The Brazen City

by Torsten Weitze

  There was, however, one person who didn’t apologise, the one who most needed to. Sven, the miller’s son, didn’t exchange a single word with him, but Ahren felt the resentful young man’s hate-filled eyes bore through him on more than one occasion.

  The apprentice reached the main square and spotted Trogadon, sitting contentedly on a bench in front of the tavern, a beer tankard in one hand and Hilda in his other arm. The maiden had indicated her attraction towards the warrior in no uncertain terms and was now spending almost every free moment in the cheerful dwarf’s company. The woman was asleep and was snuggled against the dwarf’s barrel-shaped chest. Trogadon gave Ahren a cheerful wink.

  Ahren didn’t want to wake Hilda and so he gave a silent greeting in return and carried on towards the mayor’s house, where he expected to find Uldini and the others. The municipal leader of Deepstone was standing uncertainly in front of his own home, clearly uncertain if he should knock or not. When the chubby man with his impressive moustache and thinning red hair spotted Ahren, he breathed a sigh of relief and quickly strode towards the young man.

  ‘Good morning, Master Paladin, I hope you’ve slept well’, he said with a little bow. ‘If you could perhaps do me a little favour?’ Ever since the man had learned of Ahren’s being named a Paladin, he treated Ahren with tremendous respect and formality, and the young man repeatedly found himself checking that this politeness was aimed at him and not at somebody who happened to be standing behind him.

  ‘Good morning, mayor. What can I do for you?’ he asked with similar formality if a little shyly.

  ‘If you could ask the esteemed company, how long they intend to continue living here? Spring is approaching and I would need to be getting back to my businesses at some point...’ The man’s voice petered away, and Ahren had to suppress a grin. Uldini had already dislodged this man for the whole of the winter, and it must have taken all poor Pramsbildt’s courage to present his request to Ahren.

  ‘I will ask him, but I can assure you that it won’t be long now until we journey on.’ Ahren hoped he hadn’t promised too much, but he couldn’t imagine they would be spending much more time in Deepstone. There were still eleven Paladins yet to be found, and they had only a few years before the dark god would rise again. Uldini had apparently received some important news, which strengthened the young man’s suspicion that their peaceful break in his home village was coming to an end. Ahren felt a sharp pang of regret at the thought as the mayor gave him a thankful, almost enthusiastic nod before parting with another low bow.

  Ahren suppressed his sorrow at the impending farewell and opened the door of the two-storied building. By Deepstone standards the house was opulently furnished. The living room was covered in carpet that was hardly faded, there were some well preserved wall hangings, items of simply decorated furniture and an enormous solid, brick fireplace, with a fire radiating a comforting warmth. The middle of the spacious room was dominated by an expansive table with eight chairs, on some of which his companions were sitting. They looked at him expectantly.

  ‘Well fancy that. Our high-born Paladin has come to honour the plebs with his presence at last.’ It was good to see that the Arch Wizard was back to his old self, and Ahren scrutinized him closely. The voice of the ostensibly ten-year-old boy dripped with sarcasm as he sat there at the head of the table in his black robe. Uldini had discovered the secret of immortality in his young years, and now he was trapped in this boyish body and sometimes tried to compensate for this with a caustic tone. Ahren knew that the Ancient could behave differently, for example when he was in the company of courtiers, but here and now he was giving his jovial manner free rein. ‘If you’ve nothing against it, we wouldn’t mind setting about saving the world from an insane god – that is, as long as you have nothing better to be doing.’

  ‘That’s enough - he understands’, interrupted Jelninolan in a soft but determined voice. The elf priestess was wearing her green costume made from Elven material under a heavy fur cloak, a present from Jorek, the tanner. The elf, to everyone’s surprise, had taken the quiet little man to her heart and had spent more nights at his house than in her own bed. Ahren had felt pangs of jealousy in the beginning as he hadn’t fully overcome his feelings of infatuation towards the elf, but eventually he had acknowledged to himself that he preferred to see the priestess as a mother figure rather than anything else.

  Falk grinned at his apprentice and pushed a chair towards him with his foot. The broad-shouldered, grey-haired figure was wearing his normal leather gear, which showed that he saw himself as Forest Guardian this day rather than a Paladin. Depending on the situation he presented himself either as Baron Dorian Falkenstein, defender of the gods, or as Falk, the Forest Guardian. Ahren wished that his master would finally find a way of unifying his two ways of life, but he himself had found out how difficult that could be. For the first thirteen years of his life, here in this town, Ahren had simply been the pitiable shy son of the village drunk. Then the cantankerous man in front of him had taken him on as an apprentice, and Ahren’s life had been transformed. His long and dangerous journey and his Naming as a Paladin had left their mark on him too. When he looked at his reflection in the iced-up pond behind the hut, Ahren sometimes didn’t recognise himself. What could it be like then for a man who had spent centuries playing one role only to play a completely different ones for decades after that?

  ‘Are you going to go on gawping at me in wonder or are you going to sit down today?’ asked Falk humorously. The young Paladin blushed in embarrassment and took his seat quickly.

  Khara giggled at the apprentice’s misfortune and threw him an amused look from under her long black eyelashes. The girl with the dark, almond-shaped eyes and small nose would often let her hair fall in front of her face in the last while and then look out at the world from behind a black veil. Ahren was sure she did that just to seem exotic but Holken and Likis had really fallen for this annoying habit of hers. He gave Khara an angry look, then turned around to Uldini in a deliberately relaxed manner.

  ‘Falk said there was news?’ he said as casually as possible.

  Jelninolan chuckled behind her hand at his attempt to hide his rising curiosity, and Uldini came straight to the point. ‘I spent all of yesterday communicating with the other Ancients to get as thorough an overview as I could regarding what’s going on in Jorath at the moment.’

  ‘Are you still not a bit weak for that?’ interrupted Falk with concern in his voice.

  Uldini gave a dismissive wave of his hand and continued. ‘We need information and we need it quickly. We won’t be able to plan our next moves unless we know what’s going on out there.’

  ‘Aren’t we travelling to the Brazen City?’ asked Ahren in surprise. During the night of his Naming Khara had been visited by a strange old woman, who had revealed to her that there was a Paladin in danger, who was under siege and that a furious Emperor wanted his head.

  Uldini rolled his eyes. ‘And I thought I’d already made clear that we don’t direct our plans according to strange old grannies who are able to move easily through pitch-black terrain full of Dark Ones. She’s hardly the most reliable source now, is she?’ The Arch Wizard’s last words were accompanied by a tone he normally reserved for particularly stupid people, and Ahren had to bite his tongue to stop himself from responding with a smart answer.

  ‘And? What did the Ancients have to report?’ asked Jelninolan, cutting in and impatiently rapping her fingers on the table.

  Uldini leaned back, closed his eyes and fell into a pontificating speech pattern.

  ‘Eathinian is arming for war. Your folk are taking the danger very seriously with fighting bows and hardened arrows being manufactured as fast as your sorcerers can manage. The Animal Whisperers are scouring Evergreen for willing predators and are taking the most promising under their wings in order to train them and fit them with armour. The Titejunanwas are patrolling the edges of the forest, and apart from the trade paths you can’t take ten paces i
n Evergreen without being checked.’ He opened his eyes and looked at Falk. ‘The Knight Marshes are in uproar, but King Blueground has managed to gather together almost all the barons around him. The border towers facing the elves are empty again, but large knights’ festivals are being held all over the place. Elgin advised him to organise them so that the knights and vassals would be battle-ready, without heightening tensions through the threat of war. It gives the peasants something to gawk at, keeps them happy and also prepares them for any eventuality. It’s true that it’s costing the crown a heap of gold in prize money that has to be handed out, but Senius was clever enough to realise that the state coffers are being well invested. You’ll be delighted to hear that Erik Greycloth has proven himself to be a very competent steward, and he’s slowly but surely knocking your estates into shape.’

  Falk nodded gratefully, and Ahren was delighted for his master. The Falkenstein barony had been in corrupt and incompetent hands for a long time, and when they had visited King’s Island, Falk had ensured that his property would be managed from then on by a simple captain. Apparently, this had been the right decision. It was also incredibly important for the future of Jorath that the Knight Marshes had been pulled back from the point of civil war to normality. They were going to desperately need the help of the kingdom’s knights in the forthcoming battles with the Dark Ones. Ahren placed an affectionate hand on the old man’s shoulder, and Falk smiled, relieved at the turn of events.

  ‘But what I have to say now is less rosy. The Green Sea clans are incommunicado. All attempts to make contact with them have failed. There’s something going on, and I’d like to investigate it, but the clans are peculiar. If we were to burst in on some religious ritual, then we could forget about any cooperation with them for the next ten years, so we’ll hold off for now. Thousand Halls and the Silver Cliff are still trading away energetically, but I’d never expect anything else from the dwarves. The little folk will make no preparations for war until we talk to the King of the Halls ourselves and present the situation to him. On the other hand, they’ve been almost continuously battle-ready for a thousand years, so I really don’t see any need for rash action.’

  ‘As we’re on the subject of dwarves, where is Trogadon?’ interrupted Falk. Uldini rolled his eyes in annoyance at having been interrupted again.

  ‘He’s made himself comfortable with Hilda in front of the tavern’, said Ahren drily.

  ‘Isn’t he asking for trouble by flirting with every unattached lady in the village?’ asked Falk and making a suggestive gesture over his stomach.

  Uldini shook his head. ‘Dwarves can’t procreate with humans. That’s why they behave so...freely.’

  ‘I’ll get him’, said Khara quietly and stood up in a single flowing movement. As he watched her move away Ahren asked himself for the umpteenth time how she managed it. Every movement of the ex-slave seemed to happen seamlessly and without effort. Whenever she moved into action, she did so without hesitating or wasting energy, and always at a perfectly measured pace.

  Khara left the room, and the Arch Wizard took a deep breath before continuing his monologue.

  ‘This is where it gets really interesting. The wretched war between the Sunplains and the Eternal Empire has escalated now that both armies have dared to come out of their entrenched positions, which they’d been cowering in for years. It seems that Justinian has had to suffer some embarrassing defeats in the southwest, and domestic political pressure is growing on him. Many senators are already sharpening their knives and hoping that our beloved Sun Emperor will fall out of favour among the common folk. If that happens, then every one of them will imagine themselves to be only a knife stroke away from the Emperor’s throne because Justinian has no children. Quin-Wa on the other hand is still ruling with an iron fist and sees herself as the leader of all of Middle-Jorath.’

  An awkward silence ensued, and Ahren took the opportunity to ask a question.

  ‘Could we not just end the war somehow? I mean, now that the Dark Days are coming back, the different peoples should really stick together, shouldn’t they?’

  Uldini gave a derogatory snort, and it was Falk who answered. ‘In theory yes, but the conflict between the two human empires has been going on for over forty years and had been planned by Quin-Wa over a very long period. She is one of us, a Paladin. Nobody knows what her goals are and getting to her palace unscathed is nigh impossible. It’s true that she’s both an enchantress and a Paladin but she lets no other magicians or Paladins into her empire.’

  Uldini fixed his eyes on Ahren. ‘The best we can do is to persuade Justinian to ensure that it’s static warfare and to hunker down until we’re personally standing in front of Quin-Wa and we can persuade her to abandon her plans. But that could be difficult because I’ve no idea of how we can smuggle ourselves through an enormous empire where everyone hates or fears us or wants to put us in the stocks. But you’re right, the two greatest armies in the world have been laying into each other for decades – and every time somebody dies, HE, WHO FORCES is laughing up his sleeve.’

  ‘So, what’s your plan?’ asked Jelninolan impatiently.

  The little figure had just sat up bolt-upright and was about to answer when Trogadon and Khara entered the room. The dwarf nodded silently to the others and winked conspiratorially at Ahren. The young man couldn’t help smiling and while Khara and Trogadon were sitting down Uldini cleared his throat to get the attention of the group.

  ‘The Forest of Ire elves report that the Borderlands have been barely passable since our flight. It’s crawling with Dark Ones and the Ire Elves are stretched to the limit. And there are also stories of nomad raids in the Southern Icefields. But that’s by the by. The most important thing for us is that Khara’s night visitor was right. For some reason the 17th Legion is laying siege to the Brazen City, and there’s a bounty on the head of the captain of the Blue Cohorts – dead or alive. I couldn’t find out what’s going on in the middle of the city, but we need to get there before it falls.’

  ‘How long do we have?’ asked Falk curtly.

  Uldini thoughtfully rocked his head from side to side. Then he spoke. ‘If neither side behaves particularly stupidly, then maybe until next winter. But only if nobody comes up with the idea of turning over the Blue Cohorts to win the favour of the Emperor. For the moment the mercenaries are being treated as heroes for standing up against Justinian, but there’s nothing like an empty stomach to make most people reconsider their priorities.’

  ‘Who exactly are the Blue Cohorts?’ asked Ahren curiously. He had picked up a few snatches of information over the previous weeks and knew that they were a legendary group of mercenaries held in high esteem by all the rulers.

  Jelninolan looked at him and her face seemed lost in reverie, as if she were half dreaming of a time long passed. ‘Their leader is Bergen Olgitram, the fifth Paladin. He was always a ruffian and had little time for authority of any kind. After the Adversary was chained under the Pall Pillar he vanished without a trace, and a century later the Blue Cohorts were first heard of. Two dozen warriors - never more, never fewer – blessed with incredible tenacity, who take on the toughest of assignments and almost always emerge victorious from a conflict.’

  Trogadon’s eyes lit up with joy when he heard the elf’s description. ‘They sound just up my street. There’s nothing I’d like more than to meet this Bergen Olgitram and his troop. But why is the Sun Emperor after the captain when he and his men have such a good reputation?’

  ‘Because both Bergen and Justinian are stubborn blockheads’, snarled Uldini furiously. Little flashes sparked from the figure of the Arch Wizard as he spoke on, waving his arms around in an agitated manner. ‘The Brazen City is controlled by three families who steer the fate of its citizens. The city is right beside Thousand Halls which makes it by the far the greatest handling location for dwarf steel, and its blacksmiths are second to none. Over half of all weapons supplied to the legions of the Sunplains are forged or traded th
ere. The population is a mixture of Northmen, dwarves and the people from the Plains, and they all place great value on their independence. The best that every Sun Emperor could achieve up to now has been sole trading rights. All of the Brazen City weapons are sold in the Sunplains, and the Emperor pays through the nose to acquire them.’ Uldini had gradually calmed down during his monologue, but then his anger flared up again. ‘Justinian, in a moment of absolute madness, decided to capture the city in an effort to push down the prices for the weapons. His plan was to employ the Blue Cohorts, who were at that time contracted as a garrison for ten summers there. Justinian was not permitted to shelter any legion soldiers in the city, and so he paid Bergen’s mercenaries to keep an eye out and make sure that the agreement between the Triumvirate and the Plains was being adhered to. But then he changed the order from one of watching to one of attack. He wanted to capture the city in a surprise move. Twenty-four elite mercenaries in the heart of an unsuspecting city – capitulation would have been inevitable. But when the soldiers of Justinian’s 17th Legion were about to storm the city, they realised that the Blue Cohorts were not going to open the gates to them and had warned the Triumvirate. Since time immemorial Bergen has lived according to a very strict code of honour, and so he had decided not to participate in the treachery towards the Brazen City.’ Uldini gave a deep sigh and covered his eyes. ‘Justinian can’t retreat now without losing face. He has to capture the city and have all members of the Blue Cohorts executed for insubordination. If the arms shipments from the Brazen City fail to materialise for more than two summers, then the Sunplains will in turn lose the war against the Eternal Empire. Justinian will have to negotiate sooner or later and as a consequence tighten the cordon around the city – in a city where no food is cultivated it’s only a matter of time before its citizens will be up in arms, and heads will roll. Because we need Bergen, we’ll have to get him out of there before he falls victim to the starving citizens or the vengeful Emperor.’