An Army of Heroes

by Scott J Robinson

  “Why not?” Rawk thought movement might be a good idea.

  “It’s a hall, bigger than this.”

  “Yes.”

  “And about fifty men just entered it.”

  Sylvia gasped. “Are they coming this way?”

  “I imagine so,” Rake said. He started to load his pistol again, stuffing something down the barrel with some kind of stick. Rawk hadn’t paid any attention to how it was done before, although perhaps someone had explained it to him. For some reason, the details seemed important now.

  “Is there another way?” Red Raven asked. He was collecting the arrows he’d fired earlier, wiggling them backwards and forwards until they pulled free of flesh and clothes.

  Rawk gathered himself and pulled the map free of his pack, tearing it along one of the folds as he rushed to get it open. He looked for a couple of seconds. “That door there,” he said, pointing to one of the five doors that went out through the side walls. “It is longer but...” But maybe there isn’t an army waiting for us.

  “Go, then,” Rake said, straightening from his task.

  Rawk led the way to the door and had it half open when they were once again disturbed. More men were coming through the door that had caused all the problems in the first place.

  Frew bellowed and sprinted across the room, stepping on bodies like a child playing stepping stones. Heron fired his pistol and killed the first man though. Rake took down the second and that allowed the Hero to get there and keep the rest in the other room.

  “We’ll hold these ones,” Frew shouted, his sword a blur of movement. After a moment, the man attacking him shouted in fear as he shirt caught fire. Someone else took his place though he didn’t look too keen on the idea.

  Rake was reloading once more. “You go. We can hold here forever, I think.”

  Rawk nodded, but looked at the other doors. He didn’t say anything, but Buzt noticed. The big man check on Frew’s fight, then raced to the nearest door and started dragging bodies over to block it. Four should do the trick nicely. So Rawk turned and kept going. Red Raven, Sylvia, and Kristun went with him, crowding close behind.

  They raced along a hallway and burst through the door at the end. Another hall. Rawk hefted Kaj, looked one way and then the next as he tried to remember the map. While he was thinking someone came through a side door.

  “Rawk?”

  Rawk looked at the man. “Sargan? How’s your head?”

  The other man drew his sword. “You won’t surprise me this time.”

  But the look on his face suggested he was at least slightly surprise when an arrow thudded into his chest. Rawk was surprised too. When he turned to look behind, Raven lowered his bow and shrugged apologetically.

  “I have had about enough of this,” the elf said. “I just want it to be over.”

  Kristun nodded. “A man after my own heart.”

  Rawk couldn’t argue either. Stepping over the fallen guard, he looked through the still open door. As far as he could remember, it wasn’t on the map but it led directly to Weaver’s private study, which certainly was. The room was empty.

  “He must be next door running his war,” Rawk said quietly as he stepped inside. Now that he was so close to the end it felt strange. Weaver had grown strange over the years, but once he truly had been Rawk’s friend. They’d been through a lot together. And now...

  Rawk cleared his throat and hurried to the middle of the room, moving around the familiar furniture as if in a daze. The hard chair he’d sat in dozens of times. Hundreds of times. He pushed aside the heavy brocade curtains and looked out into the gathering day, tying to get his bearings. He consulted the map, spun it around so it was facing the other direction. There were three doors other than then one they had used already. “That one,” he said eventually, pointing to a door that looked much like the others. “One more passage, and we’ll be there.” Hopefully Weaver was as well.

  Just a moment later, Red Raven said, “Quiet.” He cocked his head to the side. “Can you hear that?”

  Rawk tried to listen. Voices. He didn’t know what they were saying, but they appeared to be coming from beyond the door he had just indicated. And they were coming closer.

  “What is through the other doors,” Sylvia asked.

  “Nothing interesting,” Rawk said. “Just palace.”

  Raven nodded. “Then you hide back through there. I will draw the men away.”

  “What? Are you crazy?”

  “Of course. Do you really think they will catch me?”

  Actually, Rawk did think they would catch the elf. Or, if not the men that were approaching now, then some other men. If only…

  “Damn it.”

  “What is it,” Sylvia asked, looking around for another threat.

  “The mushon-skin cloak. I could’ve given it to Raven.”

  “Which mushon-skin cloak?”

  “Galad’s.”

  “But…”

  “I know. I don’t know where it is; probably at Biki’s place somewhere. But when Juskin ran up to me before we crossed the river this morning would have been the perfect time for him to give it to me.”

  “Juskin knows where it is?”

  “No.”

  “Then…”

  “My clichés are deserting me. I’ll never work out how to tell this story properly.”

  Kristun cleared his throat. “I’m not sure if this is the time.”

  “Go. Quickly,” Raven added. “All of this is meaningless, all those militia dying is meaningless, if we don’t kill Weaver.”

  “Right.” Of course. Rawk took Sylvia’s hand and dragged her back the way they’d come.

  Kristun followed reluctantly, glancing at the elf as if trying to come up with an argument that had any chance of success. “I could help,” he said eventually.

  Raven shook his head. “It only needs one of us to draw them away.”

  Rawk stood just out in the hallway. He pulled the door almost closed so he could peer through the crack and watched as Raven checked another door to make sure he could escape. Then the elf stood behind the last, overstuffed chair Rawk had sat in, readied his bow and waited.

  A few moments later the first soldier entered the room. Red Raven put an arrow through his eye. Then a second man. But those behind realized what was happening and rushed through. There were eight of them, swords ready, war cries on their lips. Two more died before Red Raven turned and fled. He left the door open behind him and the final half a dozen obligingly followed.

  “Do you think he will be all right,” Sylvia asked as Rawk led her across the room. The sound of the men’s footsteps could still be heard, getting further away.

  Rawk looked to where the elf had gone. “If anyone can outrun them, I reckon it’s Raven.” He didn’t believe it really— one elf in a palace he didn’t know being chased by... well, everyone probably— but Sylvia nodded as if satisfied by the answer.

  Kristun got to the door first and pulled it open. The dwarf took a deep breath, ready to keep going, but Rawk stopped him.

  “I should go first.”

  “And why’s that?”

  Rawk drew Kaj.

  “Really?” Kristun drew his pistol.

  Rawk gave that some thought. “What happens after you fire?” he said after a moment. “You’ll just be standing there with a useless piece of metal and getting in my way.”

  “Yes, but...”

  “And beside that, I think we’ll all go deaf if you fire that in a narrow passage.”

  “You may be right. But if things get desperate, just duck down and I’ll shoot someone.”

  “Duck down and block my ears, you mean.”

  “Good idea. Don’t cut your ear off though.”

  “Come on.”

  The passage was narrow, barely lit by the hissing oil lamps. Rawk held his breath and went slowly, approaching a small alcove that could house a guard if required. He crept closer, heart racing. And there was nobody there. He sighed and straight
ened, easing the tension out of his shoulders.

  “What are we waiting for?” Sylvia whispered.

  Rawk took a deep breath. “Nothing.” He continued down the passage, concentrating on the next possible threat; the door at the end.

  At the door, he paused again, hand on the handle. “Are we ready?” he whispered.

  Kristun nodded. Sylvia, barely visible in the shadows behind the dwarf, hesitated then gave something like a nod as well. It didn’t matter because the handle wouldn’t budge.

  Rawk swore under his breath. “It’s locked,” he said.

  “No, it isn’t.” Kristun pushed him out of the way and started to feel around in the darkness. “It’s probably a secret passage so there will just a be a catch or something somewhere.” There was a click, and the dwarf gave a satisfied nod. Then he opened the door before Rawk could say anything, and stepped out into the room beyond. Rawk and Sylvia had no choice but to follow.

  There were bookshelves hiding a lot of the walls and weapons on display racks and hooks took up many of the spaces between. All sorts of furniture cluttered the room, mismatched and out of date and generally overdone, much like Weaver’s disguises. A huge scale model of Katamood stood on a table in the center of it all.

  “A little caution might have been in order,” Rawk said, as a dozen or more people turned to look in their direction, faces yellow in the light of a dozen tall, thick candles. Some soldiers, advisors, and a couple of dwarves trying to blend in with the wallpaper down the back.

  Celeste was sitting in a soft, striped chair a few yards from Weaver. She was bruised and bloody. Her hands and feet were tied.

  Kristun cleared his throat. “Sorry. I was a bit excited about opening the door— I wasn’t really thinking.” He tugged at his beard.

  “Next time,” Rawk said, though he didn’t have much thought to spare for the dwarf of for doors. He swallowed. “Can you lock it so nobody can sneak in behind us?”

  “I’ll just check.” He backed towards the door then turned around to see what he could work out.

  “Rawk?” Prince Weaver rose from a huge, padded chair, glancing towards Celeste, as if to make sure she was still there. “How did you get in here?”

  Rawk heard something break behind him and the door closed with a horrible grating sound.

  “That’s done,” Kristun said. “How’s it going here?”

  Rawk was staring at Celeste. She seemed to be all right. “We’re just taking a moment.”

  “Right? What for?”

  “Well...”

  Kristun drew an arrow and shot a soldier in the chest. The man collapsed against the model, upsetting some ships in the harbor and toppling one of the river towers. Shouts and curses. Swords being drawn. Another man died on the end of a brightly fletched arrow. The engineer seemed to have gotten the hang of killing people.

  “What are you doing?” the prince shouted.

  “Just following Raven’s example,” Kristun told him.

  “But... You can’t just come in here and shoot people.” Weaver poked his head up from behind Two Watch Hill, peering between the palace and the Hero’s Rest.

  Rawk was guessing Weaver meant that you could just come in and shoot him. It was doubtful the prince was worried about anyone else. “Come out and fight like a man, Weaver. Let’s end this.”

  “One on one? Just you and me?”

  Rawk nodded. “That’s the way you want it, isn’t it? You and me? Hasn’t it always been about you and me?”

  “He won’t put an arrow in me?”

  Rawk motioned to Kristun. “No, he won’t.”

  “I’m out of arrows,” the dwarf muttered, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

  Weaver slowly stood up and straightened his clothes. He was wearing a ridiculous military uniform that was nothing like those worn by the guard, or anyone else for that matter. His own ridiculous one-man army. The tunic was covered in so much gold brocade that is was impossible to tell where it ended and the dozen medals he had pinned to his chest started. He had a tricorn hat, worn in the wrong orientation, and an ornate sword that probably cost enough to buy a small town.

  “If it’s just us,” Weaver said, “why is she here?” He seemed to ignore the fact that there were still a few guards left as well. Luckily none of them had a bow.

  Rawk glanced at Sylvia. The elf was staring at a patch of darkness beside a shelf at the other end of the room. The candlelight refused to go in there. Rawk shivered.

  “Silver Lark is here in case he is here.” He gestured at the darkness, hoping he wasn’t going to look like a fool. Or perhaps hoping he was going to look like a fool. His life would be a whole heap easier, and possibly longer, if Natan was on a ship heading out of the harbor right now.

  But the shadow slipped away and a crow flew down to sit on the back of a chair. The bird preened itself for a moment, then started to change, swirling and blurring like smoke behind a darkened pane of glass. And a sickening moment later, Natan dusted off his black cloak and looked up.

  “It’s good to see you again, Rawk. It seems an age since we last spoke. And Silver Lark? I was hoping for someone... more.”

  While Rawk was distracted by the spence, the guards had sidled forward and finally charged.

  Rawk swore as he hefted Kaj.

  Behind him there was a thunderclap of sound. Sharp and almost deafening.

  The guards had stopped. Apparently one of them stopped dead. He stared at the quickly growing patch of blood on the front of his uniform. As Kristun hurried to reload his pistol and the man toppled forward, Rawk attacked. The guards were standing, stunned and staring. The first died before he had a chance to recover. The second blocked and stumbled back and tripped and died with a sword in his throat.

  “Who’s next?” Rawk asked.

  Another guard started forward. He died with a bang— apparently Kristun had finished reloading.

  But there were two more volunteers who decided there was safety in numbers. Rawk drew his dagger and threw it. He’d never been particularly good at throwing daggers, but it worked this time. The guard made the bad decision to pull it out of his chest. He probably wouldn’t have lived anyway, but he would have had a chance. Feeling a little bit pleased with himself, Rawk set himself to fight the final man. But whoever he was decided Kristun was the better target. The dwarf was reloading again and not really paying all that much attention.

  “Kristun,” Rawk shouted.

  The dwarf looked up. Eyes going wide, he dropped his pistol and started to draw his sword. He was too slow. He was always going to be too slow. But he was a dwarf and stubborn and even with a sword in his stomach, Kristun managed to finish drawing his own blade and ram it up into his killer’s armpit. The man screamed. Blood gushed. The two of them toppled to the floor, a dark stain of blood quickly spreading across the carpet.

  Rawk swallowed and turned towards Weaver. He couldn’t say anything. He had no witty remarks. All he could do was move towards the prince once more. The sooner he got him out of the way, the sooner he could help with the magician. The sooner he could… He stopped himself from glancing back over his shoulder. Though, halfway around the city model when he wondered if distracting Natan might have been the better option after all. Too late now.

  Not far away, a door opened and Rawk lost his focus. His knee twisted slightly as he turned to look.

  Waydin came through. “Prince Weaver, Travis would like to...” The guard’s sword was still sheathed, but it whispered out when he saw Rawk. He smiled grimly. “Well, I should have known it would come to this.”

  But Rawk wasn’t paying attention. Travis was standing behind the guard, looking sad and confused and as if this was the last place he wanted to be.

  “Travis...”

  “Rawk?” But he was distracted too. “Natan? You said...”

  “I said a great many things, my dear.”

  Rawk looked around the room again, then shook his head and continued on his original mission.
<
br />   Weaver started backing away. Waydin started running, leaping over a footstool, knocking a wine carafe off a table. His sword slashed through the air.

  Rawk ducked, rolled, cursed his knee, and came back to his feet against the side of the model table. He fended away another couple of attacks and slipped back out into the open.

  “You’re slow, Rawk. Old.”

  He grunted. “You do know why I’m old though, don’t you? Because I’m good.” He smiled. “Better than you will ever be.”

  Waydin laughed. “In your prime, yes. Now?”

  Rawk parried and countered. He drew a line of blood across his opponent’s arm. “You were saying?”

  They traded some more blows and Rawk smiled at the line of sweat coming out across Waydin’s brow. He took a moment to glance around the room. Travis was talking to Natan, seemingly pleading with him. Silver Lark was concentrating silently. And Weaver...

  Rawk ducked a wild swing a moment before it would have taken the tip off his already short chin-beard. He angled his blade to slide an attack from Waydin past his thigh and danced back.

  “That’s more like the Weaver I know,” Rawk said.

  Weaver hadn’t held a sword in anger for a long time, but with him on one side and Waydin on the other, Rawk was pressed hard.

  He feinted a swing at Weaver and lunged towards Waydin. When he missed he spun away into the clear, threw a serving tray that didn’t come close to hitting anyone, and backed away.

  On the other side of the room, Natan pulled a sword from a display on the wall. Travis backed away, hands held up, still talking, pleading. But Natan didn’t listen. Surprisingly light of foot, he slipped forward and lunged. Travis twisted aside at the last moment, darted away, and grabbed at a weapon of his own. The hilt caught on the bracket holding it. He fumbled. And pulled it down just in time to save himself from being skewered. He took the edge across his side anyway and winced as he readied himself.

  Rawk blocked, let another jab slide past his ear and slashed at Weaver. But the prince’s first thought was always to run away, so the tip of Kaj didn’t get within a foot of the target.

  Waydin was on him, bulling his way forward, trying to get him on the ground with nothing more than his body. But Rawk was bigger and heavier and shoved back. He whipped his sword up, got it tangled in the material at the guard’s crotch. It didn’t do any actual damage, but it was enough to scare him.