Khara led them at breakneck speed through the dark and narrow streets of the Brazen City. After a while they heard a dwarf song echoing into the night, and they increased their speed.
Uldini, who had been flying in front of them, soared unceremoniously up above the buildings. ‘He’s over this way’, they heard a moment later, the Arch Wizard’s voice having taken on a curious undertone.
Falk felt a lump in his throat and gasping, he called out Trogadon’s name as he turned the corner. The sight that presented itself left him rooted to the spot.
Trogadon was sitting with several nasty stab wounds on his arms in the middle of a circle consisting of bandits who were all lying on the ground, more or less incapacitated. The Forest Guardian saw countless smashed up weapons and just as many broken bones. The dwarf warrior was sitting on his upended hammer, which served as an improvised stool, and he was breathing heavily while still continuing to sing.
‘He’s not reacting to me’, said Uldini with a look of concern as he waved his finger in front of the dwarf, who seemed to be looking through him as he sang on.
‘That’s a battle hymn of the little folk’, said Falk quietly. ‘He has to sing it through to the end, and then he’ll come back to himself. It helps the dwarves to remain concentrated and it numbs the pain. Unfortunately, they tend to hit out at everything that isn’t a dwarf when they’re in this state, so I’d stop waving around that finger if I were you.’
Uldini pulled back his finger at lightning speed and his eyes widened in surprise. ‘And I thought that was only a myth.’
Falk shook his head. ‘For obvious reasons they only use these songs when they’re alone or among themselves so that they don’t injure any allies. Trogadon was alone, and so he decided it was worth the risk.’
Jelninolan looked at the dwarf with concern.
‘Is there anything we can do for him?’
‘You can heal him if you like. When he comes out of the trance, he will certainly feel those cuts’, replied the Forest Guardian pragmatically.
The elf nodded, and then she and Uldini set to work, healing the singing dwarf while avoiding any quick movements or standing directly in his line of sight. Falk watched their tortuous manoeuvrings for a while with a wry grin, before helping Khara bind up the bandits with their own belts and securing the few weapons that hadn’t been damaged.
‘He must have deliberately aimed for their weapons’, said Falk in wonderment.
There were nine battered and bruised figures lying on the ground, a royal household of cripples, who had paid their tribute to the still-singing dwarf.
‘Luckily the wounds weren’t that deep. The force of the stabs was lessened by the thick skin of our dwarf friend’, said Uldini, once they had finished with their healing. ‘I really wish he’s stop that singing now’, he added with irritation.
Jelninolan turned to Khara. ‘Are you alright?’ she asked.
Khara nodded and Falk interjected. ‘Where’s Ahren?’ he demanded. Now that Trogadon was safe, the Forest Guardian’s concern for his apprentice’s safety came bubbling to the surface.
‘He was set upon at one of the old longhouses and taken away, that much we know. But Sneeze Weed was scattered on the scent and Culhen couldn’t follow it’, said the girl.
‘Oh, you poor thing’, said Jelninolan, and tickled the wolf, who was whimpering quietly.
Falk let out a sigh of relief. ‘At least we know he’s still alive.’
‘And how do we know that?’ asked Uldini, irritated.
‘Culhen would be behaving differently if something bad had befallen Ahren’, said Falk darkly. ‘Then a little Sneeze Weed would be the least of his problems.’
The wolf gave him a guilty look and then let out a low howl, but Falk played down the issue. ‘Now it’s time for some magic to lead us to him. I don’t want to depend on their magnanimity when it comes to letting him live.’
‘He said this morning that he was hot on Bergen’s trail’, said Khara in a concerned voice.
Falk thought for a moment. ‘That sounds like him alright, but we need to find Ahren now anyway. I wouldn’t like to leave him alone with that honour-obsessed mule. The boy is difficult enough as it is. Who knows what other nonsense Bergen will put into his head?’
Uldini waved his arm energetically. ‘We’re not doing any more magic here. The Doppler undoubtedly knows where we are now, and there are enough desperate souls here he could have hunt us down. We’ll go back together to our lodgings, and tomorrow we’ll cast a beautifully branched charm net which will search the city slowly and quietly. The Doppler will sense us alright, but he won’t locate the target of the charm so easily.’
Falk looked uneasily, but Jelninolan interjected reassuringly. ‘We’re practically begging to be attacked here by scavengers, and it wouldn’t be a good idea for the city guards to find us with a pile of beaten up citizens. We can’t do anything here without using magic, and that might put Ahren into more danger, and Culhen can’t smell him as his nose is out of commission.’
Falk nodded doubtfully, and at last the dwarf stopped singing.
‘How do you feel, old friend?’ asked Falk with concern.
The warrior glanced at the others, then at himself, and laughed. ‘What do you think? Nine cut-throats and I didn’t get a single scratch.’
Falk grinned and pointed at Uldini and Jelninolan. Then he indicated the many indications of newly knitted skin on the dwarf’s arms.
‘Damn it!’ grumbled the dwarf in jest. ‘I’ll do a better job next time.’
‘It’s high time we disappeared’, said Uldini urgently. ‘We’ll get some sleep and tomorrow we’ll track down our missing apprentice.’
They all headed back to the security of their lodgings with queasy stomachs, thinking about the young Paladin held captive somewhere in the city.
Chapter 19
A good night’s sleep behind him, Ahren examined the mercenaries around him as he sat on the ground in the big room. Their pieces of armour all shared the same deep-blue colour, but that was where their commonality ended. He saw men and women, old and young, leather armour and chainmail, steel-plating and naked torsos; there was so much variety underneath all that blue – almost as if everybody was trying to hold onto their own individual identity. Ahren recognised three people from Hjalgar, five Sunplainers, three Ice Landers, four who had to be from the Southern Jungles, and even several Clansmen from Kelkor and the Green Sea. He saw nobody from the Eternal Empire however, and Ahren asked himself if this was only a coincidence. He yawned and wondered what was keeping his friends. He had lain awake during the night, expecting their imminent arrival, had imagined Falk and Uldini sternly lecturing the stubborn Paladin Bergen and then Jelninolan softening the captain up with her gentle persuasion. But nobody had come. The night had ended and Ahren had gained nothing but a feeling of overwhelming tiredness.
The mercenaries had been very friendly to him in their own gruff manner, following his terrifying interrogation. And although he had been shaken to the core by the nature of his examination, the apprentice found it very hard to remain angry with them.
Tontur was a different story. Ahren looked daggers at him whenever he came into view, but the mercenary ignored the young man for the most part and so Ahren nursed his grievance in silence.
‘He’s used to that, you know’, said a deep contralto voice, and Ahren looked up at Three-Finger Jarla, who was holding two steaming mugs, one of which she handed to the young man. She indicated over to Tontur. ‘He always takes on the role of the evil torturer, and with good reason’, she continued.
Ahren took the mug sceptically and sniffed the brew distrustfully, but immediately recognised the characteristic aromas. ‘Wolf Herb and Life Fern’, he said gratefully, and took a big gulp, only to immediately scowl. It tasted much more bitter than normal.
Jarla nodded in approval. ‘You have a good nose and an equally good palate. You certainly cut the mustard as a Forest Guardian if you can pic
k out those herbs so quickly.’
Ahren shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. ‘If you have Falk as your teacher, you have to learn how to nurse your body back to health very quickly.’
‘Falk?’ repeated Jarla in surprise, and Ahren quickly corrected himself.
‘Dorian Falkenstein. Falk is the shortened version’, he explained.
Jarla gave an ironic laugh. ‘And I thought I was something special because I’m on first name terms with a Paladin, but a little snotty-nosed brat like yourself can address one of them using his nickname!’
Ahren was about to protest but thought it best to let the matter drop. The fact that the woman thought he might be important might be useful if he needed to prove himself to Bergen. ‘You wanted to tell me about Tontur’, he said, changing the subject.
‘Yes, you’re right. He used to be a fairground performer, and a very good one. Made the mistake of courting the wrong woman, whose husband, a spoiled nobleman, punished him by making him gargle acid. Tontur survived, but that was the end of his singing voice, and also his means of earning a living. Bergen picked him up off the street and he became one of us. The fat lad can tell a really good story, and he’s a very believable villain, isn’t he?’ She raised an eyebrow and gave Ahren a quizzical look. He nodded sulkily, an unforgiving expression on his face, nonetheless.
‘Don’t be angry with him. The more persuasively he can terrify people, the more quickly they begin to talk, and the less we need to encourage things along.’ She slapped her right fist into her left palm and Ahren swallowed hard. ‘The mercenary’s life is not an easy one. Hard work and a lot of bloodshed on both sides. And if you’re out of luck, your employer betrays you instead of paying you. So, we take care of ourselves, and that means interrogating spies from time to time’, she continued.
‘I’m not a spy’, responded Ahren automatically.
‘Of course not. We know that now. Thanks to Tontur.’
Ahren understood what she meant, but he still wasn’t ready to forgive the man who had made him feel so helpless and vulnerable.
‘Your first interrogation?’ asked Jarla, who seemed to know what he was thinking.
Ahren nodded silently. His shame at having spilled the beans so quickly was written all over his face.
‘Everyone sings like a canary the first time. Don’t believe everything you hear in the heroic sagas. Surviving an interrogation is something you have to learn, just like everything else. Things like willpower or the principles of honour or duty help of course, but without practice you really don’t get very far’, said the woman, and Ahren stared at her in disbelief. He really didn’t know which was more incredible: the fact that you might be willing to undergo interrogation training or that being a hero wasn’t enough to get you through the questioning.
Jarla patted his cheek in a grandmotherly fashion. ‘I don’t want to rob you of your illusions; I just want to tell you that you’ve actually done very well. You didn’t reveal anything that might put others’ lives into danger; you didn’t beg for your life or exchange your freedom for somebody else’s. This makes you more courageous than most people.’ She finished speaking and went towards the door, leaving Ahren to think about what he had heard. But then she turned and added: ‘Oh, and Bergen won’t be back before midday. So, you can sleep for a little longer.’
Ahren nodded and followed her advice. If he had to persuade Bergen and his hardened mercenaries, then he should at least do it fully rested.
***
‘Please hurry!’ implored Falk. He’d hardly slept a wink during the night and pressured Uldini and Jelninolan until they finally cast their magic net. But it was taking far too long to track Ahren down as far as the old man was concerned. In spite of the roominess of their lodgings, it felt uncomfortably full in the room, but nobody wanted to leave the group. The women had finally decided to commandeer the connecting bathroom for themselves and declared it a man-free zone.
Now the elf was sitting on the carpet, legs crossed, and in a trance-like state. She had both hands placed on Culhen’s head, who sat with ears pricked, but with his tongue lolling, and he looked as if he were about to fall asleep. The priestess had given in to Falk’s persistence and cast another charm which would enable her to ascertain Ahren’s condition through Culhen’s connection to the apprentice.
‘Leave her alone’, said Uldini. ‘She has to perform her magic very slowly or the Doppler will discover his whereabouts. Just imagine you had to draw your bow inconspicuously under the eyes of a Dark One, then you have a rough of idea of what she’s trying to achieve.’
‘Would you like to teach me a little more sword-fighting?’ suggested Khara diplomatically. ‘I could do with limbering up and I still find it very hard to parry your back-hand thrusts.’
Falk nodded absently, and it was only when he was walking towards his sword that he realised what she was up to. ‘Very clever, young lady’, he grunted, but still reached for his broadsword.
‘I’ll get you as soon as she wakes up’, said Uldini reassuringly. Trogadon had gone back to the smith where he had hired himself out as part of his disguise, where he hoped to pick up some information about Ahren’s whereabouts. That meant the Arch Wizard would be keeping his eye on the elf and the wolf on his own – and he was quite happy about that.
Falk and Khara went out into a little inner courtyard with a fountain and flowers, and with a path running around it edged on the outside by a series of playful archways. Jelninolan had discovered it the previous day and had sat their meditating before they had negotiated with the Triumvirate.
‘It’s a little tight but the challenges that it creates make it all the more interesting’, said Falk, casting a critical eye over the space and drawing his sword. He breathed in the scent-filled air which carried the aromas of over a dozen different types of flowers. ‘And it certainly smells nice.’
Khara smiled at him and pulled Wind Blade from its scabbard.
‘Let’s begin then’, said Falk and immediately went on the attack.
They practised intensively and the middle of the day flew by without incident – apart from the servants who happened to be passing and retreated in terror when they heard the sound of fighting. The old man was surprised that he had to delve so far back through his centuries of experience in order to surprise the young woman and none of his tricks fooled her more than once. He was quite exhausted and gasping for air when Jelninolan appeared at an archway with a satisfied grin on her face. He looked at the elf in gratitude. He could now break off the session before he completely ran out of ideas, and much more importantly, he would at last get some information about Ahren.
‘She’s mastered the Elfish foot-techniques better than you have, old man’, scolded the elf.
Khara bowed ceremoniously in gratitude to her mistress’s words of praise, and Falk simply ignored the jibe. ‘What do you know about Ahren?’ he asked.
The priestess smiled and raised her hand in a calming gesture. ‘He’s sleeping at the moment. He has a bump on the back of his head and he’s somewhat hungry. Otherwise, he feels relatively safe. I only got the slightest hint of fear, more than an echo than anything else, probably as a result of his having been captured. I’m convinced he’s with Bergen.’
‘Did you see that in his dreams?’ Falk inquired further, still not fully convinced of Ahren’s safety, although not as uneasy as he had been.
Jelninolan hesitated and her eyes darted over to Khara, who was still standing there with her head bowed. ‘He was dreaming about...other things. It’s more of a sensation. He doesn’t seem to be looking for Bergen anymore, so I presume he’s found him.’
Khara straightened up and was surprised at the look on the others’ faces because they were both giving her cheeky smiles. Then Falk went over to Jelninolan and gave her a firm hug.
‘Thank you’, he said, and the elf patted his back.
‘We’re all very fond of him – each in their own way’, she said in a friendly voice and release
d herself from him. ‘We should continue working on the Triumvirate. The threat of Thousand Halls becoming embroiled in the conflict makes absolutely no sense. We really need to pursue that.’
Falk furrowed his brows as he considered the matter. ‘I thought the same thing myself.’ He looked wistfully around the courtyard and gestured Khara towards him.
‘The break is over. Now we have to surrender to the three-headed dragon’, he said grimly.
Khara giggled and Jelninolan gave him a scolding look for his lack of respect. Then they went up to their lodgings and prepared for another round of negotiations.
***
Ahren had no idea what time it was when he awoke. Wherever they were now, there were no air vents and no windows, just cracks in the leaky timbers of the wooden walls, through which the rays of sun peeked, bathing the inside in a gloomy light. He was sweating; there were too many people in this confined space, which made the air warm and sticky.
The apprentice stood up and saw that Bergen was no more than two paces away from him, sitting in a corner and eying him keenly. The man had taken off his armour and was wearing his blue linens, which revealed that he too was sweating.
‘Uncomfortable, isn’t it?’ asked the captain, looking around scornfully. ‘We’ve you to thank for that. We had a very nice set-up in the warehouse, but this place is a little less hospitable.’ He shrugged his shoulders fatalistically. ‘Anyway, we won’t be hiding here much longer if the catapults down on the Plains are anything to go by.’
Ahren shook his head and made a quick mental calculation. ‘Two days. Then Justinian is going to attack’, he said hoarsely. His mouth was dry, and Bergen tossed over a field flask to him from which the apprentice drank greedily.
‘And how exactly are you supposed to know that?’ asked the captain sarcastically. ‘The Emperor is hardly going to divulge his tactics to a young upstart like yourself.’
The Brazen City Page 33
