The Brazen City

by Torsten Weitze

  ‘And it has to be one where there aren’t so many Plainers’, interjected Ahren.

  ‘The blacksmiths’ quarter’, said the dwarf without hesitation. ‘There are countless Ice Landers living there, but hardly any Sunplainers. Anyone unconnected with blacksmithing avoids the area because of the constant fumes.’

  Ahren was beaming. At last they had a plan they could follow!

  The others seemed similarly optimistic and Trogadon rubbed his powerful paws. ‘Then let me introduce you to the Brazen City forges.’

  Chapter 16

  Everywhere was smoke and noise and fire. At least that’s what if felt like to Ahren as he couldn’t walk five paces without being hit by the heat of a large blacksmith’s fire, blazing up with every blast of the bellows. Then there was the thunderous hammering of the muscular men and women, working the fiery steel into shape with heavy tools. Everything more than ten paces away was no more than a blurry outline, the smoke from the chimneys having gathered together into a thick cloud of smog pressed in by the unfavourable wind blowing onto the mountain top.

  Khara and Ahren tied up their kerchiefs to cover their noses, and Culhen sneezed repeatedly. Only Trogadon seemed perfectly at home and grinned broadly. ‘How I missed the song of a good blacksmith’s hammer’, he said wistfully. ‘As long as you stay around here, you should be safe’, he called out loudly in an effort to be heard above the din. ‘It may be loud, filthy and hot, but this is where honest work is done and only paying customers tolerated. No pick-pocket would be foolish enough to try anything here among the Ice Landers with their hammers at the ready.’

  Ahren understood that Trogadon’s statement was intended to be both comforting and a warning, and he nodded keenly.

  ‘Then I suggest we split up’, shouted the dwarf. We’ll all try and find out information regarding the whereabouts of the Blue Cohorts or Bergen, and we’ll meet here again this evening. But don’t stray from the blacksmiths’ quarter!’

  Ahren watched Trogadon and Khara uncertainly as they disappeared down different side streets, leaving him behind with Culhen.

  It stinks, complained the wolf, and sneezed gain.

  ‘Let’s see if we can find a spot where the smog isn’t so thick’, said Ahren loudly, and they both made their way towards the east and the city wall. Falk had taught him many things about the wind and the weather, and he was going to implement one of the things he had learned. The wind was blowing in an easterly direction, and the blacksmiths’ quarter was also east, and so Ahren knew that it would be calmer just at the city wall, which meant the smoke wouldn’t be pushed downwards to ground level so much.

  They wandered slowly between the large longhouses with their forges snugly placed beside them, each with three or four Ice Landers working away. With the larger pieces such as shields or two-handed swords, they worked in pairs, bringing the hammers down at speed on different parts of the glowing steel, one and then the other, in a hypnotising rhythm. The rapid clanking was quite melodious, and the Forest Guardian observed in awe how the pieces took on a form under the skilled hammer blows of the powerful craftsmen and women. And it wasn’t just weapons and shields he saw being made. But everyday objects too, such as hooves and nails, hinges and simple rods – a huge variety of things, and everything top-quality.

  At last they reached the wall of the city, and Ahren was relieved to see that his theory was borne out. It was true, there was still some smoke on account of the gusts of wind, but it was far less intense, and Culhen radiated his gratitude.

  We can stay here by the walls for a while and see if we can find out a little more about Bergen, said Ahren. But if we’re not successful, we’ll have to head back towards the centre of the city.

  And so they marched along the stone wall, and Ahren tried to ask the blacksmiths as innocently as possibly if they knew anything about the whereabouts of Bergen and the Blue Cohorts. Unfortunately, the young man was not particularly skilful, and although Culhen always ensured an initial friendliness, the people always clammed up as soon as he mentioned the mercenary unit.

  The day dragged on and Ahren became ever more frustrated. At one point he thought he spotted Khara, a blurry outline in the distance, but the smog descended before he could be certain. The afternoon was almost over and Ahren had traipsed around every forge in the area without unearthing a single piece of useful information. He was now an expert on the current prices of weapons made of normal or Dwarf Steel, but that was of absolutely no benefit to him.

  I could chew on one of them, suggested Culhen unhelpfully, and Ahren gave him a severe look until he realised that the wolf was cracking a joke. He was just slapping his friend playfully on the head when he noticed a forge that seemed remarkably undermanned. There was a solitary young Northman standing in a sweat at the fire, trying to work a short sword while also occasionally operating the bellows and shovelling the coals. He looked almost comical in his efforts and he certainly didn’t look as if he had time for small talk, but Ahren sniffed an opportunity.

  ‘Are you all on your own here?’ he asked, opening the conversation as he stepped towards the Ice Lander. The man’s smooth face had seen no more than twenty summers, and his pale-green eyes suggested tiredness but also a willingness to talk. His blond hair was tied up at the neck in an untidy knot and for a moment Ahren was reminded of Holken when he had still been working in his father’s forge. He suddenly felt a pang of homesickness and almost missed the blacksmith’s answer.

  ‘Uncle Faldir is ill and has infected half of the longhouse’, he said, panting, as he quickly brought the hammer down and then reached for the bellows. ‘So, I have to work away on my own.’

  Ahren stepped in beside him and began operating the bellows at regular intervals. It took all his strength, but the blacksmith gave him a thankful smile.

  ‘That’s really decent of you, but slow down, or the fire will get too hot’, he said as he hammered again.

  ‘No problem. I’m not doing anything else today anyway’, said Ahren innocently.

  ‘Were you let go?’ asked the Ice Lander sympathetically.

  Ahren nodded quickly. ‘Exactly. I had sentry duty, along with Culhen here.’ He pointed to his friend, who was playing the role of proud predator again. ‘But our employer couldn’t afford to feed us anymore’, he added.

  ‘I’ve never seen you here before; you must be employed by the merchants in the west quarter, am I right?’ Ahren nodded again. He thought it best to just agree with the craftsman’s suggestions and then fill in the gaps through his answers.

  ‘Long shifts, poor pay’, he said, repeating the standard complaint he had heard from Trogadon every time he talked of his days as a mercenary.

  ‘It’s no different here, believe me’, said the young smith breathing deeply. He was smoothing one side of a short sword with skilful hammer blows. Then he turned the piece over.

  Ahren shrugged his shoulders in as casual a manner as he could manage. ‘Didn’t matter to me. The only important thing was getting enough to eat for me and my wolf.’

  The blacksmith lowered his hammer and gestured to the small shovel beside the pile of coal. ‘Two scoops in the fire please’, he said and wiped the sweat off his brow.

  Ahren grasped the shovel and did as he was told, at which point sparks and flames flew in all directions.

  ‘Slowly but surely’, laughed the blacksmith, and put out the spark that had landed on his arm. ‘You don’t want to set fire to half the city.’

  Ahren’s eyes opened wide in shock and he dropped the shovel, which amused the blond man even more.

  ‘I like you and I like your wolf.’ He thought for a moment before continuing. ‘I’ve a suggestion: as long as I’m here on my own, you can lend me a hand. I can’t pay you, but you and your friend will get food every day. What do you think?’

  Ahren hesitated and considered the offer. He was doubtful that the tactic he’d been using up to this point would yield success when it came to finding out the whereabouts o
f the Blue Cohorts. Maybe it would be beneficial if he won over the trust of this Ice Lander over a period of one or two days, and kept his ears open in the meantime. And in this way he could ensure that both he and Culhen would be taken care of, which would mean Trogadon could save a few of his coins.

  ‘Agreed’, he said and stretched out his hand. ‘My name’s Ahren.’

  ‘Vandir’, said the smith, and they shook hands. Ahren noticed that the blond man’s hand was raw and calloused, and his own – though well used to hard physical work – felt much softer in comparison.

  ‘Then help me finish this trinket here before it gets dark. If you don’t make a complete hash of it, then you can come again tomorrow morning early’, said Vandir, and they began working the blade.

  Culhen rolled himself up into a ball in a corner of the room where there was less smoke, and whenever Ahren made a mistake he would send his master some friendly advice.

  The young Paladin couldn’t miss the self-satisfied tone in the wolf’s thoughts, but he bit his tongue and put on a brave front. His friend had been forced to play the lap wolf several times already that day, and it was understandable that he was enjoying the role-reversal – even if Ahren was more than a little annoyed.

  They finally finished the work on the sword, and Ahren was bathed in sweat and covered in grime. His lungs were burning, and his breath smelled of smoke.

  Vandir gave his handiwork a critical look and then put it aside with a satisfied look. Ahren too felt a certain pride when he saw the sword even if his contribution to its creation had been limited.

  ‘Not bad for your first attempt’, said the Northman to Ahren. ‘But make sure you’re standing in a better position tomorrow, so the wind isn’t blowing into your face all the time or your lungs will give up.’

  Ahren gave a tired nod and promised to return the following morning. Then they said goodbye and he headed back to the others while Vandir closed up the forge and disappeared into the longhouse.

  Ahren ground his teeth and looked up to the sky. It was already dark and the time he was supposed to have met up with his friends had long since passed. He could only hope that they were still waiting for him.

  ***

  Falk and Uldini were pacing nervously. An adjutant of the Triumvirate was supposed to have collected them from their room at dusk, but nobody had made an appearance.

  Jelninolan, who was laboriously trying to charm a poem onto a piece of parchment, looked up in annoyance and rolled her eyes. ‘You two are driving me insane!’ she hissed. ‘Calm down and settle yourselves. How are you going to engage in negotiations if you’re like cats on a hot tin roof?’

  ‘Time is running out’, said Uldini in a strained voice. ‘And the fact that they haven’t called us yet means they’re not in agreement with each other.’

  ‘You’re a wily politician. You should be used to waiting around’, said the elf emphatically.

  ‘But this time the negotiations are deadly serious’, replied Uldini with irritation. ‘It’s one thing to put gentle pressure on a couple of barons or senators to keep things nice and peaceful. If it works, fine and dandy, and if not, well you just get on the right side of the victor. But here we’re dealing with something much more important – we’re laying the foundations for the oncoming Dark Days. Without the support of the Brazen City the Sunplainers will lack the necessary weapons. Any diplomatic mistakes made now will be impossible to fix again in time.’

  ‘Very well then, get yourself in a tizzy if you want’, said the priestess. ‘But why are you pacing the room like a Fog Cat caught in the sunlight?’ she asked Falk. ‘You have more staying power than the rest of us.’

  Falk looked darkly at her. ‘I’m worried about Ahren and the others’, he admitted. ‘It’s getting quite unpleasant out there. Food is becoming scarce, and also work. Diseases are beginning to break out, and I overheard one of the guards say that Justinian has proclaimed that all smuggling is punishable by death. probably because he wants to increase the pressure.’ He gestured to the city outside lying in darkness. ‘There’s an ever-increasing danger of chaos taking hold of the city thanks to the lack of a black market – and our four friends are in the middle of it, trying to track down an elite troop that doesn’t want to be found.’ He let out a bitter sigh. ‘And I’m stuck here playing the Paladin.’

  Jelninolan jumped up and slammed her fists on the table. ‘You are a Paladin, for the love of the THREE! It’s high time you started to remember that. This here is no role, no disguise you can put on and take off at will. Even Ahren has come to understand that better than you!’

  Falk was stunned by the outburst and looked dejected, while Uldini laughed sarcastically.

  ‘Auntie, your powers of motivation before really important events are...well...unique.’

  She was about to respond to the Arch Wizard when there was a timid knock at the door.

  ‘Understood’, said Falk, and he scowled at the elf as he went across the room to answer the door.

  A liveried servant, wearing a tunic and bearing the tripartite coat of arms of the Triumvirate, stood at the door with his impassive face and gave an elegant little bow. If he had overheard any of the argument, he certainly wasn’t showing it. ‘Esteemed gentlemen, gracious lady: The Triumvirate of Brazen City is ready to receive you now’, said the man, straightening himself up again and smiling at them under his turban. ‘If you would follow me please?’ Without waiting for an answer, the servant moved off with graceful steps, and the three companions followed him impatiently.

  Uldini spoke quietly and gave them his last few instructions. ‘Remember that the Regelsten Clan speak for the progeny of the Ice Landers, the Irenius family represent the resident Sunplainers, and the Brazen Clan are dwarf representatives.’

  Jelninolan gave a bored nod. ‘Don’t annoy the dwarves, be polite to the Plainers and persuade the Regelstens’ she rattled off. ‘We know the tactics.’

  ‘And we have to find out where they stand beforehand’ added Uldini quickly as they walked down the last few steps of a broad staircase. They were surprised to discover that the meeting room of the Triumvirate was only one floor below their lodgings. To their left was the entrance with its two guards that they had been led through when they arrived, and to their right were brass-studded double doors. These swung open and revealed a comfortably furnished room with wall hangings. I the middle was a round table with room for no more than ten guests. On the far side of the table, and with considerable space between them, sat three people, who were looking at the newcomers curiously.

  On the left was a dwarf with a mane of jet-black hair, which was thick and wiry even by the standards of the little folk, and which refused to be tamed no matter what effort was taken, as was evident from the many unruly strands. A tall, middle-aged woman, clearly from the Ice Islands, sat in the middle and looked at them with deep-blue eyes, her blond hair plaited around her forehead. She was wearing the leather apron favoured by blacksmiths, which was engraved with the Brazen City insignia. A dark-haired, slim beauty was sitting to her right, diminutive in stature whose neat appearance reinforced her natural elegance.

  The servant bowed and then announced in a melodious voice as he waved his hand from left to right: ‘If I may introduce the rulers of the Brazen City to you – Xobutumbur of the Brazen Clan, Windita Regelsten and Palustra Irenius.’ Then he turned around and pointed at the guests: ‘Here we have Uldini Getobo, Emissary of the Sun Emperor Justinian III and Commander of the Ancients, Jelninolan from Eathinian, also an Ancient, and Baron Dorian Falkenstein, Paladin of the gods.’

  The Triumvirate arose as one and gave a sustained, low bow.

  ‘Well, that’s a good start’, whispered Uldini cheerfully.

  The three straightened up and Palustra cocked her head and smiled at Uldini. ‘Our deference is towards your achievements as Ancients and as Paladin, not towards the Emperor for whom you are speaking today.’

  ‘You have sensitive ears’, said Falk in surpr
ise as he and his companions sat down.

  ‘Good ears are useful in our position’, she said and gave the old Forest Guardian such a charming smile that he couldn’t but respond in kind.

  ‘Has the youth on the throne finally come to his senses and realised that it was reckless and idiotic to tear up a centuries’ old alliance and to reward our loyalty with treachery?’ growled Xobutumbur.

  ‘That’s a rather harsh summation of the events –‘, began Uldini but Windita cut across him.

  ‘Perhaps the esteemed emissary would like to clarify how the actions of the Sun Emperor can be interpreted in any other way?’

  The Arch Wizard shifted about uncomfortably on his chair until Falk finally shook his head.

  ‘Leave it, Uldini. Not even you can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear’, he interjected with a growl. ‘You are completely in the right with your accusations’, he said bluntly, causing Uldini to let out a gasp while the three city representatives looked at each other in surprise.

  ‘But perhaps it might be easier for you to understand this mistaken policy once you’ve learned that it was none other than a Doppelganger that whispered the idea into the Emperor’s ear’, continued the old man calmly.

  Uldini let out a groan of frustration and closed his eyes. ‘Why don’t you just join them and sit on the other side of the table’, he said wearily. ‘Then at least it’s clear as to who stands where.’

  The dwarf leaned forward, his recalcitrant beard scratching the table loudly. ‘You really expect us to believe that story? Your Emperor makes a complete dog’s dinner of his surprise attack, and now, after all these moons, it’s really the fault of some Doppler?’

  ‘And even if it’s the way you say it is’, Palustra interjected vigorously, ‘it wasn’t the Doppelganger who ordered the attack, it was the Sun Emperor. And he’s clearly decided to carry on with the siege, instead of issuing an apology.’ Her lovely, brown eyes were now hard and cold, and the warmth had disappeared from her demeanour.