Once A Hero

by Michael A. Stackpole

  The leader nodded toward Larissa and allowed her to approach him as he turned and challenged me again. "What Man dares enter Cygestolia?"

  I smiled, perhaps too broadly—like a newbeard-boy trying to impress his first love—and let a growl enter my voice. "I am Neal Roclawzi, Leader of the Steel Pack, Killer of Tashayul, Bearer of Divisator and named Custos Sylvanii by Aarundel Imperator. I have come as his guest for his marriage."

  "Beneath the grime you are hard to recognize." The leader bowed his head. "You may pass, Neal Roclawzi."

  Larissa, having reached the leader's side, frowned impatiently. "So formal? That's hardly like you." She reached up and tugged down his hood. Fine black hair framed a face I thought I recognized. "He is a guest, treat him as such."

  I squinted at the Elven leader. "Imperator Finndali?"

  He nodded and Larissa laughed. "Yes, Neal, this Sylvan warrior suddenly struck dumb is Finndali. Imperator and"—her eyes flashed dangerously at me—"he who is my husband."

  Chapter 11:

  Intrigues In The City

  Early Spring

  A.R. 499

  The Present

  ***

  THOUGH THEY ARRIVED back in Aurdon near midnight, the Fisher estate appeared as active and alive as if it were midday. This struck Genevera as odd until Berengar pointed out that farmers had begun to bring in shipments of winter wheat that required warehousing, resale, and shipment to points downriver. "Commerce seldom allows one time to rest."

  Gena nodded. "An idle merchant is a starving merchant."

  "Bravo!" Berengar helped her down from Spirit. "You are recovered from the ordeal?"

  "I am, my lord, thank you." She half curtsied to him. "Shall we take the gunne to Durriken?"

  Berengar frowned for a moment. "I am certain Durriken would prefer, at this hour, after this absence, to greet you in private. I must report to my father and uncles what we have seen and done. If you wish, we can delay his examination of the weapon until morning."

  "Can we afford the delay?"

  "You are correct, of course. It might be unwise to take that liberty. An hour, then?" Berengar smiled encouragingly as they mounted the steps to the mansion entrance. "That would allow me to escape my kin after a short time, which I would prefer to do. Awakening them will not put them in a good humor, and I doubt the news will improve their disposition."

  "An hour, then." Gena turned and worked her way through the building's maze of corridors to the door of her chamber. She knocked lightly, first twice, then once, then three times, in a signal pattern that Durriken had taught her. She waited a heartbeat or two after the end of the knocking, then opened the door.

  Durriken sat in the bed, one candle burning, with a flashdrake propped on a sheet-shrouded knee and pointed at the door. As she entered, he tipped the weapon toward the ceiling. "It is good that you knocked, for I had fallen asleep waiting for you."

  "I know better than to surprise you in your sleep."

  "Especially here in Aurdon, for there are many, many surprises about." He set the flashdrake down on the bedside table and folded the sheet back on her half of the bed. "Was your ride of interest?"

  "I believe you would consider it 'remarkable.' " Gena swung the door shut, then crossed to one of the chairs and leaned heavily on it. "Count Berengar will be here within the hour to show you a longgunne taken from a Haladin raider."

  "Are you hurt?" Rik stood and swirled the sheet around himself, looping it around his body and up over his right shoulder. "One raider implies many more."

  "A dozen, and, no, I am not hurt, though I am still a bit tired." She came around and sat down. She said nothing as Rik poured her a cup of wine, then pulled a chair up and sat facing her with their knees touching. Gena obligingly drank, then set the cup down on the table. "I cast spells in haste and suffered for it."

  "From the beginning, Gena."

  She sat back and drank again, then told Rik all about the journey and the ambush. She sensed an irritation in Rik whenever she mentioned Berengar, but she knew him better than to imagine it to be jealousy. Rik managed to remain near neutral as she described the elaborate lengths to which the Count had gone to keep the goal of their expedition secret. His attitude definitely soured as she described the ambush.

  "Berengar should have been more watchful."

  Gena shrugged. "This is true, but we were to link up with Waldo and his people at the camp. When we arrived, it appeared that Haladina had departed quickly when they discovered Waldo's men in the area."

  "Only to double back and ambush you."

  "Which is not Berengar's fault." Gena took Rik's hands in her own. "He was as much at risk as the rest of us—more, since they devoted nearly half their force to killing him."

  "That does put a different complexion on things." Rik sat back, slipping his hands from her grasp. His left arm went around his chest and his right hand cupped his chin. "There is more going on here in Aurdon than Berengar has told us, I think. I had thought him the person orchestrating things, but this indicates he is but a pawn and expendable."

  "What do you mean?"

  Rik leaned forward again and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I went about in Aurdon today, into the lower rings. I wandered and listened a great deal. It seems, from what I heard bandied about among those who are not Fishers or Riverens, the battling between the two clans is cyclical. It usually begins as some sort of trade war, with each side undercutting the other until one begins to bleed gold. At that point the tactics escalate into sabotage. That means anything from arson to thievery. Everyone knows who is doing it and why it is being done, and the families are scrupulous in seeing to it that no one gets hurt physically."

  Gena made no attempt to conceal her surprise. "I thought Men set great store in the saying, 'Cut off the head and the snake dies.' "

  "Oh, we do, but both families greatly fear Neal's intervention. Berengar didn't tell us the half of the difficulties assassins have had over the years. Each one of the cycles eventually rises to the point where someone tries to kill someone else. The would-be murderer always runs afoul of his own plans, and Neal is always implicated. I think, now, that they look for Neal a bit too hard, hence they see his ghost in everything. If a bird flew over and a feather fell from a wing and caused the murderer to die of a sneezing fit, someone would note that some story had Neal possessing or shooting or admiring a bird like that."

  "They find obscure facts to justify their fears."

  "So it seems. These cycles tend to run one per generation and a half. In that time, enough people forget the consequences of the last one, and enough new people have come of age to imagine they can be just that one step smarter than any of their ancestors."

  Gena frowned. "Do you think that is what Berengar is doing?"

  "I don't know. I thought it possible, but two factors play against it. The first is the fact that he could have died in the ambush. He is no fool, and if he were as ambitious as those before him, he would never have put himself in the sort of danger he faced today. Moreover, he never would have allowed you, his key to success, to be risked."

  Rik narrowed his eyes. "That line of thinking, of course, is new. What had made me think Berengar is being truthful is that the Riverens really are trading with the Haladina. There is a small Haladin section of town, and trade there is brisk. The Riverens hit upon a strategy that works perfectly for both the Haladina and themselves. The Riverens brought a number of Haladin artisans into the city and set them to the task of creating Haladin fabrics and jewelry with new fibers and materials. Whereas the Haladina had never seen silk before, their people are working with it now. As a result you can purchase a silk cloak woven and colored in traditional Haladin ways."

  Gena smiled. "They have created a unique item that the Haladina themselves cannot produce on their own."

  "And which Centisian artisans cannot easily match. The Riverens then gave a great deal of these products to their trading partners up and down the river. Because t
he items were rare and bestowed as gifts, they had an added value. They became very fashionable and highly sought after. The Riverens started selling these new wares and have a very hungry audience waiting for them.

  "The net result is that the Riverens are slowly outstripping the Fishers. While the families were equal and united, Neal's vow helped maintain the balance. The alliance with the Haladina has given the Riverens an advantage. If the Riverens were to tell their trading partners that they will get no more Haladin wares unless they stop trading with the Fishers, the Fishers would be badly hurt."

  "Why haven't the Riverens done this already?"

  Rik spread both of his hands wide and shrugged. "I don't know. I believe Neal may be part of it—a couple of the Riveren elders are real metaphysicians, and they are arguing that cutting the Fishers off from trade would kill them, unleashing Neal's wrath upon the family. I suspect the Riverens will slowly start to cut off trade in small towns first and see what happens."

  Gena finished the last of her wine, savoring the dryness. "If the Riverens are being that cautious with trade tactics, would they be pushing the Haladina to raid throughout Centisia?"

  "That question assumes that the Riverens control the Haladina. The Haladina may be one people, but they spend more time fighting each other than they do fighting outsiders. The fact that Haladina are living in Aurdon may just have reminded others that the world does not end at the edge of their desert. While it is persuasive to suggest that the Haladina are raiding to help their kinsmen in the city, I have no evidence of that. Tomorrow, on the other hand, may change that whole situation."

  "Tomorrow?"

  "I'm going to look around in the Haladin district."

  Dread coiled in her stomach. "Is that wise?"

  "I am not worried." He jerked a thumb back over his shoulder at the bedside table. "The Haladin community is quite peaceful, and I have my flashdrakes to keep me out of trouble." He brought his hand down and tapped the ring Berengar had given him against the table. "And I even have the rank needed to keep them."

  "I hope both keep you safe."

  "I'd trust more in the flashdrakes than this rank." Rik smiled carefully. "Lord Orvir died in a riding accident four years ago. It happened about the time the Riverens had started trading with the Haladina. The Fishers claim he broke his neck when his horse didn't make it over a stone fence. They say he was being pursued by Haladin raiders. Others say he was riding away from Neal's ghost, an idea which carries with it a whole host of complications."

  Gena reached out and caressed his cheek with her right hand. "You will be careful?"

  Rik kissed her palm. "More so than you can even imagine."

  A knock at the door interrupted what might otherwise have ended up in bed. As Gena rose to answer the door, Rik left through the passage into the adjoining suite. Swinging the door wide open, she invited Berengar in and waved him to a chair. "Wine?"

  "No, thank you." The count looked around the room as he sat down, then rested the longgunne on the table. "Durriken is here, yes?"

  Before she could reply, Rik returned from the other room wearing a pair of breeches and carrying a small cylindrical canvas parcel. "Good evening, my Lord." Rik set the parcel on the table and untied the string binding it shut. As he unrolled it, the weak candlelight reflected brightly from the silvery tools he revealed.

  Gena lit and brought two candles to the table as Rik picked the gunne up and examined it. "There is a charge in the barrel, Rik. I quenched the fire with a spell."

  "Ah, so it did work!" Setting the weapon down, Rik pulled a small flat-bladed screwdriver from one of the canvas pockets in his tool kit. Using it like a pry bar, he worked it under the strip of metal running over the barrel and around the stock. Warping the metal slightly, he managed to ease the band forward to where the stock narrowed; then it came off easily.

  Rik asked Berengar to anchor the stock. Carefully jiggling the barrel, Rik loosened it and slid it from the groove cut into the stock. Keeping it tipped up so none of the powder would spill out, he freed it from the stock and indicated with a nod that the count could return the stock to the table. Rik lowered the barrel to the floor, muzzle first, and leaned it against the table.

  He exchanged his screwdriver for a wooden probe that had been whittled flat at one end. He dug it into the breech end of the barrel and smiled. "Most of the charge is here. You worked very quickly, Gena."

  "She saved my life."

  "Possibly."

  "I saw what happened. There is no question of it."

  Rik nodded as he dug some of the unburned powder out of the barrel and placed it in the palm of his left hand. "Coarse ground and poorly mixed, with too much charcoal and not enough nitre." He flicked his hand toward one of the candles, and the mixture flashed as it flew through the flame. A white thread of smoke rolled up toward the ceiling while a few sparks landed on the other side of the candle. "At the range Gena described, the bullet would have hit you, but not terribly hard."

  "You mean it might have gone halfway through, not all the way?"

  "Exactly."

  "Forgive me if I do not find that much comfort."

  Rik laughed. "Forgive me for being so callous. I have undertaken a study of what effects flashdrakes have on their targets." He ran his thumbnail around inside the rim of the breech. "Just as well he had poor powder, the metal has started to fracture. One full charge or two and this gunne would have exploded."

  Berengar smiled and looked up at Gena. "Is that not what I told you?"

  "It is indeed, my lord."

  "Which is precisely why we restrict these things here in Aurdon." The count tapped a finger against the gunne's silver butt-cap. "I gather you are not impressed with this weapon?"

  "I believe you have archers who are more of a threat than anyone armed with one of these. It is poorly made and poorly supplied with powder. It is likely more a status symbol among the Haladina than anything else. Its being found in the possession of a Haladin raider would not alarm me, especially"—Rik nodded toward Gena—"with so able a mage as an ally."

  The count smiled in agreement. "I already owe her my life. If things go as planned, my family and Aurdon will be in her debt as well."

  Chapter 12:

  A City That Intrigues

  Late Summer

  Reign of the Red Tiger Year 1

  Five Centuries Ago

  My Thirty-fifth Year

  ***

  LARISSA'S STATEMENT CAUGHT me by surprise and, in retrospect, should have sunk into my heart like a dagger. I am not entirely certain why it did not. I would have thought the giddy feeling in my chest would vanish, sucked down into a sinkhole of pain, but that did not happen. The good feeling lingered, blunted a bit, but still there, nourished by Larissa's smile and utter lack of deceptiveness.

  A philosopher or poet would likely go on about his emotional turmoil, or agonize over the lack of same, were he in my position. I had already determined that we would never consummate our love. That physical union was unimportant to me and avoiding it the only way I could be certain that I would live and she would not be exiled by her own people. In light of such considerations, the fact that she was married made no difference at all. In fact, her marriage might even allow her greater freedom, since the idea that she would cuckold an Imperator with a Man had to be an outside possibility in the Sylvan mind.

  I must also admit that the idea that Finndali's wife loved me was intriguing. Finndali and I lost no love upon each other, so any discomfort he felt when his wife was in my company would not bother me at all. If it ever turned out that I did not survive long enough to give Finndali an accounting of my scars, the scar that Larissa's love for me might leave on his heart would have to suffice as my revenge.

  That sounds all cold and calculated. In fact all these thoughts flashed through my brain like ghosts through a haunted castle. Given my exhaustion and the fierce power of love for Larissa, the world had taken on an unreality that made me wonder if everything was a dr
eam or a nightmare.

  Larissa gave me no time for wondering. "Come along, Custos Sylvanii, you are awaited at Woodspire." She waved her left hand idly at the line of soldiers, and they parted like light drapes before a breeze. I smiled at Finndali, took away a scowl in the exchange, and followed Larissa.

  A few steps beyond the line I caught up with her again. "I am surprised Finndali Imperator remembers me. We have met only a time or three, and the last meeting must have been a decade ago."

  "The impression you created on those occasions has kept you fresh in his mind. In the same way, my brother's association with you—an obligation from which he was released after Tashayul's death—has caused a great deal of curiosity about you." She smiled easily as we moved into the towering groves that were Cygestolia. "There are those who believe you a powerful magus who has ensorcelled my brother into slavery."

  "And what do you believe?"

  "I believe my brother is shrewd in his judgments of Men and fortunate in his choice of friends."

  Our conversation lapsed as we strolled into the city itself. Within its confines I learned the true immensity of the settlement. Trees bigger around than Man-castles predominated, and the city existed on a number of levels. Those whose occupations demanded easy access to the ground—farmers, herders, and soldiers, for example—were ensconced no more than thirty yards up. So the divisions progressed every thirty yards or so, with ascetics, philosophers, artists, and the mad dwelling so high up that their homes swayed in the breeze and brushed the moons at night.

  When we reached Woodspire, it occurred to me that each of the massive trees was akin to a Man-lord's castle and the surrounding village, but instead of being spread out, it spread up and beyond. The other trees in that sector of the city were further holdings of the family who ruled the area, just as other villages within a fief were owned by the lord in charge of the county or barony.

  We entered Woodspire at an opening between two roots. The narrow entrance belied the enormity of the hollow within the tree. Inside, in a wooden cavern that towered a good twenty feet above the ground, horses had been stabled and even some pigs had been penned. Elves moved to and fro from the tree's core. Around the edges of the cavern, where the floor had been dug down about ten feet below ground level outside, I saw tunnels into which grooms and swineherds were carting manure, presumably to help sustain Woodspire.