‘Blasted fleabags of excuses for animals! That was my favourite chainmail shirt!’ he scolded aloud, and Falk shook his head disapprovingly.
‘I’ve been telling you for moons to kindly wear your namesake’s shirt. That would undoubtedly have protected you, and you wouldn’t be looking like a burst dwarf sausage’, he said, scolding the warrior without the smallest hint of pity in his voice.
Their friend had won the right to wear the name and the artefacts of the old dwarf hero Trogadon. Among these was the chainmail made from Deep Steel, but within no time at all the stubborn Dwarfish warrior had simply shoved the valuable piece of equipment into his rucksack because it chafed his chest, or so he said. Falk had repeatedly tried to change his mind, but until this evening Trogadon had preferred to wear his own tattered chainmail which had been corroded by the gastric acid of the Ore Worm. Against his own wishes, he pulled the ancient chainmail from his bag. ‘If my chest hairs are scrubbed off, you’ll be to blame’, he said sulkily.
Jelninolan placed her hands on the treated wound and whispered a little spell which pulled the edges of the cut together. The dwarf gave a groan and threw the elf a distrustful look. ‘It doesn’t seem so painful when you heal the others’, he grunted suspiciously.
She glared at him with scornful eyes. ‘Firstly, it’s extremely difficult to apply magic to Pure Ones. Secondly, I can only perform weak magic or we’ll be sitting ducks up here for Swarm Claws. And thirdly, I hate having to heal wounds that could have been avoided. So, at the very least put on that stupid shirt! Her last words sounded just like a whip lash, and even Ahren flinched.
Trogadon lifted his arms in a conciliatory gesture and proceeded to force himself into his famous namesake’s armour with comic theatrical effort.
‘Everybody else uninjured?’ Jelninolan looked at her companions and they all nodded although they were all gently rubbing their sore hands. Satisfied, Jelninolan tended to their cuts and while this was taking place Falk communicated with Selsena.
‘She’ll meet us a little further south, and in the meantime she’ll take care of Culhen’, he began and was interrupted by a terrifying bellow which split the night air, and which Ahren recognised immediately.
‘The Glower Bear!’ he cried out in alarm and reached for his bow.
‘Nothing to worry about, he’s still some distance away’, said Jelninolan in a placatory voice. ‘We have a good head start on him.’
‘Then it’s decided’, announced Uldini firmly. ‘We’re staying up here.’ Ahren looked aghast at the Arch Wizard who was making a sweeping gesture.
‘Look around you. The stone edges are wide enough to walk comfortably during daylight, and we’re safe up here not only from the Sicklehoppers but also from the Glower Bear. And considering he’s so near to us already, Jelninolan can also use magic to keep an eye out for Swarm Claws. That’s the best strategy’, said the ageless Arch Wizard as he listed off all the advantages of his plan before folding his arms in front of his chest.
The others understood that his decision was not up for discussion and were too exhausted to contradict him, and so they nodded and lay down on the broad flagstones that bordered the artificial river left and right. But while Ahren lay there and looked at the stars above, he couldn’t help worrying. What would happen if he turned over in his sleep? If he was lucky, he would just get a soaking. But if he rolled in the wrong direction, he would plunge into the depths. Without giving it a second thought he tied himself firmly to the much heavier Trogadon with a rope, and the dwarf looked on, chuckling. Ahren lay down again, reassured, and was delighted to see that the others were following his example by securing themselves to each other so that in the end they looked like a comical pearl necklace, lying in a row along the stone slabs and drifting off to sleep.
Chapter 10
They travelled carefully under the bright spring sunshine along the edge of the stone canal, which quietly and steadily distributed the life-giving water down onto the plains below, reawakening the dead landscape and bringing it back to its previous vitality. Ahren absorbed every detail of what was unfolding before his curious eyes. The channels below stretched in straight lines away from the waterway only to divide into many smaller offshoots and ended up in enormous islands of plant life situated sometimes ten, fifteen or even twenty furlongs away. In the beginning there was often only one tiny farmhouse near one of these artificial oases, and the vegetation was wild and primeval, but the further south they rode, the more the picture changed. The vegetation in the oases had been cultivated, and many farmhouses stood at regular intervals in the middle of the neatly arranged fields.
Ahren was in awe of the Sunplainers’ ability to plan and implement their ideas and of the way they had won back this barren part of their country.
One day flowed into the next. They travelled along the waterway during the sunlight hours, and at night they rested on its edge. Jelninolan kept a lookout for Swarm Claws and Uldini cast a weak disguise charm, which was enough to delay the Glower Bear by erasing their traces.
‘Why didn’t he do that earlier?’ asked Ahren one morning as Uldini incanted the charm again.
Falk scratched his beard while he considered an answer. ‘I’m no expert, but as far as I know, its effect is only limited and very temporary. As if you were ploughing up the earth in an effort to hide your footprints. It causes momentary confusion, but in the long run it becomes easier to track you. Uldini has calculated that the bear will fall for the trap for another three nights at most, but then he’ll be breathing down our necks.’
Ahren looked at the farms, which were now no more than five furlongs away, with concern. The thought of the bloodshed that their pursuer could wreak on the land dwellers filled him with horror.
His master followed his look and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. ‘There’s no need to worry. A hunting Glower Bear is decidedly single-minded. We are his prey. As long as nobody attacks him, he will ignore everybody around him. The beasts can travel for weeks without food, and if this one gets hungry, he can help himself to the domestic cattle that are grazing on the surrounding farmland.’ He pointed towards the south. ‘And apart from that, the land is becoming more and more densely populated, and it won’t be long before we meet the first patrols. If Uldini announces himself and reports who’s on our heels, they’ll send a complete legion to corner him. That will chase him away for the time being.’
‘What’s a legion?’ Ahren had heard the term before but couldn’t make head or tail of it.
‘The army of the Sunplains is divided up into legions, and each one consists of one thousand soldiers’, said Falk matter-of-factly.
Ahren blinked and tried to comprehend that number. Even on King’s Island he had never seen more than two hundred soldiers in one place, and a single unit here contained a thousand?
‘Didn’t Uldini say that the 17th Legion was besieging the Brazen City?’ he asked awestruck.
Falk nodded. ‘But don’t be fooled. Thirty years ago the Sunplains celebrated the creation of the 50th Legion. There could well be more by now.’ He noticed the disbelieving face of his apprentice and pointed at the surrounding fields. ‘Why do you think they need all that food? Their stomachs get hungry just as quickly as ours do, but they have to feed tens of thousands of soldiers, who have been having their heads bashed in by the Eternal Empire for more than forty winter.’ Falk gave a spit in disgust and became silent.
Ahren tried to imagine all the legions on one field, but the picture was too vast for his imagination. He wanted to ask more questions but Falk forestalled him.
‘Why don’t we use this wonderful location for a few balancing exercises? First, you have to jump from one side of the canal to the other a hundred times while we march onwards. By the time you’ve done that, I will have come up with some more ideas.’
Ahren swallowed hard as he looked at the artificial stream, three paces across. He had to leap across it, but without overdoing it and being carried over the oppo
site edge. He wiped his sweating hands on his legs and chanced his first jump.
His master wanted to kill him! Ahren was in no doubt about that. Falk had ordered him to perform daredevil stunts up on the canal throughout the day, and later on he had put Khara onto him, who subjected him to a succession of sword thrusts and kicks from which he had great difficulty defending himself on the restricted stone space. Finally, darkness had mercifully closed in and the others had settled down to sleep after their cold supper.
Ahren was still nibbling at a hard piece of cheese and looking forward to the fact that they would soon be able to replenish their food supplies. He missed Culhen terribly. The absence of the wolf from his thoughts felt almost the same as if he had lost a limb. Falk had explained that his friend and Selsena were seeking out a safe route to the south and were covering their tracks to prevent the bear from finding them – to avoid all their efforts being in vain.
The apprentice couldn’t wait to embrace his four-legged friend again, and he even intended to put up with the wolf’s slobbery licks across the face. As long as he didn’t fall to his death beforehand thanks to Falk, of course.
The young Paladin stood up with a groan and stretched his back. Then he noticed a movement to this right. He froze for a moment, and then realised it was Khara. She was sitting a little bit away on the edge of the canal with her legs dangling beneath her. He wasn’t sure if it would be better to leave the secretive girl alone – after all he had the unerring knack of saying the wrong thing to her, and the thought of antagonising the swordfighter while he was half a pace from the abyss struck him as being far from wise. But he was in a restless mood and really wanted company, and so he decided to take his chances.
He cleared his throat as he approached her, hoping to prevent any misfortune, and when she looked at him with her dark, melancholy eyes, he sat down cross-legged beside her. A gentle breeze blew the aromas of plants and animals up to them and gave Ahren a feeling of familiarity. The waxing moon floated large and brightly in the sky and few clouds hid the stars. Dots of light from the farmhouses could be seen here and there and everything was covered in a blanket of peace and quiet. It was still cool at night but not uncomfortable, and if Ahren hadn’t been in fear of his life for the whole of the previous day, he would certainly have enjoyed this moment.
However, instead he let out a bitter sigh. ‘For some reason Falk seems to be intent on my meeting a premature death’, he said in a jocular manner.
Khara looked at him with her sad eyes before grimacing. ‘I was only thinking how jealous I am of you, and then you go and say something stupid like that. You’re pitiful.’ The hostility in her voice was unmistakeable and Ahren flinched in shock, not understanding what he had done to her again.
She turned her head and looked out into the night, and then she continued to speak in a voice so quiet he could hardly hear her. ‘I wish I had a teacher like yours’, she murmured sadly. ‘He pushes you to your limits and beyond, ensuring that your skills increase a little with every passing day, and he always keeps an eye on you. Today he paid respect to your ability by making you confront the possibility of falling into the depths. He trusted that you would become used to the fear of death, and yet you still moan and groan like a little boy who’s being dragged unwillingly across the market square by his mother.’
Ahren was glad that the night was hiding his blushing face. The ex-slave had survived a difficult upbringing with considerable pain and constant danger of being killed. Although he had been told before about her situation, he still couldn’t fully comprehend it. His complaining could only sound pathetic to her ears.
‘But you have Jelninolan’, he interjected, steering her away from his own crassness, as well as offering her a little comfort.
The girl shook her head. ‘She’s my mistress, not my teacher. That’s the difference. I serve her, I’m not her student.’ Then she looked guiltily over at Ahren. ‘Don’t misunderstand me. I’m eternally grateful to her. But I’ve learned everything about the art of sword-fighting that she can teach me. She helped me regain my sense of balance and my flexibility, but she’s not a swords-mistress.’ She sighed bitterly and pointed at him. ‘All I have is a little boy who I have to teach to walk while all he wants is to be cosseted.’
Ahren took the insult quietly on the chin. He didn’t know if it was peculiar to Khara or if it were typical of all the inhabitants of the Eternal Empire, but her tendency to make comparisons that hit the mark but were hurtful at the same time was difficult to swallow. The young swordsgirl fell silent and turned away from him again.
Ahren rattled his brains for a suitable reply. He had never really put himself in her shoes, not least because their experiences and ways of seeing the world were so different. But he could certainly identify with her desire for self-improvement. This was something he had felt himself ever since Falk had lit the fire of ambition in him. Ahren might groan over each individual exercise, but so long as they didn’t actually kill him, he wouldn’t have missed them for the world. Now he understood why Falk had wanted to adjust the training course. The old man had included Khara, and the girl had positively blossomed. He bit his lip thoughtfully.
‘What would you like to practise if you wanted to continue your…your training?’ he asked haltingly.
‘I would really love to learn how to handle a Whisper Blade correctly’, she said after a moment’s consideration.
Ahren shivered when he noticed how passionately Khara spoke of deadly weapons.
‘What is a Whisper Blade?’ he asked.
Khara stood up and quietly collected her Wind Blade and then his from their sleeping quarters.
Then she began making slow, supple turns, at the same time carefully carrying out circular thrusts and stabs with both weapons. ‘The Whisper Blade is the counterpart to the Wind Blade. It’s shorter and lighter, and always used as a supplementary weapon’, she explained, all the while continuing her elegant blade dance. Then one of the blades scraped the stone and she stopped abruptly. Annoyed with herself she passed Ahren his blade and pointed at the score on the stone, while looking at their companions to see if any of them had been awoken by the noise. ‘That was the “Dance of the Waking Student”, a warming-up ceremony. You see what happens if you try it with two Wind Blades’, she whispered in supressed rage. ‘The dimensions of the second blade are all wrong, and so one can’t practise the routine properly.’
Ahren nodded although he was confused and put Wind Blade back in its scabbard. He knew how difficult it was to get weapons from the Eternal Empire, and so he understood the swordsgirl’s situation a little better. He thought again of Falk’s attempt to support her, and he decided to try something out.
‘Maybe I can help you’, he said uncertainly. ‘Just tell me how and where I should attack you, and at least then you will be able to hone your skills with Wind Blade.’ Hardly were the words out of his mouth, when he realised how miserable his offer sounded, but in spite of this Khara examined his face critically. She waded into the water without saying a word and immediately took up a low, defensive position. ‘Jump with the blade over my head and make a straight downward slice’, she blurted.
Ahren was somewhat taken aback, but he got himself into position and did as he had been asked. Khara turned away when she was under him and tried to swing Wind Blade upward in one elegant movement, managing however only to slip and end up under the surface of the water. Spluttering and gasping she came back up again, and Ahren was surprised to see that she seemed neither angry nor disappointed. She beamed at him with blazing eyes and pointed to the stone edge.
‘Again!’ she commanded quietly, and the young Forest Guardian obeyed.
As he was preparing to attack again, he noticed that the cold water had soaked Khara’s tunic in a very noticeable way. He leaped forward, trying in vain to concentrate on his technique, and to keep his eyes focussed on the task in hand. He had a terrible feeling this was going to be a very long night for him.
Ahren struggled through the next day completely exhausted. Khara had been bursting with enthusiasm, and so he had trained with her until almost dawn, while she restlessly carried out a succession of complicated manoeuvres. The girl had been remarkably cheerful by her own standards, and now he realised to his own surprise that he couldn’t get her smiling face out of his head, as well as other images of her that he tried not to think about. Of course, their nightly activity hadn’t remained hidden from the others for long, but nobody had made any particular comments on the matter. Both Falk and Jelninolan had looked at him proudly but without saying a word, while Trogadon had winked at him lewdly and smiled in a manner that caused him to blush on the spot.
Mercifully, his master held back with his commands, probably out of concern that his apprentice in his present state might really topple off the canal, and so he hammered more theoretical knowledge into the mind of the would-be Forest Guardian.
‘Sicklehoppers were once common or garden grasshoppers, hard enough as that is to believe. HE, WHO FORCES altered them further and further until they became true killing machines. Luckily, he lost the run of himself as always’, said the old man frankly.
Ahren looked at him in surprise, but it was Jelninolan who continued the explanation. ‘Creation follows a delicate balance, something that the Adversary simply does not understand. What you don’t realise is that the Sicklehoppers were once even more deadly. Their leaps were more precise but lower, and they were considerably more flexible and swifter.’ Her eyes suggested that she was remembering something dreadful. ‘But the dark god wished to make them even stronger and better – and he went too far. Their hind-legs are now too heavy and powerful for the rest of their bodies, and while it’s true they can now go further with each hop, they’ve nonetheless lost their precision and speed. They also have to eat four times as much as before, and so they lie for a long time in a so called “prey sleep”, while they wait for an appropriate prey to approach nearby.’ She paused and thought for a moment. ‘If HE, WHO FORCES had stopped tinkering around with them at the right time, I really don’t know if we could have won the war.’
The Brazen City Page 17
