“I can’t arrive at all until someone orders me too.” The soldier looked around. “Is that your new sword? I’ve heard about it. Nice.”
“A dwarf made it for me.”
“Really?” He wrinkled his nose. “Maybe you should get someone to look at it, just to make sure it isn’t going to break any time soon.”
“You know a human smith who’s better than dwarf smiths?”
Waydin shrugged. “Just because they can make a good sword, doesn’t mean they aren’t too lazy to actually do it.”
Rawk shook his head and sighed. Anyone who said dwarves were lazy was either blind or willfully stupid. Maybe even both. Dwarves were noisy and smelly and either overly jovial or overly cranky. But they weren’t lazy and if they did something, they did the best job they could.
“So, what sort of creature is this one?” Waydin asked. Half a dozen more soldiers had come in to have a look. There were a few more outside keeping the crowd at bay.
“No idea. But its big, so make sure...” He cleared his throat. “Make sure Weaver takes the price off my bill.”
“Are you still paying off that room?”
“I have the feeling I’ll be paying for the rest of my life.” One way or the other. Rawk clambered to his feet and his head took its complaint to an all-new level.
When he had his sword he limped outside. The crowd was slowly growing, encouraged by the lack of screams. Most of them were human but there were some of the other races, though none seemed to be dwarves with a camera. The crow, sleek and black against the sky, called from the peak of a roof, flapped its wings against the afternoon sky then settled down to watch again.
Rawk didn’t return to the Hero’s Rest. Sylvia’s place wasn’t all that much further and, the way he was feeling, it seemed appropriate. And while he was there he would take the opportunity to purchase a few things. So he crossed the river and then a few hundred yards past that, after avoiding 2 stories and an offer of ale, the canal as well. Down in the bottom, the machines rattled and clanked and pounded, making the ground shake and sending out equal amounts of steam and dust. There were so many dwarves milling about in the deep, still-dry ditch that Rawk wondered if the machines were really any use at all. Then he scaled the street up the side of Mount Grace like he was actually scaling an actual mountain. Each step seemed a monumental effort that was beyond him. But he climbed on anyway, ever upwards. Half way to the top, and still some distance from his destination, up he stopped and looked back the way he’d come.
The river and the canal were both swarming with activity. Ships of all shapes and sizes clogged the brown sheen of the former, dancing their crazy, lazy never-ending dance. And machinery and dwarves continued to dance their dustier, rhythmic dance as the two ragged ends of canal slowly crept towards each other. It was a dance that would be ending very soon. A week at most, he guessed, though he didn’t really know much about the intricacies of digging up and shifting a few thousand ton of rock. Let alone the intricacies of letting in the water. And the dwarves would probably want to clean up before they did all that anyway. They seemed to like saving a symbolic, last little piece of work so they could hammer the last nail, or pat down the last shovel full of earth, and say the job was done without then having to spend the rest of the week making the place look tidy again. Maybe two weeks then, and they’d see how crazy Weaver really was.
A few minutes later Rawk pushed in through the door of Sylvia’s shop, the bell clanging dully over his head. He sat down on the stool by the counter to wait. The shop was neat and tidy with rows of jars and containers in solemn ranks on the shelves. Everything was in its place. He had never been upstairs to her home and wondered if it was the same. He decided it would be tidy, but without the same pristine, cold feeling. It would be comfortable and lived in, like a favorite pair of boots that had just been polished.
It wasn’t long until Sylvia emerged from the back room, smoothing down her long hair with one hand and holding a box of jars in the other. “Rawk. Good afternoon.”
“Hello.” He had noticed Sylvia was attractive before, once he got around to not trying to kill her, but she seemed to get more beautiful every time he saw her. He decided that most elvish women ticked all the boxes for beauty but he’d never really looked at them in the past.
Sylvia looked a bit nervous. She smoothed her hair again. “How can I help you today?”
Rawk looked away to examine the shelf where the tea usually sat. “Firstly, I need some more tea. And some cream for my knee.”
“So, it is working?”
“The cream or my knee? Both work, when I remember to put the one on the other.”
“Good. And is the tea for a poultice or for drinking?” She looked him up and down, as if looking for a gaping wound that needed healing.
“It’s for drinking. Why do you always think I’m injured?” He clenched his fist to avoid rubbing his ribs. He was pretty sure there would be an impressive bruise there soon enough though there was no way he could show her now.
“Well, you have gone right through my usual supply, but I have managed to get some more from a merchant ship that arrived in Westport a few days ago.”
“I’ll take it.”
“You cannot have all of it.”
“Why not?”
“What if somebody requires a poultice? I am a healer, remember, not a... not a tavern.”
“What tavern would serve tea as a drink?” No tavern would because nobody really knew about tea. They didn’t understand. “Well, I’ll take as much as you’ll give me.”
She collected a package, already wrapped, from under the counter. “The cream is in there as well. I surmise that I must to add it to you bill?”
“If you could.”
“It is getting rather high.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll have someone sort it out.”
“Thank you.”
“And now for the other thing.”
Sylvia sighed. “Of course there is another thing.”
“Why are there still exots everywhere?”
“What do you mean?”
“We took care of the sorcerers, so how come there are just as many exots appearing as there were before we killed everyone?”
“Many of the ohoga portals are natural.”
“Many?”
“Some.” Sylvia cleared her throat and started stacking the jars from her box onto the shelf behind the counter. They were filled with a dozen different flower petals of a dozen different colors. “They are probably appearing because all the magical activity weakened the veil between the worlds.”
“Some?”
“Yes.”
“Then what about the rest?”
“I really do not know, Rawk.”
“Could there be another cabal?” They hadn’t killed all the members of the last one, but surely there weren’t enough left to keep things going.
“Of course it is possible, but I think it is very unlikely. That was a lot of sorcerers. And if General Ramaner was the one pulling the strings to get his revenge...”
“What about that other man we saw at the meeting?”
“What of him?”
“Well, he didn’t look like a warrior and you said he wasn’t a sorcerer.”
“I am positive he was not. Magic clings to anyone who has used it like... like grass seeds cling to a shirt.”
“So why was he there? I doubt it was for the lunch special.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Maybe he was the one in charge, not Ramaner. And now he’s found a way to set his plans in motion again.”
Sylvia hesitated again, then sighed, as if this were an argument she had already had with herself. “If I am to find out what is happening, I will need to use your library. Perhaps there is something in there that will give me a clue.” She collected her scarf from a hook behind the counter and started to wrap it around her head and face.
“What? Now?”
“I have no appointment
s and every portal that opens means more innocent people could die. And each portal that opens by magic weakens the veil and makes it easier for portals to open naturally.”
“Come on then.” Rawk hoped she didn’t solve the puzzle too quickly because he didn’t know if his ribs were up to a fight. He didn’t know if they were up to the walk home. His knee wasn’t doing too well either. He pushed himself to his feet and headed slowly for the door.
“Why are you walking like that?”
“Like what? I always walk like this.”
She didn’t say anything as she finished wrapping her scarf.
Halfway down the side of Mount Grace, in a small market that clung to the side of the street, Sylvia suddenly stopped. It took Rawk a few steps to realize and, when he looked back, the elf was staring. He followed her gaze and saw a woman, scarf wrapped around her face, standing in the shade of a jewelry stall.
“What’s the problem?”
Sylvia took a moment to gather herself. “The woman’s scarf.”
“What of it?”
“It is almost wrapped in the manner of silfon, but not quite.”
“Like your one, you mean? That special thing they do in your mother’s village?”
“Yes. I thought... But it is just a human. Someone from around here. How would they even know of silfon?”
Rawk laughed and hurt his ribs. He winced. “It was bound to happen. Women have seen you with me. Or maybe they’ve seen you in the newspaper.”
“I do not understand.”
“Everyone tries to copy what I do. The things I wear, the paces I go. Why do you think tavern owners are willing to pay for me to have lunch at their establishments? Now, they’re copying you as well.”
“You are sure? It seems ridiculous.”
“Of course it is. If I wanted, I could have men in Katamood painting stars on their faces within the week. Welcome to my life.” And as if on queue, a crowd was starting to gather. Rawk pulled out a few coins to throw to the closest children, then waved to everyone else. “Have a good afternoon everyone. Hopefully the rains stay away.”
The crowd grumbled but most of them took the hint and started to drift away, leaving Rawk free to continue down the hill. He was managing to avoid things nicely today.
-O-
Natan was coming out of the Ostler’s Yard when Rawk led Sylvia down the side of the Hero’s Rest. He was dressed in black, as usual, but had gone with the addition of a broad brimmed hat and a tall, colorful feather.
“Good afternoon, Rawk. I heard there was some excitement earlier. How did you fare?”
Rawk spread his hands. “I’m still alive and the creature isn’t.”
“A win then.” Natan eyed Sylvia up and down as he dabbed at his face with his handkerchief. “And who is your friend?”
“This is Sylvia. She’s my healer.”
“You take your healer with you everywhere now? If you are at that point, then perhaps you should retire.”
“I did, but it didn’t stick with all the exots about. And if I’m injured, the next exot may be the one that kills me.”
“Very wise.” Natan spoke to Sylvia in elvish. “Katamood is a long way from Amaraton, sister.”
Sylvia’s face was hidden under her scarf, but Rawk didn’t doubt that she was surprised. It was a long time since he had heard the language himself— if he wasn’t chasing and killing elves there wasn’t a lot of opportunity— but it seemed that Natan’s grasp of the intricacies was profound.
“Yes, it is. And where is your home?”
Natan laughed and gestured to the Hero’s Rest. “This is more of a home than I have ever had. I have travelled far enough and long enough to know that home is a state of mind.”
“I wish it were so,” Sylvia replied.
“It is different for each of us, is it not? What would life be if we were all the same?” Natan laughed. “Rawk, please don’t work Travis too hard. I have not seen nearly enough of him recently.”
“I don’t see much of him either these days. It must be his actual job at the tavern that’s keeping him busy.”
“Ahh, well, perhaps I should go and speak with his employers at Keeto Alata.”
“Perhaps you should. And see if you can talk Yardi into dropping the price of our lodging while you’re there.”
“I am sure you would have more luck than I in that area.”
Rawk shrugged. “I think Yardi likes profits more than she likes me.”
“That she may.” Natan mopped at his brow one more time before turning and continuing on his way.
“He is a surprising man,” Sylvia said.
Rawk watched as Natan straightened his feather. “I suppose.”
“A strange man.”
“That I can agree with. Come on.”
Shadows filled the Ostler’s Yard, stretching out from the stone of the western wall, clutching at the side of the stables. Valen was sitting at the table outside the kitchen door, attacking a bowl of stew as only a young man could, before the dinner rush filled the rest of his day.
Rawk was about to greet the lad when a clatter from the corner of the yard spun him around, Kaj was in his hand in an instant, the long blade a gleam in the shadows.
“It is merely a cat,” Sylvia informed him.
“It’s always round about here somewhere,” Valen added around a mouthful of food. “I reckon that’s the one what’s been leaving the dead mice on the back stairs.”
The cat had been hanging around quite a bit in that case. Rawk grunted and headed inside, hoping Kalesie was too busy to notice Sylvia trailing in his wake. If the old cook caught a cat in her kitchen she might just let it go— and elf was a different matter entirely.
Down in the library— which wasn’t really much more than an office with a desk, a couple of chairs and a shelf for the ever-growing collection of books— Rawk stood Kaj in the corner. He put a taper to the glowing lamp hanging on the wall by the door and used it to light the one on the desk. “Make yourself at home.”
But Sylvia was already perusing the bookshelf. She picked out a small volume, examined it for a moment then slid it back in a different place.
“I didn’t say you could rearrange anything.” He sat down and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve spent hours getting them in order.”
“Which order is that?”
Rawk shrugged. “It depends. What day is it?”
Sylvia chose another book and took it to her usual seat. She began reading and Rawk knew she could very well sit like that for the rest of the day, as if she was the only person in the room. A lot of time she was the only person in the room because Rawk couldn’t keep up and got in trouble if he interrupted too much. So he looked around for something to do. There were lots of books he could read, which might somehow help with their mission, but he didn’t want to read. That sounded a bit too much like work at the moment. When he noticed a jug and a brazier taking pride of place on a small table in the corner, he was glad of the distraction. With a groan he got back to his feet and went over to open the lid of the jug. He sniffed as a slightly bitter cloud of steam was released. Tea. There were small tankards near the brazier, plus spoons and honey. Travis had outdone himself this time.
Rawk made himself a cup and was about to head back to his desk to enjoy it when he remembered Sylvia. He looked at his cup for a moment, sighed, and took it to her instead.
“Thank you,” she said, without really paying attention to what she was getting. But the cup was hot, so she looked up quickly enough when her fingers touched the steel. She eyed it and Rawk suspiciously. “What is it?”
“Tea.” He gestured to the brazier and the jug. “Travis didn’t leave the package, but it’s Harish Dark, if I’m not mistaken. Have a sniff.”
“I know what Harish Dark smells like, Rawk.”
“Yes, but...” He sighed. “Don’t think of it as medicine. Think of it as something to enjoy.” He went back and made a cup for himself.
“You put honey
in it?”
“Yes. Milk can be good too, but a bit hard to keep down here, obviously. Is it hot enough? I imagine the brazier was Travis’ idea but I don’t know how well it will work or how long it’s been going. The taste gets stronger and... fuller... the longer you leave it.”
“It is not wine.”
“Really? Thanks for letting me know.” He took his cup back to the desk but half the enjoyment had been taken out of the experience now. It was supposed to be relaxing, not an argument. “Drink it or don’t, just don’t sit there looking at me like I’m an idiot.”
Rawk watched as Sylvia took a careful sip of the tea. The elf blinked her large green eyes. She didn’t say anything, but neither did she put down the cup as she went back to reading. That made Rawk feel a bit better. He took a sip of his own and sat back in his chair, closing his eyes to rest.
-O-
Rawk woke with a start and almost fell off his chair. He looked around the office, rubbing his eyes. “What? What is it?”
“You are getting old, Rawk,” Sylvia said from the doorway. She was looking out into the larger storage room, as if she could see through the next door and down the hallway. She had a book in one hand and was straightening her dress with the other.
“You woke me up to tell me I’m getting old?”
“No. I believe Celeste and Grint are here.”
“What time is it?” Rawk rose to his feet, every joint and muscle creaking like his chair, and joined Sylvia at the door. “They aren’t working tonight.” The lamps in the office stretched his shadow across the dim, cluttered room beyond.
“It is just after sundown. And I did not say they were working; I merely said they were here.”
And just then Grint opened the door to the storeroom and stomped in, like dwarves tended to do. His sister, slimmer, with dark skin and hair like their fermi, followed a moment later in an entirely more quiet and demure manner. She smiled and nodded but didn’t say anything.
Grint nodded a greeting as well as he looked around. “I thought you were going to clean this room up?”
Rawk looked around as well. There was still stuff everywhere, the flotsam of a life spent traveling the world. A lot of it was stuff he would never use again, if he had ever used it in the first place, but it was his life. Each piece came with a memory, even if he struggled to remember what some of those memories were. He pointed at something he did recognize. “I got that hat from Princess Miramelle of Gardon thirty years ago.”
An Army of Heroes Page 2
