The Brazen City

by Torsten Weitze

  ‘Right, then. We don’t have much time’, said Uldini urgently.

  They rode quickly up to the bushes, and Jelninolan led the horses deeper into the forest to keep them out of sight and free from injury. Trogadon and Falk crouched down on the left of the path in the undergrowth, Ahren and Khara did the same on the right. The plan was that the two Forest Guardians would pepper the mercenaries with arrows as soon as they appeared, and the close-combat fighters would make sure they had enough room to continue shooting for as long as possible. Uldini and Jelninolan would maintain a safe distance and protect their fellows for short periods with magic if the crossbows started shooting at them.

  Falk issued his instructions: ‘Remember, boy: as precisely and as quickly as you can. Give them no chance to entrench, otherwise they’ll end up dividing into groups in the forest and trying to wear us down, and the magic won’t last long enough to protect us.’ Then he disappeared into the greenery.

  Ahren was nervous and slightly nauseous. He had become familiar with using his weapon against Dark Ones, but he still found it difficult to shoot at people even when there was no alternative. The Void had helped him on previous occasions, but now he couldn’t find the necessary concentration to reach the trance which protected him from his feelings. His connection with Culhen still caused considerable interference. The wolf was crouching in a patch of long grass and waiting with excitement.

  Only intervene when somebody needs help, Ahren communicated to the animal as he sought out the optimum position in the shrubbery, from where he had a good view of the path while remaining hidden from the enemy. He took an arrow from his quiver and practised drawing it on the bow. Then he snapped a few branches out of the way so that he could draw the weapon unhindered. His face was glistening with sweat and his hands were shaking. His fear of being attacked by mercenaries was mixed with his fear of having to kill them, and they both combined into a ball of emotions which threatened to debilitate him altogether. Ahren had been injured often enough to realise that every battle was a gamble, which could cost him or his comrades their lives. Certainly, Jelninolan’s healing magic was helpful, but even the elf was unable to cure an arrow in the head or a knife in the heart.

  He was all too aware that Khara was looking at him critically as she crouched stock still a half a pace away in the undergrowth with Wind Blade in her steady right hand. There was nothing he wanted more than to have the Void back, to be able to reach it. But Culhen’s hunting instinct, awakened by the tension in the others and the first smells of the approaching mercenaries, nipped the young man’s every attempt in the bud, leaving him an emotional mess in the shrubbery. The twittering of the birds welcoming the arrival of spring with their song was just as surreal to him as the curious squirrel that Ahren could see two trees away. The little animal was looking at him sceptically, doubtless asking itself why there was an odd-looking animal crouched in the bushes and bathed in sweat.

  Ahren frantically tried to think of what he could do to avoid a bloodbath, but he just couldn’t think of a way of dodging the skirmish. He felt just as helpless as he had a few weeks previously when he had led Sven into exile. He bit his lips and looked over at Khara again. She looked back at him and rolled her eyes.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked in an annoyed voice.

  ‘How can you stay so calm?’ he asked urgently. ‘Aren’t you afraid? Do you love killing that much?’ he hadn’t meant to sound so accusatory, but his frustration rolled off his tongue more scornfully than intended.

  Khara’s admonishing hand gesture indicated that he should keep his voice down. ‘We’ve no time for this’, she hissed.

  Ahren thought that was the end of their conversation and was surprised not alone by her speaking again, but also by what she said.

  ‘Use one fear against the other. Do you want us all to survive? Then overcome your fear of death by your concern for our well-being.’ She held his look. ‘That’s how I survived the arena.’ Then she turned her eyes to look forward, and Ahren did the same.

  The young Paladin’s dilemma continued to intensify when the first mercenaries came into view. And when Falk shot off the first arrow, he only raised his own bow hesitatingly.

  One of the mercenaries dropped to the ground, severely wounded, and then Ahren had a brainwave, which was like a rock rising up in the middle of his emotional maelstrom. It connected Khara’s advice with Falk’s pragmatism, Trogadon’s directness, Jelninolan’s goodness and Uldini’s tendency to dramatise. Somehow the influences coming from his companions seemed to unify into one solution within him, a solution that fitted in with Ahren’s ideals, even if the apprentice now had to be more coldblooded than he had ever been before in his life.

  Ahren aimed and let fly an arrow, which landed exactly in one mercenary’s thigh. The man collapsed immediately, screaming and holding his injured leg, but Ahren was already shooting at the next figure. The mercenaries hadn’t yet reacted – the shock of being themselves targets of an ambush seemed to have frozen them temporarily.

  What are you doing?!’screamed Falk as he saw Ahren sending two more attackers crashing to the ground with arrows in their legs.

  ‘Trust me, master. Aim at their thighs!’ shouted Ahren with as much self-confidence as he could muster.

  The mercenaries now raised their crossbows, and after three more arrows from the Forest Guardians they began peppering the bushes on either side with crossbow bolts.

  The bolts were just about to hit Ahren and Khara in their hiding places when the air flickered for several heartbeats in front of their covers and the bolts fell harmlessly to the ground.

  ‘Magic!’ shouted one of the mercenaries and they dived sideways in an effort to protect themselves.

  Ahren knew that correct timing was essential for his plan to succeed. If the battle took too long, he would never manage to get as far as their ringleader. And so he leaped out from the undergrowth, shooting off a steady stream of arrows in an effort to wound as many mercenaries as possible in their legs.

  ‘Ahren!’ screamed Falk, flabbergasted, but the apprentice ignored him and continued to pepper the figures hiding behind trees and shrubbery.

  Ahren counted mentally how long it would take to reload a crossbow, so that he could figure out how much time he had for the next stage. He would have to be quick. There were nine wounded mercenaries on the ground in front of him, crawling to safety, their faces the picture of agony.

  ‘Loom!’ cried the young Paladin. ‘Break off the attack and put your weapons down! Then we will give you enough healing herbs to treat your wounded!’ Ahren kept his instruction brief to give the ringleader enough time to consider his demand before her people had reloaded their crossbows. He forced himself into appearing full of self-confidence and withstood the urge to scan the trees for the tell-tale glittering of bolt tips.

  It was true that Uldini or Jelninolan could protect them with magic again, but that would only alert every Dark One in the vicinity and they would be on their track in no time at all, meaning all his efforts at avoiding further bloodshed would come to nought.

  Nothing happened for several heartbeats, and Ahren tensed himself up to throw himself sideways to avoid the first bolts.

  But then the scrawny woman in her red-white garment came out from behind a tree, her eyes shining at him in a mixture of rage and amusement. ‘What gave you the idea that we’re going to let you go after you’ve badgered my people like that?’ she asked scornfully.

  The young Paladin picked up on the undertone of hesitation in her voice, and that, combined with the fact that none of the mercenaries had shot at him yet, gave him hope. ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere here. Nine of your companions are wounded and arrow wounds become infected very quickly. How many are you going to lose to gangrene? How long will you have to hold out in a cave somewhere or in an abandoned farmhouse before they regain their strength? And how many of them will never be able to walk properly again?’ During those last words the image of Sven came back in
to his head, and he had to force himself to remember that he was doing this in order to save everyone present and not just the lives of his companions.

  The Loom hesitated, her eyes darting left and right at the wounded mercenaries around her. ‘How do you know I won’t just cut the throats of everyone here and recruit new people with the booty I’ll have taken off your corpses?’, she asked coldly.

  Ahren swallowed hard. He had no answer to that and he hadn’t counted on anyone being so cold and calculating. He spoke immediately, not giving his fear a chance to gain the upper hand. ‘So, are you telling me that your people mean so little to you that it makes no difference to you if one of my companions sets fire to the bag of herbal medicines?’ He shouted out his last words as loudly as he could, in the hope that Uldini would understand his bluff.

  The Arch Wizard stepped out of the undergrowth with the aforementioned bag while the skinny woman was biting the inside of her cheek and considering what to do. A little flame was dancing on top of Uldini’s free hand and was already beginning to lick at the outside of the leather. The Ancient’s theatrical leanings were of great benefit to Ahren at that moment, and there was no doubt they were effective.

  ‘Your people will be standing again in three days, in four they will be walking. Within a week they’ll have fully recovered’, said Ahren firmly. ‘Or we’ll take our chances in battle and see who’s victorious.’

  The Loom pursed her lips and for a moment nobody spoke. The twittering of the birds could be heard mingling in a grotesque manner with the groans of the wounded, while the spring aromas of the plants were overlain with the sickly smell of spilled blood.

  Finally the Loom put her dagger away and nodded once curtly.

  Ahren felt dizzy with relief, but forced himself to remain perfectly still, maintaining the determined look in his face.

  ‘You all come out and take the bowstrings off the crossbows. Then we will place the bag on the path and ride away’, he said in as commanding a voice as possible.

  ‘Agreed. You drive a hard bargain, boy, considering your age’, acknowledged the Loom with reluctant respect. ‘What’s your name?’

  The young man was now the picture of serenity. He gave a little smile and said simply: ‘My name is Ahren, and I am the Thirteenth Paladin of the gods.’

  Chapter 8

  ‘I am the Thirteenth Paladin and I keep fainting.’ Ahren heard Uldini behind him, uttering the same jibe for the umpteenth time.

  Ever since they had left the befuddled mercenaries behind them Ahren had been subjected to different variations of his pronouncement, each one more outlandish than the last. Even the normally kindly Jelninolan took part, and the forest, which was thinning out now, echoed to the laughter of the travelling party. They were knocking great fun out of the fuming apprentice, as they travelled along, taking advantage of the last rays of the afternoon sunshine to travel an extra few miles.

  ‘Maybe that’s enough now’, chortled Falk finally. ‘We should stop teasing him and be thankful that he’s finally admitting who he is.’

  ‘But I had another great one ready!’ protested Trogadon in an exaggeratedly offended voice.

  It was clear to Ahren that the jibes were really only a way of the others expressing their relief at the close shave they had just had with the ambush, but he was sick to the back teeth of being the butt of their jokes.

  He rode ahead of the group so that they wouldn’t see the look of fury on his face, and he prayed quickly to the THREE to give him more patience.

  The countryside began to open up before him as he left the last trees of the forest behind. The trade track they were on wound its way through softly rolling grasslands and the steadily undulating horizon was silhouetted by occasional farmhouses.

  At last there was no more sniggering to be heard, and Jelninolan took advantage of the silence to ride up to Ahren in order to speak to him. ‘Your idea was truly brilliant and because of it no lives were lost. I really am proud of you.’

  Ahren spun his head around and examined the elf’s face closely, thinking there might be another jibe coming his way. But he only saw deep warmth in her look. Reassured, he quickly murmured something in a low voice before facing forward again.

  ‘The boy is becoming as vain as his wolf’, interjected Trogadon with a laugh. ‘From now on we’re going to have to clap in admiration at every one of his ideas.’

  Ahren was about to protest, but when he glanced down at Culhen, who was trotting beside him with his tail in the air and looking up at his master haughtily, he wondered about how much truth there might be in what the dwarf had said. He just needed to be thankful that his plan had been effective. Falk, Uldini and the others didn’t expect praise every time they did something successfully. The apprentice was happy with what he had done, and he realised he should be satisfied with that.

  ‘On the other hand, we don’t have any healing herbs now’, said Falk thoughtfully. ‘And guess who’s going to replenish our supplies?’

  There was no need for Ahren to turn around. With a tired sigh he slid off his horse and set off to explore the edge of the forest behind them for arrowroot while the others waited for his return.

  That evening they made themselves comfortable under a large weeping willow that had been visible to them for some time in the hilly grasslands. Ahren had noticed that for the previous few miles the grass was becoming considerably shorter and hardier than in the rest of Hjalgar.

  ‘We’re going to reach the Northern Steppes of the Sunplains soon’, his master had explained to him. ‘There isn’t much water there and very little grows. You’re seeing the first signs of the typically barren vegetation.’

  The young Paladin had replenished their herb supplies to some extent during the course of the afternoon, and during supper he couldn’t help noticing out of the corner of his eyes that the others were observing him in a strange way when he wasn’t looking directly at them. He pondered over this for a while until it dawned on him that they were now looking at him with a certain amount of respect. Khara alone looked at him in exactly the same way as before, but that was no surprise to the budding Forest Guardian.

  ‘That was a good tactic of yours today’, said Uldini suddenly after a prolonged silence. They were all sitting around the campfire. The others in the group nodded in agreement, but then the little Arch Wizard gave a melancholy sigh. ‘Too bad that your efforts were in vain’, he added.

  Ahren pricked up his ears. ‘What do you mean?’ he demanded.

  Uldini waved his hand in a vaguely northern direction. ‘A horde of Low Fangs seem to have picked up the scent of the mercenaries. They’ll all be dead before dawn’, he answered with mild regret in his voice.

  Before anybody could say a word Ahren had leaped up and was running to his horse.

  ‘Well done, Uldini’, grunted Falk as his apprentice swung onto the saddle and galloped off without saying a word, back the way they had come. ‘Give the boy some light before he breaks his neck’, shouted Falk over his shoulder to the Arch Wizard as he himself ran towards Selsena.

  With a curse Uldini lit up his crystal ball, which he always had under his cloak, and sent the artefact floating towards the galloping apprentice.

  ‘If only I’d kept my trap shut!’ cursed the Arch Wizard before following the others’ example and riding after Ahren.

  The darkness and Ahren’s mediocre horsemanship made his precipitous departure more dangerous than he had anticipated. Even though he was sticking to the trade route they had followed during the day, no sooner was he back in the forest when he was encountering bends and low-hanging branches coming out of the blackness that he had to swerve around to avoid being knocked off his horse. He looked over gratefully at the glimmering ball which the Arch Wizard let fly beside him, and without which he couldn’t possibly keep up his present speed – at least, not without breaking his neck in the process. The others were riding close behind him. The apprentice was all too aware of the fact that they were better horse
-riders than him, and that they could easily have taken the lead or cut him off. But they seem to have come to an agreement that he should be at the front for now, and for a heartbeat the young Paladin granted himself a swashbuckling smile, only to be met by a treacherous branch that nearly swept him to the ground.

  Ahren became completely disorientated and lost all sense of time as he galloped through the night, and the unfortunate horse under him grew increasingly exhausted.

  ‘We’re almost there!’ shouted Uldini after what seemed like an eternity. ‘Another ten furlongs and then a hundred paces into the forest towards the west.’

  Ahren nodded determinedly and ran through the options in his mind. ‘Are we still ruling magic out?’ he asked curtly.

  Uldini nodded with a look of apology. ‘Unless you want to be fighting for the next three days. The place is teeming with Dark Ones that would be able to sense our magic. The light magic is the maximum we can allow.’

  Ahren’s brain was working feverishly, and he could hear fighting echoing into the peaceful forest from a westerly direction.

  ‘It’s now or never, lad!’ cried out Trogadon exuberantly beside him, and the dwarf practically fell off his horse before disappearing into the trees with a loud battle cry. Then they all stormed after him and all thoughts of a tactical plan were forgotten.

  The battle unfolded remarkably smoothly. It was the first time Ahren had seen how the enemy reacted when it was surrounded, and he made a firm promise to himself never to end up in a similar situation. The Low Fangs turned frantically hither and thither as Trogadon, Khara and Jelninolan ploughed into them and began striking at the startled enemy. The dwarf’s mighty hammer whipped the contorted bodies, only a moment before under the thrall of the dark god, through the air as if they were nothing more than rag dolls. Simultaneously, the flowing movements of the two female fighters were snapping bones and cutting off any limbs that were reaching towards them. The mercenaries, who up until that point had been caught in a hopeless rearguard action, seized the moment and bore with their blades into the backs of any Low Fangs who had turned to face the new danger. And then there was Falk, galloping in atop Selsena, a whirlwind of hoofs and deadly blows as they milled into the Low Fangs’ left flank.