‘Then the land won’t have to wait long’, interjected Trogadon laconically, interrupting the rapt silence that Jelninolan’s speech had initiated. ‘The waterways of Waterheart are no more than four leagues distant if I’m not mistaken.’
Everyone looked at him, some in amazement, and the others with curiosity. ‘You mean they’ve penetrated that far already?’ asked Uldini in disbelief.
Trogadon let out a guffaw. ‘You should spend more time on important things and less on politics. I’ve spent the last five winters in a tunnel and know the state of play better than you do.’
Uldini grunted something incomprehensible and Ahren leaned over to his master. ‘What are they talking about?’ he asked quietly.
Falk hesitated. ‘The view is so unusual that I don’t want to spoil the surprise’, he said finally.
Ahren wanted to press him further, but his master was unyielding. ‘Look on it as a good exercise in patience’, he said in a firm voice as he reprimanded his pupil.
He knew there was no point in pestering the others with questions concerning the waterways of Waterheart, having only brought on another lecture from his master with his thirst for knowledge. And so, he glumly settled down to sleep, cuddling Culhen, who sent his friend comforting thoughts until they both finally fell into a slumber.
Falk was proven right. Words couldn’t come anywhere near enough to describing what they encountered the following day, and the apprentice doubted he would have believed his master, had he attempted a description. They were sitting on their horses and were looking down from one of the higher hills onto a construction which earlier that morning had only been a narrow strip on the horizon. The stone construct had gradually become bigger, and finally Falk had led them up to higher ground. From there Ahren could at last make out what they were looking at.
A kind of wall led straight towards them, except that it wasn’t a wall at all. A kind of broad channel was held aloft, many dozens of paces high, by a succession of curved arches. Water flowed along the channel, some of which flowed down at regular intervals where it flowed into canals on the ground, which led away from this peculiar wall. Narrow green bands of sparse vegetation shimmered in the pallid sunlight, which had, in this part of the world, to constantly fight its way through a veil of dust.
‘What is that?’ asked Ahren cautiously. Was he imagining things, or was the wall becoming gradually higher, the further away it went? Perspectives seemed to be playing tricks on him, and every so often he would squint with one eye, but the effect remained the same.
Trogadon gestured to the sight below. ‘What you see below represents one of the two great virtues of the Sunplainers. They are masterful cultivators of the land. What you see there is a water channel, which carries the priceless liquid from Waterheart to here in the Dead Hills. In this way new life can be created and the earth can become fruitful so that it will finally serve as farmland. We’re going to follow this road back to its source, and you will see how much the Sunplainers have already transformed the land.’
Ahren was stunned by the dwarf’s answer and he looked at him carefully to see if the squat warrior was pulling his leg. Trogadon’s expression was serious as he continued to speak. ‘We dwarves helped with the initial planning and built the first hundred paces. We taught the people of the Plains how to continue the construction themselves. There were a few accidents to begin with and the occasional pillar collapsed, but if I look at this little section here, I can see that they’ve got the hang of it.’ He pointed at one of the load-bearing arches of the waterway and laughed heartily at his own witty words.
Uldini pulled a face, but Jelninolan admired the view in front of her and was astonished. ‘I never thought that people could champion nature to such a degree’, she whispered.
‘Wait a while and you might reconsider your opinion of us. The population of the Sunplains is constantly increasing and they are in urgent need of new farmland, otherwise they wouldn’t give the Dead Hills a second thought’, said Falk drily.
Uldini frowned and nodded. ‘One problem is that our empire has become too big. We can’t transport foodstuffs quickly enough from the eastern border to the south before they rot, and that’s why we need the farmland in the Dead Hills, which was taken from us that time.’
This information made Ahren dizzy. Crops could be transported a very long way before they started to go bad. ‘How big are the Sunplains?’ he asked in irritation.
‘Last spring, before I headed off to you, the distance from the Sun Palace to the southern foothills was a good four hundred leagues. But no doubt the border has pushed further south since then’, said Uldini thoughtfully. ‘Because the second virtue of the Sunplainers, as Trogadon has so euphemistically phrased it, is their thirst for conquest. We are good farmers and tenacious warriors. Quite an ignoble combination, as Middle Jorath has found out over the last three thousand years.’ Ahren wasn’t sure if the Arch Wizard was conscious of it, but his voice betrayed an element of pride.
‘Until the arrival of the Eternal Empire’, interjected Falk with a smirk, and Uldini’s face darkened.
‘You mean until Quin-Wa decided to transform the western territories into her own private playground and establish a belligerent feudal state?’ he snapped back.
‘Exactly’, answered Falk with a satisfied grin. The old man enjoyed nothing more than to disconcert the eloquent Arch Wizard.
Uldini didn’t respond, turned his horse towards the waterway, spurred it forward, and off they trotted.
‘He’ll make mincemeat out of you someday, old friend’, laughed Trogadon before moving off too.
‘Maybe’, answered Falk and shrugged his shoulders. Infected by Trogadon’s good humour he added, ‘but it will certainly have been worth it.’
The thundering sound of the cascading water was deafening as they rode along the stone construction. Ahren didn’t see any other travellers, but a rough track led along the foot of the pillars, which were sunk into the ground at intervals of sixty paces. Every hundred paces a small waterfall left and right of the waterway cascaded to the ground from where it was directed into the surrounding land.
When they rested for the night, Ahren saw the first animals in a long time. They were grazing by the canals in the weak light of dusk. Ahren had never seen such sylphlike slim animals before with their serpentine horns, and in spite of the animals keeping their distance, he tried to sneak a closer look. He saw a small herd, and they were drinking from one of the waterways that led the water away and chewing on the tough grass at its banks. The air was much clearer here, the dust being bonded through the increasing moisture of the land. For the first time in weeks he could see stars in the night sky.
Everyone had stored away the cloths that had protected their mouths, and the first lively discussions in ages filled the air. Trogadon was entertaining Jelninolan with his usual racy tales from his mercenary days, Khara had insisted on brushing Culhen and Jelninolan was keeping watch over the Plains. Uldini and Falk were talking shop and were at that moment discussing the length of the waterway. Ahren had learned that its principle rested on the simple fact that water always flowed downwards. His eyes had not been deceiving him when he had seen the stone construct for the first time. It descended almost imperceptibly with every pace, ensuring that the water reached the dried-up plains.
‘Why does it just peter out?’ interjected Ahren.
The two looked at him in surprise as if they hadn’t expected him to be listening in.
‘This isn’t its actual end’, said Falk absently. ‘Whenever a section of land has recovered, a few of the sluices at the front are closed, and the waterway is built on a little so that the water can be transported further.’
‘But will the beginning of it not dry out again?’ asked Ahren doubtfully.
Uldini shook his head. ‘It’s not as simple as that. Because of the plant growth the earth can store much more water before it seeps down into the deeper strata. Even the weather changes once the ve
getation has come back - and it begins to rain more often. One of the other Ancients penned a long treatise on the matter but I never read it. To sum up: once we’ve helped a tract of land get back up on its feet, the first farmers settle in the newly developed areas where they sink wells and cultivate the land. You’ll see it in the next few days’, finished Uldini.
Ahren nodded and looked out into the night. He breathed the slightly tangy air, which smelled faintly of the new-growing plants, deep into his lungs and he enjoyed the light, cool breeze on his skin. The following days, dust-free and with fresh water aplenty, promised to be less stressful than those that had gone before.
The next few days were the toughest in moons. Falk seemed determined that Ahren would make up for the hours they had lost on their journey through the Dead Hills in double quick time. He ensured that Trogadon put him through his paces when it came to muscle training, Khara thrashed him with Wind Blade, and Jelninolan overwhelmed him with balancing acts – everything of course while he was on horseback – and to top it all, his master showered him with information concerning the animals and plants of the Sunplains.
Being under such pressure, Ahren was only vaguely aware of the changing landscape. The dry dust was gone and more and more green covered the ground. In the distance Ahren could see small, modest farms and people working the fields.
On the fifth evening of their journey along the waterway, Ahren was wearily settling down in his sleeping place when he heard a most peculiar sound. A deep vibration accompanied by a rumbling that was becoming louder. At first Ahren thought it was a protracted thunderclap. Jelninolan and Falk peered out into the darkness, and then indicated to the others to remain perfectly still. Ahren did as he was told, and suddenly their encampment was engulfed in chaos.
As if from nowhere dozens of gazelles were storming through the stone archway, under which the travellers had planned to sleep. Ahren saw the wide, terrified eyes of the graceful animals galloping straight towards them, only to swerve around them at the last moment. The noise was deafening, almost paralysing, and Ahren stood stock still and watched in horror as the herd trampled through their encampment, galloping between them in terrified flight.
‘Don’t move or they’ll throw you to the ground and that will be the end of you! Trust that they’ll shimmy around you!’ called Falk, pleading with his companions. His voice could barely be heard in the whirling chaos of hooves. Ahren could see Trogadon, like a coiled spring, standing at the ready with his hammer held high, eyeballing any animal that came too close. Uldini had simply levitated over the fray, and Khara had taken up a defensive position in front of Jelninolan in order to protect the elf. Ahren found it extraordinarily difficult to follow Falk’s command and not move, but his master appeared calm and collected, like a rock in the broiling surge. It seemed like a miracle to Ahren that not one of them was swept along by the herd or trampled under their hooves.
Finally, the last animal passed through, and a ghostly silence lay over their encampment once the noise of the herd died away in the distance.
‘Anybody hurt?’ asked Falk, and everyone shook their heads. ‘Good’, he grunted. ‘The trick is to stay calm. The animals always find their way around you provided you let them.’
Ahren knew through his connection with Culhen that the wolf was fine, and at last he could relax a little. The wolf had instinctively avoided the herd, but Selsena on the other hand, who was standing in the middle of their encampment, radiated displeasure. The Titejunanwa was not used to having her personal space invaded by others jostling her impetuously. It seemed to be a new experience for the age-old animal.
Falk patted the flank of the Elfish charger, but Jelninolan looked uneasily out into the darkness. ‘What was it that frightened them so much?’ she asked fearfully, and her eyes glazed over.
‘Be careful. Think of the Glower Bear’, warned Uldini, who was beginning to concoct a charm.
Suddenly Jelninolan became ashen-faced and she shouted, ‘Sicklehoppers! Everyone up the pillars! Now!’
Uldini reacted immediately by floating up to the top of the waterway, while Falk cursed and quickly gathered the most important paraphernalia from their devastated encampment. Selsena let out a terrified whinny and galloped out onto the Plains, and Trogadon yanked the dumbstruck Khara to the imposing pillar on her left which soared unperturbed into the night sky.
Falk turned with blazing eyes to his apprentice, who was standing in a daze. ‘Culhen should follow Selsena as fast as his legs can carry him! And you, don’t just stand there! Climb! Go, go, GO!’ he roared at the top of his voice.
Ahren spun around, raced to the other pillar on his right and tried to get a foothold on the rough brickwork. The surface was damp with the fine spray coming from the nearby waterfall, and the young Forest Guardian struggled to get a good grip. Simultaneously he sent Culhen such a sharp order that the wolf let out a yelp and proceeded to hare after Selsena, who was disappearing at full gallop on the Plains.
Ahren still hadn’t managed to climb upwards when Falk appeared beside him and began to ascend. ‘Stop dawdling, boy!’ he snorted and pulled himself upwards with all his might. The old man clawed relentlessly at any rough parts the bricks offered him, seeming to ignore the lacerations his violent climbing technique cut into him.
Ahren gritted his teeth and copied his master. His heart was pounding in his chest and a thousand questions where racing through his mind. What could have caused his companions to panic in this way?
He tried to suppress the pain of the cuts in his hands. The rough stone was tearing into him with every claw-like grasp, and he looked over his shoulder, hoping to recognise something. He could see shadowy outlines of figures the size of fully grown horses, only somewhat longer and curiously misshapen. They seemed to mysteriously appear out of the darkness only to disappear a moment later. Finally, Ahren understood what he was looking at. The creatures moved forward by hopping and they were able to leap high and far. Ahren could see iridescent wings, shimmering red, and oddly shaped, dead-looking black eyes.
Falk was now several paces above him, screaming at Ahren: ‘For the love of the THREE, get your act together, Ahren! You’re still within their range!’
As if in confirmation the young Paladin heard a high humming sound and felt a blast of air as one of the creatures leaped within a hair’s breadth of him. Ahren saw a fragmentary silhouette of the creature, which reminded him of a plump praying mantis with its grotesquely thick hind-legs and four sickle-like arms, whose sharp edges stretched out in front of it. Its stumpy wings were just broad enough to enable the Sicklehopper to glide several paces though the air before falling to the ground again.
Ahren swallowed hard and redoubled his efforts so scale the life-saving stone pillars. He could hear another humming sound coming from his right and then whirring loudly behind him. Ahren pressed himself into the pillar instinctively and held his breath. There was a sharp bang as one of the Dark Ones sprang over him, its sickle narrowly missing the young man before scoring a deep scrape in the pillar. Little pieces of broken stone rained down on Ahren, and he looked down at them for a heartbeat in silence as they tumbled into the depths below. If one of those things were to hit him, he would be sliced in two. His Elfish armour would not help him a whit.
Sobbing with fear Ahren clambered higher. Every muscle in his back was burning, his arms were becoming exhausted, and his fingers were riddled with cuts. He heard the banging sound again and again as the Sicklehoppers glided by, attempting to gash him and his friends and scoring scrape after scrape into the massive stone pillars. He heard the terrible death whinnies of the horses below as they were torn to ribbons by the fearsome Dark Ones. Ahren screamed out his fear as he scaled upwards, trying to get beyond reach of the creatures. At last his hand grasped thin air. Blinded by tears and dust he had reached the top of the pillar, and Falk pulled him upwards with a groan, grabbing him by the forearm and yanking him unceremoniously and heaving him like a bag of flour into the water-
filled channel. The cold water closed in over his head and he rose to the surface, gasping for air, but the water had not only washed away the dust in his eyes, but also the panic in his mind.
Ahren noticed that he was being gradually carried away, and so he quickly stood up to avoid being pulled down one of the drains of the waterway. They were just about twenty paces above the ground and he certainly didn’t want to be washed down to the Sicklehoppers. The young Paladin rubbed his burning hands, whose cuts were being gently numbed by the cold water.
‘Has everyone survived’, he gasped. The thought that one of his friends might have been torn to shreds by the sickles of these insect-like Dark Ones made him shiver and feel nauseous.
Falk frowned. The moon was shining brightly on the clear water of the artificial stream, which rippled cheerfully and steadily along the waterway. Their travelling companions could be seen as shadowy outlines some fifty paces downstream.
‘I think everyone has managed to make it up’, said Falk and started moving. He splashed through the water to their companions with Ahren following, who prayed he would find them all unharmed. He quickly checked his connection to Culhen. The wolf was fine, but was still running after Selsena, who was leading him further and further into the Plains, away from the dreadful danger that had burst in upon them so unexpectedly.
Ahren saw that Uldini was floating unscathed above the stream and looking down at a prostrate figure being tended to by Jelninolan. It was Trogadon who was lying on the channel’s edge, one pace in width. The apprentice was relieved to see Khara, passing a rucksack over to the elf, who was nursing the injured dwarf.
They arrived over at the others, and the young man saw that the dwarf had a gaping wound, a cut which stretched across his back. The warrior was letting out a torrent of curses and looking angrily at the cut in his old chainmail shirt, which was almost divided in two. He tossed the useless piece of armour over the edge and closed his eyes in sadness, while Jelninolan worked his back with a tincture that sent up steam whenever it touched the wound. If the dwarf was feeling any pain, he certainly wasn’t showing it.
The Brazen City Page 16
