Hero Grown

by Andy Livingstone

  It wasn’t hard to agree, and the small party crept forward, seven pairs of eyes fixed on the sleeping sentry. Their footsteps were quiet, but the door was not so. Sophaya had relieved the guard of a set of keys and the second one she tried fitted the lock, but the creak as she eased it open could have wakened the surrounding neighbourhood had they not already been disturbed by the excitement elsewhere. There was only one person whose sleep they were concerned about, however, and he floundered to his feet with a cry of alarm.

  ‘Silence him,’ Cannick hissed.

  Gerens seized Brann’s arm barely in time as he stepped forward, naked dagger in hand. ‘Steady, Chief,’ he murmured. ‘Remember what we talked about before we left. Take a breath before acting.’ As the man stared in drowsy confusion at a monk intent on murder, Hakon knocked him senseless with his own club.

  Brann was still not convinced. Taking a breath before acting was the surest way for that breath to be your last. But with the man now unconscious, it no longer mattered.

  Silence was now less important than haste, and they ran through a low tunnel to the thick door on the outer side of the sally port. Hakon swiftly unbarred it and Sophaya found the two keys on the guard’s ring that fitted the great locks. Within moments, they were outside the city walls.

  ‘It would have been so much easier to leave in daylight, when the great gates lie open to all,’ Marlo pointed out.

  ‘It would be so much easier for those who seek young Brann to watch the gates in daylight. We seek to leave this place alive, and without incident.’

  Hakon grinned. ‘Well, without incident other than a building on fire, a rampaging bear, a mad spinster and a mistaken sighting of this valuable commodity, that is,’ he said, ruffling Brann’s hair.

  Grakk stepped away, staring into the scrublands. The moon was well filled and, away from the shadows of the tall buildings and narrow streets of the poor quarters, there was enough light for their eyes to adjust and let them see a little of the surroundings. ‘Those disturbances will not be directly attributable to us, and will therefore not tend to alert Brann’s enemies to our path or our intent. However, it will all be for naught should we not put distance between these walls and ourselves before the sun arises.’ He turned to Marlo. ‘You have been most helpful, young guide. If you would be so good as to complete the final part of your task, it would be most helpful.’

  Marlo stepped towards a shallow defile. ‘Most certainly, sir. It is not far, in actual fact.’

  They scrambled down the short slope and followed the line of the gulley as it carved a crooked path away from the city walls. Brann walked among them, his head constantly twitching in search of danger and his feet spinning him to watch the way they had come. He stopped once to step aside from the party, sniffing the air and cocking his head to listen before satisfaction allowed him to rejoin them. Forced to leave the gulley’s scant cover as it bent back, they emerged warily onto the open plain for a short spell, stepping through the brittle brush that littered the area for miles. Hakon snagged his robe on a branch and, in irritation, started to drag the white monk’s garb over his head.

  Brann darted forward and grabbed the hem, stopping it with the material bunched over the big boy’s head. ‘No,’ he said, and Hakon stood still, realising that it had not caught on a bush. He allowed Brann to pull the robe back down, but looked at the boy, clearly puzzled.

  Frowning, Brann looked up at Hakon, then around the immediate surroundings. The others looked on curiously as he took Hakon by the arm, feeling the solid hugeness of it but also the compliance as the boy followed him into a crouch. He pointed at the figures in their white robes against the darkness of the night sky, and then pulled the bigger boy to a slight rise, giving them more of a downward perspective on the rest of the group.

  A broad smile spread across Hakon’s face in realisation. ‘We see each other against the darkness, but anyone on the walls, looking down, is looking at the ground. Ground that is light-coloured, like,’ he pulled at his robe, ‘our ridiculous clothing.’

  The pair rejoined the group to find Grakk and Cannick standing before them, looking at them.

  ‘Now that your brain has caught up with why you shouldn’t lose your temper at a bush, maybe we can continue,’ Cannick growled. He looked at Brann. ‘And as for you, maybe the man is not lost as deep within as we thought.’

  Grakk looked at him with narrowed eyes. ‘Be not so sure. Animals understand the importance of blending. Animals are attuned to survival. The unique qualities of man are frivolities where surviving is the only concern. Is that not correct, young Brann?’

  He liked this Grakk man. He understood things. And he moved in a good way, like one who understood the importance of balance and control in a fight. He smiled. ‘I still live.’

  Cannick snorted. ‘Well, man or beast, we all risk being hunted like either if we are seen out here when the sun brings back the light. Let’s move.’

  Marlo started to move but, as he turned, he plummeted from view with a startled yelp. They rushed to what they found was the lip of a small ravine, where the light of the moon revealed the dusty figure around twenty feet below, rising from where he had rolled and slapping the dirt from his clothes.

  ‘Down here,’ he said, inviting them with a wave. ‘This is the way.’

  Sophaya spat in disdain. ‘Are you just making this route up as you go?’

  ‘No, no, it is surely this way,’ Marlo assured them as they scrambled down with more control than he had exhibited. ‘We follow this to its end, and then that will be our journey’s end.’

  Without further delay they stumbled and wound their way through the rocks and bushes that were scattered among the shadows at the bottom of the wedge carved from the plain by a long-forgotten stream. Before long, the murmur of voices became heard. Brann froze, his eyes darting in search of a weapon. His eyes, then his hand, found a jagged rock that fitted snugly in his fist. His mind relaxed at the feel of it, but his body remained like a mangonel straining for release.

  ‘Worry not, young warrior,’ Cannick grinned. ‘That is the noise we seek.’

  Grakk turned to Hakon. ‘And this is the point where you may divest yourself of your holy raiment, impatient boy.’

  The big Northerner looked at him. ‘I may what? With my what?’

  Gerens stepped up behind him with a curved knife. A swift and deft movement saw Hakon’s robe sliced from neck to hem, and with a yank at the arms, Grakk pulled it from him.

  Gerens shrugged. ‘It seemed quicker than an explanation.’

  ‘And altogether more helpful,’ Hakon grinned.

  The rest of them removed their disguises more conventionally and bundled them under their arms. Several more turns brought the sounds more clearly to them until they climbed to emerge from the defile to a scene that widened Brann’s eyes in surprise. Roaring fires lit up an encampment that was teeming with life at a time when all should be asleep and in a location where he expected only to see moonlit wasteland. Bodies cavorted or slumped, watched or danced, ate and drank. Instruments provided a backdrop to the movement and noise of men and women clearly determined to enjoy the passage of the night in whatever manner brought each one pleasure.

  Marlo swept his arm towards the scene. ‘Behold your new friends.’

  Brann was surprised. ‘My friends? Like you? I know all these?’

  Cannick laughed. ‘No, the boy means these will be our travelling companions. We are your true friends, so don’t be wandering off with anyone else.’ He looked at Marlo. ‘They do seem overly jolly, however.’

  ‘The caravan leaves in the morning. The custom on the final night is to consume whatever cannot be taken. Of course, that then extends to all sorts of pleasures that might not be so easy on the road, and attracts many from the city who would earn coin by providing those pleasures. It all adds up to an eventful night.’

  ‘I can’t disagree with that,’ the old warrior said.

  Grakk moved up beside them. ‘The terr
ain ahead is not the most hospitable. They know this well and are wise to take what pleasure they can before they leave, although the pleasure brought by wine now may not be appreciated in the glare of the sun tomorrow. Those before us may be weighing the current pleasure heavier than the future pain, and as seasoned travellers of this path, this is their choice to make. We, however, would be well advised to avoid inebriation. The road will be soft underfoot, but hard in endurance.’

  Hakon eyed the revels appreciatively. ‘So, basically, don’t get bladdered?’

  ‘Indeed.’ Grakk’s tone was implacable. ‘Bladderation is not an option.’

  A guffaw erupted from the large boy and he slapped Grakk’s back with enough force to drive him several paces forward. ‘You have a wonderful way with words, my friend.’

  Brann was curious. The bald one, Grakk, was a fighter; the way he carried himself betrayed it, as did his quickness of hand and alertness of eye. Yet he had been struck, and had not responded to the attack. The Hakon boy may be large – very large – and as strong as any he had seen, but there was a deliberateness to his movement that would make him predictable should any conflict last beyond the initial few thunderous blows. Brann resolved that he had much to learn about these friends.

  Marlo led them into the camp, weaving among the tents and through the throng of staggering revellers, hawkers of pleasures carnivorous and carnal and intoxicants consumed and inhaled, and entertainers ranging from the exquisitely skilled to the pathetically inept and desperate. Thieves, too, although they tended to eye their little party and steer clear of them. Whether it was due to their look of grim determination, their range of weapons or their lack of drunkenness was hard to tell. Hakon grinned in joyful appreciation of every woman who passed, whether fully clad or less so, Sophaya automatically and almost absently increased their travelling fund as they walked while Gerens watched over both her and Brann simultaneously. Brann himself, in one memorable moment, was restrained by Cannick with the older man’s shortsword almost clear of its scabbard when a fire-juggler was over-clever and sent a ball of flames on a chain swinging too close to the boy’s face. ‘That is why we don’t give you a weapon,’ he advised the boy. ‘The smart-arse may have deserved to be tripping over his own entrails, but it’s not the attention we need at this time.’

  They reached an empty tent, large and circular, with a roaring fire in front to ward off the nightly chill and a young Scribe waiting patiently to one side. Marlo conferred briefly with him, nodding several times, before clasping forearms with him and allowing him to be on his way.

  ‘This is indeed our tent. We will find everything we need for the journey inside but for, of course, our mounts. These also have been arranged and gifted, and I have been given instructions on where they can be found. I can show you to them before I take my leave back to Cassian’s compound, if you wish.’

  Grakk stepped forward. ‘We do so wish.’ He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Our gratitude will go with you, not only to your master’s contact, our benefactor, but as much to you. You have risked much and helped even more. It will not be forgotten, my young friend.’

  Marlo grinned and shrugged. ‘I would have been bereft had I not been permitted to help. And he who has aided you asks only one thing in return.’ He looked at Brann. ‘That you take our broken friend and return him whole once more.’

  Brann looked himself over. He could find nothing broken on him. Perhaps they talked of someone else. He wandered towards the tent, led by curiosity.

  Grakk smiled. ‘It will be our pleasure to pay that price. Now let us two go see our mounts while these others take their rest, and then you can be on your way home.’

  Inside the tent, Brann found a treasure trove of supplies. Food and drums of water were piled at one side, and at the other were clothes, weapons and an assortment of the mundane essentials that keep a traveller alive. The only thing that drew his eye, however, was the selection of swords and knives carefully propped among several spears, small round shields and two short bows with full quivers alongside.

  Cannick entered as he was trying out two swords for weight and balance, one in each hand. ‘Well, don’t you look happy, playing with your toys?’ The veteran ambled over to him, seemingly unconscious of the danger of two naked and sharp blades. He held out a hand. ‘May I?’

  Brann handed him one, as the others ducked under the tent flap. Hakon whistled appreciatively, Gerens’s dark eyes scanned the equipment and Sophaya slipped to one side to sit cross-legged on a rug. Brann watched carefully as Cannick examined the sword, sighting down the blade and running his hands over its parts. He felt a trust in this man, but you never take your eyes from anyone carrying a drawn weapon. The hilt of the other sword was still snug in his right hand.

  Cannick grunted. ‘Basic and simple in design, but good quality. Better than we have managed to gather over our time here. We should exchange ours for these.’

  Brann looked for a scabbard for his, but Cannick laid a gentle arm on his. ‘Not you, youngster.’ Brann felt himself tensing, the point of his sword rising. Cannick smiled a disarming smile. ‘Do you trust us, Brann?’

  He felt for his feelings. He imagined a fight, a mass brawl. In the picture in his head, he saw these people in this tent protecting him. He nodded.

  Cannick gently took the weapon from his hand. It was a bad feeling. For as long as he could remember, he had only ever let go of a weapon when it was embedded in a corpse. He did not like this feeling.

  The grey-haired man smiled sadly. ‘You don’t understand, do you?’ He shook his head. ‘You are too skilled. But you are going into situations where you will find strange things happening, and your instinct is to fight. Sometimes it is not right to fight. But you are too skilled for us to be sure of helping you to stop before it is too late. Do you see that?’

  It was true. He was faster than any of these. He had seen enough to know. They could not stop him. But… ‘People like me to fight. People cheer me.’

  ‘In the pit, they cheer you. It’s a lot less simple outside the pit, young man. You will learn this, but until you do, it is dangerous for us to make you even more dangerous with a few feet of steel.’

  The dark-haired boy, Gerens, had moved beside him. He was very quiet on his feet, Brann had noticed. ‘In any case, I will ensure you come to no harm, Chief.’

  Brann looked into the dark eyes. There was no emotion there, nothing to read. But there was something that spoke to his instinct, he could feel it like a silent voice in his head. ‘I believe you.’

  ‘In any case,’ Hakon grinned, ‘you have a knack of finding a weapon when you need one.’ The flat of one hand slapped Brann on the shoulders. The boy stood unmoving and Hakon’s eyes widened. ‘Gods, but you’ve got strong.’

  Brann looked at him. ‘I practised. I fought.’ He looked at Cannick. ‘In the pit.’

  Cannick’s face creased into a smile. ‘Good boy.’

  He felt a yearning. ‘I like the pit. I will find one.’

  ‘No!’ Gerens and Hakon chorused.

  ‘Wait.’ Cannick’s voice cut through their protests. ‘You others stay here and look through this lot. I’ll take him to find the pit here.’

  Gerens stepped forward. ‘Are you sure?’

  Sophaya’s voice soothed him. ‘Has Cannick ever struck you as a man of rash decisions, my Gerens?’

  The boy nodded and the man returned the gesture. ‘Trust me, lad.’ He looked over at Hakon. ‘But you stay here, for you will get us into trouble. Not in the pit but in some trollop’s arms. Busy yourself here and start with throwing those priests’ robes on the fire. We take nothing we do not need and leave nothing that can tell any story.’

  Brann allowed the man to steer him from the tent and they worked their way through the encampment, guided by Cannick’s occasional questioning of the more conscious of those they passed. Brann felt the man’s fingers tighten on his arm as they rounded a tent and a shouting crowd filled the space before them. Torch
es guttered on tall poles arranged in a wide circle, bathing the area in a wavering glow of shifting shades of orange. Man argued and pointed, and scraps of paper were passed between them, held aloft in triumph or crumpled and tossed aside in anger or despair. This, he had seen before. He had seen it at…

  ‘The pit!’ His eyes lit up and he made to rush forward.

  Cannick’s unyielding grip halted his progress. ‘Slowly, carefully, youngster. You must learn to assess a situation before you act.’

  This was not right. Watch your surroundings but act on a situation. Otherwise you let your opponent act. But the Grakk man had said this man was his friend, and so he nodded and let himself be led forward more cautiously.

  The crowd was not so thick as to impede them, and Cannick threaded a way through to a space at the lip of the pit. Two men with similar swords but differently shaped shields – one a long rectangle and the other round – hacked and stumbled their way around the circle, enthusiasm and effort replacing any hint of skill or thought.

  Brann frowned. ‘This is not a fight.’

  ‘This is a fight. It passes for a pit contest in these places.’

  ‘I could have them dead in two beats of a heart. Both of them.’

  ‘Which is why you do not fight here. Ever.’

  ‘But the people cheer when they die.’

  ‘Not the people here. No one will die.’

  ‘No one? In a fight?’

  Cannick pulled him back from the spectators. ‘These people want to see a contest, not a kill. Even when you remember fighting, were not your opponents always enough to make you work?’

  He felt his mind go distant. He could not remember every fight, but his head quickly filled with a succession of scenes – memories that were jumbled but vivid enough to to let him understand. He nodded. ‘Most. Some were easy. But mostly the next one was harder than the one before.’

  ‘Exactly. If a lion fought a dog, who would win?’

  ‘The lion.’

  ‘Sometimes?’