The Brazen City

by Torsten Weitze

  Ahren blinked and tried to make sense of what he had seen when Akkad did another graceful bow in front of everyone.

  ‘Show off’, snorted Uldini.

  Their host smiled. ‘That wasn’t showing off. This is’, he said airily as he lifted both hands and whispered something which Ahren couldn’t understand.

  Large marble benches with silk cushions and high arm- and backrests rose up from the floor, a canopy of shimmering blue appeared in the air above them, and a table, laden with fruit and joints of meat, golden cheeses and steaming hot bread materialised in their midst. With a final click of the Ancient’s fingers, a large carafe of deep-red wine along with seven goblets came into view on the afore-mentioned table.

  ‘Ahren, my dear friend, how many time have I told you to keep your mouth closed when you’re amazed by something’, scolded Uldini. ‘How are people supposed to take the Thirteenth Paladin seriously if he goes around looking like an idiot?’

  The young man quickly snapped his jaws shut and looked at Akkad almost fearfully. ‘Did you just create all that out of nothing?’ he asked in an awestruck voice.

  The Ancient shrugged his shoulders. ‘One of my favourite spells. I call it “lunchtime with good friends”. Do you like it?’ he asked coquettishly. ‘Try the wine’, he added with childish glee. ‘I’ve just composed the magic for that.’

  ‘Oh, we two are really going to get on like a house on fire’, said Trogadon with a satisfied sigh as he began filling one of the magic plates with an outrageous amount of food.

  Jelninolan had a critical look on her face and she picked one of the grapes up between her fingers. She examined it carefully, put it in her mouth and slowly began to chew. Then she smiled in satisfaction and nodded appreciatively at Akkad. ‘You’ve improved considerably since the last time I tasted your handiwork. Congratulations.’

  The magician clapped his hands gleefully. ‘If an Elfish palate is satisfied, then I am too. Stone, metal and wood is one thing, but food has cost me a lot of time and effort.’ He sat down on one of the benches and created a plate laden with delicacies, which he began to feast on.

  ‘Now that your food really tastes good, you’re going to get even fatter’, prophesied Uldini scornfully, but his sarcasm had absolutely no effect on Akkad’s unflappable demeanour.

  Ahren eyed the feast mistrustfully before going over to Falk, who was still leaning on the balcony balustrade and staring down at the glistening lake.

  The afternoon sun was gradually losing its intensity, and a refreshing breeze wafted through their hair. Ahren closed his eyes and enjoyed the peaceful moment. The sound of the waterways provided a calming background and the shouts of the busy residents of Waterheart created an almost homely atmosphere, a faint echo of the village square in Deepstone, when everyone gathered to celebrate the Spring Festival.

  ‘Why don’t you like Akkad? Is there something I should know?’ asked Ahren after some moments of silence.

  Falk glanced at him, then looked back onto the water. ‘No, there’s nothing he can do about it, really. I’m just different to him in matters of the heart. When Miriam died that time, a part of me died too. Something that I will never be able to get back. He in the meantime has buried forty-seven wives, and yet still has the strength to fall in love again.’ Falk hesitated. ‘Somehow it doesn’t seem right to me. As if his love has lost something in value.’ Behind them Trogadon was just telling a lewd joke which made everybody laugh, and Falk took a deep breath as he tried to control his emotions. ‘Akkad remains true to them and stays by their side until they pass away. He behaves impeccably and seems genuinely sincere towards all of his wives.’ The old man shook his head. ‘I just find it very hard to understand how people can behave so differently in such fundamental matters.’

  The thought came to Ahren that his master was clinging to his grief like to an old security blanket. It had taken several years of living together at close quarters and Ahren having a near death experience for his master to open up enough to tell of his wife who had been murdered, and of their daughter. The cantankerous Forest Guardian had buried his grief so deeply within himself that there hardly seemed to be room for anything else. Now that he himself had a companion and knew how this deep connection felt, Ahren was convinced that it was only Selsena who had prevented his master from losing his mind altogether. The young man was relieved that Falk had recovered enough in the ensuing centuries to finally give a shy young village boy the chance to become his apprentice.

  Being unfamiliar with affairs of the heart and preferring to keep his conjectures to himself for the time being, Ahren decided to steer their conversation in a different direction. ‘If he’s had that many wives, how old is Akkad actually?’ he asked, genuinely baffled. If the Ancient had really accompanied each of his wives until they die, then he had to be older than Jelninolan!

  Falk shrugged his shoulders. ‘We don’t know precisely. There’s a persistent rumour going around that he’s the first person that the gods revealed the secrets of magic to. That was at the beginning of the Dark Days.’

  ‘But the Dark Days were only eight hundred years ago’, replied Ahren.

  ‘The end of the Dark Days, yes. Their beginning was many, many winters before that. The Wizards were the first attempts of the gods to protect their Creation from the control of HIM, WHO FORCES. The Paladins appeared much later. What is described in a few brief paragraphs in the godsday school actually refers to dozens of centuries full of battles and bloody deeds.’ He pointed over at Uldini. ‘He took the trouble of trying to find out how long the Dark Days actually were. But he didn’t succeed. Whole civilisations were wiped out in the wars, and the calendars were changed at least three times during those epochs – so far as anyone can tell.’ Ahren was aghast as he considered how many must have died over such a long period. ‘I’m surprised that there was anyone left in the end that was capable of fighting’, he said stunned.

  ‘It wasn’t battle after battle’, replied Falk. There were always breaks when each side recovered its strength. One of those pauses is said to have lasted for over a century.’ He shrugged his shoulders again. ‘The truth is that most of them you see here are spring chickens who only started fighting when the Paladins already existed. I don’t even want to imagine what it was like earlier.’ He placed an arm on Ahren’s shoulder. ‘Enough of this depressing talk. Akkad is a good man and I just have to get that into my thick skull.’

  As he walked back to the others with his apprentice, he whispered one last piece of information into Ahren’s ear. ‘Regarding his age, the following might give you a vague idea: none of us know to which people he belongs. His tribe must have been wiped out before Jelninolan was born.’

  Ahren sat down on a marble bench and studied the elderly-looking, stocky man who was just at that moment enquiring of Jelninolan what the latest news from Eathinian was. His cheek bones were a little higher than those of a normal person, his skin had an olive tone, and his greying hair was still flecked with a deep-black hue. The host sensed that Ahren was looking at him and he turned towards the young man. ‘Please help yourself’, he said and pointed to the dishes. ‘It’s completely safe and has enough durability to satisfy your body before the magic dissolves.’

  The young Forest Guardian frowned in puzzlement, and Uldini laughed aloud. ‘His creations last two or three days, then they dissolve into thin air. Akkad has specialised in conjuring things up, but creating out of nothing something that remains is the prerogative of the gods.’

  Akkad nodded and seemed not the least insulted. This revelation made the magician more human somehow, and Ahren found himself relaxing a little. He looked over at Culhen, who was lying there snoring with a very large stomach. He decided to follow his friend’s example and began helping himself to the wonderfully aromatic food.

  The afternoon gave way to a mild evening, while the travelling companions ate, drank and sang. Uldini, Jelninolan and Akkad exchanged information concerning the other Ancients. Ahren didn’
t understand much, but he heard with a certain amount of satisfaction that Elgin’s misguided ambition and the Illuminated Path’s trap into which that Ancient had fallen had ensured that for the time being the other Ancients were following Uldini’s instructions and had abandoned their customary power struggles. The fact that that the Court Wizard of King’s Island had almost fallen victim to his own ambition and at the same time unwittingly played into the hands of the enemy was warning enough for the other ageless Wizards.

  ‘What exactly are you doing in Waterheart?’ enquired Uldini. ‘Wasn’t your plan to slip into the Eternal Empire unnoticed to check if everything was in order?’

  Akkad frowned. ‘I didn’t make it beyond ten leagues. Anyone who is capable of performing magic is spotted immediately, thanks to a finely woven magical web which covers all of Quin-Wa’s empire. I’ve never seen anything like it. It must have taken decades to weave.’ He shook his head and ruminated. ‘At least she was polite. A messenger came to me one morning and asked me to leave the Eternal Empire forthwith or my safety could no longer be guaranteed. I understood the subtle hint and turned around immediately. That was the end of my expedition.’ He spread out his arms. ‘At the border I was apprehended by a legion and they brought me here. I’d always wanted to study the waterways anyway, so I stayed for a while. I wanted to see if I could carry out some refinements and I’m currently working on a few promising ideas. When I heard that you were on the way here, I kept an eye out for you, but you must have been shielding yourselves.’

  ‘Glower Bears are not to be taken lightly’, said Uldini curtly.

  ‘What sort of refinements?’ interjected Ahren. The man was still a mystery to him.

  The plump Wizard grinned. ‘I like tinkering with things. If I think up an improvement or a new construction, I simply conjure it up and then test it out for as long as it exists. I do that until I’ve perfected it and then I have it built using real materials.’

  Ahren was more than a little surprised and found himself re-evaluating the sensual-seeming man, who apparently expended his energy trying to improve the lot of his fellow citizens.

  ‘But enough about me’, cried out the cheerful inventor. His friendly eyes turned towards Khara, who had spent most of the time sitting in silence. ‘Your mistress has informed me that you grew up in one of the arenas. She said you escaped before it was decided in which cage you had to go?’

  Khara nodded shyly. Suddenly her previously relaxed attitude had vanished. She was hiding once again behind her veil of hair and her shoulders were tensed up. Ahren was tempted to hit the plump Wizard in the face but held himself back.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Trogadon irritably.

  Jelninolan’s lips were now no more than a thin line across her face. ‘The arenas are more than a spectacle for the masses’, she said in a strained voice. ‘The fighters are sorted out. They are then sorted into different cages depending on their capabilities. The best are put into a golden cage. They are then collected and serve in the elite divisions. The most unscrupulous are put into a black cage. They become the Night Soldiers of the Empress – assassins one and all. Anyone who has just managed to remain alive unscathed is put into iron cage, and they end up in the normal army. The rest are already dead by that stage or wounded so badly that they thrown into a wooden cage.’ She was silent and although Ahren feared the answer, he asked the question anyway.

  ‘What happens to those in the wooden cage?’

  Khara turned her face, still hidden behind her silk-black hair, towards him. ‘Anyone who can work goes into the mines. And anyone who is pleasingly built is brought into the sleeping quarters.’ Her voice was almost inaudible. ‘For breeding purposes.’

  Ahren gasped and looked pleadingly at the others, hoping that somebody would tell him that he had misheard. He sat there in awkward silence while an uncontrollable hatred for the Eternal Empress began to take hold of him. ‘And you just let her get away with that?’ he snarled. ‘She is one of us and yet she allows such terrible things to happen in her empire. Why didn’t the Ancients tear her from the throne ages ago?’

  Uldini’s face hardened, his eyes blazing black. ‘Overthrowing Quin-Wa would throw all of Jorath into a war of attrition which would result in the deaths of tens of thousands. On the other hand, there are a maximum of twenty such arenas in the whole of the Eternal Empire. In other words, we would manage to rescue a couple of hundred poor souls but cause dreadful bloodshed in the process. I know you don’t want to hear that, but it isn’t the right approach. Sometimes you can’t solve things by taking the direct route.’

  Ahren wanted to protest, but Akkad raised a commanding hand. ‘Uldini is right’, he said. ‘The Ancients have been sending bards into the Eternal Empire over the last few decades, and they sing tales of freedom, runaway slaves, and the futility of senseless killing. As a result of this a third of all the arenas have closed down because the spectators have stayed away. We shouldn’t just start wars because we don’t like certain traditions. In a century they will have been wiped off the face of Jorath anyway.’

  Jelninolan looked at the two darkly and Ahren could see that the Ancients were at odds over this matter. He found the long-term strategy of bringing the arenas into disrepute both cold-hearted and calculating, but he had to accept through gritted teeth that it made little sense to save a few hundred by sacrificing tens of thousands. He looked guiltily over at Khara, but the one-time slave ignored him, and Akkad continued.

  ‘There is no shame in having run away’, he said in a quiet voice, and Ahren was surprised to see Khara shrink back again at those words. It had never occurred to him that the girl would have feelings of guilt regarding her flight. But she had very strict ideas when it came to her honour, which he hadn’t been able to fully grasp yet.

  Akkad, on the other hand, seemed to know the rules perfectly. The Wizard stood up and pointed to a part of the balcony that was clear of objects. ‘You are familiar with the Ritual of Worthiness?’ he asked in a strangely severe voice.

  Khara nodded and tilted her head slightly as she observed him uncertainly.

  ‘Then get to it girl, I don’t have all evening’, he commanded.

  Khara leaped to her feet and made her way over to the free space that the Ancient had indicated.

  Ahren was totally confused, and the others weren’t much better, but Khara seemed to be full of energy and almost eager for whatever it was Akkad had in mind.

  He barked out a command in the language of the Eternal Empire, which Ahren guessed had to be something like ‘begin’ or ‘start.’

  Khara gave a deep bow and began to speak. ‘I am Khara, the daughter of Winji, property of Xantukai, Lord of the Guitu Arena. I petition my worthiness.’

  The girl’s head remained bowed until Akkad responded forcefully. ‘The request is granted. Explain your worth.’

  Khara straightened herself up and fixed her eyes on Akkad with a suddenly self-confident look. ‘I am trained in the weapons of the army’, she began in a loud clear voice that could be heard fifty paces away. ‘I was selected for combat with Wind Blade and I was proposed for Whisper Blade. I have taken part in forty-three fights and won thirty-seven of them. Eight of them were single-combat, and I was victorious every time.’

  Akkad nodded but he looked bored. ‘That’s all well and good. Let’s see what you can do.’ He performed a few intricate hand movements and suddenly Khara was dressed in leather armour and in her hands she was holding Wind Blade and also a much smaller, though similar-shaped weapon which Ahren took to be Whisper Blade.

  Khara only paused briefly with the weapons in her hand before beginning a quick succession of thrusts and parries against an invisible opponent. Her movements were graceful and fluid, like water wending its way wherever it found a gap.

  Ahren still didn’t know what to make of the performance, but the relaxed look on Khara’s face indicated that she enjoyed doing whatever this routine was.

  He looked questioningl
y over at Falk, who merely shrugged his shoulders before continuing to watch the drama in front of him.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Akkad lifted his index finger and Khara immediately went into a bowing position again.

  ‘What is the most dangerous opponent you have ever defeated?’ he asked firmly.

  The swordsgirl paused for a moment before she answered: ‘A Sicklehopper.’

  Ahren gasped and a murmur filled the room as the others reacted to Khara’s revelation.

  Akkad wasn’t deterred. ‘An audacious claim. Show me how.’ He performed some more mystical hand movements and for a moment Ahren held his breath for fear that the Wizard would really conjure up a Dark One. What appeared, however, was an enormous straw puppet in the shape of one of the grasshopper-like monsters.

  Khara closed her eyes and concentrated. Then she went into a low defensive stance, her knees bent, Wind Blade hidden behind her back, Whisper Blade put away.

  ‘The Sicklehopper had sliced open my two comrades, but had lost one of its wings in the process. Its hops were now shorter and less energetic. I was the smallest and so I was allowed to attack last, which was lucky for me. As the Sicklehopper leaped towards me, it landed a pace too soon and I seized my chance.’ She jumped demonstratively forward and began an amazing dance with Wind Blade, directing it past and behind the puppet. Deep cuts slashed through its right jumping leg and it was clear that the Dark One would have been practically incapable of further movement. Undaunted, Khara leaped on top of the practice dummy and rammed Wind Blade as far as it would go between the shoulders of the imaginary being. Then she twisted the weapon, causing maximum injury, before she pulled it out and made a dramatic rolling jump which she finished by landing elegantly on the floor. The swinging movement brought her back up into her bowing position.

  ‘The Sicklehopper collapsed there and then and I was declared the victor. That was the evening I was proposed for Whisper Blade. The evening I managed to flee.’