Hero Risen

The others drew up in front of him but Brann rode past, circling the area until he was happy that no hidden cut-throats lay waiting for their chance. Not that there was much cover among the small and sparse trees that the road cut through on its way to the plain, but it did no harm to be sure, and took only a moment. He walked his horse up from behind the cart as Cannick climbed stiffly from his saddle and slapped the road dust from his clothes.

‘Look like you could do with some help, feller,’ the grizzled veteran said. ‘Hot enough riding in this heat, never mind trying to sort a wheel on your own.’

The man, around the same age as Cannick but around half his width, relaxed. ‘That I could, friend, that I could.’ He wiped his brow with the back of one hand, but Brann noted that he still held the hammer in his other. These were not totally peaceful lands. ‘It is indeed a touch warm today, but the problem is not so much the heat as the weight of the cart. I have not the strength I once did…’

Breta and Hakon strolled past Cannick. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that, little man,’ Hakon said cheerfully as he continued beyond the carter, slapping him gently on the shoulder and causing the hammer to drop from the man’s hand and narrowly miss his toes. ‘We’ll take care of that.’

The man’s eyes widened and lifted high to follow the pair, regarding them as if a couple of trees had donned clothes and sauntered by. ‘That’s, er, very kind of you,’ he said to Cannick, his eyes still flitting to the large couple. ‘The pin snapped and the wheel just fell off the axle. Nothing else actually broke, so it is just a matter of lifting the cart to let the wheel be slipped back on. I have a spare bit of metal that will serve as a replacement pin in the meantime, if the cart could just be lifted by your two, er, enormous companions.’ He looked quickly at Breta. ‘No offence meant, madam.’

She frowned in confusion. ‘Why would a compliment offend?’ She shook her head as if some people were bewildering and turned to grip the underside of the wagon. Hakon did likewise, and in a heartbeat the pair lifted the heavy wagon level, allowing Brann and Gerens to slide the wheel back into place. Mongoose took a heavy iron nail, around a hand-and-a-half in length, from the man and dropped it through the hole previously meant for the pin, and Hakon lifted the hammer from the ground, bending the pointed end with a single blow to sit neatly flush with the axle and hold the nail in place.

Mongoose looked at the nail appraisingly. ‘Nice work.’

Hakon beamed. He glanced at Brann and Marlo, and winked. Brann avoided catching the Sagian boy’s eye – his own straight face was under enough pressure as it was.

The carter was also beaming, his smile containing considerably fewer teeth than Hakon’s, but no less engaging with simple happiness for it. ‘You are angels of the road, scions of the good gods sent to save a traveller in need. Jacques extends his thanks to the gods and to you for bringing you this way. May fortune bless your every step! May the road bless you with effortless passage! May the sky bless you with fair weather! May your boots bless you with feet free of blisters!’

Mongoose sidled up beside Brann, her voice a murmur. ‘Should have stopped after three blessings. Got a bit desperate by the fourth.’

Brann turned away, his shoulders shaking, as Breta and Hakon eschewed the planks that the carter had used to roll the barrels from the cart and lifted them directly back into it.

Grakk had been quietly watching, having taken the opportunity to seat himself on a rock at the side of the road. ‘Your gratitude is gracious, but unnecessary, my friend. When a man with a predicament such as yours meets a group with capabilities such as ours, there should be only one outcome.’

‘Perhaps in your experience, but not in mine, holy man,’ Jacques said, mistakenly assuming Grakk’s mode of speech and tattooed scalp to be based on religion. He sat on the back of his wagon, clearly glad of the rest before he was on his way. ‘Most armed groups that are met on these roads are wont to take what you have of value and pay you by allowing you to live. If they allow you to live.’

Cannick frowned. ‘And Belleville allows this?’

The man spat. ‘Belleville protects Belleville, and its farms on the plain, nothing more. They patrol the plain and hide behind their walls. It is up to us to get ourselves there intact. In truth, the bandits are fairly harmless and not overly numerous. They are no more than lads made desperate by poverty, and if they get enough to keep them going, they are satisfied. The real crooks are in the town. When we do,’ he spat again, ‘they pay a pittance for what we have and charge a fortune for what we want.’

Brann turned, humour forgotten in the face of injustice. ‘Can you not take your goods elsewhere?’

Jacques shrugged. ‘Nowhere else close enough to make it viable, young man.’

Brann still found it hard to understand. ‘Can you not refuse to sell unless they raise their prices? And refuse to buy at the prices they set?’

The man smiled sadly. ‘They grow their necessities for life; what they buy from us is over and above that, such as this oil I carry today. These goods enhance their life and they would not like to be without them for any length of time, but they can afford to survive on basics, just to make a point, and are stubborn enough to do so. We, however, need what they sell to produce what we do, and need their coin to buy what we eat. If I had a farm that produced all I needed to live, I would never soil myself with visiting that accursed town. Too late in my life, though, to change what generations of my family have done. We are carters, pure and simple. We transport, we are paid for transporting, we buy from our neighbours what we can avoid going to town to acquire, and then we transport some more.’

‘So,’ Brann said slowly, a thought growing. ‘If you didn’t have to go to the town today, you would not be distressed.’

The gap-toothed grin returned. ‘If I did not have to go to the town today, I would be bloody overjoyed, young man. Sadly, however, a consignment must be delivered for the fee to be paid, and the consignment will be paid for in the town.’

Brann looked at Grakk, then Cannick. ‘Unless the consignment and the cart are both bought at the side of a road and delivered by its new owners in your stead.’ His eyes had returned to the carter by the end.

The carter shrugged. ‘Should that be a possibility, it would be a welcome possibility.’

‘What are you thinking, Brann?’ Cannick was cautious.

‘I am thinking that a band of armed riders at the gates of a town renowned for its less than welcoming attitude would arouse suspicion. But a band of armed riders escorting a cart through dangerous bandit-ridden countryside would make more sense.’

‘Could we not,’ Konall said, ‘just escort this man to the gates of the town and pose as an escort in that way without having to pay for it in the first place?’

Hope began to fade from the old man’s face.

Brann shook his head. ‘Jacques has been doing this all his life, which is a considerable length of time.’ He looked at the man. ‘No offence meant.’

The man flashed his few teeth at Breta. ‘Why would a compliment offend, eh, young lady?’

She nodded solemnly. ‘Indeed.’ She turned to Hakon. ‘He called me a lady. Did you hear that?’

Brann continued quickly before Hakon could get himself into trouble. ‘The guards at the gate will know Jacques, and would wonder why he has broken the habit of a lifetime to now employ a guard. Whereas,’ he glanced at Konall, ‘a new man starting his business in this area, made nervous by the stories of banditry, might panic and hire a sizable escort. That might seem natural, might it not?’

The tall blond boy nodded. ‘It could make sense.’

Brann looked at Grakk. ‘We have the ability to pay.’

Grakk looked at Sophaya, having entrusted to her the pouches of coin passed to them by their benefactor in ul-Taratac – as the Sagians called their empire – to fund their mission, wherever Loku led them. Who better to know how to keep safe such valuables than the one natural thief in the group?

She nodded. ‘Of course. If that is what you want, it is there.’

Brann took a selection of coins from Sophaya and collected them into a pouch. He turned back to the old carter. ‘Can you buy a new cart in time for your next delivery?’

‘No need, young man. I have two, in case an accident befalls one with more dire consequences than today’s mishap. In any case, your price is far too high. Half of that would more than suffice, even after I purchase two more horses.’

Konall made to speak, but a glare from Cannick and a dig of Mongoose’s sharp elbow jolted him into uncharacteristic restraint.

Brann handed the pouch to Jacques. ‘It is the right amount.’

Cannick had suggested approaching the town’s main gate a little after dusk had started to fall, when the heat of the day had left the guards tired and thinking more of a refreshing drink than the duty involved in the remainder of their shift.

The wait allowed the others to rest in the shadow of the cart while Sophaya rode with the old man to a nearby steading, where he could borrow a mount to see him home. The glee on his face attested to the infrequency in his life when he could wrap his arms around the waist of a young woman. Gerens’s glare removed the glee for as long as it took, Brann noticed with amusement, for the pair to move beyond the grim boy’s line of sight.

Brann sat on the ground and rested his back against the recently repaired wheel. He folded his arms, rested his chin on his chest and closed his eyes, but found himself unable to snooze as the others were doing. His mind whirled and calculated, thoughts fired by his relentless impatience to reel in Loku. His thinking was hampered, though, by his nagging regret at missing the man at Markethaven by only a matter of days, only to be trapped there by the siege for weeks, the frustration driving his mind in circles.

The irritation was still refusing to leave him alone after they had moved off, the sun low in the sky but the air no less stifling for it. He nudged his horse beside those of Grakk and Cannick.

‘How long do you think—?’

Grakk cut in with a smile. ‘It would take Taraloku-Bana, or Loku, as he calls himself in these more norther parts, to reach here? I am only surprised, young Brann, that it has taken you so long to ask when you had time this afternoon to ponder it.’

Brann frowned. ‘I was thinking about it, yes, but every time I tried to think about it, my head kept returning to the way we came so close to him, and yet still he managed to stay ahead of us, while we lost even more time. It was as if the gods were toying with us like a bully dangling a toy in front of a child: almost in reach but then pulling it away at the last instant.’

Cannick spat into the dusty road. ‘The gods do not toy with us. What happens, happens. All we can do in this game that is life is play the dice the way they fall and not waste time wishing they had shown different numbers, or some other player will step in and play our turn.’

Grakk looked at the old soldier with narrowed eyes. ‘An interesting theological philosophy, my friend. Can I ask your religion?’

Cannick barked a cynical laugh. ‘The religion of real life. I have seen many a soldier gutted who, moments before, had prayed to his gods, and others walk from battle without a scratch who had prayed just as piously. The gods may watch us, but the only people who can keep us alive are ourselves and our friends around us, if we are lucky enough to have them. Forget that, and place trust in great beings whose workings we only know of through priests and priestesses – other people just like us, not magical beings of great knowledge, mark you – and all you will do is let your guard down. Plenty of time for pious men to speak to their gods when they meet up with them.’

Grakk nodded thoughtfully. ‘I see. You term it “their gods”. And so, do you believe there are no gods?’

‘Oh, there must be gods.’ A brawny arm swept to indicate the fields around them and beyond, then up to the sky. ‘How else can all this be explained? Someone or something must have made it all, and must keep it all working. There’s enough work there for an army of gods. Why would they bother whether one of us sticks a sword in another, or falls in love with another, or recovers from a hangover, or wins a wager at the gladiator pit, or whatever else people pray for? But then I’m just an old soldier, and that’s just an old soldier’s opinion.’

‘An old soldier who is still alive, however,’ Grakk pointed out, ‘and whose opinion has therefore been formed and tested in many situations of living or dying.’

Brann thought that Cannick’s views sounded similar to the views of his own upbringing, where practical people lived off the land and prayed in gratitude to gods representing all aspects of nature while, at the same time, learnt to work themselves with all the unpredictable vagaries of nature that each year threw at them. The real problems came from other men, not gods. The thought of home sent a wistfulness through him, prompting in turn thoughts of urgency – and Loku.

He could see that Grakk, the learned gatherer of knowledge, was now intrigued by Cannick’s straightforward philosophies and had another question about to be asked. He cut in quickly. ‘Loku? Distance travelled? Length of time?’

Cannick sighed theatrically. ‘Oh, the impatience of youth. All right, young man, we shall work it out.’ Grakk looked crestfallen, and Cannick patted him consolingly on the shoulder. ‘Worry not, old friend, we can talk more later.’

He closed his eyes, as if to concentrate, and tapped one thumb against the fingers of that hand in turn, as if calculating. ‘Let’s see. From Markethaven, the last place we and he both were, it would be about seven days’ sailing along the south coast and another eight northwards, up the side of the country.’ His eyes flicked open and must have seen Brann’s dismay. ‘But that is in good weather, and in straight lines. He will have been hugging the coast because of the time of year – rough weather in the sea off the south coast and fullblown storms as he turned northward into the big sea. And not only will his winding route and the difficult waters have slowed him down, but he may well have had to put into port a couple of times when the weather got too bad for them.’ He nodded at Konall and Hakon, riding side-by-side in silence ahead of them. ‘The Southern sailors are nothing of the ilk of their lot, who would laugh at a storm and sail through it and out the other side as if the wind were no more than a baby’s fart. But then, the Northerners have such skill bred into them. Those Loku has taken passage with in his journey to meet up with his fellow conspirators,’ he spat again, ‘are not, as I say, that sort of sailor – we already know the first ship he took passage on had needed to put into Markethaven for repairs, causing him to wait until he could leave on the first ship to be headed his way. So I reckon, a good three-and-a-half weeks all in. Then a couple of days overland, east, to this town before us, if he didn’t want to go by boat around the Point of the Last Lands, and I’m fairly sure he will have had quite enough of bumpy seas by then to want to take on the worst part of the sail. Say, four weeks as a good guess.’

Grakk nodded thoughtfully, his hungry mind already absorbed in this new task. ‘By contrast, we were delayed three weeks, roughly, by the inconvenient siege of Markethaven, but were then able to cut diagonally across country to here, a trip so far of nineteen days.’

‘Which,’ Brann said slowly as his thoughts collected, ‘would put us maybe a dozen days behind him.’ He brightened. ‘Which isn’t too bad considering he doesn’t know we are chasing him. And this is his journey, so he will keep moving. We, of course, do not know what business he will conduct when he reaches his destination, as discovering that is part of our mission, but in conducting that business his progress will be slowed, and all the time we will draw closer.’

‘You see,’ Grakk beamed, ‘I was certain we could cheer up your disconsolate face.’ He turned to Cannick. ‘Now, about the gods and nature. Where would you say the gods’ influence ends, and the innate actions of flora and fauna begin?’

Brann groaned and slowed his horse to drop back, out of earshot. He studied the fields around them, quiet as dusk approached. The creaking and squeaking of the cart and the knock of the horses’ hooves were the only sounds: loud enough to mask the few voices that chatted – only Grakk and Cannick, as a matter of fact – but quiet enough to let him realise that work had finished for the day in the fields. The crops around this part of the road swayed slightly in the early evening breeze, their colour combining with the varying hues of other, more distant, fields to form a patchwork broken only by the occasional pasture hosting, in those he had seen so far, goats or cows. It was a scene that reminded him of home despite the harder ground and the irrigation channels Grakk had pointed out to him – a feature unheard of in his own rain-drenched homeland. He sighed. Home was a thought he had tried to avoid for the past year, but it had wormed its way into his head ever more often recently as they moved towards the islands. Depending on Loku’s movements and where they led Brann and his party, he may never travel any further north than the South Island, but even just to head in this direction made repressing memories more difficult by the day.

He shook his head in annoyance. He had to focus on the danger this town presented now. He fixed his attention on the approaching gate, analysing the situation, to force aside his self-indulgent maudlin musings.

Two guards lounged at the entrance, one leaning against the gatepost, his jaded gaze resting on the approaching party. The other rested a shoulder against the outside of the wall, facing his companion as they passed the time, and seeing nothing in the first guard’s expression to cause him to feel the need to turn his head towards the cart and its escort.

Brann’s eyes had already scanned their weapons, though – they were well-tended and to hand. His own hand strayed onto his belt, close to his own sword hilt. Just because someone looked lazy and disinterested now did not mean they would stay that way. And just because they looked as if they would take an extra second to lower a spear or draw a sword did not mean that they did not know how to use them once that second had passed. Just because they obviously did not expect trouble did not mean they were unable to deal with it were it to appear before them.

The hooves of the lead horses clattered for a moment as they passed over the stone at the start of the bridge across the moat, then gave off a deeper rumble as they moved onto the wooden main section. Brann’s eyes narrowed in curiosity, glancing from the bridge surface and then at the gateway, where a stout metal portcullis was ready to be dropped and where thick gates, banded with iron, could further block the way… but where no chains ran to the timbers of the bridge. He moved his horse beside Cannick’s.

‘No drawbridge?’ he said quietly. ‘Strange, given their desire to protect themselves from outsiders.’

‘Look where the bridge meets the other side,’ Cannick murmured.

Brann saw that the wood of the bridge led into a slot in the stone of the gatehouse. Cannick slowed his horse, pretending to check with a glance at the tailgate of the cart, to avoid closing on the guards while they were talking, and Brann followed suit.

‘It slides in?’

Cannick nodded.

Brann’s curiosity awakened. ‘But why? It seems a great deal of extra effort to construct this. And a normal drawbridge provides an extra layer across the gateway to penetrate.’

‘A normal drawbridge remains exposed when lifted.’ He smiled as Brann felt his face light up in understanding.

‘A lifted drawbridge prevents attackers from crossing the moat, but also prevents defenders from doing the same,’ Brann said. ‘If those besieging the place can damage the drawbridge while it is raised, defenders cannot issue in numbers from the main gate for a counter-attack, and if the intent is to starve them, then it will also help to trap them within.’ Brann brightened with enthusiasm as his understanding unfolded. ‘This way, it can be withdrawn and protected. They already have a strong portcullis and gate to protect the entrance, not to mention the moat.’

‘Good lad. I thought you’d get there eventually. The moat flows in from the north and out at the south, but they stop the exit during these drier months to keep the level high, only letting water escape as they need to.’

Brann thought back to the towns of Konall’s and Hakon’s homeland, ingeniously designed to make an attack virtually a suicide mission. ‘Looks like they could give our friends in Halveka a run for their money in designing defences.’

Cannick grunted. ‘No one touches the Halvekans on that score, and certainly not here. When you get inside, you’ll see.’

Marlo reined up the horses in front of one of the guards, who had managed to rouse himself to confront them. The man looked sullenly around their company.

‘What’s this?’

Marlo cleared his throat hesitantly. ‘I am bringing produce intended for the merchant, Patrice, in the Third Quarter, sir.’

The guard grunted. ‘Don’t know your face. And it is not a face that was born anywhere near here.’

‘My family moved here from the Empire, good sir. I work for my uncle, who heard there was good work for carters here.’

Brann had already noticed that, while the second guard still lounged against the wall, his gaze had never stopped watching the riders, flicking from weapons to callouses on hands, from where they were looking to how they looked. These two maybe didn’t expect danger, but they were watching for it.

‘Why so many swords with you?’ the first man asked, with more curiosity in his tone than suspicion.

His eyes scanned the group once more. Hakon was trying to slouch himself into a diminished size, but was still hulking over the man from his mount. Several of the others were no less intimidating: Konall knew no other way to hold himself than with the casual arrogance of one with years of training and of being obeyed; Gerens had a stare that suggested he would cut your throat without a passing thought; Cannick had the scars and the carriage of an experienced campaigner; Grakk just looked downright fearsome; and Breta… when the man’s eyes alighted on her, he froze with a slight gasp. She treated the guard to what Brann knew she would be intending as a winning smile; the reaction from the man was a nervous swallow and a tightening of his fingers on his spear as he took a slight and involuntary step back.

Brann noticed he had not been one of those to elicit a response from the guard – he was happy for that to be the case. To be regarded as not a threat was to gain an advantage before the fight even started. The sentry steadied himself and glared at Marlo, seeming to be reassured by the fact that Marlo looked as nervous under his gaze as the man himself had done when noticing Breta’s intimidating appearance.

‘Pardon me, sir.’ The fact that the anxiety evident in Marlo’s voice was entirely natural was what had made him the obvious choice for the role. ‘Pardon me, but my uncle had heard there was good work for carters here, but also that there was an element of danger. He preferred to err on the side of caution, as far as security was concerned, until we better learnt the true nature of the peril, as he had heard say that there were parts of the route where transported goods attracted the attention of nefarious brigands.’

A rough laugh burst from the man at that. ‘Nefarious brigands? I have heard them called many things, but that is a new one on me. So tell me, well-guarded young carter: why does your uncle the carter not drive his cart?’

‘My uncle, sir, prefers to organise the business and to let his nephews carry out the simple task of driving the carts.’

‘Your uncle prefers to sit in the safety of his home and let his nephews face the dangers he sees in the shadows, more like.’

Marlo was proving so effective that Brann found himself hating the fictitious uncle and warming to the sentry.

The guard stepped to the side and flicked his head towards the gateway. ‘Typical Sagian. As if we don’t have enough of your lot here already. Better get yourself and your many helpers into the safety behind our walls then. On you go.’

Marlo flicked the reins. ‘Thank you, sir.’

They filed in after the cart. Breta winked at the guard, winning herself a flinch of fear. The young woman looked hurt.

Cannick had noticed as well. He slapped Breta heartily on the shoulder. ‘Would you help me, good lady, find a suitable inn for us? I don’t know about you, but I need an ale.’

Breta brightened immediately. ‘First decent suggestion I’ve heard all day. Hopefully there are some men in this town who are less scared of the fairer sex than that mouse at the gate.’

And hopefully, Brann thought, there were plenty of them willing to talk. They needed information, and they needed it fast.