The dwarf refrained from asking any more questions and led them down one of the narrow stairways that were spaced at regular intervals along the wall.
We’re here! Ahren sent forth the call and within ten heartbeats Culhen came leaping around the corner of a house, every inch the noble white wolf.
The young Paladin spread out his arms in welcome, but his friend stopped a few paces from him, sat down and growled at his master.
‘What’s going on here?’ asked Trogadon in amazement.
Ahren could control himself no longer and the sulky wolf was the last straw. He collapsed into a helpless, laughing heap and babbled repeatedly: ‘A poodle! Our Culhen was turned into a silly poodle!’
Chapter 15
After Ahren had pulled himself together, Trogadon led them deeper into the besieged city. The clouds still covered the night sky and a light breeze carried the strange smells of the Brazen City towards them. Ahren tasted the bitter taste of cold smoke on his tongue coming from the city forges, but there were many other scents he couldn’t identify. The apprentice had been concentrating on their secret incursion, and only now did he become aware of the buildings surrounding them, which were lit up at regular oil lamps hanging on the walls. He saw the familiar building style of the Sunplains, except the almost square-shaped whitewashed buildings were more compact here, being squeezed in together, and giving little room for people to walk between them. Ahren calculated that there was hardly space for a handcart to transport goods on the narrow streets. ‘Why is everything so tightly packed?’ It’s terribly impractical.’
The dwarf stroked his long plait and paused for a moment to look around. ‘The last time I was here was more than fifty winters ago. That time there were individual houses in this part of the city. The rest of the buildings were warehouses. The shortage of space is recent. I’d imagine that the Brazen City just kept growing, but space is limited and so they’re building more densely all the time. Even though the Sunplainers who live here believe strongly in tradition, they’re going to have to break with their custom for good or ill and build upwards.’ He looked around again and then they moved on. ‘I wonder if the blacksmiths’ quarter is still the same. But we’ll look tomorrow. Now, we’ll find a place to stay for the night. It’s late, and we should look for the captain in the morning light before we start soliciting the help of creatures who ply their trade at night.’
The dwarf’s statement irritated Ahren. Nobody worked during the night in Deepstone, not counting the tavern-keeper. He was just about to ask Trogadon what he meant when he spotted an unusual building set between the low whitewashed houses with their little square windows. It stuck out like a sore thumb, like a bear among cows. The oblong, contoured structure built with enormous beams reminded Ahren of a capsized ship with its keel in the air. One end of the roof ridge was decorated with a playful carving containing strange square-like images. Long, gently bending beams formed an unusually rounded roof and only the very bottom of the building was made of bricks. The house was over a dozen paces long, and rose twice as high as the brave little white buildings to either side. An iron torch-holder was affixed to each corner of the building, whose smoky torches produced an unruly smoky light, lending the house a wild, untamed appearance.
Ahren turned to the others and could see in Khara’s baffled face that she too had never seen a structure like this before.
Trogadon chuckled quietly and gestured them to carry on walking. ‘That’s a longhouse in the style of the Ice Islands. When the Regelsten Clan landed on the coast here that time in search of new lands, they brought their building methods with them. There were a few skirmishes with the Sunplainers and finally they were allowed to settle up here on this mountain. Much to the surprise of the Plainers the Ice Landers were thankful for this patch of land, because they didn’t freeze off their...fingers…, not like in their native land’, said Trogadon after a little glance at Khara. ‘They brought their own blacksmith arts with them, which was far superior to that of the locals. Because Thousand Halls is only a fortnight’s march from here, and we dwarves are always interested in people who are skilled at wrought-iron work, we very quickly reached an agreement that was beneficial to all parties. Ever since then Thousand Halls has delivered ore or finished steel which is then turned into weapons.’
‘Why don’t the dwarves sell their weapons themselves? Why the circuitous route?’ asked Khara. The young woman was expressing her curiosity more since she had gained in self-confidence, and Ahren was glad that he was no longer the only one asking the seemingly silly questions.
‘Tradition’, said Trogadon and shrugged his shoulders disparagingly. ‘Thousand Halls doesn’t sell Dwarfish weapons to non-dwarves. This rule was first implemented during the brief war between the little folk and the humans. We dwarves have very long memories, and this prohibition on arming the enemy is still in existence.’ He snorted ironically. ‘on the other hand, we love wheeling and dealing, and so there wasn’t too much opposition when the first resourceful dwarves realised there was no law forbidding them from selling the ore.’
They walked on and the longhouses became more frequent, rising like hills between the smaller buildings of the Sunplainers.
Trogadon pointed at one of them as he continued to speak. ‘The family always lives together in the longhouse, and by that, I mean the whole family – grandchildren, aunts, cousins, you know what I mean. That continues until the building is overflowing, at which point they build another one, some of the family moves there and the whole process begins again.’ He shook his head dismissively. ‘It’s not my way of living. I had to stay in a longhouse one winter. All those people in one room, laughing and arguing with each other. It was the loudest winter I’d ever experienced. And I’m a dwarf who loves the sound of the hammer hitting the anvil, so you can imagine what a racket they made.’
Ahren looked longingly over at one of the wooden roofs. He had only his drunken father as family, and the thought of having a longhouse filled with relatives who looked after each other, laughed, sang and argued with each other sounded very tempting to him. Khara seemed to be thinking the same thing and they shared a look, each acknowledging what the other was feeling. Culhen pressed himself against Ahren’s hip and expressed his sympathy with his friend once he had picked up on his master’s sadness. The apprentice quickly tickled the wolf on the head and assured the animal that he would never feel lonely with Culhen by his side.
The dwarf had led them purposefully towards the centre of the city and now the buildings were gradually becoming bigger and more elaborately decorated, without losing the essential quality of the Plainers’ building methods. They had hardly seen a living soul up until this point, and so Ahren was startled when an inebriated man came around the corner of a large building and staggered along, using the wall of the house as support.
‘I think we’ll find a tavern around here’, said Trogadon with cheerful anticipation in his voice. ‘They always have sleeping quarters available.’
And indeed, it wasn’t long before they came upon a brightly lit building from which could be heard the babble of laughter and talking.
Trogadon stopped and turned to face the others. ‘Now, you’re going to have to be very careful. Even if everything seems very orderly and mannerly, there is a siege mentality here. I can sense that the mood is calm but tense. Which is why there are so few people out on the streets.’ He lifted a warning finger. ‘If we give the impression that we don’t belong, it could nasty very quickly. So, no stupid questions in there. We are one of the small companies of mercenaries, trapped in the city because of the unexpected siege of the Brazen City. Culhen is our guard-wolf. Many mercenaries have guard-animals in their ranks, whose sense of smell can anticipate ambushes. We’ve been employed in another part of the city up until now, and this has been yet another boring evening, and we want to blow our pay. Is all that clear?’ he raised his eyebrows and stared at them so long with his questioning eyes until they both nodded in agreeme
nt. ‘Great’, he said enthusiastically. ‘Then let’s go get a drink.’
The tavern was full to bursting, and it was only thanks to Trogadon’s broad shoulders and his willingness to push his way past people when necessary that they managed to grab themselves a table in the corner. Ahren and Khara sat there, trying to hide their uncertainty while the dwarf went off to get something to drink and to organise their accommodation. The tavern was bustling with the usual Sunplainers, but also with men and women from the Ice Islands, who also had nothing else on their mind apart from trying to forget the fraught situation they had been caught up in for several moons. Ahren had already met one of their kind before – the blacksmith Falagarda from Three Rivers, but he still found it hard not to stare at them. Very few of the Ice Islands men were less than two paces tall, and they were all muscular and broad-shouldered, while the women were a little smaller and more sinewy. Their clothing too took some getting used to for although it was cold up here on top of the mountain, they were scantily dressed and yet still sweating. Ahren could see a lot of naked flesh, and it was only when Khara gave him a mock-disapproving look that he forced himself to stop looking at one of the younger women of the Ice Islands.
Trogadon pushed his way to their table carrying three tankards and set them down in front of their noses. ‘They have Dwarfish stout here!’ he cried out enthusiastically. ‘Pity we’re only spending another six days here; I’d have liked to stay longer.’
Ahren sniffed at the head on top of his tankard and recognised the familiar aroma of the brew he’d already tasted in the Silver Cliff. The punters in the tavern reeked rather, and so Ahren enjoyed the malty smell of the beer and held his nose close to the tankard, taking a sip every now and again. He sensed how Culhen smelled the aroma through their connection and was sneezing. He had asked his friend to stay outside in one of the alleyways and wait for them. The tavern was full enough as it was, and the big wolf would have caused too much of a furore, and so his friend was lying in the shadows of one of the unlit houses, keeping an eye on the tavern door.
The three companions sat there with their tankards (Trogadon was already on his fifth) and listened as unobtrusively as possible to the conversations going on around them. The main subject of discussion was, of course, the arrival of one of the Ancients in his function as an emissary of the Emperor. It was said the visitor had a Paladin in tow. Hope that the end of the siege was in sight was mixed with fear that this was a ruse of the Emperor so that the city gates would be opened, and he could march in unhindered.
They quickly got the impression that Bergen was some kind of local hero because he had foiled the initial plan of the Sunplainers to capture the city in a surprise attack.
‘This is going to be trickier than I thought’, whispered Trogadon. ‘It sounds as if the citizens of the Brazen City are four-square behind Bergen. Even if the Triumvirate decide to extradite him, I can’t imagine the citizens putting up with that. There’s more likely to be a rebellion in the city.’
Ahren’s face went pale and he quickly gulped down more beer. He really hoped Uldini and the others would be able to persuade the city rulers to accept the Emperor’s conditions, but not before the three of them succeeded in finding Bergen. Otherwise, they would unwittingly have turned the Brazen city into the lion’s den.
***
Uldini chewed the inside of his cheek unsure of how to proceed and then let out a frustrated groan. ‘We’re not getting an audience with the Triumvirate before tomorrow evening. They’re probably going to spend the whole day discussing what position they’re going to take regarding peace talks.’ He listlessly kicked against the ornamented stool that was in his way in the opulent guest quarters they were staying in. ‘I really hate dealing with small committees. They are too few to make it possible to get away with a secret bribe, and yet too many to actually agree on a common position.’
Falk turned away from the window through which he had been studying the sleeping city. The principal building of the city, in which they were housed, offered extensive views, and the old Forest Guardian had been looking down onto the dimly lit streets and alleyways, asking himself where his apprentice was and if he was keeping safe. He reacted to the Arch Wizard’s tirade with a laconic shrug of his shoulders. ‘We have enough time to win them around to our point of view before Ahren appears with Bergen in tow. We can’t enter into any meaningful negotiations before that anyway’, he said.
‘I still think we should persuade them to serve that stubborn old mule to us on a silver platter’, grumbled Uldini.
Falk shook his head wearily. ‘You’ve never really understood how much the Night of Blood affected us. It cost us our families and our final victory and damned us to loneliness and endless waiting for the Thirteenth. Do you really think Bergen is going to lift a finger for us if we drag him to the Pall Pillar in chains? Keep in mind that we have to do far more than gather all the Paladins together. They’ll have to want to help us too.’
Uldini was on the point of uttering a sharp rejoinder when Jelninolan stepped into the room.
‘We’ve a bigger problem than I’d expected’, she began. ‘I cast a magic net to get an overview of things. There’s a Doppelganger in the city.’
The two men looked at her in horror.
‘Are you absolutely certain?’ whispered Falk fearfully.
Jelninolan nodded, her face furrowed. ‘Probably the same one who took Falturios’s place.’
‘Uldini’s fingers sparked with darts of light as he moved towards the door. ‘Is he here in the building?’ he asked belligerently.
‘No. somewhere in the northern part of the city. He noticed my magic net and is hiding. At least we know he’s here’, answered the priestess.
‘Yes, we do’, said Falk uneasily. ‘But Ahren and the others have absolutely no idea.’
***
At last the tavern began to empty and Trogadon gestured that it was time to leave. Ahren was exhausted. He too had listened closely to the chatter in the hope of picking up information regarding the whereabouts of Bergen or the Blue Cohorts. But if any of the guests knew anything, they weren’t foolish enough or drunk enough to say anything, and Ahren understood why. The local Sunplainers, represented in the Triumvirate by the Irenius noble family seemed to be in favour of peace at any price with the Emperor, while the Ice Landers allied with the Regelsten Clan saw things differently.
The landlord of the tavern gave Trogadon a battered key, and the dwarf gestured to his companions to follow him. They went to the rear of the building where a narrow wooden staircase led up to a weathered door. Ahren called Culhen mentally and the wolf came bounding towards him. The apprentice had bought an over-priced piece of meat from the landlord which he tossed to his friend. Culhen caught the spoils in his mouth and gulped it down in two bites. Then he licked his mouth and looked up expectantly at his master.
That’s all my friend. There isn’t any more, I’m afraid, he said apologetically. We’re in a besieged city. You’re going to have to diet over the next few days for good or ill.
You always take me to the best of places, replied the wolf drily, and Ahren’s mind boggled.
‘Everything alright?’ asked Trogadon, who had noticed the apprentice’s reaction.
‘Culhen is making great progress with his vocabulary. Unfortunately, he seems to be adopting more and more of Uldini’s humour.’
Khara put a hand on his shoulder in mock sympathy and then climbed the stairs with a laugh, while Culhen gave an annoyed snort and pushed past his master.
Don’t be jealous now, reverberated in Ahren’s head, and the apprentice wished they were back in more innocent times when they communicated with each other using images. He went behind the others and wrinkled up his nose when he stepped into the musty corridor with its piles of rubbish and smell of unwashed bodies. There were two doors on either side, and the dwarf walked slowly and quietly to the rear door on the left. He pushed the key into the lock, turned it and pushed the door op
en with his shoulder.
Scowling, he entered the room and the others followed. The room was little more than a tiny cell with a single narrow bed lit by a small oil-lamp. There was a single miserable hole in the wall for air which could hardly be called a window, and the musty smell was appalling.
The three looked at each other and none of them looked enthusiastic at the prospect of sleeping there.
Culhen sniffed once demonstratively, then turned on his heels. I’m sleeping outside, was all he communicated and ran down the stairs where he curled up at the bottom.
Ahren was tempted to follow suit, but Trogadon shrugged his shoulders. ‘Better here than on the street. I’m sure the cut-throats roaming outside will leave an enormous wolf alone, but we wouldn’t get away scot-free.’ He pushed the resistant door closed with a curse and locked it from the inside. ‘This room is really only designed for one person. The siege is slowly revealing its unpleasant side.’ The dwarf pointed to the bed. ‘Khara, that’s where you’re lying. The two of us will sleep on the floor. I’m too big for it anyway, and Falk would make short shrift of Ahren if he claimed the only bed as his own.’ The warrior lay down on the spot, blocking the door, using his rucksack as a pillow and putting his hammer beside him within reach. If anyone attacked them tonight, they would have to deal with the dwarf first.
Khara curled up on the bare bed, and Ahren lay down on the floor beside her with Wind Blade by his left hand. A low snoring sound could be heard from next door, and after Trogadon had put out the light, Ahren lay in the dark with his eyes open and considered the tricky situation they were now in, finally dropping off to sleep through sheer exhaustion.
Ahren was woken up the next morning by a scream, and he instinctively had Wind Blade in his hand by the time he leaped up, as if he’d been stung by a Needle Spider. Trogadon and Khara were looking at him in amazement, and then the young Forest Guardian realised the scream had come to him through Culhen’s ears. He closed his eyes and saw an elderly lady making her escape from the wolf, who was yawning. His friend was not used to people around him reacting negatively, and looked at the terrified woman, his emotional world a whirlwind of irritation and annoyance.
The Brazen City Page 26
