Hero Grown

by Andy Livingstone

  Marlo was almost dancing in glee. ‘I told you I knew where to go. I did, did I not?’

  Cannick reached down and ruffled his hair, but Sophaya’s eyes narrowed. ‘How would a city boy like you know these lands?’

  The boy winked. ‘Some poor children earn a few coins by picking the harvest rather than pockets, you know.’

  She smiled innocently and handed him his dagger.

  ‘So,’ Hakon said. ‘What happened? You must have a story to tell.’

  ‘We can tell it as we travel,’ Grakk suggested.

  ‘You got it, though?’ Cannick asked.

  Grakk patted Gerens’s pack, and the veteran nodded, replaced his hat and started to turn the cart.

  Cannick was joined by Grakk on the seat and the younger members of the group ranged themselves in the back, leaning against the low sides. Brann, though, lasted only a few moments before he stood, resting his hand on Cannick’s broad shoulder for balance as he used the height of the cart to scan the surrounding countryside. ‘Soldiers?’

  The veteran shook his head. ‘Unlikely we will see any until the city gate. All patrols have been recalled to the citadel, and only the basic complements are left at the guard towers around the farmlands.’ His face was straight but his voice betrayed his amusement. ‘It seems the very keep was breached by raiders and a young noblewoman was left traumatised after being molested most uncouthly.’

  Grakk was indignant. ‘I was particularly respectful and pleasant.’

  Cannick couldn’t keep the smile from his face. ‘I’m sure you were, my friend. I would expect nothing less. It would be an unjust besmirching of your reputation, if only anyone knew it had been you.’

  Grakk stared at the road ahead. ‘Anonymity is a good friend, on occasion.’

  Cannick grunted. ‘On many an occasion. You cannot be a target if your enemy knows not of you.’

  ‘So,’ Brann said, ‘we just ride through the gates?’

  Cannick laughed. ‘We shall have to be a little more subtle than that, youngster. And especially not into a city panicking about mysterious intruders with you four dressed as if you are trying hard to look like everyone’s idea of an assassin.’ He jerked his thumb at a sack lying behind the seat. ‘You will find that clothing more appropriate.’

  Brann pulled out the plain garb of common workmen, and passed it among the other three. Before long they were dressed as were the trio who had met them, and their dark clothing had been buried in a shallow hole scraped from the hard dirt of an olive grove.

  They fell into silence and Brann enjoyed the chance to rest his weary limbs. He rested against the side of the cart, the bumping and creaking of the wheels on the baked track a simple pleasure, and drew the black knife, toying with it and marvelling once more at its every facet.

  Grakk glanced round to scan the track behind them and caught the movement in Brann’s hand. His eyes widened. ‘Young man,’ he said softly, holding out a hand. ‘May I?’

  Reluctantly, Brann handed it over, a slight panic clutching his heart as he saw it pass to another. The tribesman turned it slowly in his hands, his eyes drinking in every angle, and grasped the hilt to feel its balance.

  ‘I have heard of such, but never suspected the reality of the craftsmanship. It is truly a wonder.’

  The attention of the others had been aroused and there was nothing for it but to allow the weapon to be passed from one to the other, eliciting gasps and murmurs of admiration from each in turn.

  Sophaya was the last to hold it. ‘When you revealed the task, you omitted to mention you had this.’

  ‘I did not want to boast like a child.’

  Sophaya smiled. ‘Or perhaps you did not wish to risk it falling into another’s possession. You should have trusted me.’

  Brann bristled. ‘I have trusted you with my life, without which no item has much use to me. We all have, with each other. This was entrusted to me for a short while, and my reasons for saying nothing of it were purely because I thought it unnecessary.’

  Gerens laid a hand on his arm. ‘Steady, Chief.’ He looked at Sophaya. ‘Not every situation requires talking.’

  She smiled disarmingly. ‘I am sorry, Brann. I should not have teased you.’ Her wrist flicked and the blade quivered in the wood to the side of Brann’s leg. ‘It is a beautiful weapon.’

  He sighed, the anger drifting from him as the water had earlier from their clothes. ‘I will find it a wrench to return it to its owner.’ He pulled it from the wood and slipped it back into its sheath.

  Noise ahead started to reach them. Raised voices and the clang and rattle of work drifted on the sporadic breeze and grew as the horse pulled them towards it. At first all they could see was the haze of a dust cloud that was raised beyond the fields of wheat they travelled between but, as they drew closer, they could see construction being undertaken on a large scale.

  ‘This, young Brann,’ Cannick said over his shoulder, ‘is our slightly more subtle route into the city.’

  They were all standing to gain a better view, and Brann gripped the back of the seat to steady himself against the push of the jostling bodies. ‘What do they build?’

  ‘Houses,’ Marlo said simply. ‘The Emperor has decided to ease some of the worst of the crowding in some areas.’

  ‘Beyond the city walls?’

  Sophaya had returned to sit near the back of the cart. ‘There are many parts of the city that sit outwith the walls. The fortifications were built a hundred generations ago, or more. The population did not stop growing at their completion.’

  Brann frowned. ‘Does that not leave them vulnerable in time of war?’

  Grakk turned in his seat. ‘Do you not remember my lesson in military history when first we walked through the royal floors of the keep?’

  Brann closed his eyes. It seemed so long ago. The position of the citadel, the fortifications of the keep, the organisation of the army’s millens… His eyes opened. ‘They fight in the open. The city walls are not a defence.’

  Grakk nodded in approval. ‘Indeed, for these walls have been nothing more than a means of monitoring who enters and leaves the city, more for taxation reasons than anything else, although any form of defence becomes a defence should you need it to be so. However, they do indeed prefer to fight their battles on the plains, after the foe has dragged itself across the Deadlands.’

  Gerens glanced over his shoulder. ‘And if the enemy is uncooperative and chooses to land by ship instead?’

  ‘Remember, this Empire was won by war but maintained by trade. Seaborne trade. Those vessels that survive the warships of the Emperor’s fleet will find the warriors they discharge will face the Imperial host before they have even left the clutches of the surf. This is a practical people: they deal in warfare according to what is necessary, and nothing more.’

  Brann nodded. ‘I can understand that.’

  They had reached the edge of the construction and the clamour overwhelmed them. Men were in constant motion, small groups overseen by leaders who ensured they kept to their highly organised tasks. Cannick turned along the edge of the activity for a short distance before finding a small area where several other similar carts were ranged neatly and horses were corralled. A tall man, wearing only an open vest over his broad chest and his long black hair tied behind to swing like the tails of the horses he was tending, noticed their arrival and walked to meet them. He caught the bridle of their horse and stroked its face in affection.

  Cannick tossed him a small purse that clinked as it was snatched from the air. ‘A bonus, for your future discretion.’ The man grinned, waited for them to dismount, and led the horse away.

  They bunched as Cannick turned to them with a smile. ‘You may have noticed that my clothing is black, while yours is a lovely shade of light brown. You may also notice if you look further at our surroundings that the overseers are wearing black, while the common workers are in the same lovely shade of light brown. You are now Cannick’s squad of workers. Come along.
’

  Without further ado, he turned on his heel and strode purposefully into the maelstrom of activity. They had no option but to follow.

  Cannick walked until he saw what he must have sought. Loose stones were piled to twice the height of a man and a team of men, their tunics turned dark by sweat, shovelled them into heavy sacks that were then tied to secure them. A stream of workers fetched the sacks and carried them under the direction of their particular leader, and Cannick loudly indicated that his workers should do the same.

  A sack each on their shoulders, Cannick led them on a meandering route that headed for the nearest gate to the city. Only two almost-completed buildings, the wooden scaffolding indicating structures five storeys in height, remained between them and their goal when they were questioned for the first time.

  A gaunt Scribe a fraction of Cannick’s age halted the veteran warrior with a light rod of office laid across the chest. Cannick looked down at it, then at the man enquiringly.

  The Scribe’s tone was predictably haughty. ‘And why do you take these materials to there?’

  Cannick’s tone was suitably bored. ‘Because Barus told us to.’

  The Scribe frowned. ‘Which Barus?’

  Cannick frowned and squinted at the sky. ‘The big bald one.’

  The Scribe pulled a sheet from his satchel and examined it. ‘I was not aware of a consignment of this sort being necessary at this time.’ His words had become unsure and he looked at Cannick, who was unconcerned and watching a mason above them adjust the edge of a block to ensure it sat more snugly in the building’s outer wall. ‘Big, you say?’

  Cannick nodded encouragingly. ‘That’s the one. You know, the grumpy bastard who broke a labourer’s jaw last week,’ he added helpfully.

  ‘I do not know this Barus.’ He looked at the sacks and back at Cannick. ‘But if you are sure it was for here, then you had better make sure you deliver them. For your sake, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Cannick smiled. ‘Come on, lads.’

  They wound their way between the workmen and past a young woman who was using a design on a large parchment to instruct several overseers, drawing a complimentary and lingering glance from Hakon. Brann assumed the boy wasn’t admiring her technical expertise.

  They gained sight of the gate and stopped in their tracks. Grim soldiers thronged about it, questioning all who sought to pass through in either direction, and searching them assiduously.

  ‘Well, that’s that, then,’ Hakon said, looking pointedly at the Gerens’s pack.

  Cannick looked embarrassed. ‘It wasn’t like that when we left the city.’

  Grakk dismissed his apology. ‘It is what it is. If the rest of the gates are like that, and you would expect they are, then we will have difficulty in reaching the house.’

  Marlo’s voice piped up. ‘Only if we have to reach the house.’

  Cannick frowned. ‘We must rest and equip ourselves for the next part of the task.’

  Marlo smiled. ‘Cassian’s school has facilities and equipment.’ He winked at Cannick. ‘And it lies outwith the walls.’

  Cannick grinned. ‘Young man, I could hug you, would it not arouse suspicion for your overseer to do so.’

  Grakk nodded. ‘If we are all in agreement, it would seem the best option.’ The expressions of his companions confirmed that they were. ‘Which way, then, young Marlo?’

  The boy stared at the city until he got his bearings. ‘Back the way we came just slightly, then angle to follow the line of the wall, keeping the city on your right.’

  ‘Fine, let’s go.’ Cannick stopped and turned. ‘And bring those sacks again. We will attract less attention if we look as if we are engaged in work.’

  They groaned but could not argue against the logic.

  They worked their way back past the two apartment blocks. The young lady had moved on, to Hakon’s clear disappointment, but the Scribe remained where they had last seen him and he stared as they passed.

  ‘Wrong Barus,’ Cannick said without missing a stride.

  Their approach had been spotted and Salus had opened the gate personally and with a broad smile.

  Welcomed with even more enthusiasm by Cassian, washed, rested and fed, their spirits had improved somewhat, and Brann and Marlo strolled quietly through the garden as afternoon started to turn towards evening.

  Marlo could never stay quiet for long, though. ‘This old man we met in the keep,’ he mused. ‘Any idea who he is? He has managed to help us with a fair amount of resources.’

  ‘We?’

  Marlo shrugged. ‘Your description sounds exactly like the man I was sent to whenever a message needed to be passed, and how many old men do you think there are in the keep taking an interest in you? I asked Cassian who he might be, but you know what he’s like. Did you get a hint of his standing?’

  ‘I wish I knew. I’d like to know more of him, given he knows so much about us.’ He laughed softly. ‘Which is a situation that is not too comfortable when people seek my death. If only we knew someone else with contact with the royals.’

  It was Marlo’s turn to laugh. ‘You make us sound like nobles moving in high circles, with many friends at the court of the Emperor.’

  ‘True, true.’ He noticed Cassian’s burly form leaning into a plant and pulling it close to breath in its aroma. ‘But maybe not. Do you remember that our Cassian has a brother who may have connections and sources?’

  He approached the elderly man. ‘Cassian, I’ve had a thought.’

  The old soldier beamed in delight. ‘Well done, my boy! You must be very proud.’ He clapped him on the shoulder and ambled up the path. ‘Keep up the good work.’

  The boys looked at each other for a long moment before the laughter burst from them. ‘Well,’ Brann conceded, ‘at least I was given praise. But I feel that might not be our most productive path to information.’

  The pair were still chuckling as they passed the Sleeping House. A small stone flicked off the back of Brann’s head and he turned with a yelp of pain as a familiar voice called out a challenge.

  ‘There’s enough light for a sparring bout. If you cry like a girl at a tiny stone on the head, I reckon I could take you easy this time.’

  Brann grinned, rubbing the back of his head ruefully. ‘Cry like you, you mean, Breta?’

  She was leaning against the wall, arms folded, but now she stood straight, seeming bigger than ever. ‘Oh, so the little flea does want to fight?’ She advanced on him.

  Brann help up his hands. ‘I admit it, I got lucky last time.’ She came on, still. ‘I’m not here for sparring, Breta, just…’ She was almost upon him and his smile slipped. She lunged at him and he realised too late that she was actually coming for him. The huge arms wrapped around him and drew him into a hug.

  ‘I am glad to see you back, little flea. Only Breta is allowed to beat you, no one else.’

  He was finding it hard to breathe and his face was squashed sideways against breasts that were, each one, bigger than his head. He was beginning to wish it had actually been a fight she had wanted. ‘Thank you,’ he managed to say into her chest, though it was debatable whether any present would be able to tell what the muffled words were. She was satisfied, though, and he was released. Marlo grinned at the sight of him sucking in the warm air of dusk.

  ‘I hear it would take some feat to beat you, right enough.’ Mongoose was crouched against the wall, watching with amusement in her eyes as well.

  Brann managed a weak smile. ‘Not right at this moment, it wouldn’t.’

  She rose to her feet and paced over, every movement filled with balance and menace, as though she could spring in an instant. ‘I also hear you are embarking on a short trip.’

  Brann and Marlo looked at her sharply. ‘What do you know?’ Brann demanded. ‘How do you know?’

  It was her turn to hold up her hands in supplication. ‘Only we two know. Cassian asked us as soon as you arrived to prepare for you what you would need for a short
journey. That’s the sum of our knowledge. Not where you go, or why, though it might be nice to learn such, were you to have enough sense to take us with you. We are hoping you may benefit from a couple of extra pairs of hands.’

  Brann stared in astonishment. ‘You want to come with us? Even though you have no idea where we are going or with what intent?’

  Breta shrugged. ‘Nothing better to do, to be honest.’

  ‘And,’ Mongoose said, ‘we have been here many a year, Breta and I. Arrived within a day of each other, we did, and been here ever since. It keeps a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, but after a while, it all gets a bit repetitive. A change would be welcome.’

  ‘And Cassian would let you go?’

  She pulled aside the collar of her tunic. ‘Do you see a chain here?’ She stood on her toes to grab the larger girl’s collar. ‘Or here. Cassian has a say in whether we are allowed to stay, but not in whether we can leave.’

  Brann grinned and bowed extravagantly. ‘Then I am delighted to welcome you on board.’

  Mongoose looked unsure. ‘You can say so? I thought you would discuss it with your companions. You are certain the others will accept us, too?’

  ‘Let’s face it,’ Marlo grinned, nodding at Breta. ‘Would you like to tell her she wasn’t welcome?’

  Chapter 9

  She caught him by surprise, as she often did. His senses were not as acute as once they were, and she had a particular way of moving unnoticed.

  Had he heard her approach, he may have quietly closed the narrow wooden box and hidden it by his side in the chair, the shadows cast by the fire hiding it from a casual glance. He cursed his lack of care. The brick lay to one side, exposing the secret of the compartment, and the box lay on his lap for all to see. She knew of it, so no harm was caused, but had another approached, they would have seen all.

  It would not have been disastrous; it would not have exposed any plans or even that he planned at all. It was not so much the possible exposure of a secret that he cursed, but more the lack of forethought that had made it possible.