A World Without Heroes

by Brandon Mull

  “We’re from far away,” Jason reminded him.

  “So far away that you haven’t heard of displacers or the wizardborn races? Never mind, I don’t mean to pry; you two just saved my skin. Rachel, when I say ‘wizardborn,’ I mean metaphorically. My race did not occur naturally. Displacers were created by wizards.”

  “I see,” Rachel said.

  “None of the wizardborn get much love from regular humans,” Ferrin continued. “But displacers are especially despised—partly because we’re hard to distinguish from regular humans, partly because our race is dying out, making us easy to pick on.”

  “Some bullies figured out you were a displacer?” Rachel asked.

  “They were merciless. Once my head was in the sack, they kicked me up and down the road. A real group of princes, let me tell you. I suppose I should be grateful they wanted me to die a slow, torturous death, because now I may actually survive, thanks to your kindness.”

  “Did you know them?” Jason asked.

  “Not personally. I saw them in an alehouse west of here. They must have followed me out of town.”

  “Where were you coming from?” Jason asked.

  “Away farther to the west. I should have seen it coming. Too many of these small-town bumpkins prey on outsiders.”

  “We’ve noticed,” Rachel said.

  “Do you travel a lot?” Jason asked.

  “It’s all I do,” Ferrin replied. “Displacers are wanderers. We’re not like the drinlings or the Amar Kabal, with a homeland to call our own. We’re unwanted, so we try to keep our identities secret and get by however we can.”

  “Do you know how we can get to Trensicourt?” Jason asked.

  “You follow this road to the east, then take the northern fork when it splits. I happen to be going eastward myself. Unless you object to the company of a displacer, we could travel together. These are dangerous times.”

  “We’d enjoy some company,” Jason said, looking at Rachel.

  “We’ve run into some unpleasantness as well,” she added.

  “There can be safety in numbers,” Ferrin said. “Fair warning: Traveling with a displacer can occasionally be troublesome. If others recognize my true nature, you could share in my unpopularity.”

  “To be honest,” Jason said, “traveling with us might be risky as well.” Rachel gave him a worried look, as if concerned he might say too much. “Servants of the emperor might be hunting us.”

  Ferrin clapped Jason on the shoulder. “I’m not surprised. Youthful siblings would not roam so far afield without reason. Maldor harasses everyone. He is not fond of travelers or visitors from distant lands. I am certain he has no great love for me, either. I will gladly risk traveling with you, if you will brave my company.”

  “It would be nice to have a guide,” Rachel said.

  “I agree,” Jason said.

  “Then it’s settled!” Ferrin brushed some of the dirt from his sleeves and torso. “If I can’t trust the pair who saved my life, who can I trust?”

  They set off down the eastbound road.

  “How do you make a living?” Jason asked.

  “I do whatever I can find. Never one thing for too long. I’ve been a sailor, a horse trainer, a butler, a merchant, an actor, a farmhand, a hired sword—you name it.”

  “Sounds like an interesting life,” Rachel said.

  “Too interesting, sometimes,” Ferrin replied with a grimace. “How about the two of you? What do you do?”

  “We’re students,” Rachel said.

  “We interrupted our studies to travel,” Jason added.

  “Ah,” Ferrin said, nodding in approval. “The education of the open road. Reading about Trensicourt is no substitute for walking its streets.”

  “That’s the idea,” Jason said. “Do you know why traveling is so discouraged?”

  “I can speculate,” Ferrin said. “Maldor occupies this land, governing largely through officials selected from among the local populace. To discourage unified rebellion, he stifles interaction between communities. He prefers those he governs to remain divided and ignorant, especially in outlying regions far from his centers of power.”

  They proceeded in silence for a few minutes.

  “You have provisions?” Ferrin asked.

  “Enough for a few days,” Rachel said.

  “The bandits who jumped me cleaned me out,” Ferrin said. “But I won’t be a burden. They missed some money hidden in my shoe. There is a town a day’s journey from here. We’ll be fine.”

  “We had bad luck in the last town,” Jason said.

  “So did I,” Ferrin chuckled. “We should be all right if we keep our heads down and stick together. As we draw nearer to Trensicourt, travelers become less conspicuous.”

  Ferrin kept scanning the side of the road, occasionally wandering some distance into a meadow or stand of trees to retrieve a stick. He discarded several before finding one he liked. “This may do,” he said, examining it from different angles. “The item I most regret losing was my walking stick. It was perfect. I had it capped in silver. If not for the silver they probably would have left it.” He used the sturdy, straight stick he had recovered like a staff for several paces. “Yes, this will suffice.”

  Before long Ferrin picked out a walking stick for Rachel. “Try it. It conserves energy. Let your arms do some of the work.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Soon thereafter he found one for Jason as well. As the day grew warm, Jason bundled up his cloak. Ferrin began whistling tunes Jason had never heard. The warbling whistle had a broad range, and Ferrin seemed to have good pitch. Rachel whistled “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Ferrin liked it, learned it quickly, and soon began embellishing the melody. Then he started working on a harmony to whistle along with Rachel. The first few attempts were only marginally successful, but eventually he found one that worked rather well.

  Jason spotted a couple of lizards longer than his foot. They darted away when he got near them. Ferrin warned him to stay away from a metallic blue beetle trundling lazily across the road. “You would be shocked how foul they smell if you get them angry. If you tread on one, you have to burn the shoe. It’s that bad.”

  They chose a spot in a little stand of trees not far from the road to spend the night, and slept under the stars.

  By noon the following day they were passing farms. For a drooma a man heading into town on a wagon gave them a ride. As they bumped along the road, Jason observed the countryside. Rippling oceans of wheat and barley turned farmhouses into islands. They passed a small, fragrant, fenced orchard, where bees hummed among the ripening fruit. Then three large windmills came into view, great white sails turning slowly in the gentle breeze.

  The farms got progressively smaller. Before long they could see the town. It was much bigger than the little seaside village. The buildings were sturdy wooden structures, mostly unpainted, a few of them three stories high. The main street in town was broad enough for several wagons to move side by side, and it was interrupted by several wide cross streets.

  “We’ll climb down here,” Ferrin said. The farmer reined in his team.

  “Thanks for the ride,” Jason said as he dropped to the road.

  The silent farmer nodded, flicking his reins. The wagon lurched forward.

  “I know a reliable place for food,” Ferrin said.

  Jason and Rachel followed Ferrin through the door of one of the largest buildings along the main street. Inside there were half as many people as tables, and a long marble-topped bar stood empty against the far wall. “This place gets busy in the evening,” Ferrin said as they strolled up to the bar, taking seats on stools.

  A heavy woman with frizzy brown hair came up, wiping the bar with a stained rag. “How can I help you?”

  Ferrin leaned forward. “We want lunch, hearty portions with a bird involved.”

  She nodded. “To drink?”

  “Cider for me.”

  She looked at Jason.

&nb
sp; “Water.”

  “Do you have milk?” Rachel asked.

  The corners of the barmaid’s mouth twitched toward a smile. “Sure.”

  The woman walked off, then returned with drinks. Ferrin, Rachel, and Jason sipped and talked softly while they waited. The woman eventually brought out plates of roast duck, heavily seasoned and marinated in oily gravy, with vegetables and hot bread on the side.

  “Good bird,” Ferrin commented around a bite.

  Jason nodded, blotting up some gravy with a piece of bread.

  “Lots of bones,” Rachel said, picking at the meat tentatively.

  “How’s the milk?” Jason asked.

  “Good. Creamy. A little warm.”

  Ferrin finished first. “Pardon me, but I need to find the outhouse.”

  Jason stripped the last of the meat from the bones, then downed the last of his water. He sighed after emptying his glass.

  “It’s nice traveling with Ferrin,” Jason said to Rachel.

  “He’s the most likeable person we’ve met since the Blind King.”

  Jason nodded. In spite of the detachable body parts, Ferrin seemed like the sort of person he might have become friends with under any circumstances.

  A man came up beside Jason from behind. A sharp point pricked Jason’s side. Another man walked up on the opposite side. “Don’t move or make a sound,” said the man with the knife.

  Jason gave a start. It was the short, one-armed rescuer from the river. Except he now had both arms. Was that possible? Could this be his twin? Jason noticed that one of his eyes was brown and the other was blue, a detail he had missed when they first met.

  The man on the other side was the lean man who had wielded the bow. He held a new bow, very fine-looking.

  “He remembers us,” said the lean man, as if the fact were endearing.

  “Is there a problem?” Rachel asked the lean man. She had not yet noticed the knife.

  “Clear out of here,” the lean man threatened her.

  “You might want to listen to them,” Jason suggested.

  Rachel backed away a couple of steps, one hand disappearing under her cloak. Jason hoped she wouldn’t pull out the orantium. Hand grenades were not intended for close quarters.

  “You played nasty with the wrong men,” the shorter guy told Jason, relishing the moment. “We don’t want a scene. Take a walk with us.” He kept his cloak draped over the knife.

  “Why should I?” Jason asked, not wanting to end up alone with these two.

  “If you don’t, I’ll stick you right here and now. Then we’ll stick your friend. You don’t have to die today. Choice is yours.”

  Jason was pretty sure he recognized the voice. “Was it you two who broke into my room near the Tavern-Go-Round?”

  The shorter man grinned. “You knew about that, did you? Don’t know how you slipped by us. Good job there. Why don’t you come along?”

  “Are these friends of yours?” Ferrin asked politely from behind the trio.

  The knifepoint poked persuasively into Jason’s side. “Sure,” he said without turning around. “What were your names again?”

  “Tad,” said the shorter one.

  “Kale,” said the lean one.

  “Do you mind if I maim your friends?” Ferrin asked calmly.

  Jason felt the point in his side waver.

  “Why not?” Jason said.

  Jason had his back to Ferrin, so from the corner of his eye he barely saw the walking stick swinging before it thumped Tad on the head, sending him sprawling. Kale dropped his bow and pushed back his robe to grab the hilt of a short sword. From his seat on the stool Jason kicked Kale in the hip as the man drew his weapon, knocking him sideways and inadvertently causing a stroke from Ferrin’s walking stick to glance off Kale’s shoulder rather than land on his skull.

  The overzealous swing left Ferrin momentarily unprotected. Kale slashed fiercely, severing Ferrin’s arm just above the elbow. Wielding the stick with his remaining arm, Ferrin deflected a thrust aimed at his chest. Rachel shoved Kale from behind, and as he stumbled forward, Ferrin clubbed him in the throat.

  Kale crumpled to the floor, clutching his crushed larynx, legs jerking.

  “What’s going on here?” boomed a deep voice.

  An overweight man wearing an embroidered bandoleer entered the room, flanked by a pair of men with less fancy bandoleers, each holding a crossbow. Ferrin picked up his dismembered arm and reattached it.

  Tad got up, eyes wide, hand over a bleeding gash near the crown of his head. “This displacer attacked me and my friend! We were just trying to enjoy a drink.”

  Kale continued to thrash on the ground, one hand on his throat, the other grasping helplessly, eyes rolling back.

  “Not true,” Jason blurted. “These men were trying to abduct me at knifepoint. My friend stepped in to help me.”

  “Lies!” shrieked Tad with surprising sincerity.

  “The limb dropper struck first,” said a bald man across the room. “I saw it plain enough, constable. He hit the little one over the head, then smashed his friend in the throat when he came to help.”

  “And the girl?” the constable asked.

  “She entered the brawl,” the bald man reported. “She helped the limb dropper take down the fellow on the floor.”

  The constable shook his head. “Sure as storm clouds bring rain, drifters bring trouble. You four will have to spend some time in the lockup, until we get this sorted out.”

  “Four!” Tad yelled. “I’m the victim! My best friend is dying!”

  Kale’s struggles were subsiding into random flinches and spasms.

  “Then why aren’t you trying to help him?” the constable asked. “You’re protesting too loudly, friend. Harlin, did the little guy pull a knife on the young man?”

  “He may have had a knife out when the limb dropper struck,” the bald man said without much conviction. “Same knife you can see on the floor near his feet.”

  “Burn the limb dropper and call it even,” a harsh female voice cried.

  A few others muttered agreement.

  The constable held up a hand. “I administer the emperor’s justice. Under our laws even limb droppers get a trial. Patience. We’ll make examples of these troublemakers, all in due time. Silas, how fares the man on the floor?”

  A gray-haired man had crouched over Kale. “Not conscious. Still alive, for the moment.”

  Tad, Jason, Rachel, and Ferrin were led away.

  The constable and his men took them to a low stone building, one of the only structures in town not made of wood. Three cells, with stone partitions between them, occupied the rear wall of a spacious room. The heavy bars of the cells were set close together. A bearded man sat in one cell, staring into a corner with his arms folded.

  Jason’s cloak was taken, and after a quick search his poniard was removed from a pocket. Ferrin, Tad, and Rachel were searched as well. Jason held his breath as a man checked Rachel’s cloak, but he did not seem to notice the crystal sphere. Tad had left his knife behind in the tavern.

  One of the men in bandoleers retrieved a key ring from a peg on the wall. Ferrin and Jason entered the center cell. Tad was placed in the cell to their right, with the bearded man. Rachel went to the cell on their left.

  Once the prisoners were in their cells, the constable departed with three men. The remaining guard relaxed in a chair, leaning back, filing a piece of cream-colored wood.

  Ferrin sat beside Jason in a rear corner of their cell. “I know the reputation of this constable,” Ferrin said quietly. “He’s a stern one. When Kale dies, and unfortunately he will die, the three of us will be sentenced to death.”

  “He mentioned a trial,” Jason said.

  “In this town Constable Wornser has final say in matters of sentencing. He’ll be judge and jury. To acknowledge the law we’ll receive a cursory hearing, and then we will be executed.”

  “Is there anything we can do?”

  Ferrin smiled.
“They evidently do not appreciate the abilities of a displacer. If they did, I would not be in a cell such as this.”

  Jason raised his eyebrows. “Can you split apart and slip through the bars?”

  “Perhaps, though I would not risk it. Separating myself longitudinally is highly dangerous. If I place too much strain on my displacement field, I come apart permanently. Once the cross-dimensional connection is lost, my body would function just like yours. Namely, my innards would slop out all over the floor.”

  “Sounds appetizing. If you can’t get through the bars, what can you do?”

  “Wait until tonight when things quiet down. You’ll see.”

  CHAPTER 12

  JAILBREAK

  When Jason awoke, a single oil lamp lit the room, casting parallel shadows of prison bars into the cell. Ferrin knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder.

  “You have an astonishing capacity to sleep through commotion,” Ferrin whispered.

  Jason felt disoriented. Sleeping slouched in the corner had left his neck sore. He squinted at the displacer. “What’s going on?”

  “Not long after you went to sleep, the constable returned to report that Kale had died. People have been in and out all evening. Our hearing will be tomorrow. Fortunately, we won’t be here.”

  “How?”

  “You’ll see. You knew those men who attacked you. Tell me about them.”

  Jason sighed. “I tried to save a bunch of musicians from intentionally going over a waterfall. I meant to help, but it turned into a mess. I knocked the shorter guy, Tad, into the water. He only had one arm back then. Kale fished him out. I knew they were angry, but I’m surprised they cared enough to track me down all this way.”

  “You say Tad had only one arm?”

  “Yes. Unless this is his brother. Wait, maybe he’s a displacer too!”

  Ferrin furrowed his brow. “Probably not. More likely they were conscripted. Maldor has the power to restore limbs. A conscriptor must have used the replacement of his arm as leverage to gain his service.”

  Jason recalled how the Blind King had explained that Maldor had offered to restore his sight. “A conscriptor sent a boarhound after me as well.”