Once A Hero

by Michael A. Stackpole

  To the south they saw four doors, and above the second Berengar pointed toward a name, "Loreena, that is the woman from whom my line descends."

  The door beneath her name stood open. Gena also noticed that of the four doors on that side of the room, only one other had the name actually engraved in the wall. The other two names had only been painted on the wall. Gena suspected their impermanence had something to do with the strength of the claim to the royal house, and could easily mark the difference between descendants being able to wear the tiger or nor.

  " 'Find yourself,' the guard told us." Gena waved Berengar on toward the door.

  Berengar preceded her, then led her around a sharp corner and up some stairs to a second floor. The both of them had to stoop, since the ceiling rose to a height of only five and a half feet. Along the walls she saw more names carved above even lower doorways, and Berengar led her on through one. Up more stairs, through another two rooms, up one more flight, and Gena began to fathom how the twists and turns had been laid out. Primary heirs remained on a level with their forebears, lesser kin and bastards went up a level. In a couple of places she saw doorways that had been bricked up, with names scraped from the rock.

  A tight spiral staircase took them up into the smallest of the chambers in which they had yet found themselves. A lantern set on the floor illuminated Berengar's name and, beside it, that of his dead brother. Squatting back away from the lantern, a man in a cloak like puddled shadow clapped bony, long-fingered hands. "Quicker than most." He laughed, slightly sarcastically. "But not as fast as the most hungry."

  The man moved like a spider as he crouch-walked over to where Berengar and Gena hunched with their spines pressed to the ceiling. "You are Berengar Fisher and you are Genevera of Woodspire, of Aarundel by Marta and through Niali."

  Gena made no attempt to hide her surprise. "You are well informed. Majesty." She dropped to one knee and bowed to the gangling man.

  Berengar aped her. "This is an honor, Highness."

  "I am certain I believe it is as well, Berengar." Hardelwick dismissed Berengar without a second glance. He settled back on his haunches and, resting his knobby elbows on his knees, clasped his hands together. "I am so glad you are here. There are many things I must ask you and discuss with you. In the fire we lost records, which is part of the reason we have this monument to our posterity as an ongoing project. You should be able to bridge some chasms in our knowledge." The long-faced man smiled quickly, his dark eyes flashing with reflected lantern light. "With your help, I believe I can salvage much of the empires early history, and especially details about Neal Roclawzi."

  "I would be happy to be of any service to you. Highness."

  Berengar cleared his throat. "Imperial Majesty, we have come to you on a mission that is most urgent and of the utmost importance to Centisia and the empire itself."

  "Yes, yes, I am certain of that, Berengar. Interesting that you come to me with a mission as opposed to come begging one. Quite a nuisance, that is, thinking up quests for those who wish to etch in stone what we have only in paint here." Hardelwick combed the few remaining strands of his hair across his balding pate. "With Elves it is so hard to tell, but I would not put you a day over two hundred years. Is that right?"

  Gena nodded, impressed with the man's guess. "I am a little older than that, but I have spent a century studying magicks, which has left me relatively isolated concerning news of the world. I do know my history, though, and I have a particular interest in Neal Roclawzi."

  "Inspired by your grandfather?"

  "Grandaunt, really. My grandfather often spoke of his friend, but there were some memories he chose not to share."

  "This grandaunt, she would have been Larissa, Aarundel's sister?"

  Gena nodded. "She was."

  The emperor reached out and took Gena's hand. "You will have to see one of the things that survived the fire. It is a small painting made from the time when Beltran, the Red Tiger, feted Neal, here in Jarudin, and your grandfather and grandmother and grandaunt were here. I am certain the artwork does not do her justice—none of them in fact: the emperor looks as if he has a potato for a nose when he should look like Berengar here—but I know you will appreciate it."

  "I would like that very much, sire."

  "My Liege, if you please." Berengar frowned and eased himself down onto his other knee as well. "Our mission is very urgent. Once we complete it, we can discuss history or anything else you wish."

  The emperor casually brushed Berengar's statement aside. "You of Aufrey's brood have always been impatient, and it never does you any good. Impatience killed Atholwin's sons and has him dabbling in the ways of Reithra."

  Berengar's jaw dropped. "You know of my uncle's foul practices?"

  "Know? Certainly. He tried to hide it, but not that hard, because he wanted to brag about having information I did not. He did have some useful things, of course, but nothing I could not have found out without enslaving myself to a ferghun."

  "You knew of that and did nothing?"

  "Why should I do anything? Your uncle still had historical information to give me. Still does."

  Gena shook her head. "Not anymore."

  The emperor's eyebrow came up. "Dead?"

  She nodded. "Fire. It started when he tried to murder me.

  "Oh, dear, oh, dear." The emperor shivered. "Nothing salvaged, was there?"

  "No, dammit, we almost died." Berengar's eyes hardened. "How could you have let a threat to the safety of the empire like my uncle exist? Reithra worship has been proscribed since the birth of the empire! How could you ignore your duty to the empire like that?"

  The emperor sighed heavily. "Impatience, impatience. When Beltran won the empire, and while his heirs sustained it against threats internal and external, they required direct control of everything. Since that time a bureaucracy has built up and sustains itself. All that I am really required to do is to sign taxation decrees and deny leave to warring nobles to attack their neighbors. This I do, and do willingly. My passion, however, is recovering the history we have lost, for it is my duty to maintain our proud traditions as completely and accurately as possible."

  Berengar rubbed his hands over his face. "But you should know how corrupt and broken down things have gotten out there. We have Haladina raiding in Centisia."

  "And you have the Aurdon Rangers to fight them."

  "But we, the Fishers, pay for them when the Rangers are maintaining imperial security."

  The emperor shrugged. "Their budget is but a tenth of the money your elders and the Riverens withhold from my tax collectors. Oh, don't look so surprised, Berengar. You knew they were underreporting trade and production, and if you didn't, you're more stupid than even I would have imagined."

  He released Gena's hand and scuttled around to face Berengar more fully. "I know wearing the tiger above your crest has filled you with all sorts of ideas about the empire and imperial traditions, but it is the fabric of fantasy. If I were to force your Elders to correctly report what they have earned and send me my due, they would chafe beneath my rule. As it is, I have set tax rates at double and triple what I need to sustain my army and other imperial functions, because I know half to two-thirds of the money collected in my name will never reach me. In turn, because local nobles do not want imperial scrutiny, they handle all but the most major of problems. I do not mean to disillusion you, but the first emperor was, really and truly, the last heroic emperor. Since his time we have been little more than accountants because the Empire has not required more from us than that."

  Berengar sat silently for a moment and Gena thought him completely depressed. She recalled the enthusiasm with which Berengar had outlined how he would have put the empire together had he been Beltran, and she knew that Hardelwick's apathy toward the empire's maintenance had to be a shock.

  The count shivered, then looked up at the emperor. "I understand what you have said, at least on the surface, and I am certain I will come to understand more as I thi
nk on it. Which I shall do. However, that has no bearing upon our mission. Consider my request as that of a minor noble who does not wish to impose on His Imperial Majesty, but has no other choice."

  Hardelwick nodded wearily. "What is it you ask of me?"

  "I, we, have come here to request that you make available to us the sword and dagger Neal Roclawzi used five centuries ago." Berengar opened his hands. "Certainly you know where they are, and we need them most seriously."

  "A mission to find Cleaveheart and Wasp?" The emperor sounded almost surprised and definitely amused. "Perhaps it is fated that you come here with that request, for I have recently learned of the sword's resting place. Due to Atholwin, actually."

  "Yes? Yes? Can we have it?"

  Hardelwick chuckled lightly as he shuffled toward the stairway. "You're welcome at having a go at getting it, but I'm not certain there is a Man or Elf alive who can actually lay hand to it."

  "I can."

  "So we will see, Berengar." The emperor patted Gena's leg. "Come, my dear, follow me. You will enjoy this."

  "Is there a specific reason for that. Highness?"

  "Oh, I believe so." The man nodded as he perched on the edge of the circular opening and extended his legs down into it. "After all, magickal wards that have lasted for five centuries are not common, and these were well woven. You can take pride in Larissa's handiwork, and we shall both be there to applaud if Count Berengar can defeat the spells she laid down."

  Chapter 26:

  Carving A Niche In History

  Autumn

  Reign of the Red Tiger Year 3

  Imperium Year 1

  Five Centuries Ago

  My Thirty-seventh Year

  ***

  THE DREEL'S MAGICK somehow superseded the nature of the circus translatio network and brought us directly to the grove outside Cygestolia. Upon arrival I did not feel nearly as weary as I had in my outbound trip, but I was not, by any measure, well rested and full of energy. We all managed to dismount and lead our horses from the grove, but before we left it, Aarundel used the blanket tied to his saddle to cover his wife's near nakedness.

  As she huddled beneath it, my friend turned to face me. "We shall not speak of what Takrakor did to her, or the state in which you saw her. There are those among my people who would view that as an offense equal to your having touched her, and they would erase your gallantry in a foolish act meant to salvage the honor of the person you almost died to save."

  I nodded. "I saw nothing, and I defeated you through a subterfuge."

  "You need not go that far, my friend." Aarundef's eyes grew distant. "When I first met you, back when you fought Tashayul, I thought you brash and arrogant in the things you said. You bragged about becoming a hero, and like a hero, you did not back down when faced with Reithrese and Elven scorn. I knew then that I had no desire to fight you, ever, for you would defeat me. And I also knew you would become the hero you prophesied yourself to be."

  "Not without you at my side."

  Shijef lifted Marta into his arms, and I took charge of her horse in addition to Blackstar. Elven warriors slipped from the surrounding woods as we approached the city, but their challenges to us died as they realized who we were. With Aarundel and Marta both having bloody streaks on their faces, and me with a week's worth of grime and a splattering of Reithrese blood on me, we looked a suitable sight to have come back from the Reithrese city of the dead.

  Word spread quickly that we had returned to Cygestolia. I fully expected the surprise I saw on many faces, but I read fear on so many more of them. It did not appear to be focused upon me—the fear, though the surprise came fully in my direction—leaving me to wonder why the Elves would find terror in the return of two people presumed dead by the Consilliarii.

  Lest I leave the impression that our homecoming was met with sour looks and silence, I must note that it was not at all. Everyone cheered once they were over their initial shock. Aarundel quickly found himself unable to translate all the questions and comments directed at us. Laughter, catcalls, and applause followed us as we made our way from the grove to Woodspire. There loyal family retainers relieved us of our horses, and we were taken up to our chambers.

  Once there I washed quickly, then collapsed in my bed. I had hoped to see Larissa before dropping off to sleep, but I thought it best that I had not. Given the growing state of euphoria in which I found myself—spawned because snatching my friends from Takrakor's fair was quite a feat—I might well have swept her up in my arms and have given her a proper welcome.

  As I found in my dreams, she'd feared throwing herself at me, so she had stayed away as well. And forced herself to lie down to sleep so that we could be together in the heart of a city that wished to keep us apart.

  I saw little of Thralan and Lomthelgar because the Consilliarii met in almost constant session from the time of our return. I could only guess at the type of discussions that kept them going so long, but after my last encounter with them, I was not of a mind to go there and see if my conclusions were correct. More important, I knew that their ideas and their wishes would really not make a difference in what I saw as the course for the rest of my life.

  I spent a great deal of time away from most of the Elves during the first week after our return. Aarundel had been obsessed with the fact that Takrakor had taken both his and Marta's wedding tokens, and set about making new ones. I accompanied him to the smithy and worked on a project of my own under his able tutelage. Neither of us spoke much, but that didn't bother me. He was thinking of his wife and their ordeal, and I was thinking of my future and the likely events to unfold in it.

  I knew the Reithrese and the Elves might be able to come to an accommodation concerning the kidnapping, but I also knew that I would never be able to escape retribution for my part in the desecration of Jammaq. The Reithrese could easily brand Takrakor a renegade and deliver his head on a stake to satisfy Elven sensibilities. My problem lay in the fact that enough Elves viewed me with the same disdain as the Reithrese. While I might be considered inviolate while in Cygestolia, I would be fair game outside the Elven Holdings.

  I could not spend the rest of my life in Cygestolia. I was not one to cower in safety when faced with a threat. Moreover, the Reithrese merely had to press the Red Tiger, and I would come out to oppose them. They knew that, I knew that, and I felt certain most of the Elves knew that. Without much trouble at all the Reithrese would be able to dislodge me and destroy me with impunity.

  Oddly enough, I did not find the idea of once again fighting the Reithrese all that disquieting. Even if the Elves didn't see it, I knew the Reithrese would never be at peace. Men had taken their empire away from them. We had defeated an Elder race. We laughed at their retreating troops, and they had to rely on our good graces to escape. We shamed them in a way that they could never allow to stand. Just as a man would never abide a dog that tricked him and stole food from his table, so the Reithrese would have to punish their rebellious inferiors.

  I had no doubt that the next ten or twenty years would spell the end to Humanity or to the Reithrese. One way or the other we would be wiped out, or they would all die off. We could not live together. Perhaps the long Elven perspective could have allowed us to see a way to peaceful coexistence, but Men did not have it, and the Reithrese did not use it. The rebellion and overthrow of the empire had been an overture to genocide.

  Just as I had felt a duty to go free Aarundel, so did I feel a duty to be with my fellow Men to oppose the Reithrese. I harbored no illusions about a long life sinking into glorious old age. I had chosen to tread the Hero's Path, and my journey was not yet at an end. Had I the freedom to marry the woman I loved, perhaps I would have wished my journey had ended, but facing the consequences of my choice would still not have been removed from me.

  Of course, there always was the possibility that the Consilliarii had been locked in battles over whether or not they would grant me dispensation to marry Larissa, but I doubted that sincerely. If they we
re to do that, they would more tightly bind me to them, which would increase the chances that they could be brought into the Man-Reithrese conflict. More than likely, it occurred to me, they were devoting themselves to figuring out how to punish me for leaving three horses meant for the emperor in Jammaq. Surely that was a crime for which someone could claim my head.

  After a week my work at the forge was finished, and at the same time the Consilliarii summoned me to appear before them. I agreed to go to them, but instead of dressing in my finest clothes, I wore the leather armor that I had used in Jammaq. I belted Cleaveheart on and left Wasp's empty sheath tucked inside my right boot. Regardless of what they were going to say to me, I intended to let them know my thoughts and plans, and the reasons behind them.

  Calarianne, the sylvanesti overseeing the Consilliarii, did not hide her surprise when I came to the council armed and in armor. "Welcome, Neal Roclawzi Elfward. I trust you do not think you will be required to defend yourself here."

  "I do not, Doma Calarianne. I felt it fitting that I come dressed for war because I know I will be leaving soon to conduct a war." I bowed my head to her. "However, I suspect you did not summon me to discuss my sartorial preferences."

  "You are quite correct in your supposition, Elfward." She looked away from me toward one of the Consilliarii standing before her. I recognized him as the first Elf to oppose me when I said I was leaving on my rescue mission. "We have brought you here, Elfward, to reward your bravery."

  The Consilliari bowed first to Calarianne and then more formally to me. "You are aware, Neal Roclawzi Elfward, that the title Custos Sylvanii is one that we bestow upon other races and peoples in whom we trust and whom we admire. Aarundel of Woodspire, as was his right as an Imperator, bestowed that title upon you and, at the same time, petitioned this body to ratify his decision. His petition has been granted, making you the first Man ever to earn that title. Henceforth you will be known among us as Elfward, and any that would bear you malice because of your Humanity or your birth in the Roclaws are enjoined to set their animosity aside, or be forced to reside apart from us."