While he was waiting for the moon to re-appear, Culhen nudged him with a thought in his head.
Air better, the wolf informed him gratefully, but that wasn’t much help to the young Paladin. Was the Pallid Frog dead now, or did the wolf not smell anything because the creature had burrowed into the mud?
There was nothing for it. He would have to go down and be absolutely certain. He had used up all his arrows, so he drew out Wind Blade and slithered down to the lake before carefully treading silently forward along its curved edge, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on where his arrows had fallen.
The confounded cloud simply did not want to move away, and so the young man, sweat dripping down his back with fear, was only a few paces from the Pallid Frog before he finally knew what fate had befallen it.
The creature, almost round in shape and with colourless eyes and a wide toothy mouth, was lying motionless on the bank, a hand’s width from the safety of the water, which came forth from the jagged hole in the ice and was lapping the stubby extremities of the Dark One.
Ahren’s first arrow, which he had shot with all the power of his bow, had stuck deep into the back of the creature, nailing it to the riverbank, so that it never had a chance of escaping the succeeding volley of arrows.
Over a dozen of them had driven all life out of the Pallid Frog, and the young Paladin lowered his weapon with relief. The smell was still almost unbearable, but what Culhen’s sensitive nose had picked up was nothing more than the dwindling secretion of the dead frog.
‘We can’t leave you here like that’, murmured Ahren to his defeated adversary. He stuck Wind Blade into the pallid flesh and pulled the frog away from the lake so that it would sully its waters no more. Even though its activities were over forever, the young man didn’t want the Dark One to decompose in the lake, causing further damage in the process.
‘Well now, you were a great help’, scolded Ahren in jest, but Culhen sat upright and looked proudly into Ahren’s eyes.
Ahren killed. But Culhen found, thought the wolf emphatically and the apprentice burst out laughing.
‘You’ve hit the nail on head there’, he said, agreeing with his friend and ruffling the wolf’s head. Then they turned for home, and the moon finally won its battle with the cloud.
Ahren’s moment of glory was as splendid as he had hoped – and that despite the fact that he had returned from the hunt without a stag. As soon as he had related the night’s events, Falk had set off with him and Culhen again so that they could show him the Pallid Frog’s cadaver. Much to Ahren’s surprise, the old man incinerated its remains on the spot with lamp oil.
‘Not a word to anybody. We don’t want to create a panic’, he explained curtly, and Ahren nodded fearfully.
They passed the return journey in silent contemplation, and Ahren couldn’t get it out of his head that Deepstone would remain unprotected once they headed off again. ‘What will happen if another one comes here?’ he asked finally with a tremor in his voice.
Falk gave him a serious look. ‘We can only hope that it won’t happen.’
Once Ahren had heard this sobering response, his head became filled with horrible visions of Deepstone, contaminated or destroyed. Later, even his master’s praise of his heroism that night failed to lift his mood.
Falk had graciously allowed him to sleep for the rest of the morning, at least until Khara turned up for her daily sword-training in front of the hut.
Ahren, overtired and unmotivated, was black and blue by the time he had finished crossing swords with the one-time fighting slave. He had hoped that Khara would exercise some leniency after their training run the previous day, but nothing could have been farther from her mind.
‘Can’t you indulge me just a little bit?’ he finally asked in a whining voice as he massaged an aching rib.
Khara just shook her head. ‘This is a good lesson. You need to be able to fight when you’re tired too. I’m going to talk to Falk about night training.’ Ahren looked at her dumbstruck as he tried to digest her latest idea only to be hit three times most painfully before being thrown to the ground.
Another two weeks passed by, during which time Ahren enjoyed Deepstone as intensively as he possibly could, and his fears concerning what lay ahead for the villagers abated somewhat. Any spare time he had, he would spend with his friends, and however ruthlessly Khara behaved towards him during their sword-training, she was now treating him in an almost friendly manner, albeit he was reading her body language in the most charitable light. Holken and Likis found it easy to make her laugh, whereas he was overjoyed when she didn’t frown at him, so he would hardly have described it as significant progress.
Following the incident in Falk’s hut, they changed to meeting in the tavern, where they would huddle together in a corner. Holken would always join them too, and so the four of them would listen to Trogadon’s tales of derring-do as he entertained the whole tavern, or they would wallow in reminiscences of their childhood days.
At least, the three offspring of Deepstone would. Any revelations Khara gave about her past were indeed exciting to hear about, but also dark and bloody. Ahren had to admit that he admired the fact that despite her experiences, she still possessed a modicum of humanity. No more than a modicum though, he thought as he rubbed his aching bruises. Every now and then he would hint at the impending dangers the Dark Ones might present, but his tentative suggestions always led to questions regarding his own adventures in tackling Low Fangs or Swarm Claws.
It was early afternoon of a dreary winter’s day and the four of them were once again sitting together. Half of the village had retreated from the bitter cold into their shuttered ice-bedecked houses. The tap room was filled with those looking for company on this most inhospitable of days. Old Cossith was there in his regular corner, playing at dice with Holken’s father and the mistress cobbler. Edrik, Ahren’s father, was thankfully nowhere to be seen. Ahren had heard that his father limited his tavern visits to the evenings, when the young Paladin was gone. They had reached a silent agreement to stay out of each other’s way, and that suited Ahren perfectly.
Evening was still a long way off, but because of the weak light from outside, the innkeeper had already lit candles on the tables. Likis and Holken were vying for Khara’s attention as usual, and Ahren’s mind was wandering when he became aware of Culhen in his head.
Ahren? Paws numb, he heard the wolf say. Ahren frowned and stood up, ignoring the others’ questioning looks and went out the front door of the tavern. There was Culhen, sitting in the snow, looking up at him and whimpering quietly.
‘If your paws are cold, then come in out of the snow’, said the young man playfully and held the door open for the wolf. The animal had already been popular among the villagers before Ahren’s departure, and everyone was always happy to see him, which meant he was welcome into the tavern.
But Culhen stayed sitting and began carefully nibbling his forepaws.
Not cold. Numb. Paws numb, Culhen responded.
Worried now, Ahren went over to his friend. He knelt down beside the big wolf and put an arm over his shoulders.
Are you telling me you can’t feel your paws? he asked mentally.
Yes, came the answer and it was accompanied by uncertainty and fear. Gingerly, Culhen began nibbling at his forepaws again.
Ahren bit his lip uncertainly and then reached a decision. ‘Let’s go look for Falk. Maybe your paws have got a chill from too much larking around in the snow, but we’re better safe than sorry.’
Ahren stood up and walked towards the mayor’s house only to stop after a few paces. Culhen had tried to totter after him, placing one paw down after the other in a comical manner. The sight would have been amusing were it not for the wave of fear that now flowed from one to the other. ‘Stay there. I’ll come back with Falk’, said Ahren quickly and trotted over to the large house where he thought his master would be.
Falk would meet up with the Ancients once a day to consider further d
etails of their upcoming journey, and the apprentice hoped his master was still there.
He pushed open the front door and found the three long-living comrades-in-arms gathered around the large table where they were poring over a map.
‘Boy, why did you barge in like...’ said Falk, only to stop when he saw Ahren’s concerned look.
‘There’s something wrong with Culhen!’ cried out the young man and immediately turned to leave again. Falk was up in an instant, Jelninolan followed suit, and Uldini flew up into the air and floated over the table.
Ahren waved his arm urgently and ran out, calling over his shoulder: ‘He says his paws are numb, and he’s moving in a very strange way.’ His concern for his friend was mixed up with the animal’s uncertainty which he was sensing in his head, and he sobbed: ‘I think he’s sick.’
Falk and Jelninolan exchanged worried looks before sprinting past Ahren, whose pulse began to race when he saw how alarmed they had become. His worst fears seemed to have been realised! He caught up with them, and two heartbeats later they were at Culhen’s side. He was still sitting in the market square, whimpering quietly.
Ahren’s friends had arrived in the meantime, and Khara was stroking the wolf’s white fur, speaking to him soothingly all the while.
Falk swiftly approached the animal, immediately cupped Culhen’s head in his hands and stared deep into his yellow eyes before releasing his hold. ‘Wolf Ice’, was all he said.
The elf opened her eyes wide and immediately cast a charm over Culhen. As soon as she placed her hands on his body, his fur was covered in a blue fog. The wolf yelped in surprise but did not resist.
‘Ahren, he must remain as still as possible’, uttered Jelninolan sharply. ‘He’s been given Wolf Ice, and the more he moves, the more the poison will spread throughout his body!’
Ahren stood there frozen for a heartbeat.
Poisoned? Culhen’s been poisoned? The unbelievable thought raced through his head.
He quickly gathered himself together so that he could communicate mentally with Culhen. Listen to me now, big boy. We’re going to play a game, alright? You have to lie on the ground and you’re not to move a muscle.
Play? responded the wolf uncertainly.
Ahren quickly shook his head as he tried to control his rising panic. No, not play, he corrected himself. He hesitated for a moment. Disguise. Hide. He gave the hand command that would always prompt the wolf to lie flat on the ground. Hand gestures had hardly been necessary ever since they had begun speaking to each other, but at this moment the gesture helped to make it perfectly clear to the frightened wolf what Ahren wanted him to do. Whimpering quietly, he lay down and looked up at Ahren with confused eyes.
Legs cold. Paws gone, he said fearfully, and Ahren flinched pityingly.
‘His paws are still numb, and his legs are cold’, he said. ‘Is the magic not working? he shouted anxiously to the priestess.
Jelninolan ignored him and turned instead to Uldini. ‘The poison is extremely strong. I’m going to need you to slow down its process.’
The Ancient nodded and placed his hands on her shoulders. The blue fog which was radiating from Jelninolan’s hands and swirling around Culhen’s body immediately strengthened, and Ahren could feel a faint warmth emanating from the magic. While this was happening all the guests from the tavern had spilled out onto the village square and were curiously watching the drama unfold. Trogadon was standing there too, looking more earnest than Ahren had ever seen him before. ‘What can we do?’ he asked. That was exactly what Ahren was asking himself as he fought to control his own emotions as well as those of the wolf.
Jelninolan glanced around her before issuing a list of commands. ‘Trogadon and Khara, you make sure that nobody comes too near Culhen. I don’t want the charm being interrupted. Not that anybody here would be superstitious of the magic and try to incite the people of Deepstone – our last encounter with an angry mob was not long ago. Falk, I’m going to need Fire Weed, and quickly. That’s the only way I can burn the poison out of his veins. Please tell me that it grows here in the Eastern Forest.’ Her voice had taken on a pleading undertone, and Ahren was now frightened out of his skin.
While the others carried out Jelninolan’s orders, Falk wavered and shook his head. ‘I really don’t know. Fire Weed is a poison and so I never really kept an eye out on where it might grow. Vera won’t have any either, she doesn’t allow poisons into her house.’ The old man feverishly rattled his brains, and Ahren was on the point of exploding with rage, and giving vent to his fear, uncertainty and helplessness.
‘All those lessons and we can’t even save Culhen?’ he said through gritted teeth. He stared at his master and clenched his fists so hard they hurt. It was only the compassion in his master’s eyes that prevented him from lashing out at him.
‘I’ll ask Selsena. The old lady knows the Eastern Forest as well as Evergreen by now, and she has an amazing memory for all sorts of plants. If there’s any Fire Weed growing around here, then she’ll know about it.’
Ahren clung to this hope and used it to control the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him. He fixed his eyes on the face of his master, who had closed his eyes and was communicating with Selsena. He heard Culhen’s heartbreaking whimpering in his ears and in his head and tried hard to communicate a feeling of security to the wolf, but kept failing miserably. He almost burst with rage at his own inadequacies, and when Falk opened his eyes again, Ahren leaped forward, grabbed his master’s shoulders and shook him vigorously. ‘And? What did she say?’ he screamed into his face.
‘She knows of two places where Fire Weed might be growing. But it’s winter and everything is covered in snow. She can’t burrow into it with her hooves without trampling the Weed to bits. We have to go there and find it ourselves’, he said forcefully, grasping Ahren’s upper arms, and physically controlling him.
‘I’m going to look in the south and you look in the north. You know the place where the enormous tree was uprooted. Where we cornered Culhen’s mother.’
Ahren turned on his heels without uttering a word and ran northwards, out of Deepstone and into the icy forest, which harboured the last remaining hope for his dying friend.
The blood was pounding in Ahren’s ears and he was seeing spots in front of his eyes. He had already been running through the forest for three hours, heedless of the injuries he was doing to his own body. His face had cuts from branches whipping against it, his shins were flecked with bruises from stumbling through the undergrowth. It had taken them a full day to reach the Blood Wolf that time, admittedly at walking pace, but Ahren was convinced that Culhen had little time left. He was still only a little distance away from the wolf, but already the connection with him was becoming weaker, and with every elapsing moment Ahren’s fear increased. Again and again he heard the poisoned wolf pleading with him for comfort and questioning him in his head.
Ahren? Ahren?
The apprentice, tears in his eyes, kept sending calming messages to his companion animal. He knew that Culhen really needed him now and was depending on his strength, and this thought gave him the energy to urge his tired body onwards. And once that was no longer enough, he cut himself a chunk of Moon Fungus, which was growing rampant on a rotten tree trunk, and shoved the slippery fungus into his mouth. The bitter, disgusting taste made him want to throw up as his body warned the young man of what he was about to digest, but Ahren swallowed the poisonous mushroom and ran onwards. It was normal only to take small amounts after having boiled out the worst poisons, and then only in emergencies. But the Moon Fungus had an immediate and brutal effect, and Ahren’s exhaustion and pain vanished. His heart began pounding wildly in his chest as if it wanted to break free, and Ahren increased his tempo in order to expend the renewed energy that was streaming through his body.
At last he came to the natural hollow which had once been the Blood Wolf’s lair and he stopped in his tracks. The bones of the enormous animal were lying in the snow lik
e a baleful omen of Culhen’s imminent death.
The effects of the mushroom were playing with Ahren’s mind, and he stumbled into the hollow, which had been created when the enormous tree had been wrenched out of the ground. Its withered roots were still jutting into the sky.
His whole body was bathed in a slimy sweat which smelled putridly sweet, but Ahren was hardly aware of the stench. Instead, he was drawn magnetically down to the pale wolf skull, which was lying chest-high in front of him, staring at him accusingly out of hollow eye sockets. Caught in the poisonous delirium, Ahren laid his hand on the skull and mumbled in a whispering voice: ‘I’ll take care of him well. I’ll save him. I promise.’
Then he stumbled back up onto his feet and began looking around feverishly.
Everything was covered in snow, and no plant was to be seen protruding through the thick white blanket. Ahren furiously began digging and then suddenly realised he had no idea what he was actually looking out for! In his hurry he had forgotten to ask Falk what Fire Weed looked like!
Crying with rage and frustration he pounded his fists on the snow before clearing the forest floor with his claw-like fingers, all the while ignoring the painful iciness.
Tears streamed down his face, and for a moment he was tempted to simply roll himself up into a ball and surrender to the forest cold because the pain he was feeling inside was threatening to overwhelm him. But he could still hear Culhen’s pleading voice in his head and giving up was simply not an option. He systematically cleared more and more of the hollow from snow, concentrating on the sensations emanating from Culhen, which kept him focussed on the goal of his endeavour. The wolf seemed to be lying on his side, his legs were numb, his lungs felt as if they were filled with ice and he was struggling with his breathing. There were hands on his back, and their warmth was fighting against the cold within him. That had to be Jelninolan. The wolf’s head was lying on somebody’s lap, and Ahren could just about smell, as if through a veil, Khara’s scent, and that it was she who was stroking Culhen’s fur. It was clear that Jelninolan had given her permission to comfort the wolf by touching him, and that he really needed her by his side. The apprentice bit his lips until they were bleeding, in an attempt to overpower another wave of frustration, and continued his search. He found two different herbs that he threw into his mouth and chewed in an effort to stabilise himself. The mushroom poison was still raging inside him and Ahren was dimly aware of the fact that he wouldn’t be able to help Culhen if he collapsed himself.
The Brazen City Page 5
