight." I stepped in close to him, mounting the first of three steps to the level of the doorway. My right hand reached out quicker than he could see or block, and slipped my dagger, Wasp, from the sheath over my right hip. "Now, you're all guards, and that's a right proud job to be having."

  Flicking the blade forward, I stuck it quivering in the right-side door to the squat and ugly legislatorium. I'd not expected the blade to stick really—Wasp has all the balance of a one-legged man hopping on wet ice—but the door's soft wood would have held the blade even if it had backed into place. Behind me the Dreel yipped appreciatively, and at my side Aarundel just narrowed his black eyes. "What you don't want to be are dead guards, I'm thinking."

  The combined effect of action and words worked to open the
doors faster than a latchkey. The two gangs of rowdies opened the building for us, bowing low and mumbling very polite greetings in what I believed they thought was Elven. Aarundel remained as silent and implacable as death, while the Dreel sniffed at one Man, then another, like a customer sorting fresh fish from spoiled. I recovered Wasp and [resheathed] it, then stepped through the threshold as if I were bound to see the Reithrese emperor in Jarudin.

  The Hall of Laws had not risen very tall because of the cost of bringing stone in from the quarries upriver. To make the structure big, the people of Aurium had dug down into the hillock. Whereas outside, the building only rose a score feet above the ground, within the hall itself a good forty feet stood between floor and ceiling.

  The excavated area had been paved with smooth riverstone. It seemed to me that what had been born of economy had turned out to be quite decorative. Three terraces surrounded the central floor. They had been finished in fancy woods of gold and rich mahogany, adding some warmth to the cold white of the hillock's stone carapace. Benches and tables provided seating for those who would enact laws. For such a small town, the Hall of Laws was a thing of which the people could be proud.

  My earlier impressions of the sounds proved more correct than I would have imagined. The three of us arrived in the midst of what had to be a heated debate. Two young men circled each other in the center of the stone floor. Each had his left arm bared, as their tunic sleeves had been stripped off and knotted together to form a short tether. Each man held tight to the tether with his left hand. The loose cuffs stood up from the knot like rabbit ears and flopped this side and that as the two men pulled back and forth on the tether.

  Each man held a dagger in his right hand. The blades more resembled filleting knives than they did Wasp, but each was long, sharp, and pointy enough to reach the heart through the ribs. Each also glistened with blood which, I gathered from the stains on each combatant's tattered tunic, came from a series of shallow wounds. Both the wounds and the way the two men moved listlessly told me any enthusiasm they'd had for the fight had been swallowed by exhaustion and excreted as mortal fear.