The Brazen City

by Torsten Weitze

  Ahren stared at Uldini in disbelief and was aghast when Jelninolan agreed with the magician.

  ‘You’ve only just patched him up and now you want to transport him in a bone-shaking cart?’ He was almost overcome with agitation, and Jelninolan slapped him on the cheek a second time.

  ‘Pull yourself together now!’ she shouted. ‘We don’t just make a decision like that on a whim. His wounds have been healed. The problem now is that there is too little blood in his veins. No magic can help there, and we just have to let Mother Nature take her course. We can only give our support so that things move along more quickly. He needs the right food and plenty of rest, but the journey won’t kill him.’ She glanced over at Uldini. ‘Regarding the bone-shaking cart, you’re a bit off the mark there too.’

  Uldini grinned suddenly and looked for all the world like a little boy. ‘Let it be a surprise’, he sniggered.

  Their farewell from Akkad was deep-felt but muted. Uldini had already transported Falk to the tunnel that would lead them out of Waterheart using floating magic. The others were saying goodbye to the plump Ancient, who finally waved them off with tears in his eyes. Ahren would have preferred to stay by his master’s side, but Uldini had told him in no uncertain terms that he needed to stay in the protection of the group. The arrow, after all, had been intended for him, and as Selsena had found no sign of the assassin, the danger of an ambush was very live. Trogadon remained constantly at arm’s length from Ahren, the Deep Steel Shield always at the ready.

  They nervously and carefully negotiated the few paces from Akkad’s house to their escorts. When Ahren saw what awaited them, he was flabbergasted. An obscenely large box wagon drawn by a dozen oxen towered over them. It reminded him of a house to which someone had attached wheels by mistake rather than a means of transport.

  At least fifty soldiers were standing to attention and looking at them expectantly. Uldini peeked out of one of the large entrance doors on the side of the carriage, and gestured to his companions to approach.

  ‘Falk is covered up safe and sound in one of the bedchambers. Come aboard and we can head off.’ The Arch Wizard rubbed his hand along the thick wood of the outer wall. ‘A small charm will be sufficient, and we’ll be perfectly safe inside this beauty.’

  Eager to see his master and the inside of the carriage, Ahren was the first to climb the high step which had been placed outside the doorway.

  Uldini made room for him with a courtly nod, and Ahren stood at the entrance, rooted to the spot. The furnishings were nothing short of opulent, and carefully selected so as to provide maximum comfort in minimal space. Silk cushions bedecked cosy wooden benches, shelves on the walls held wines, soaps and even perfumes. A round table provided enough room for eating, and two doors suggested further similarly furnished rooms.

  Uldini indicated to the farther door. ‘Falk is lying in there. You can have a look if you want, but don’t wake him.’

  Ahren nodded, walked through the living room and carefully opened the door. Three narrow beds dominated the room, which was lit by narrow slits of light – something that Ahren had also noticed in the other room. Falk was lying in a deep sleep on the bed to the left of the door, and only his ashen face betrayed the torture he had gone through earlier in the morning. Ahren quietly closed the door again before glancing into the other room, which was similarly furnished. The others had climbed on board by now and Uldini pointed to the sleeping quarters. ‘The ladies will be with Falk, Trogadon and I will squeeze into the other one and Ahren and his oversized wolf can sleep here in the main room’, he announced.

  Ahren considered this for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. He would rather sleep on the floor beside his friend than not have Culhen with him. The wolf nudged him gratefully with his nose, and the apprentice struggled to suppress his tears. The events of the day had shaken him to the core and he needed some peace and quiet to come to terms with them.

  Uldini rubbed his hands and closed the door behind Culhen.

  ‘Does the wolf have to stay in here? It’s going to get decidedly cosy’, said Trogadon cheerfully.

  ‘As long as there’s a sniper hiding out there, we’re staying in here’, answered Uldini in a steely voice. It’s going to take us roughly three weeks to get to the foot of Iron Peak, the mountain on which the Brazen City was built. That’s where we’ll finally meet my Emperor Justinian and hopefully, we can nip this disastrous business in the bud. Make yourselves comfortable because this is going to be our home for the next while.’

  Ahren was already on the point of losing it. They had only been travelling in the rolling prison for three days, and the apprentice had the feeling he was going to explode. There was hardly room to move. Falk was sleeping his way back to health and unavailable to teach him new things, while the others were all uneasy in their own ways. Trogadon had positioned himself in the coach box with Falk’s shield, and was keeping his eyes peeled for the sniper, or so he said, but Ahren knew an excuse when he heard one. Uldini and Jelninolan were constantly monitoring Falk’s condition, and would speak magic charms over the sleeping figure at regular intervals. Culhen did nothing but complain to Ahren that he was bored, and Selsena, who trotted along beside the carriage, overwhelmed them with either waves of concern or disapproval. The Titejunanwa was clearly unhappy at their decision not to actively hunt down the scoundrel that had shot at Falk. That left Khara, who was totally wrapped up in training with Whisper Blade for as long as it existed. Akkad had warned her in advance that the weapon and armour he had charmed into existence would only last for a few days, and so the young woman used every free moment to brush up on her skills with her second weapon. And as there wasn’t enough room in the carriage for two people to train, Khara claimed all the free room for herself.

  Ahren withdrew into a corner and spent the days wrapped up in his own thoughts. He decided during the third day that this enforced quiet and self-reflection were not doing him any good. Time and again his thoughts would focus on the moment Falk had thrown him to the ground in order to protect him from the oncoming arrow. Had he only reacted more quickly himself or noticed the danger earlier, Falk would not have been wounded. He was filled with self-doubt and haunted by accusations against himself, and his train of thought was simply too complicated for the wolf, and as a result his companion was of no comfort to him. On the contrary, now the thought kept striking him that he had been responsible for the wolf being poisoned, and his accusations against himself developed into self-loathing.

  Ahren tortured himself for his actions against Sven, his lack of horse-riding skills and for his inability to prevent Tlik from sacrificing himself. It mattered not a whit that he knew he really couldn’t have done anything to save the fay-creature. He was sliding into a dark despair without even noticing as he brooded in the corner of the carriage.

  It was in the morning of the fourth day and Trogadon was almost halfway out the door when he noticed the murderous look Ahren was giving to all and sundry. The dwarf squatted down in front of the apprentice and disregarding the young man’s loud protests he seized Ahren’s chin in a vicelike grip and looked deep into his eyes.

  ‘You’re clearly suffering from cabin fever’, the dwarf grunted as he examined the apprentice.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ snarled Ahren as he tried to free himself from the strong fingers which were painfully pressing in on his jaws.

  Trogadon’s demeanour darkened, something Ahren had rarely seen in the normally so cheerful warrior. The effect was sobering and calmed him down sufficiently for the dwarf’s words to penetrate through to him. ‘It’s not unusual for you to be feeling this way. Up until now you’ve had too much success without things going wrong, and now that things are uncomfortable, your doubts have seized their opportunity. That happens to everyone who risks his own life and those of others.’

  Ahren stared at the grey-haired dwarf in amazement. The warrior had managed to boil down the hell he was going through to a perfectly normal emotional process th
at could befall anyone.

  Trogadon released the apprentice’s chin and straightened himself up. His piercing eyes twinkled down on Ahren while he pointed his calloused paw towards Khara.

  ‘Do you think she did everything correctly in the arena? Or do you think I did when I was a mercenary? Nobody can make their way through life without making mistakes. You can only try to do things better the next time.’

  Ahren nodded weakly while he tried to assimilate the lecture he was being given. His mind was still a maelstrom of thoughts and feelings.

  Suddenly Trogadon laughed out loud. ‘Whenever I have the wish to be young again, I look at you, and then I’m happy again that I’ve already experienced some of the nastier things in life.’ He winked at the young Paladin. ‘I really know nothing about the whole Forest Guardian thing, but I’m pretty sure a bit of movement will do you good.’ The dwarf rummaged around in his large rucksack and pulled out two fist-sized black spheres, each with a small handle attached. He held them out to Ahren, and when the apprentice took one in each hand, the young man almost toppled over. Those things were much heavier than they looked!

  ‘We’ll concentrate on strengthening your muscles while your master is out of commission. You won’t need any room and the effort will clear some of the chaos in your head.’

  While Ahren continued to struggle with the heavy spheres, Trogadon explained to him how he was to lift and lower them, sometimes in front of his body, sometimes behind, then to the sides and even above his head. Ahren was sweating in no time at all and after a while, Trogadon allowed him a break.

  ‘Have a rest, think about how you can do things differently in the future, and then start with the weights again. Keep repeating the process until your arms are falling off. Then you’ll feel better’, he said in a cheerful voice. The dwarf leaped out of the carriage door, which slammed shut behind him, leaving an aching Ahren who threw himself into the exercises the warrior had prescribed him.

  Things slowly began to improve. Ahren’s mind began to become clear over the following days even though he could hardly move his arms and legs by time it was evening, and parts of his back were hurting that he had never known existed before. Trogadon’s advice had ensured that his self-doubts were transformed into ambition, and Ahren had concocted a plan for improving his abilities. What had begun on the ship the previous year was now blossoming into a firm determination. From now on he was going to face challenges independently and head-on, and so overcome his limitations. That time he had practised increasing the tension in his new bow, but later his ambitions had gone into hibernation, shaken by his experiences among the dwarves and in Kelkor. He had simply reacted and listened to Falk’s commands, but hadn’t set his own goals. It was hardly a surprise he felt so lost now that the old man wasn’t telling him what to do.

  Strangely, now that Ahren had made this decision, he felt freer than ever before. He took advantage of the pauses that the weight training enforced to peek out through the vents in the walls at the scenery and people of the Sunplains.

  Throughout the day the Sword Path was filled with trade caravans going in both directions – massive carriages drawn by oxen and horses. He saw Sunplainers of all varieties dressed in exotic garb. Some of them had Uldini’s dark skin, others resembled Falk and his skin-tone, and then there were others who surely must have originally come from the Eternal Empire. Additionally, he noted in-between hues, all of which were eloquent testimony that the ancestors of these people must have come from widely varied areas.

  The travellers’ garb was also multi-variant: white tunics that reached down to the ground and held onto the shoulders by metal buckles worn by both men and women; airy flowing white garments just as Akkad had worn; and clothing that Ahren was used to from his homeland. Then there was all the different headgear, the most exotic variety seeming to consist of a single scarf which the men and women had wrapped around their heads presumably as protection against the sun.

  Rich green fields stretched as far as the eye could see to the left and right of the broad path. Ahren saw long vineyards that put all the ones he had seen in Hjalgar or the Knight Marshes into the shade. He saw wheat fields that looked like endless seas of gold. And every so often there were groupings of almost square white-washed houses that had been built in unusually regular proximity to each other. There always seemed to be groups of four, six or eight of these properties, each group sharing an inner courtyard decorated with colourful plants and the occasional fountain. The clusters of houses were like little islands among the cultivated fields. The Sword Path itself was lined at regular intervals by sentry towers, each manned by three sentries who kept a critical eye on the people passing by and on the surrounding fields. Ahren saw the enormous bugles, one on each tower, and was astounded by the logical implementation of order that seemed to underlie everything in the Sunplains. Everything had its fixed place, but even though the inhabitants seemed contented, Ahren found his surroundings somehow rigid.

  Every night they slept in a secure courtyard belonging to one of the wooden barracks which lay one from the next at intervals of roughly a day’s journey. Even then Uldini would not allow them to leave the carriage unless it was to answer the call of nature. Ahren learned to value these few solitary moments of calm even if the danger of a missile flying at him from out of the dusk made him hurry.

  After a week Falk woke up sufficiently to do more than merely slurp at the broth Jelninolan had prescribed for him. Ahren was by his side in an instant and immediately started stammering an apology, but Falk cut him off.

  ‘You would have done the same for me’, he said in a weak voice, and that was the end of the matter as far as the old man was concerned. He asked about the rest of the group and then fell back to sleep.

  Frustrated, Ahren returned to the main room where Khara was practising some slow movements without her weapons.

  ‘Stand beside me’, she said in a commanding tone, and Ahren stopped himself from uttering a sharp rejoinder. The swordsgirl’s new-found status had brought with it a bossiness that he didn’t want to submit to without a fight. But in view of the fact that these were the first words she had spoke to him in days, he really didn’t want to fight.

  ‘Copy me’, she said quietly and began to stretch her hands in front of her in slow, flowing movements. Ahren followed her instructions, and step by step they went through a series of almost meditative body positions which loosened his tired, protesting muscles and calmed his spirit.

  Finally they finished the exercise routine and he turned to Khara. ‘What was that?’ he asked curiously.

  ‘It’s called The Twelve Greetings to the Sun. Actually, you do it after getting up in the morning, but if you’re stuck in one place as we are now, it helps to keep the body supple.’ A shadow came over her face. ‘We used to practise it up to a dozen times a day in our cells on the days between the fights.’

  Ahren swallowed hard, still unsure as to how he should respond whenever she talked about the hard times she had gone through in her childhood. While he was still trying to find the words, she ordered him up. ‘From the start again’, she said, and Ahren followed, only too happy to comply.

  A routine slowly developed in their confined, rolling refuge with every passing day while Falk grew stronger and Uldini and Jelninolan decreased the amount of magic they performed on the old man.

  ‘We’ve strengthened him as much as the human body allows and soon he’ll be back to his old self. But I think it would be best if he sat out the next ambush.’

  ‘Ambush?’ asked Ahren tensely. The image of the arrow flying towards him came back into his mind yet again, and he immediately broke into a sweat. ‘You think there might be another one on us here?’

  Uldini shook his head gruffly. ‘Don’t be silly. We are the ones who are going to perform an ambush on our arrow-happy friend. Jelninolan and I have been experimenting over the last few days and we’re sure that we can protect you in a massive magic shield capable of stopping one of those
heavy war arrows. As soon as the assassin reveals himself, Culhen can take up his scent and lead us to him. We’ll need one of his projectiles that the wolf can sniff and seeing as I turned the old arrow to ashes, we’ll have to provoke another shot.’

  Culhen looked at Ahren with his head tilted and then let out a quick bark that echoed horribly in the compact space.

  I can do that! heard Ahren in his head. Somehow his friend’s voice sounded clearer than usual. It seemed that the wolf too had used his time of enforced unemployment to sharpen his understanding, although Ahren wondered quite how he had managed it.

  I listened, said the wolf, answering his thoughts. Ever since I’ve been in this travelling cave, I’ve been in your head all the time and have been learning the sounds that create images.

  Ahren looked into Culhen’s eyes in surprise and could see the same intelligence that he was familiar with in Selsena’s. He ruffled Culhen’s fur and left his hand lying on his friend’s broad back.

  ‘Culhen says he’s ready’, he announced proudly and was met with surprised looks.

  Jelninolan wove a little magic charm and gave a cry of disbelief. ‘Their connection is complete at last. I never even noticed.’

  ‘High time too’, said Falk in a quiet voice. The old man was sitting with him although he was still pale and his voice hadn’t regained its customary power. ‘It’s enough that Ahren is slow off the mark, we don’t need his wolf taking forever to pick up the basics.’

  Ahren was all too familiar with the laughter that followed, but the fact that Culhen was joining in was a little hard to take.

  They spent three hours huddled together planning the best way to implement their ruse. Finally, they had put together a very solid plan.