The Brazen City

by Torsten Weitze

  Haven’t you forgotten something? asked Culhen in an offended voice. Like, for example, a loyal, starving wolf, who’s making every effort not to feed on the gentlemen sitting in front of him? Culhen’s words were accompanied by a low growl, and the apprentice looked at Vandir apologetically. He laughed heartily and reached into his leather apron, pulling out a bundle wrapped in cloth. He opened it up, revealing meat scraps which must have been part of the pig that the young men were currently devouring. The smith threw the chunky leftovers onto the ground and Culhen jumped on them with a delighted yelp, undermining the previous dignity he had been trying to maintain.

  The three of them sat together outside the forge on the quiet street, contentedly munching their food. The sound of clanging hammers from the other forges echoed around them in a strangely reassuring manner, seeming to suggest that all was in fact well in the Brazen City.

  ‘Why are all you blacksmiths still working away?’ asked Ahren curiously. He wanted to use the opportunity to start a conversation, and he was also puzzled by the fact that not a single customer had dropped into the forge.

  Vandir looked up in surprise and stopped chewing. ‘You’ve never taken an interest in politics then?’ he asked, amused. ‘The Triumvirate are buying all the weapons we produce. Either the siege ends peacefully, and the warehouses are full, which means trading can begin again, or the city will need them for defence purposes.’ He scratched his head and pondered. ‘It’s really strange – we felt so secure over all these years. There were probably only two dozen weapons in the rooms of the city guards until the conflict began because we had the mercenaries from the Plains to protect us.’

  Ahren’s heart missed a beat and he bit into his piece of cheese to disguise the surprise on his face. This was the first time that anybody from the city had mentioned the Blue Cohorts off their own bat, and the young man hoped desperately that the smith would continue speaking. But Vandir didn’t grant him his wish, and so Ahren tried to innocently develop the theme. ‘Did you get to know them?’ he asked casually between two bites of his food.

  Vandir nodded and his face beamed. ‘They were often to be seen around here in the blacksmiths’ quarter when they were looking for new armour or needed repair work done. Three-Finger Jarla always bought directly from us – she never went through the dealers. She always says why not pay the craftsmen and women directly. She has a good eye for quality, and thanks to her, three long swords from our family forge are now in the possession of the Blue Legion.’

  The blond smith’s eyes were full of pride, and Ahren couldn’t but grin. Here was somebody who was proud of his craft, and placed value on working with his hands, and that was something that Ahren could only admire. The job of Forest Guardian went largely unnoticed in peacetime. It was only when a settlement was under attack from Dark Ones that you could achieve success and prove yourself if you defended it successfully, and of course your own life was in danger at such a time.

  All of a sudden, the life of a blacksmith seemed much more attractive. Vandir could look back on his day’s work every evening, and he could hold what he created in his hands. That had to be a good feeling, thought Ahren wistfully. Now he understood how much it must have hurt Trogadon that the dwarf tradition had forced him to leave the blacksmith’s life and spend his days with the Mountainshield Clan protecting the long tunnels of the Silver Cliff.

  Vandir put aside his food and Ahren cursed inwardly. He’d almost missed his chance to sound out the smith through daydreaming, and so he chewed as slowly as possible to win himself some time. ‘Who’s Three-Finger Jarla?’ he asked in a voice that he hoped sounded bored. ‘I’ve only heard of Bergen, the leader of the Blue Cohorts.’

  Vandir stood up and stretched. ‘Their armourer. She’s Bergen’s right-hand woman, and she makes sure that everyone has what they need to survive the next battle.’

  ‘Does she only have three fingers or how did she come by the name?’

  ‘No, she’s not maimed’, said the smith, laughing and shaking his head. ‘She says she’s only met three men that are fit to hold a candle up to her in battle, and somehow that’s how her nickname came about.’

  Ahren nodded and put the remaining bread into his mouth. He was considering how to formulate his next question when Vandir thwarted his plans.

  ‘Come on. We have to get going again’, he said. ‘Food prices have shot up again today, and if don’t finish this long sword, I won’t be able to employ you tomorrow.’

  Ahren leaped up dutifully and they spent the rest of the day working on the slender weapon. While it was taking more and more shape, Ahren congratulated himself on the fact that gaining the trust of the smith through hard work was beginning to bear fruit. Vandir and his family knew the Blue Cohorts, and hopefully the apprentice would glean more information from the young craftsman the following day.

  ***

  The fiery red sun was setting behind the horizon, and the west was basking in a light of burning gold.

  ‘As if the land were on fire’, whispered Falk. ‘Is it an omen?’

  Uldini scowled and followed the direction of the old man’s eyes, before rubbing his own face. ‘By the THREE, I know you’re worried about the Ahren, but you’re going too far now. Trogadon is with them and Khara has a sensible head on her shoulders. They’ll get the boy out of any scrape he manages to get himself into.’

  Jelninolan glared at the Arch Wizard, who was delighting in the Forest Guardian’s misery. ‘Don’t listen to the bold, cynical Ancient. He’s only jealous because none of the protégés he had over the centuries turned out to be worth the effort he put into them’, said the elf, calming the old man.

  That wiped the smile off the childlike figure’s face. ‘That was not very nice, Auntie. I just don’t have a talent for it.’

  ‘And no patience. Just like you have no compassion or understanding for others’ failings’, she added sharply.

  Uldini closed his mouth, cocked his head and nodded. ‘Point for you’, he said simply, then floated over to the opulently stocked wine rack where he poured himself a goblet of Liebhügler, an expensive and much sought after brand, and one which the Arch Wizard had been paying close attention to ever since they had arrived in the Brazen City.

  The priestess was now standing beside Falk, and she placed a reassuring arm over his shoulder. They both looked out at the magnificent sunset playing out before them. The wind had mercifully carried away the smoke from the forges during the day and there was only a faint layer hanging in the air, like the memory of a cold night at the beginning of a morning in spring.

  ‘We’re doing our share, and the others are doing theirs. Your best way of helping Ahren is to make sure that the Triumvirate listen to him and Bergen as soon as they appear here. They have to get the big picture or their attitude to the siege will overshadow everything and their resentment will only ensure Justinian’s victory.’

  Falk grimaced and turned away from the natural wonder outside. ‘Easier said than done. I’d feel much better if we knew whether they believed our news about the Doppelganger or not.’

  ‘’We’re going to find that out soon enough’, said Uldini drily. ‘A servant is coming.’ Since having been surprised the previous day during their argument, the Arch Wizard had cast a small magic net which informed him of anybody approaching the door. Their negotiating position was tricky enough as it was, and at least they could now be certain that nobody was listening in on them.

  The servant knocked, and the Emperor’s emissaries were in the hallway outside within a heartbeat, as if they had been waiting behind the door the whole time. The servant’s eyes opened wide in amazement and yet he still managed to bow gracefully as Uldini floated past him.

  ‘The Triumvirate await your presence’, stammered the baffled man and Falk slapped him on the back as he passed him.

  ‘We know the way already’, he simply said while Jelninolan gave the poor servant an apologetic look.

  ‘Forgive my companions, they
always get restless when they’re confined in a small room for too long.’

  The trio went briskly down the stairs, the flabbergasted servant in their wake, and went through the front hall to the meeting room, which Uldini opened with a wave of his hand. Hardly had the companions stepped inside, when he closed the heavy doors again causing the servant to give a little painful yelp. The poor man’s nose had been caught for a moment by the doors he had intended to close himself, before being totally wrong-footed by the magic.

  ‘Was that really necessary?’ hissed Jelninolan quietly.

  ‘Yes’, said Uldini with a self-satisfied chuckle. Then he spread his arms out and floated to his seat. ‘A very pleasant evening to you all. I trust your deliberations have been fruitful?’ he said as a greeting to the three representatives of the Brazen City, none of whom took any notice of the pompous nature of his arrival.

  ‘Indeed they have, worthy emissary’, answered Windita as she looked at him critically with her blue eyes. The Ice Lander had tied up her hair with silver clasps this time, and now she was wearing leather armour instead of the smith’s apron. Her appearance was now considerably more martial than on the previous day. Xobutumbur and Palustra looked the same as the evening before although the golden evening sun highlighted the beauty of the dark-skinned Sunplainer even more strongly.

  The Triumvirate waited until everybody was sitting, and then Windita continued. ‘We’ve come to the conclusion that what you were saying is true, Baron Falkenstein. We know that some of your actions over the last few centuries were...questionable, but you always spoke the truth when it came to the Adversary.’ She indicated the dwarf on her left. ‘Xobutumbur has further pointed out to me that you are considered a friend of the dwarves. That is no small achievement for a human and adds more weight to your words.’

  ‘Also, the presence of the august Ancient Jelninolan only makes sense if there really is a Doppelganger behind this conflict’, interjected Palustra. ‘We could simply see no other reason for Eathinian to involve itself in this dispute.’

  Jelninolan politely bowed her head and Falk gave a sigh of relief.

  ‘Lucky again, old man’, growled Uldini sulkily, before continuing in mellifluous voice. ‘And so we may be hopeful of finding a peaceful resolution?’ he asked.

  The blond leader nodded. ‘We have come up with a few conditions and then we will forget about your Emperor’s trespasses and resume normal trade’, began Windita, but immediately Falk raised his hand energetically.

  ‘Now that you believe us, there’s more you need to know. The Thirteenth Paladin has been named and the Pall Pillar will fall. The Dark Days are going to come upon us again and we’re going to need every Paladin if we’re going to be victorious.’

  A deathly silence filled the hall as the Triumvirate sat there in shock and stared at Falk in disbelief.

  ‘I solemnly swear that when we get out of here, I will never let you near a negotiating table again’, said Uldini angrily to the old Forest Guardian, who had folded his rams with determination, and was now leaning back in his chair.

  ‘They said themselves, I don’t lie when it comes to HIM, WHO FORCES’, said Falk serenely, turning not just to the Arch Wizard but also to the Triumvirate. ‘And Jelninolan and you can confirm what I’ve said. Beautiful and all as the Brazen City is, two Ancients and a Paladin don’t turn up simply to discuss who should control the forges of the city. We’re going to need the weapons that are being produced in our war with the dark god, and I really don’t care whose coat of arms is going to decorate the city flagpole.’

  Windita went pale at these blunt words, and Xobutumbur seemed to be about to explode. Palustra was the only one of the three who accepted Falk’s rationale without batting an eyelid.

  ‘Baron Falkenstein is not saying this to insult you’, interjected Jelninolan in a soft voice. ‘We only want to impress upon you how much is on the line in this conflict, which has been stirred up by an agent of the Adversary. The Paladin Bergen simply must stay alive, and the forges of the Brazen City must remain untouched, or our chances of defeating HIM, WHO FORCES will sink dramatically.’

  ‘This changes everything’, said Palustra quietly. ‘We have to revise our demands.’

  ‘We most certainly do’, interrupted Xobutumbur. ‘You need us. You’ve just said it yourselves. Which means we can demand whatever we want.’

  Windita shook her head violently in disagreement. ‘We will not act against the wishes of the THREE.’

  An argument erupted, which the blond Ice Lander put a stop to within a few moments. ‘We’re going to have to discuss the matter amongst ourselves. I propose that we met again tomorrow evening and we resume negotiations.’

  Both Uldini and Falk groaned, and so it was left to Jelninolan to respond. ‘We will happily appear here again tomorrow. Have a good evening.’

  She skewered her two companions with a look, and they followed her unwillingly out the door, leaving the Triumvirate squabbling quietly in their wake.

  ‘At least they know the whole truth now’, said Falk when they were finally back in their lodgings. Hopefully they’ll have reached the point tomorrow where we can have decent negotiations.’

  ‘Hopefully’, said Uldini sourly. ‘There are only four days until Justinian sounds the call to battle and there are too many open questions. Once the rocks start flying around our ears, nobody is going to listen to us.’

  Nobody had an answer to that, and a heavy silence descended on the companions, which remained for the rest of the evening.

  ***

  Ahren groaned uncomfortably as he lifted the spoon of thick stew, which Trogadon had purchased from the innkeeper for a little mountain of gold. Every muscle in his arm and back was burning, and he felt as if he was back in the first days of his apprenticeship with Falk. He scattered a few crushed leaves from his bag of herbs into the bowl and dutifully continued to eat. The healing plants would help his body sufficiently so that he would be able to continue helping Vandir the next day.

  Trogadon looked at him and grinned. ‘I recognise your body posture. You’ve got Bellows’ Back. That’ll clear up after a few moons, believe me.’

  ‘Luckily it won’t come to that’, groaned Ahren, struggling with a trembling hand to get the next spoonful to his mouth. ‘In five days time we’ll either have been successful or there’ll be war.’

  ‘Be quiet’, warned the dwarf in a serious voice. ‘If the wrong ears hear us, the whole city will be after us.’

  They both looked over at Khara, who was sitting and drinking with a few Ice Lander smiths, and they all seemed to be having a very amusing time. ‘She’s made friends quickly’, remarked Trogadon and Ahren nodded grimly. He was far from pleased at the way she was smiling at one of the tall smiths. The fact that he was battling with every spoonful himself, didn’t exactly improve his mood either.

  ‘Poor lad’, said the warrior when he noticed Ahren’s look. Trogadon stroked his beard for a moment before continuing.

  ‘You’ve really picked a hard nut to crack.’

  Ahren’s ears reddened, but he didn’t respond to his partner’s statement, continuing instead to struggle with his stew.

  ‘And if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine too’, said Trogadon serenely. ‘But I know something that will put some pep in your step. I got myself as a job as a blacksmith today. And as a reward for my work, I’m going to be allowed to make a little weapon out of Dwarf Steel. What would you think of a nice new dagger?’

  Ahren thought for a moment and was considering declining the offer. The dagger was an absolutely last resort when it came to fighting, and it struck Ahren that it might be a waste if the dwarf was to put all that time and effort into something that hopefully Ahren would never need. But then he had a brainwave, and he explained in detail how his dagger was to be formed. The warrior raised his eyebrows and then shrugged his shoulders. ‘If that’s what you want – it’s your dagger’, he said sceptically.

  Ahren n
odded tiredly and unceremoniously slurped down the rest of his stew. ‘I’m going to bed’, he said grumpily, glancing over at Khara, who was laughing a little too merrily and coquettishly. ‘Tomorrow’s going to be a hard day, and it’s too loud in here.’ Even to his own ears, what he said sounded too much like sulking, but Ahren was too tired to think of a better excuse. Culhen shoved himself beside his master, and the apprentice tickled the wolf’s fur gratefully.

  I can bite him if you like, offered the animal, who was looking at the smith that Khara was making eyes at. Ahren gave a weary smile.

  Thanks for the offer, but he’s here with his pack, the apprentice responded. There might be too many of them.

  Culhen stood still and stared at the Ice Lander, who was whispering something into Khara’s ear. The wolf seemed to be listening to his inner voice. You go ahead, he said drily, and disappeared under Trogadon’s table again.

  Ahren was surprised but was going up the stairs nonetheless when he suddenly heard an uproar from down below.

  ‘The beast pissed in my boot’, screamed the voice of a young adult, and Ahren saw Culhen bursting out of the inn barking loudly, before disappearing down a darkened alleyway. The apprentice had arrived on the top step when four of the tall customers burst out of the tavern and looked around furiously. Khara’s knight in shining armour was among them, and he was angrily shaking out his dripping boot, which even Ahren could smell. Ahren quickly disappeared into the room and sent Culhen all his love and affection, and the wolf answered with a loud, triumphant howl, which echoed through the night.