An Army of Heroes

by Scott J Robinson

  Gannon pursed his lips and scratched at a scar on his weathered cheek. “But if we did have a couple we could use them to hold a beachhead on the other side of the river.”

  Raven nodded. “Perhaps you are right.” He turned to Kristun. “I apologize.”

  Kristun shuffled his papers some more. “I have an idea for a cross bow that is basically just for holing ships.”

  “An idea?” Thacker asked.

  “I haven’t tried it.”

  The other dwarves presented the same range of good, bad and never-even-tested ideas that might win them the war or set them up as the joke of historians for a thousand years. And around the suggestions they built a plan that might just let them live through the next couple of days.

  The meeting broke up as quickly as possible so the experienced soldiers could get back out into the city to help with the fighting. Thacker finally moved his head quarters to the inn and Rawk attached himself to a militia unit.

  For the next hour, he moved through the streets with about fifty men, flushing out small bands of mercenaries, capturing some and dealing with the others as quickly as possible. They suffered very few losses, but Rawk thought he could feel the tension building, like a storm on the horizon, building towards something big.

  He followed Hapa through the twisting streets. The sorcerer was a plain woman with short green hair and a weak chin but had proven useful on a few occasions throughout the morning, little things that had made the difference. Like now. She’d been living in the crazy warren surrounding Fek Bazaar for a couple of years and knew the area like the back of her hand. Rawk knew the basics but he had the feeling he would wander around in circles for the rest of the day if they became separated.

  When they finally reached the South Watch where the river met the Bay of Kata, they stopped to stare at the remains of the previous night’s battle. The bodies of the locals had already been removed, the wagons rolling up the hill in a convoy with pipers and drummers marching along beside. The mercenaries had been dragged into several piles and were waiting to be loaded and carried away as well.

  A huge dwarf, cloth tied over his mouth and nose, saw Rawk and wandered over.

  “Hello, Yed. Just another day in the office?”

  The dwarf nodded a greeting and turned to look at the work as well. “It’s the biggest mess I’ve ever had to clean up. Falling Leaves was a walk in the park compared to this.” He grunted. “A couple of the boys think we should just leave them here. That would get the bastards out of the tower soon enough.”

  Rawk looked at the tower. The door had been barred from the outside, so nobody was going to be leaving any time soon. Perhaps not until they were hungry. “So where are you taking the bodies?”

  “South. We’re working on a couple of barrows.”

  “The farmers aren’t complaining?”

  “They’re near Weaver’s hunting lodge.”

  Rawk grunted. Weaver hated hunting. The lodge was used for drinking and not much else.

  “Are you all right?” Yed asked.

  “I’m fine...” But Rawk realized Yed wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at Hapa. The sorcerer looked very pale. Her mouth was working silently. For a moment, Rawk worried that the woman was casting a spell.

  Hapa blinked and turned abruptly. “No. I’m fine. It’s just...”

  “You’ve never seen a dead person?” Yed asked.

  “She’s seen quite a few this morning, Yed,” Rawk said.

  She nodded. “I have, but...”

  Rawk turned to look at the scene as well. “Not quite on this scale.” And for a moment it concerned him that the piles of dead men, the blood and the entrails and the stench, didn’t concern him at all. “You get used to it,” he said.

  “I don’t want to get used to it.”

  “No. I suppose not.”

  There was a shout from somewhere back along the river. Then nothing.

  “Tinder,” Yed shouted.

  Another dwarf hurried up. “Yeah.”

  “Go see what’s happening.”

  Tinder gave a lazy salute and headed towards the source of the sound.

  Yed looked around. “Has anyone seen my sword?”

  “You didn’t make some of this mess, did you?” Rawk asked. “I didn’t see you anywhere.” It would be amazing if he had seen a particular person amidst the madness of the battle.

  “Not this one.” The dwarf waved a hand towards the west. “I was over by Kela Road last night.”

  A minute later there was another shout. A warning. Yed had found his sword and led the way, lumbering towards the west. Rawk hurried to catch up as a large contingent of workers downed their tools and snatched up weapons instead.

  They raced out of the square and along the edge of the river. A sleek sloop bobbed at the head of a long line of ships as the bank dipped under a bridge. They didn’t make it that far. A swarm of men came around the corner of a warehouse, swords drawn. When they saw Rawk and his companions they paused for a moment then, as one, gave a wordless shout and charged forward.

  Rawk swore and drew Kaj. “Hold the line,” he shouted. There wasn’t a line, but one quickly formed with Rawk at the center. “Hapa, can you slow them down.”

  The sorcerer didn’t reply.

  “Anything.”

  In a moment it would be too late.

  Rawk’s breath caught when he saw Londa, the young Hero, at the head of the charge with his sword drawn and a while look on his face.

  “The little bastard,” Rawk said. He almost didn’t want a distraction.

  There was a noise, a bone chilling screech, like nothing Rawk had ever heard. The charge faltered as the men and women slowed to look around. Rawk kept his focus, staring at Londa, lip twitching. He didn’t know if the noise was Hapa’s doing or something else. It didn’t matter. Either way, the more immediate threat was standing in front of him. He wanted to start a charge of his own now, but didn’t know if anyone would go with him or if they were all still looking for the source of the noise.

  Eyes on Londa, he charged anyway. As he neared the enemy, a huge mercenary got in his way. Rawk cut him down, slashing his throat and, while the blood was still spraying, stabbed another in the stomach. Then Rawk was surrounded, ten yards from his target and on his own.

  He spun and parried, twisting his knee, jarring his elbow, working against two men and a woman, slapping away attacks as quickly as he could. Cox arrived from somewhere, and the old man used his reach to advantage. He kept the enemy at bay, grim and silent. The militia finally arrived in force, letting out a war cry as they crossed the small distance between the two forces.

  Rawk felt the clash, heard the cries of pain, noticed that Cox had been carried away by the ebb and flow, but tried to keep his attention on the details of his fight. He wanted to find Londa but all he could do now was survive. For a few seconds he dodged and wove but each movement sent a flare of pain through his leg. He was not going be able to keep it up for long. So he pushed forward while he had the chance, spared as little thought as possible on the lesser threats around him while he concentrated his efforts on a short, barrel chested brute who’s dark eyes stared soullessly out from beneath his helmet. The stranger didn’t care much for finesses but his blade was always where it needed to be. So Rawk dispatched a woman when she stumbled on an uneven paver, and sliced another man’s arm enough to end his fight, before he managed to find a chink in the brute’s defense.

  He saw the man’s eyes go wide with shock when Kaj parted two of his ribs. But Rawk pulled the blade free and turned away before he saw the ending.

  Rawk’s whole body ached. His mind was a riot of thoughts that were being held back by a wall of fear and exhaustion and the need to just keep moving.

  As ever, the mercenaries were out numbered but did not give up. Their experience told, but it was not a story Rawk was willing to listen to. He killed a bald-headed man just as he was about to take a dwarf’s arm off at the shoulder. He slipped on the growi
ng pool of blood. Heart racing, he fought from on one knee for a lifetime of seconds, deflecting the blows from a woman’s long, etched scimitar before she too slipped and he sliced through her leg just below her mail breech. He took a glancing blow from a mace that deadened his arm. He would have died then, but Yed punched the man in the face with his massive fist even as he held off another with his sword.

  Rawk shook his arm to get the feeling back. When he found a horrible dull ache he set to work again. He ran a boy through, watching the surprised look on the lad’s face as his sword clattered to the ground and he fell back with a wet slap. He left a slash in an old man’s shirt that was getting redder by the moment. The man kept fighting for a long time before realizing he may be in some trouble.

  And as always, Rawk eventually looked around for another opponent and realized that the fight was over. His consciousness suddenly expanded like a man taking a deep breath after being underwater and he could see more than just the person in front of him, the sword and subtle shift of eye and weight. He could see the world and feel the little aches and pains that he had not noticed in the moment of the battle. He stepped back from the carnage, wincing as his knee flared with pain, and sucked in a deep breath. And again.

  “Do you think there are more?”

  Rawk looked around and saw Yed not far away, putting pressure on a wound on his arm but looking unconcerned. “I don’t know. Probably.” There was no way to tell without knocking on each door and hoping someone answered. “We have to make sure there are no small groups of militia. We have to get as many men as we can together so the mercenaries don’t think it’s worth the fight.”

  But there were more.

  Rawk listened to a rumble of sound and watched as a large group of militia came around a corner just beyond the bridge. At least three score of them, running hard. And right behind them, pressing hard, were mercenaries. A lot of mercenaries. A hundred or more.

  Yed groaned. Rawk thought swearing was more appropriate. “No time for rest,” he shouted and stalked forward, hoping the militia would stop and turn when they realized they had reinforcements instead of just charging over the top of them.

  He had barely gone a dozen paces, stepping over dead mercenaries and dead militia and Cox, who had a neck wound pumping blood onto the cobbles, and Londa with dagger still protruding from his eye, when he heard another sound. At first, he didn’t know what it was. It sounded like the roar of a group of men, but it was so loud, so kaleidoscopic, that he wasn’t quite sure. And coming out from among the buildings on the far side of the river was a tidal wave a men, mercenaries by the hundred, by the thousand. They were taking the opportunity to surge across the bridge and join the fight.

  Rawk stopped. He swore again though eh thought groaning might be more appropriate. He swallowed and stared. “Ummm... Hapa.” He looked around for the sorcerer and saw her standing, dazed and staring, not far away. “We need a distraction, Hapa. A... miracle. Anything? Please.” If they had enough men, and they didn’t have the first group behind them, they could have held the enemy on the bridge, bottling them up before they could bring their numbers to bear, but they didn’t have enough men, and they did have the enemy at their back as well, so they couldn’t. Rawk swallowed. He thought it was strange to stand on the banks of the river and watch as his death stormed across the bridge in front of him.

  The first of the mercenaries reached the top of the arch. They picked up speed as they started the descent. And the rumble of their charge stopped. A boom of thunder swallowed it. Thunder like Rawk had never heard before. He ducked and covered his ears as the ground shook. People stumbled and fell. The boats and the river trembled. A quickly spreading cloud of dust enveloped the bridge. A moment later, the ships danced, thumping against the docks, tangling their spars as they rocked and rolled, pushed by a wave that surged down the river and out towards the bay. The battle ended before it had even started and everyone turned to stare.

  When the dust cleared the bridge was gone. There were just short fingers of stone projecting from each side of the river, pointing out into nothing. Bodies and parts of bodies clogged the water, shuffling towards the sea, almost leaping up when sudden surges of water met the incoming tide. A minute later, there was another clap of thunder, and another, each further away than the one before. And for the next five minutes the ships fenced with spars and masts as more waves and the army of the dead fled for the sea.

  Rawk looked at Hapa. “That was a bit more distracting than I expected.”

  Hapa’s eyes were wide, her face pale. All she could do was shrug and shake her head.

  Trying to get his mind working again, Rawk gathered some militiamen about him and headed towards the mercenaries already on this side of the river. They were stunned, still staring at the bridge that was no more.

  “Throw down your weapons.”

  Rawk turned and saw Rake standing on a wagon fifty yards away. The dwarf called out to the mercenaries again. They did as they were asked. First one, then another, then a dozen all at once. A minute later, they were sitting on the road and dwarves were moving among them collecting weapons. Everyone stole surreptitious glances towards the bridge. Rawk could still see bodies floating past and he wondered if each of the explosions he had heard had been another bridge falling. And had there been mercenaries on all of them, charging across in what they thought would be the final assault?

  “You turned up just in time.” Rake came to stand by Rawk. He stared out at the river as well.

  “I was just thinking of the drama, as ever. Though I do think the whole exploding bridge thing was more helpful.” Rawk looked at the two fingers of bridge pointing out over the river. Dust was still floating in the air, like early morning mist. Some of it was red. Then he looked at Londa, lying nearby. “Another chance to cliché has passed me by,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I told Londa that if I saw him fighting for Weaver I’d kill him.” He gestured at the body. “Someone else beat me to it though. Come on, I need a drink. Is it lunch time?”

  Rake nodded. “I know just the place.”

  -O-

  There were guards outside the Burning Tree this time and the square was overflowing with the bustle and hum of activity.

  “That wasn’t very nice of you,” Rawk said to Rake. “I thought we were going for a drink.”

  “You can have a drink if you like. Thacker will probably even pay.”

  “Great.”

  Inside, the inn was filled to overflowing this time but hardly any louder than when he had turned up the previous night. Thacker sitting with Grint at a shadowed table in the back corner with two serious looking men standing close by, hands on the hilts of their swords.

  Rawk made his way through the crowd.

  “How goes it?”

  “Thacker. It still goes, which is better than it is for a lot of people.”

  Thacker nodded.

  “And how is our war going?” Rawk sat down when he was offered a chair.

  Grint grunted and Thacker sighed. “It could be better. Weaver seems to be happy to throw mercenaries at us all day long— it’s just money, after all. But he doesn’t seem to realize that if this keeps going there won’t be any people left in the city.”

  Rawk grunted. “Win or lose, I don’t think there will be anyone left south of the river. If Weaver wins and you somehow get out of this alive will you stay? Will the dwarves who are being cheated stay after this? It will only get worse for them. Weaver will lose either way— Katamood will never be the same.”

  “Well, I don’t know how much longer we can hang on, Rawk. Even with the bridges gone...”

  “You blew up all of them?”

  Thacker shook his head. “There’s one left and it is rigged to blow.”

  Rawk laughed. “I don’t think Weaver will find many volunteers to lead that charge.”

  Grint sat back in his chair. “That’s what everyone else is thinking as well. So we find ourselves in a bit of a s
talemate.”

  “So then, we all just sit around here pretending the other side of the river doesn’t exist?”

  “We all know Weaver won’t do that. If we let him sit he will eventually come up with the idea of flanking us, if he hasn’t already. He would be a fool to keep throwing men at us over the river.”

  Rawk said what they were all thinking. What most people south of the river were thinking. “Surrender?”

  Grint threw down his pencil. “That’s the same as losing. Like you say, who would stay here if Weaver wins?”

  There was a moment of silence and Thacker gestured towards the door. “You’ve got a visitor, Rawk.”

  Rawk turned and saw Celeste standing in the doorway. “Me? She’ll want to see Grint.” She wasn’t moving, silhouetted against the light.

  Celeste hurried through the crowd and came to a halt by the table. She glanced at Grint, then Rawk. “It is good to see you are well. Both of you.” And she looked at Thacker. “All of you.”

  Thacker grunted. “I stubbed my toe on my desk this morning. That’s about the most danger I’ve been in all day.”

  Rawk wasn’t sure that Grint had been close to any action either. “Your desk looks really heavy, Thacker,” he pointed out. “That would hurt.”

  “Oh, it did.”

  Celeste was looking at her own toes. “I hear the fighting was terrible this morning.”

  Rawk nodded and took a deep breath. “Yes. Weaver just keeps sending men against us. Thankfully he hasn’t worked out how to send them in large groups yet. When he does...” Rawk shrugged then remembered his manners. He rose and gestured Celeste to the seat.

  “No, thank you—”

  There was a commotion by the door and Rawk dragged his eyes away from Celeste to look. Red Raven was standing there, silhouetted like Celeste had been but not looking nearly as good. He was sweating and breathing hard, as he looked around the room. He spotted Rawk and gathered himself, before hurrying through the now silent crowd.

  “Thacker. Rawk.” He nodded. “Weaver wishes to talk to you.”