The Age of Heroes Page 7

  “Are you sure? Maybe they are not here today. But what of ten thousand years ago? Myths and legends normally start with a grain of truth.”

  “Yes, two arms and two legs. All where you would expect them to be.”

  “And hairy you say? Hairy like a hairy man? Or hairy like a bear?”

  “Ummm... Like a bear, I think. Long, grey hair.”

  “Right.” Juskin pushed his spectacles back up on his nose and started to leaf through his book.

  “Is that a book of creatures?”

  “Not details, no. This is an index of creatures that I have compiled. You look up attributes and get a list of candidates. So I look up ‘hairy’ and see the names. Then I look up ‘ten feet tall’ and see if any of them match.” He spent several minutes reading and turning pages and mumbling to himself. “Here see, there are only two creatures that have those two attributes and one of them, the gigapo is described as willowy, not solid. The other, the Harien Troll, must be the one you are after. Or if not, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “Right, so have you got a book?”

  Juskin pulled a second book from under the counter and started going through the pages. “I don’t think... Ahhh, wait a moment.” He disappeared back out through the door and for the next few minutes thumping and banging sounds emerged.

  “Do you need help?” Rawk asked after an especially loud crack.

  “No. No. I have it now.” There was another bang, then silence. The silence stretched on for a few seconds and Rawk worried the old man had been trapped under a toppled mountain of books. But just as he was about to go to investigate, Juskin emerged carrying a small, leather bound volume. “Here we are.”

  He slapped it down on the counter and spun it to face Rawk.

  “Frento Magan’s Compendium of Myth and Legend,” Rawk read. “Sounds impressive.”

  “Doesn’t it, though?” Juskin removed his spectacles and cleaned them on the corner of his robe. “Frento was a bit of a fool when it came to doing his own research, but he could edit the work of others like nobody else.”

  “And which is this?”

  “His own work, unfortunately. And probably one of his poorer efforts as he was barely out of his teens when he did it.”

  “You knew him?”

  “Oh, Path no. He lived about a thousand years ago. I may be old, but I’m not that old.” Juskin laughed. “Now, are you going to have a look, or not?”

  Rawk opened up the book and turned to the table of contents at the front. It ran for several pages, in very small, neat writing. He cleared his throat and held the book a little bit closer. Then a little bit further away.

  Ruskin cleared his throat and offered Rawk the spectacles. “Do you want to try these?”

  But his eyes were adjusting and he could see well enough. “No, thank you. I just...”

  “Of course.”

  Rawk found the listing for Harien Trolls and leafed through the crackling pages until he found the right one. The first thing he saw was an illustration that took up a quarter of the page. It wasn’t very good.

  “Is that the one?”

  “Yes... Well, it could be. Though I don’t remember the legs being different sizes. And its head wasn’t that lopsided.”

  “I imagine you can sometimes miss important details in the heat of battle.”

  “Obviously.” Rawk said. “So, how much is the book?” There wasn’t a lot of writing about the trolls. If he kept Juskin chatting long enough he could read it before he left the shop.

  The old man looked him up and down. “For you, 100 ithel.”

  “100 ithel?”

  “One of a kind book. Famous author.”

  “Unreliable author, I’ve heard.”

  “Illustrated. Look at that illumination.”

  “Is that a beetroot stain?”

  “Perhaps. And that is most certainly tomato.” Juskin smiled. “Oh, all right then. 80 ithel.”

  “I thought you didn’t haggle.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “You.”

  “Well, I thought you didn’t read.”

  “Who told you that?” It was true. Heroes didn’t read, except maps and street signs, perhaps. They killed and drank ale and did Heroic things. Reading wasn’t Heroic. “80 ithel for the book,” Rawk said, handing over the money. “And twenty ithel for the effort. And the discretion.”

  “You do drive a hard bargain.”

  Rawk slipped the book under his shirt and headed out the door, hoping nobody would see.

  “Come again,” Juskin called after him.

  Out on the street, Rawk stopped to look. There was nobody in sight so he hurried away, as if just standing outside the shop would ruin his Heroic reputation. In a couple of minutes he reached the Mount Cheese Markets and was already being trailed by a group of half a dozen boys. He nodded and smiled to them and they pretended to be looking at a rack of flowing green dresses from Quera. Not really their style.

  Right beside the well in the center of the small square, half in the shade of the dragon statue, a merchant sold inks, dyes, old whitewashed paper and scraps of cloth. And right up one end of the table was a small pile of books. Rawk pretended to look at the dyes while he scanned the titles, blinking as his eyes adjusted again. There was nothing there, just romances, so he nodded to the merchant and put down the bottle he’d been holding. The bottle itself was beautiful, but the dye was a horrid blue.

  By the time Rawk made it to the other side of the square the boys had worked up the courage to talk to him. One second, they were hanging back, this time examining the melons in a fruit seller’s barrow, and the next they were crowding around asking a dozen questions at a time. Finally, they slowed down and came to the general consensus that they wanted to hear a story.

  It was a good excuse to sit and have a rest, if nothing else. “I battled a troll just an hour ago,” Rawk said, sitting down on the edge of a porch. “It was—”

  “No,” said the biggest of the boys. “Tell us about the galangs?”

  “The galangs?”

  “Yes, the ones where you were hiding in the tree.”

  “The ones with Prince Weaver?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, all right then. I suppose.” They obviously knew the story, so Rawk didn’t know why they wanted to hear it again. Especially since it hadn’t been all that interesting the first time. But he wasn’t going to argue, so he tried to give the tale a new spin.

  Five minutes later, the boys were howling with laughter as Weaver fell in the mud while searching for his dropped sword. That hadn’t actually happened, but Rawk thought it a nice addition. And after the last of the creatures died he sent the boys on their way with a half ithel each.

  Then he sighed and started the long, slow walk up the hill. At the top he looked at Weaver’s palace. He knew he should go and report the troll but he turned the other way and headed for the Hero’s Rest. He slogged up the stairs like he was climbing a mountain, then stopped just inside his room, leaning against the door. His arm throbbed. His head ached. His knee felt as if it was going to lock up at any moment and refuse to ever move again.

  He wondered where he was supposed to sit. “Why don’t I have a chair?” He didn’t do much sitting in there, he was either in bed or heading out the door, but a chair still seemed like a sensible piece of furniture to have. It seemed like a grown-up piece of furniture to have. He sat on the bed and opened the Compendium.

  “Harien trolls are quite possibly the stupidest beings to ever aspire to being more than animals. They are angry and violent. They might well be warlike, if having wars didn’t involve a measure of cooperation. They are more likely to kill their allies—they are closer after all—than the enemy and may well get bored of the whole thing and leave to find some easier prey. Distract them with shiny things or ply them with alcohol and all will be well.”

  Rawk laid back and stared at the ceiling. The book didn’t tell him all that much at all. Ruskin had w
arned him, but he’d hoped anyway.

  Harien trolls were big and mean. But he’d known that before he’d entered the shop. It didn’t mention magic, but the one he’d killed had definitely looked like a shaman of some kind. And it had to make a ohoga portal. So, big and mean and knew something about magic. Great. Not a lot of help if one of them comes to the city and starts clubbing people. Or spitting lightening at them. He wondered if he should find a pen and add a notation to the book.

  Sunday

  There was a knock at the door and Rawk jumped. “Yes.”

  The door opened and Mykle peered nervously around the edge. It must have been serious as he rarely left the common room.

  “What is it?” Rawk asked.

  “Weaver’s here.”

  “Path. Is he in disguise?”

  Mykle shook his head. “All the usual followers are with him.”

  “ ?”

  A nod. “He doesn’t like you very much.”

  “He thinks I slept with his wife.”

  Mykle gave that some thought. “Did you?”

  “Yes. But in my defense, it was about ten years ago. They weren’t married at the time. Not quite. And he wasn’t a general. He was just a little snot nosed..” Rawk sighed. “Give me a minute.”

  He was dressed, but not wearing any shoes. He looked around for his boots but could only find one, so he didn’t worry and followed Mykle down to the common room in his bare feet. He didn’t even get a chance to greet the Prince.

  “What’s this?” Weaver said, slapping him in the chest with some rolled up paper.

  Rawk looked at it for a moment without taking it. “It looks like some paper.”

  Weaver kept holding it out, so Rawk eventually took it. When he looked closer, he still didn’t know. It was two large, cheap looking sheets of paper covered in small, impossibly neat writing. He shook his head. “Sorry, I still don’t know.”

  Weaver took the papers back from him and opened them out. He showed one to Rawk. There was a black and white sketch of the troll.

  “Oh.” Rawk read the writing that apparently went with the sketch. “Rawk is one of the greats. He is perhaps the greatest Hero to ever walk the world. But ever since Prince Weaver fought his final battle, against the sorcerers and the danger they bring to the world, Rawk’s life has dramatically changed. There are no monsters for him to battle, no great deeds to be done.

  “But a couple of days ago, that changed with the arrival of the first wolden wolf that has been seen in this area in more than a decade. It was a huge beast that many a lesser man, many a younger man, would have run from. But Rawk would not leave such a beast around to harass our great city and went out to meet it.

  “Much of Katamood turned out to watch Rawk do battle. He prevailed, as he always has, as he always will, but not without taking injuries. He did not want the people of Katamood to worry, so he said nothing, but his wounds were so serious that he sought the assistance of a healer. And before his wounds had healed, he went out to the Old Forest again, looking to bring back the glory days of the Age of Heroes. And there, amongst the cold dark of the ancient forest he came across an even greater beast. The mighty troll towered above him, swinging a tree trunk as a club. There was a mighty battle.

  “I saw this battle, hiding in the trees in fear of my life. I was ready to give aid, if required, but Rawk again prevailed, as he always has, as he always will. He slew the beast then paid it homage as men of the City Guard rushed to clean up the aftermath.

  “Since then I have tried to discover the name of the conquered beast, but have found nothing. All I know is that I feel safe with Rawk walking the streets of Katamood.”

  “Well?” Weaver said.

  “It was only a small tree.”

  “What?”

  “It was—”

  “I heard what you said, Rawk.” Weaver sighed. “Why did you go back out there?”

  “Out where?”

  Weaver didn’t say anything.

  “To look.”

  “At what?”

  “At where I killed the wolden wolf.” Rawk looked around the room. Everyone was listening, but Weaver didn’t take the hint.

  “We both know that wasn’t a wolden wolf, Rawk.”

  “It was according to this thing.” He indicated the papers he still held.

  “The people are calling it a newspaper. But stop changing the subject.”

  “I didn’t change the subject. Nice weather we’ve been having.”

  “Why did you go back, Rawk? You’ve never been sentimental.”

  “I’m getting old.”

  Weaver just looked at him. Rawk turned to Ramaner for help but that was just crazy.

  “All right. Well...” He looked around at the people in the taproom again and Weaver finally took notice.

  “Let’s step through here,” the Prince said.

  They went back out the door Rawk had entered by and stood at the bottom of the stairs. Ramaner went with them but the others, two Guards and a secretary, stayed where they were.

  “Now, tell.”

  “The wolf was wearing a collar.”

  “And you knew about this three days ago?” Ramaner’s jaw clenched. He was only about forty years old but already had the steely-eyed stare perfected.

  “Perhaps.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell anyone?”

  “I was injured, remember? I wasn’t thinking straight, or something. I went to see a healer and she told me to go home and not do anything.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  “When have I ever listened to a healer?”

  “Well, you look fine to me. Even after fighting a troll.”

  “Janas is a good healer.”

  “Janas is dead, Rawk,” Weaver said.

  “Well, yes, I know but... Stop changing the subject, Weaver. There isn’t anything anywhere that says I have to tell you anything at all. It’s my job to kill exots and... whatever... not to tell you about the details. There’s no law.”

  “Well, there damn well should be,” Ramaner said.

  Weaver sighed and held up a hand. “Rawk is right, Ramaner. He doesn’t have to tell us anything if he doesn’t want. Though, I’m sure if he thought there was an urgent need he would do so...”

  “Of course I would. It was just one creature.”

  “Just one wolden wolf and a troll,” Ramaner said. “That’s two creatures. Two exots. And the fire thing. It says a lot that that didn’t even rate a mention.”

  Weaver gave the man a cold look. “And what was the troll doing there, do you think?”

  “Catching butterflies?” Rawk suggested.

  Ramaner opened his mouth to say something. It was obviously going to be a loud and angry something.

  “Well, how am I supposed to know? I went back to have a look and it attacked me.”

  Weaver held up a hand to stop Ramaner from talking again. “Is there anything to suggest there might be more of them?”

  “No. I actually read about them in a book. It said they are solitary creatures, more likely to kill each other than actually cooperate.”

  Weaver nodded. “You can’t be sure though, can you?”

  “Not really.”

  “Any thoughts on how it got there?”

  “It had ribbons in its hair, fetishes, that kind of thing, so I imagine it’s a magician of some kind.”

  “Right, so if it was the magician there isn’t necessarily another magician running around out there?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Excellent then. Good. That’s what I needed to hear.” Ramaner started to say something but Weaver held up his hand without even looking. “Leave us for a moment, Ramaner.”

  “Your Highness?”

  “Do you really thick Rawk is going to kill me? He would never do something like that, would you, Rawk?”

  “Well, I must admit, the thought has crossed my mind at various times over the last forty years.”

  Ramaner grunted, gave R
awk a cold stare, then turned and headed back into the common room.

  The door had barely closed behind him when Weaver started to talk. “What was it like?” He grabbed Rawk’s shoulders. “Was it just like old times? Did you taunt it so it attacked or did it just attack?”

  Rawk tried to get in a word or two though it didn’t matter. Weaver would believe what he wanted anyway so it was best to let him go.

  But finally, the Prince did stop. “Well?”

  Rawk thought of telling his friend that it was nothing like old times. That he’d been scared. That he could’ve died. “Of course it was just like old times,” he said. “It was just like the story said.”

  Weaver smiled, obviously reliving the battle in his mind. After a moment he gathered his thoughts. “I think I’ll send someone to investigate the Old Forest anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “There could be more. You are just guessing, after all.”

  Rawk gave a nod. “Can you let me know what you decide before you do anything?”

  “Why would I do that? It’s not my job to tell you anything at all.”

  “You’re right. But do you want the people to panic? If you send off a troop of the Guard to go traipsing around the Old Forest, everyone will assume there’s trouble, especially if this...”

  “Newspaper?”

  “Yes. Especially if the newspaper says something about it.”

  “Well, you started all the trouble”

  “I didn’t start anything. I just killed a wolden wolf.”

  “We both know it wasn’t a wolden wolf.”

  “The newspaper says it was.”

  “And you believe it?”

  “Don’t see why I wouldn’t.”

  Weaver grunted. “You might have a point. But I still don’t think I’ll tell you.”

  “Anyone can send in the army, Weaver. Where’s the romance in that?”

  It looked like Weaver was about to relent but, after a moment, he shook his head. Rawk couldn’t say he blamed him.

  “And when can I get my money, by the way?” Rawk asked. If he was going to annoy the prince, he might as well do it properly.

  “What money?”

  “What money? A hundred ithel for the wolden wolf. Though we both know that wasn’t a wolden wolf,” he smiled. “And that price is for ten years ago so it really should’ve increased. And a thousand for the troll.”