Hood

by Laurence Dahners

  “You’re just going to walk in and kill the lion in his den?!”

  Tarc lifted a shoulder. “I’ll just step in the door and throw a knife.”

  “You won’t get it back!”

  “Worthwhile sacrifice. I can get another one made when I get back to Walterston… sorry, Farleysville.”

  “Okay, I’ll go in with you. Make sure no one sticks you while you’re making the throw.”

  Tarc looked at her for a moment, then said, “Thanks.” They’d arrived at the Palace Tavern. He pulled a strip of black cloth out of his jacket pocket, wrapped it around the lower half of his face, and tied it behind his neck.

  Lizeth said, “What the hell is that?!”

  He pulled his hood up from where it’d been folded down inside his jacket, then shrugged, “Disguise.”

  “Disguise? Why?”

  “Don’t want them to know who’s doing this.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t want the kind of people we’ll be seeing in the tavern coming after me in my other life. Or my family. Or,” he arched an eyebrow at Lizeth, “my friends.”

  A chill suddenly ran down Lizeth’s back. She found herself quietly saying, “They’re going to see my face…”

  Tarc gave her a small nod. “So, stay outside. I’m just going to step through that door, throw a knife and be gone.”

  She lifted her chin, “Let me have a strip off that black cloth of yours.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then choked back a laugh.

  “What’s so damned funny?!”

  “Um… I’m thinking that even if you covered your entire face, they probably wouldn’t have a hard time figuring out who you were. It isn’t as if there’re a lot of women who carry swords and dress entirely in leather.”

  Lizeth looked down at herself, then lifted a fierce gaze that she fixed on his eyes. “You complaining about my outfit?”

  Tarc put his palms up in surrender, “No! No way! I think it’s sexy. Um, just doesn’t blend into the crowd, you know?”

  Lizeth grunted. “Okay, I’ll stand right outside the door and watch with my ghirit. If you have any trouble, I’ll be right there.”

  Tarc gave her a nod. “Thanks.” Then he just stood there outside the door.

  “Are you going to do it?” she asked impatiently.

  He held up a finger, asking her to wait. Taking it down, he said, “Sorry, I was making an announcement so they’d understand what was going on when it happened.”

  Incredulous, she said, “You just told them you’re about to step in there and kill Shibone?!”

  Tarc gave a little tilt of his head. “No, I just said his life was forfeit for arranging capital crimes such as murder for hire.” Tarc turned to the door and pushed it open. His hand flashed, then he stepped back, letting the door close. He turned and started walking away from the door

  Holy shit! Lizeth thought, drawing her sword and sending her ghirit into the tavern. A man was collapsing off a chair. People were exploding to their feet. Many were surging toward the door. A voice boomed, “Do not attempt to avenge him unless you wish to suffer his fate. Stay away from the door.”

  The rush to the door suddenly abated. Some turned and ran toward the back door, but three continued, pushing out through the front door. The first one led with his sword, but Lizeth knew how he was holding it. She slipped her own weapon into his chest just beneath his blade.

  Lizeth backed away, giving herself room and therefore time to deal with the next two.

  The second tripped over the first. Lizeth was about to stab him as he fell, then realized a knife had already buried itself in his eye. She looked back for the third man.

  He tried to leap over the bodies of his fellows. Lizeth’s sword took him as he went by.

  She checked the first two. They were both dead or dying.

  She snorted. The first one also had a knife in his eye.

  She turned her focus onto the third one. She shook her head. He had a knife in his eye as well.

  Eyes flashing, she turned to Tarc.

  He shrugged, “Just making sure they didn’t hurt you.”

  “Those knives flew awfully close to me!”

  He stared at her for a moment. “Lizeth, I don’t miss.”

  Lizeth barked a laugh and relaxed. “Yeah, I guess you don’t.”

  They wiped their blades. Tarc turned toward the palace.

  Lizeth pointed to a side street, “It’s shorter this way.”

  “Go ahead. I’ve got to make announcements in the palace.”

  She gave him a sardonic look, “Who else do you need to kill?”

  He sighed, “I hope no one. I just have to tell them King Uray and Capt. Keith are dead. Well, and that Lt. Harris has been appointed the new King and that capital crimes by kings, guards or other powerful people won’t be tolerated.”

  Lizeth rolled her eyes, “Then can we go back to the caravan?”

  Tarc grinned and nodded.

  She shook her head, “Saving Realth has turned out to be a huge pain in the ass.”

  Tarc grinned again, “You were the one who insist—”

  She interrupted, glaring up at him, “Now you’re being a pain in the ass.”

  ***

  Kazy thought, I can’t believe I insisted on coming to this meeting!

  Eva, Rrica, Mr. Patel, the aqueduct engineer, and Major Simpson, head of the Guardia; had been talking about sanitary engineering for hours now. Rrica’d been teaching all of them what she knew, while hiding that she’d learned it from the ancients’ books. As the town’s most successful healer and the leader of the effort to stop the plague, Eva lent her gravitas to Rrica’s lesson.

  Patel was excited about the engineering principles Rrica’d disclosed, as well as the contracts he was being awarded. Simpson was irritated to learn that Eva and the baron expected his men to enforce the use of outhouses and slit trenches until sewers could be built. Not that he disagreed with the importance of sanitation, just that he felt enforcement of “shit rules” was beneath the dignity of his men.

  They’d been gradually hammering out the general principles of what should be done—for hours now.

  Kazy had contributed absolutely nothing. All she’d done was jump every time the door opened, her eyes flashing to the opening, her pulse racing, her mind praying that it’d be a certain page, come with some message.

  She’d had no such luck. If Jesse Martinez, her favorite page, was working today, he was assigned somewhere far away. Eventually, she’d taken to raiding the minds of anyone who entered, searching for knowledge of Jesse. She felt bad about this. In an effort to comply with the ethics she’d laid out for herself, she confined her searching to what they knew about Kazy’s intended boyfriend. She avoided learning anything else about them and certainly didn’t change any of their thoughts.

  Almost all of them either knew nothing, or knew nothing of significance.

  But, if they did know who he was, they uniformly thought he was nice, she thought dreamily. As do I.

  She rolled her eyes, And, whether I wanted to or not, I’ve learned a lot about sewers.

  ***

  Jamal Harris rode up to the palace gate early in the morning. It was hard to believe he was about to become King of Realth. For that matter, it was hard to believe the size of the troop that had ridden with him from his house to the palace. Or the size of the guard he’d left at his house, ostensibly protecting his family.

  Or the quality and devotion of the four men who were actually protecting his family—hidden at the home of one his wife’s oldest friends.

  Fortuitously, Martin had died of a stroke last night. After he’d killed Uray and Keith with arrows, Hood had indeed contrived to have announcements made at the palace saying Harris would take over as king this morning.

  Harris had no idea how the announcements were made. Apparently, by the same means that’d caused the king to hear voices telling him to give up his evil ways. Whether it was some kind of
technical trick or evil witchery wasn’t clear to anyone. However, Harris had a hard time believing an evil witch would’ve wanted to remove Uray from power and put Harris in his place. He’d resolved to be the best king he could be. He’d just have to hope that the voice that was saying he should be king was in fact benign. And, he thought, that if it all goes to shit, those four loyal men can get my family out of town and safely away.

  There’d been a lot of discussion last night about where he should sleep. The palace had seemed the obvious place for the new king, but it was just what any opposition would expect. Something stealthy assassins could take advantage of. He’d decided to stay at his own home, then ride to the palace this morning. He’d specifically requested a certain set of guards loyal to him be at the gates for his arrival. If anything untoward was happening, they’d wave him off.

  Or, perhaps, he thought sadly, if evil’d been done them, they wouldn’t be at the gate.

  He was close enough now to feel relief when he saw his men waiting at the gate. He waved to them and they cheerfully waved back. Maybe it’s going to be okay, he thought wonderingly.

  He wished he could see Hood, however. Hood had told Harris he’d be leaving town today or tomorrow and that Harris would be on his own from then on. Which scares the shit out of me, he acknowledged to himself.

  He rode through the gate and his men poured through behind him, spreading out to either side and watching for trouble.

  As Harris rode slowly across the palace grounds toward the administrative offices, he kept his eyes constantly in motion, searching for traps or evidence of hidden troops.

  Suddenly, lines of men started running out from behind several of the buildings. Archers, he thought, seeing their bows and quivers. It has to be Lt. Lars. I should have expected that weasel to be here with his bowmen. Harris closed his eyes, thinking furiously, A large group of bowmen’ll be hard to counter on flat ground like this. Lars might be a weasel, but he’s not stupid.

  Harris’ shield men stepped forward to surround him, but prospects for a peaceful transition were looking bleak.

  A door opened on one of the buildings and Lt. Lars stepped out. Harris noticed he only stepped out a foot or so. Worried about archers yourself, are you? Harris thought grimly. Lars had surely heard about the arrows that took out Uray and Keith. Even if he believed he had all the good archers in Realth in his own troop, he wasn’t taking any chances.

  Even if Hood were here, at the first sign of someone with a bow and arrow, Lars’ll be back through that door. He’ll be able to get there well before anyone could shoot. There’s no way Lars’ll let Hood take him out the same way he did Uray.

  More men were coming out from behind the buildings. These were lightly armored guards, armed with swords and shields. Harris’ tactical sense was estimating strengths and dispositions. Can we take them?

  Maybe, he answered himself.

  Will the butcher’s bill be horrific?

  No doubt.

  How did Lars recruit so many men?

  By promising them the kinds of things Uray did, Harris thought despairingly. Riches and pleasure at the expense of the populace.

  Which answers the question of whether I should step aside and let him be king just to prevent bloodshed…

  Lars bellowed across the grounds, “You men who’re following the usurper Harris, put down your arms and you’ll be spared. I realize he’s promised you things he shouldn’t have in order to bring you here behind him, but that’s not your fault. He murdered King Uray and he’s—”

  When Lars broke off, Harris had been surveying Lars men, trying to evaluate their reactions to Lars’ words. When Lars’ speech suddenly broke off, it took a moment for Harris’ eyes to track back to the man. By then Lars had fallen to his knees, hands clutching at the arrow shaft protruding from just behind his left arm.

  He pitched forward to lay still.

  Harris glanced to his right—Lars’ left—trying to see where the arrow had come from. From outside the palace walls! He thought, Like the one that killed King Philip. How in all the hells did Hood do that?!

  Though Harris had no idea where it was coming from, Hood’s voice boomed out across the grounds of the palace. Harris would have said it came from the middle of the open square between Lars’ and Harris’ men. Hood said, “Yesterday I made several announcements telling you that Lt. Harris would take over as King of Realth. Lt. Lars apparently did not get the message. Is there anyone else who’d like to challenge the appointment of King Harris?”

  Silence reigned across the grounds for an entire minute. Just when murmuring was beginning to start up, the voice boomed again. “King Harris. There do not appear to be any challengers for your position. Long live the king. Hip hip hooray, hip hip hooray, hip hip hooray…

  By the third cheer, Harris thought a thousand voices had joined in. He began walking out into the center of the space between the two groups of men. At about the tenth cheer, he put up his hands and silence fell. While trying not to bellow or scream, he spoke loudly in his command voice so everyone could hear. “Citizens of Realth. I pledge to you that I will manage this kingdom, not to my own enrichment, but to the benefit of its populace. I also pledge that in three years we’ll hold a democratic election in which you’ll choose a governor rather than a king and each section of Realth will choose a senator who, with the other senators, will advise the governor… or override his decisions if necessary.”

  Harris hadn’t been sure that people would understand his promise, but the rising roar of affirmation suggested they got the gist of it.

  Chapter Nine

  Lizeth was walking into Denton’s Crossing when she heard footsteps coming up behind her. Rather than turn and look, she sent out her ghirit. It was somebody walking quickly to catch up with her. Someone Tarc sized. Without looking she spoke back over her shoulder, “Hi Tarc.”

  He said, “Hi yourself. Good to see you’re keeping your ghirit out. How’d you know it was me?”

  “Don’t have to keep my ghirit out to hear someone lumbering up the way you were.” She turned and eyed him. “I knew it was you because you’re the only one around here who’s that tall and slender.”

  “Ah,” he said, sounding disappointed.

  “Why’s that make you all mopey?”

  “I was hoping you’d figured out some way to recognize people with your ghirit. Something you could teach me.”

  She grinned at him, “I have. I recognized you, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, but only because I’ve got funny proportions. Like how we could recognize the king back in Realth ’cause he was so tall.” He shrugged, “It won’t help us recognize other people.”

  She pursed her lips, “I think I could recognize you by the way you walk too.”

  “What? You think I walk funny too?”

  Lizeth shrugged, “Everybody walks funny. Even without seeing their faces, I can recognize a lot of people by the way they walk.”

  Tarc frowned, “Really? You mean, like someone who limps?”

  “No,” she pointed, “that big guy up in front of us. You can’t see his face. Who is he?”

  “Arco, but…” Tarc broke off, looking puzzled. “I know who he is because I recognize his clothes, don’t I?”

  Lizeth lifted an eyebrow at him, “I thought guys didn’t notice each other’s clothes?”

  Tarc looked a little embarrassed, “I don’t think I do, but maybe it’s subconscious?”

  She grinned, “I think you just like the way Arco walks. The walk of a manly man speaks to you.”

  Tarc looked even more embarrassed, but then he laughed. “Maybe you’re right.” Then he quickly backtracked to make sure she understood what he’d said, “About knowing who people are by the way they walk. Not about me liking the way Arco walks… Though I’m sure Arco’s walk is quite sexy to those who’re interested in men.”

  Feeling like she was stepping out onto a shaky limb, Lizeth said, “Well, if it’s true you actually do like girls, wh
at about you and me?”

  Tarc gave her an anxious glance, “Um…” He looked to his right, “Uh, you want to eat here at the pizza place?”

  Lizeth looked over recognizing Denton’s Crossing’s pizza restaurant. She’d used to think it was amazing. That was before Eva’d started making pizza in the caravan. Maybe Eva learned about pizza from this place? Even if that’s so, hers is way better. “Okaay,” she said stretching the word to express her dubious feelings.”

  “You don’t want to? This’s the first place I ever had pizza! It’s awesome!”

  “It can’t hold a candle to Eva’s,” Lizeth said darkly.

  “Really?” Tarc said, looking surprised.

  “Really. Nothing compares to your mother’s cooking. But,” She waved at the pizza place, “it is better than the food most places. Let’s have lunch.”

  They went in and took a seat. It wasn’t very busy so someone came over and took their order right away. Once the boy’d gone off to the kitchen, Lizeth decided not to try to have the talk right away. Instead, she said, “So have you heard what they’ve been saying about ‘Hood’?”

  Tarc looked surprised, “No.” He frowned, “People here are talking about it? Or are you talking about what they said back in Realth?”

  “People in the caravan.”

  “Is it bad?”

  Lizeth laughed, “No. Not unless you’re talking about the accuracy of what they’re saying. Admittedly, it’s all based on what just a few people heard before the caravan pulled out of Realth. The story’s improved as it’s gotten passed from person to person. Hood’s apparently three meters tall. Despite that imposing statistic, he still managed to find guys a lot bigger than him to beat up at the Palace Tavern.” She quirked an eyebrow at him, “Ostensibly, he can shoot arrows right through walls.” Lizeth grinned at his wide eyes, “And, of course, he speaks in a voice of thunder, sometimes even when he’s not there.”

  Tarc looked thoughtful. “Even if it’s all hyperbole, those rumors might be good in terms of making people in Realth think twice about revolting or using their positions of power to—”