An Army of Heroes

by Scott J Robinson

“Did you?” The dwarf laughed. “I think you’re too smart for the rest of us, lad.”

  They clattered over the planks. On the stone pillar on the far side of the bridge was a scrawl of white writing. “A sharp sword won’t stop the sun from rising— Words of Wisdom.” Rawk swore under his breath. He wished the graffiti artist would either shut up or get on with whatever he was going to do.

  A hundred yards short of the river the dwarf pulled his cab to a halt under a tree who’s bare branches offered barely any shade at all. The goats were glad of the rest and took the opportunity to scratch and nibble some bark.

  “How much?” Rawk asked as he was climbing out. He didn’t really care. He had a handful of coins ready to pass over.

  “Nothing,” the driver said. “You paid last night.”

  “Take Clinker back up to Caldera. And Clinker you have to tell Thacker that Sylvia has been arrested.”

  “She has?”

  “Yes. I’m going to talk to Weaver right now.”

  Rawk shoved all the money into Harris’ hand and hurried forward. He climbed the back of the next bridge. On the far side of the river members of the City Guard were watching, waiting to turn away any undesirables— namely anyone who wasn’t human. Or maybe humans too, if they looked like they belonged on the south side of the river. Rawk nodded to the men as he hurried through.

  He would have run up the hill if his knee allowed it. His knee and his back and his arm. He walked as quickly as he could.

  -O-

  Rawk stalked across the palace waiting room. At first, he thought it was crowded with all manner of people, but after a second look he revised his opinion. It was crowded with all manner of humans. He’d noticed before that only humans went to see Weaver but had never really given it any thought. Now he knew why. Firstly, Weaver didn’t really run the lives of most of the non-humans, not in the day-to-day at any rate. That was Thacker. And even if Thacker wasn’t around the dwarves probably realized that Prince Weaver wouldn’t do anything for them, unless their problems happened to coincide with his. Which was unlikely.

  Rawk ignored the queue and stopped in front of the receptionist’s desk.

  “Is Weaver in?”

  “He is not seeing anyone at the—”

  Rawk pushed around the back of the desk towards the private door beyond. The two guards stepped forward to block the way but backed down when he glared at them. He visited regularly enough and they knew he wasn’t going to hurt Weaver. Rawk grunted. They thought they knew. He pushed through the door, ignoring the complaints from the penitents gathered behind him. Five minutes later he was outside the door to Weaver’s private study. The guards here were veterans. They were closer to Weaver. They weren’t about to let him through. They weren’t even going to knock to see if Weaver wanted to see him.

  Rawk didn’t even bother asking. He stood in front of them for a moment. Then he attacked. He hit the first man flush on the nose, knocking him out cold, and turned on the second. He knocked the wind out of him with a knee to the stomach and finished it off with an elbow to the side of the head.

  Taking a deep breath, Rawk took stock. He thought he might have broken his wrist. Possible the stitches on his arm had pulled out. His knuckles were bruised and bleeding. Shaking off the pain, he opened the door and went inside.

  Weaver was sitting with his feet up on the windowsill, wine in one hand, newspaper in the other. “I said I was not to be disturbed.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t get the message.”

  Weaver almost fell of his chair. He got his feet down to the floor and spun around. “How did you get in? Sargan knows better than that.”

  “I didn’t ask for Sargan’s opinion.”

  The prince looked out through the still open door. “You attacked them? Both of them?” he took a nervous drink. “Sargan is very good. You haven’t lost it, have you Rawk?”

  Rawk sighed. “Sargan was surprised,” he said before Weaver could mention the good old days. “That’s all. They didn’t expect me to attack. I’m sure I’ll pay for it in the next few days. The whole Guard will be out for revenge.”

  “I imagine they will. So, what made you take the risk?”

  “Sylvia, my healer, has been arrested. I assume it is part of the crack down after the riots but...”

  Weaver waved his wine goblet. “Actually, it isn’t.”

  Rawk nodded.

  “I’m not sure if you realize, Rawk— well, you mustn’t, because that would be silly— but Sylvia is not a healer. She is actually Silver Lark, our old enemy.”

  Rawk took a deep breath. “She is a healer. Whatever she might have been in the past, she is not now.”

  “Really?”

  “She doesn’t use magic. She uses herbs and common sense.”

  “Are you sure? There is magic all around Katamood at the moment.”

  “She hasn’t done any magic for years.”

  “Does that mean she is no longer a sorcerer?”

  “She has nothing to do with the portals. She helped me find the cabal that was making them.”

  “Really? Then how come there are still portals opening everywhere?”

  Rawk unclenched his fist. He tried to calm himself down. “Firstly, portals can happen naturally.”

  “Then why haven’t they been happening naturally for the last ten years?”

  “Maybe they have. Maybe we just didn’t notice.”

  Weaver raised an eyebrow. He didn’t do it very well; he just looked silly.

  “Opening portals with magic weakens the wall between worlds and makes natural portals more likely.”

  “She told you this, did she? That’s convenient, isn’t it?”

  “Weaver, she has committed no crime. She has done no magic.”

  “I should let her go? Is that what you are saying?”

  “Yes.”

  “So she didn’t help you defeat all those sorcerers? You did that yourself?”

  Rawk didn’t say anything.

  Weaver raised his eyebrow again. Now it was just annoying.

  “I will not be letting her go, Rawk. She is a sorcerer and doesn’t belong here; the laws are clear and simple.”

  “The laws are wrong. You are wrong.” Rawk heard noises behind him and turned to see half a dozen guards gathering around the door. A couple were helping Sargan and his companion to their feet. “Sylvia is the best healer in the city. And she does it all without magic because she is afraid of drawing attention to herself.”

  “I don’t care who she is, Rawk.” Weaver almost shouted. “You spend too much time with her...” He faltered for a moment and cleared his throat. “She is using sorcery on you and you can’t even tell.”

  “Weaver—”

  “This all started when you started seeing her.”

  “The wolden wolf came before I visited her. I...” Rawk’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. This isn’t about sorcery, is it?” He almost laughed but it caught in his throat. “This is about you and me.”

  “You spend more time with her than you do with me. You like her more than you like me. Don’t deny it.”

  Rawk sneered. “I wasn’t going to deny it, Weaver. Like I said, Sylvia has been helping me fight the sorcerers.”

  “Silver Lark. Her name is Silver Lark, and I think you would do well to remember that.” He took up a grape and popped it in his mouth. “She may say she loves you now, but I imagine that could change at any moment, if she saw an advantage. Or if she thought she had no other choice.”

  “What are you talking about? She doesn’t love me.”

  “Of course she doesn’t, it’s good that you see that. But even if you are only bedding her for fun, the danger is still great.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Not in danger? That’s what all the sailors say as the sirens lure them onto the rocks.”

  “Sylvia has shown no evidence of luring me onto any rocks, so I will trust her until she does.”

  “Don’t you understand? It will be too late th
en, Rawk. If you want to screw an elf there are plenty around that are much less dangerous than Silver Lark.”

  Rawk knew that the conversation was never going to go anywhere. Weaver didn’t hear because he wasn’t interested in the truth, not unless he was the person who came up with it. “So that’s it?”

  “I cannot spend my whole life protecting you from sirens and sorcerers.” The prince sighed dramatically. “You can see her tomorrow and perhaps when you see what she is like now, you will change your mind.”

  “She is innocent.”

  “Well, if the portals keep opening then she obviously isn’t responsible and we shall see what we can work out. She’s playing with your mind. She’s convinced you that dwarves and...” He waved his hand. “And fermi and all the others are better than humans.”

  “Not better. The same. Just different people.”

  “They are not the same. They will never be the same. They are hardly more than animals. If we weren’t here the dwarves would be living in caves. The fermi would be in tents.”

  “And they would be happier than they are now, I dare say.”

  “We can discuss all of this after we visit her tomorrow.”

  “Where is she being held?”

  “The Quod, of course.”

  “The Quod?” Rawk took a deep breath and loosened his fist again. “Weaver...”

  “Where else did you think I would keep her?”

  “Will the Quod be enough? You’re the one telling me she’s a sorcerer.”

  Weaver smiled. “I have a supply of coran chains. She will cause no problems.”

  Rawk gasped. “But coran chains burn, Weaver. You know that.”

  “That isn’t my concern.” The Prince sighed and held up a hand. “Look, she’s staying where she is for now, but I will treat her well. We need to talk so we can work this out.”

  Rawk glanced at the guards again. They looked serious. “Of course. We’ve been friends far to long to let this come between us.”

  Weaver smiled. “Exactly. I knew you would see it my way.”

  Rawk hesitated. “Well. I guess I should go then.”

  “Important Hero stuff to do?”

  “Always. And I’ve got to keep track of a whole bunch of other Heroes as well now. I don’t know why I bothered.” He headed for the door, fighting the urge to rest his hand on the hilt of his sword. The guards watched him carefully.

  “I’ll be there first thing in the morning.”

  “Come up here and I’ll go with you. I’ll talk to her.”

  Rawk nodded. “Very well. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

  On his way out, Rawk stopped in the doorway and looked Sargan up and down. The soldier wiped a dribble of blood from his chin and spat onto the floor.

  “Try that again and I’ll kill you. I don’t care what Prince Weaver says.” He grunted. “Not so tough now that I’m ready for you, are you?”

  Rawk smiled. “And you’re much tougher now that you’ve got seven friends to help.” He looked over his shoulder at the prince. “Where did you find this one? He could do with a bit more training.” Weaver didn’t reply so Rawk shouldered his way out into the hall. Sargan and three others followed, sounding like some young bullies trying to be tough.

  Rawk hardly even noticed them. He was thinking about Sylvia. She could have been at home treating sick people if he hadn’t come along and insisted that she help him. Blackmailed her into helping. She was in the Quod because he hadn’t been willing to admit that he was getting old. He’d needed a healer who wouldn’t talk, so now she was in a cell somewhere with a magic-blocking collar around her neck.

  “I should’ve retired.” He knew that. He should’ve retired a long time ago.

  -O-

  Rawk slumped into the chair.

  “A rough morning?” Travis asked. He was already pouring tea.

  Rawk nodded. “Sylvia— Silver Lark— has been arrested.”

  Travis blinked. “What? Sylvia is Silver Lark? But... Isn’t she a sorcerer? Didn’t you spend fifteen years trying to kill her?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you just...”

  “People change, Travis.”

  “Not you.”

  Rawk raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, yes. You have changed a lot recently, with the whole dwarf thing and...” He seemed to think it was a good idea to shut up. He added honey to the tea and set the cup carefully down on the desk. “Have you talked to Weaver?”

  “Of course. He said he’d look into things. I’m going to see her tomorrow morning. Hopefully...” He rubbed at his face and took a sip of tea. When he set the cup back down he stared at the designs engraved into the surface, spinning the cup slowly on the timber surface

  The door opened and Rawk sat up quickly.

  But Juskin entered, pile of book in his arms. The old man looked from Rawk to Travis. “What is going on?” He started to pile the books on the floor as Rawk went through the story again.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll talk to him again tomorrow.”

  “Will it work?”

  Rawk looked at Travis. “He’s my friend.” Except he wasn’t. He was something else now, though Rawk didn’t quite know what that was. Spurned lover? That didn’t sound like someone who would do him a favor. He cleared his throat and gestured to Juskin’s books. “Have you found anything about spences yet?”

  Juskin sighed. “Hints. Vague mentions. Nothing substantial.”

  Rawk surged to his feet and went quickly to the shelf. “Well, we have to keep looking.” He scanned the shelf of yet-to-be-checked books but he couldn’t really see the titles, even if he could concentrate on them. He pulled one down randomly and took it back to his desk. When he opened the first page he sat for a minute waiting for his eyes to adjust. He scanned the table of contents. Nothing looked promising, so he opened the book randomly and started to read.

  Ten minutes later, Rawk’s put the book down and rubbed at his eyes. He had always assumed that his head hurt when he read because reading was bad for you and did strange things to your brain. But he remembered the spectacles in his drawer and wondered if his eyes were the problem. He took the package out and spun it slowly in his fingers.

  “What’s that?” Travis asked. He was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room with a book in his hands.

  “Are you still here?”

  “I thought I’d help.”

  “You know what you’re looking for?”

  “Of course. But stop changing the subject.”

  Rawk untied the string that held the cloth bundle closed and opened it out on the table. He picked up the spectacles and held them up for Travis to see.

  “Spectacles,” Juskin said.

  Travis looked at the old man and back at Rawk. “But what do they actually do?”

  “I read about them in an old book and went to a dwarf with the idea,” Juskin said. “They correct the shapes of the light entering your eyes.”

  “Well, that was entirely unenlightening.”

  Rawk laughed. “They get rid of blurry vision, if you have the right ones.” With some trepidation, he sat the spectacles on his nose and hooked the wire arms around behind his ears. And he could see.

  He picked up the book smiling at the clarity of the letters. He hadn’t realized it was so bad. He hadn’t noticed the gradual slipping of his eyes, so in the end he’d just thought blurry vision was normal.

  “Do they work?” Juskin asked.

  Rawk smiled. “Of course they do; a dwarf made them.”

  “Indeed.”

  “You look silly.” Travis glanced at Juskin, as if worried he might have offended the old man.

  “That may be,” Rawk said, “but I can see your face clearly enough to hit you on the nose if I want.” He looked at Travis closer. “I never realized your eyes were two different colors.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No. I couldn’t see clearly enough. It’s amazing.” He look
ed at the book. “The letters are so clear. And I can read those titles from all the way over here.” He pointed to the new books Juskin had brought in. A few minutes ago they would have been nothing more than blobs of color. “A Thousand Years of Magic, by Darveen Pierce. Lonely Darkness by Great Hadar. And Balinar by...” Rawk’s eyes narrowed. He surged to his feet and rushed across the room.

  “What is it?”

  He pulled an ancient book from the middle of Juskin’s pile and flipped it open. He stood looking at the page for a minute.

  “What is going on?”

  Rawk held up the book. “Balinar, by Natan Fay Galabar.”

  “What of it?” Juskin asked. “It is in an obscure language I cannot make heads nor tails of. I was hoping Sylvia would be able to help.”

  Travis was shaking his head. “You don’t think it’s him, do you?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Juskin was looking from one to the other. “What are you talking about?”

  “It isn’t a common name,” Rawk said.

  “Perhaps it was when the book was written.”

  Rawk removed his spectacles.

  “But I like him, Rawk. I really do. He’s smart and funny and he... He makes me feel special. He talks to me like it is the best thing in the world to do.”

  “Maybe it isn’t him, Travis. Maybe...”

  “Somebody talk to me. Please”

  Travis sighed. “A man named Natan lives upstairs. Rawk thinks he’s the spence.”

  “I’m not saying he is, Travis. I’m saying we should investigate. Natan is a large man, just like the spence. And he is very mysterious.”

  “He is not mysterious.”

  “Where does his money come from?”

  “He had rich parents.”

  “He told you that?”

  “No. He changes the subject.” Travis closed his book. “You told me to chase love, Rawk, or something like that. And now you’re telling me...”

  “I’m sorry, Travis. I could be wrong. I’m going back to the palace right now to talk to Weaver.”

  Travis left the book on the floor and left the room. He didn’t slam the door, he just walked quickly, silently, and was soon gone from sight.

  “Damn it.” Rawk followed after him a little way then paused. He knew he should probably go and talk to Travis, but he had no idea what to say. He had no idea what to say to Weaver either, but it would still be easier. He placed his spectacle sin a pouch on his belt and took a deep breath.