The Brazen City

by Torsten Weitze

  Ahren saw to his horror how the creature tried once again to get up, only for Trogadon to drag himself over in great pain and smash his hammer with an almighty blow and a grimace on his face onto Wind Blade, which was driven to its hilt deep into the monster’s neck.

  Like a puppet whose strings have been cut, the bear collapsed onto the ground and from one heartbeat to the next it was all over.

  Trogadon looked regretfully at Wind Blade, a twisted mess in the animal’s neck, and he turned to the gasping swordswoman. ‘Really sorry about your weapon’, he panted through his squashed throat. ‘I’ll make you a new one, I promise.’

  Ahren didn’t hear if the young woman replied because above him the last remaining crossbow men and women were cheering lustily, who just like Ahren, could barely believe their luck at still being alive.

  They gathered at the archway to the city, Falk supporting Trogadon, and Khara helping Ahren and his broken foot by placing his arm around her shoulder. Selsena and Culhen, both badly bruised, trotted behind and seemed to be sympathising with each other in a way only known to companion animals. Then they entered the Brazen City with a few soldiers surrounding them and went in search of one of the Ancients.

  ‘You really have to stop coming to my rescue all the time’, teased Ahren in a manner that suggested he was truly grateful to her.

  Khara nodded with an almost shy smile. ‘If you stop behaving like a Susekan’, she answered sarcastically. This nickname for a poor swordsman in the language of the Empire meant something like ‘milksop’ and it was a word he hadn’t heard in a while – and certainly didn’t miss.

  ‘How was I supposed to know that the blade would snap?’ he asked obstreperously, and Falk gave him a clip on the ear.

  ‘The forty spearheads stuck in his body might have given you a hint, you dunderhead.’ He shook his head wearily. ‘A strategy that doesn’t consider the possibility of failure is a game of pure chance.’ He undoubtedly would have continued talking were it not for the hand to hand combat they saw before them involving at least thirty pairs of Low Fangs and Blue Cohorts.

  It was an unequal fight if ever there were one. The Low Fangs’ strategy was bloodily chaotic, while the mercenaries followed a focussed plan. Every parry, every manoeuvre, every feint was carefully coordinated, and there was a contingency plan for every eventuality. If a thrust didn’t hit home, then the nearest Cohort finished the job. It was a lesson in coordinated fighting that impressed Ahren no end.

  He looked over at Falk, who recognised that his apprentice now understood what he’d said. The old man nodded grimly but remained silent. Ahren now realised that he would have to study tactics and strategy from now on, and he sighed, wondering if his lessons would ever come to an end.

  Epilogue

  The new day was dawning but still Ahren had found no sleep. He was sitting with the others on top of a more secluded part of the walls, looking down over the Sunplains, whose golden and green fields were lying there in the soft morning sunshine, blissfully unaware of the previous night’s battle. Uldini and Jelninolan had healed them to some extent, but as there were so many wounded in need of treatment, they had refused a complete recovery, which meant that Ahren was still limping and Trogadon could barely speak.

  At least you’re alright, Culhen, thought Ahren and he pressed the wolf towards him, who thanked him with a slobbery lick on his cheek. Jelninolan was still healing the wounded and Khara was assisting her.

  ‘More than eight hundred dead Legionnaires, almost five hundred of whom died at the gate, and another hundred that the Glower Bear surprised on his way up. The rest were killed by Swarm Claws and Low Fangs’, Uldini was reporting, having just got an overview of the battle’s outcome. ‘It would have been tight without the assistance of Bergen and the mercenaries, and I’ve impressed on the survivors the importance of reporting that back to the Emperor.’

  ‘Are you not going to tell him yourself?’ asked Falk in surprise.

  Uldini shook his head sadly. ‘I received a dispatch from a courier at daybreak. The Emperor congratulates me, and on account of my services to the Empire he is releasing me from my duties.’ He looked glum. ‘We bit off a bit more than we could chew in relation to him. Do you know that I had my own tower in the Sun Palace?’ He sighed bitterly. ‘I’m really going to miss that.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have visited it until all this was over anyway, so stop carrying on’, scolded Falk.

  ‘But it was still nice to know that I could have visited it’, sulked the Ancient. Then he became serious again. ‘Bergen and his people have been pardoned, and believe it or not, they’ve even been given a new contract. This time given to them directly by the Brazen City. So, they can take up their positions as city guards without fear of treachery.’

  ‘We should get out of here while we can’, warned Falk. ‘If Justinian finds out he’s signed a peace treaty that contains a loophole he didn’t spot whereby the Dwarfish weapons can be sent to Hjalgar, we won’t be welcomed in his empire for some time to come.’

  Uldini frowned again. ‘Oh god, I’d forgotten about that. Alright, one, two moons and then we’re gone. First we have to find a clue as to where we can find the next Paladin.’

  ‘Maybe Bergen can help us there. The evening we were playing with dice he mentioned a clue that sounded promising’, said Falk, placating the Arch Wizard.

  Ahren’s ears pricked up. ‘What did he say?’ he interjected and felt his foot.

  ‘Don’t touch it or it won’t heal properly’, snapped Falk before replying. ‘There’s a tribe in the Southern Jungles who pray to a goddess called “the Sleeping Mother”. Apparently, they’re referring to a woman who doesn’t grow old and who has pale skin that refuses to tan.’ He looked over meaningfully at Uldini, who immediately danced for joy.

  ‘That has to be Sunju’, he said, delighted. ‘But why has she never made contact and what’s she doing there? She can’t be angry with us; she was always the most cheerful of your lot.’

  Falk scratched his beard and ruminated. ‘You know how she felt after Starlight died. That shook her to the core, and she was never the same after that.’

  There was a silence and Ahren nearly burst with curiosity. ‘Who are those two?’ he finally asked impatiently.

  ‘Sunju is a Paladin. She was always a great friend and goodness personified. When her companion died, something died within her too. It’s true that she didn’t lose anyone in the Night of Blood, but she had been broken before then.’ Falk looked out onto the Plains. ‘We knew she’d wanted to go south, but then we never heard about her again.’

  Ahren gave Culhen a hug. Life without his wolf would be a fate worse than death, he thought.

  I’ll remind you of that thought the next time you chase me away because you’re annoyed, said Culhen snippily, but pressed in against the apprentice nonetheless and nuzzled against him.

  ‘Did Bergen lose his companion animal too? I didn’t see any around him’, said Ahren cautiously. If such a thing had happened to Sunju, then Bergen could have suffered a similar loss. It was only the previous night that Ahren had seen how quickly fatal mistakes could occur when fighting a deadly enemy.

  Falk grinned and pointed his finger upward. ‘No, you’ve just been looking in the wrong places.’

  Ahren followed the direction and tilted his head back. High above him he could see a black dot, doing gentle circles in the warm thermals. ‘Is that a falcon?’ he asked, irritated.

  ‘Not any old falcon. It’s Karkas, Bergen’s companion’, responded his master mischievously. ‘The two are very close. He rarely shows Karkas, and they generally meet when there’s nobody around. The bird is his eyes and ears on the battlefield. Another reason why he’s such a good commander. The falcon always tells him who’s where during the conflict. Those two have perfected their connection.’

  Ahren pinched Culhen’s ear playfully, and the wolf nipped the apprentice’s hand in revenge. ‘We’ll find our own way too’, said Ahren quietly
to his friend.

  ‘You two are making a very good fist of it’, said Falk reassuringly, and Ahren was delighted to hear it, as Falk praised him so sparingly. ‘My biggest worry is that you have so much less time than we had to learn. Which is why we’re all taking such pains to drum the essentials into that stubborn head of yours’, he said emphatically. Ahren nodded absently as he looked down onto the city.

  ‘Have we done the right thing?’ he asked the group, looking down at a pile of bodies that were awaiting collection on the street below.

  Trogadon still had difficulty speaking so he simply laid a hand on the apprentice’s shoulder and nodded enthusiastically. But Falk replied in a determined voice. ‘We’ve saved the Brazen City, cemented its relationship with the Sunplains, and prevented Bergen and his people from being condemned as traitors. All in all, not a bad day’s work.’ He shook Ahren by the arm until the apprentice looked away from the corpses. ‘We’re waging war. And unfortunately wars always involve loss of life. You’ve protected those who couldn’t fight. Those who can, must protect themselves or we’ll all be lost.’

  Ahren gave a cautious nod and then stood when he realised they were about to receive honoured guests. Windita and Palustra climbed the stone staircase of the wall, followed by Bergen, who was wearing a tabard bearing the symbol of the Brazen City, and looking very satisfied with himself.

  ‘A good morning to you all’, said Palustra politely. ‘We are here to express our gratitude to you once again for everything you have done for our city’, she said, with genuine warmth.

  ‘Without you the city would most likely have been reduced to rubble’, said Windita darkly and the blond woman shivered at the thought. ‘Please be our guests for however long you please.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with us for a little while longer’, joked Falk, gesturing towards Ahren’s and Trogadon’s injuries. ‘Where is Xobutumbur? Did he survive the night?’ asked the old Forest Guardian fearfully.

  Palustra smiled and raised a reassuring hand. The Clan Elder is doing well. He’s avoiding stairs for the time being as a result of his injuries.’

  Falk nodded sympathetically and Windita spoke again. ‘If there is anything we can do for you, please let us know’, she said in a ceremonious tone, and Falk was about to decline her offer when Ahren interjected.

  ‘There is one little thing’, he said in a firm voice. He had hoped that the Triumvirate would offer them assistance and was determined to accept. Only a few moons previously and he would have been horrified at the thought of taking advantage of somebody’s gratitude in this way, but now he knew they had to make use of any chance that was available.

  ‘We are going to need a delivery of one thousand swords, shields and coats of mail within the next three summers’, he said loudly.

  The reaction was as he had predicted. The ladies gasped, Falk glared at him, and both Trogadon and Bergen grinned encouragingly.

  ‘Seven hundred of each are to be delivered the Falkenstein barony in the Knight Marshes, and the other three hundred to the village of Deepstone in Hjalgar’, continued Ahren. Not being interrupted, he carried on. ‘We are going to need a well-equipped army everywhere, and even if Three Rivers sells these arms in the next while, I doubt that they will get as far as Deepstone.’ Windita was about to interject, but Ahren raised his arm imperiously. ‘We have helped to save your homeland. These weapons will help to save our homeland. I think my request is more than reasonable.’ He folded his arms and looked the two dignitaries in the eye. Much to his surprise, he was neither sweating nor trembling. He had stood in front of a Glower Bear and defied an Emperor. He was expressing a point that came from his heart, which gave him the security he needed to remain calm.

  Culhen gave a triumphant howl in the apprentice’s head when the two representatives of the Brazen City glanced at each other before nodding their assent. They gave Ahren their hands, which he firmly shook, then he took Windita’s again and spoke again. ‘And one more thing. Bergen and the Blue Cohorts will be free to go when we call for them. The Dark Days will be coming, and then we will need the infamous commander and his notorious mercenaries.’ At those last words he winked at Bergen, who looked back innocently as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

  ‘Agreed’, said Windita, and Ahren leaned back, relieved. The two ladies nodded and Palustra murmured: ‘We shall retire now before your demands prove even more costly, young Paladin.’ Ahren winced mentally at the jibe, but then he remembered what he had sworn to himself in the Eastern Forest, when he had led Sven into exile. They didn’t all have to like him. He would still be their Paladin and protector.

  It was sometime later, and they were all in high spirits. Bergen remained with them and had passed a skin of strong wine around, from which everybody had drunk in silence. Now the three veterans were exchanging stories of past battles and Ahren was listening intently. He was interested less in the historical timeline or the heroic nature of the tales, but rather in the tactical lessons he could glean from them. He was determined to learn, and he was taking advantage of every opportunity.

  Finally, Khara came up to them and Bergen sprang lightly to his feet before bowing elegantly before her. ‘Here we have the heroine of the battle. Compliments, my dear, on your killing of the Glower Bear. If only I were eight hundred years younger’, he cried out and breathed a kiss on the back of her hand, looked at her with exaggerated soulfulness before grinning mischievously.

  Khara laughed and gave a mock curtsey in return, while Ahren leaned in towards Falk. ‘You were absolutely right, master’, he whispered. ‘He really is annoying.’

  The swordswoman grabbed the wineskin, took a deep draught and then tossed it to Trogadon. ‘I’m no heroine without my sword. That man has transformed mine into a better class of horseshoe’, she said teasingly.

  It took Trogadon two attempts before he finally managed to get the words through his throat, purple with bruises. ‘I have spoken to Xobutumbur’, he croaked. ‘I’m allowed to use the Heart Forge of the Clans and will forge Wind Blades for the two of you. They shouldn’t break so easily.’

  In the next heartbeat the dwarf hat two skittish young people hanging off his sore neck, embracing him and thanking him noisily. The warrior winced in pain, his damaged ribs protesting loudly, before he finally embraced them anyway. Then he looked at Ahren and shrugged his shoulders apologetically. ‘We’ll still have to go to Thousand Halls for your Paladin armour sometime. There simply isn’t enough Deep Steel available anywhere else.’

  ‘We’re going to make a proper Paladin out of you yet’, said Bergen good-naturedly. Then he stood up and gave Ahren a bear hug. ‘If we’re going to get all soppy, I might as well get it over with now.’ He released the apprentice, held him by the shoulders and fixed him with his pale- blue eyes. ‘You said you wanted to save everybody, and you’ve done that. And so, I will follow you whenever you call.’ He clapped Ahren on the back again, then turned around. ‘I’d better check on my lads and lassies. They tend to get carried away when they celebrate. We don’t want to lose our jobs the very first evening.’ Then he stormed down the stairs, and Ahren blinked owlishly after him. The man really was an emotional hurricane, who stormed over you for a moment before disappearing, leaving a trail of chaos in his wake.

  Ahren was gathering himself together and contemplating the journey to the Southern Jungle that awaited them when he heard an urgent voice in his head.

  That’s all well and good, grumbled the wolf, but am I going to get anything to eat at all today?

  ***

  He could neither stand nor look straight, but he really didn’t care. Even if he had tried to remember, he wouldn’t be able to say in which godforsaken one-horse town he was holed up in. The only thing important to him was the fact that the wine and lodgings were cheap, and one gold coin a week would more than suffice for both. His supplies were slowly running out, but that bothered him just as little, in his stupefaction, as his not having taken a bath for
several weeks. If his brain somehow managed to think clearly enough for him to realise all this, he probably still wouldn’t change a thing. He lived in a world of rage and self-pity.

  He was just grasping the half-full jug of wine on the dirt-encrusted corner-table he’d been sitting at for weeks when he noticed that a woman was standing in front of him and eyeing him up and down.

  ‘I haven’t finished my wine, come back later’, he grunted harshly, before taking a deep swig from the jug. Some liquid poured down his chin and added another stain to his already filthy shirt.

  ‘I’m no barmaid’, laughed a delightful sounding voice, and the person sat down at his table.

  He tried to see clearly and rubbed his knuckles over his good eye. His eye began to focus and with great concentration he could make out a kind, smiling, blond woman of no more than thirty winters looking back at him confidently. Even that was unusual, as he had experienced often enough lately. His tattered appearance usually provoked sarcasm, disgust, scolding and the odd expulsion from one village or other, and he was looked at in no other way than suspiciously or with unhidden loathing.

  He returned the favour by staring back at the beauty just as intensely, stretching himself so that she could enjoy every one of his deformities. Her eyes were unusually brown and seemed almost too big for her face. He also saw a finely shaped nose, high cheek bones and little dimples as she smiled at him. She was wearing a plain white robe and had something on her lap that he couldn’t make out.