The Brazen City Read online

  Torsten Weitze

  The Brazen City

  The 13th Paladin

  Volume III

  Translated into English by Tim Casey

  English Proof-reader: Neil McCourt

  I dedicate this book to you, my readers.

  If it weren’t for you, I’d just be just some fellow randomly throwing words together.

  And remember

  a story finds nothing more enjoyable than being experienced for the first time...

  www.tweitze.de

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  © Torsten Weitze, Krefeld, 2017

  Picture: Petra Rudolf / www.dracoliche.de

  Editor/Proofreader: Janina Klinck / www.lectoreena.jimdo.com

  Chapter 1

  Like a butterfly flitting past, Ahren felt something tickling his consciousness. He and his disparate companions had spent the days following his Naming frantically fleeing the Borderlands and during this time Jelninolan and Uldini had been forced into casting one disguise spell after another. They had just entered the first group of trees that, according to Falk, belonged to Hjalgar. Alight snowfall prevented them from seeing more than a dozen paces in front of them and Ahren wasn’t sure what it was he had felt. Suddenly, Culhen shot out from among the trees like a ghost, his white fur making him almost invisible in the snow.

  ‘Ahren? Ahren!’ he heard in his head and the apprentice dropped down on one knee with a smile, wrapping the wolf in his arms, while bravely enduring the wolf’s slobbering tongue. Selsena too approached them from the trees and emitted waves of welcome. The two animals had raced on ahead of the others during their flight, as a security measure, and so that the two Ancients could conserve their strength. Then they had awaited their companions in the security of the forest. Culhen kept on babbling his name, the only thing that their spiritual connection would allow yet, and Ahren stroked the animal’s fur until the wolf finally calmed down. Happy that that they were all reunited safely, the troop travelled onwards, and Ahrens heart leaped with joy when Falk announced: ‘Only a few more days and we’ll be in Deepstone.’

  Ahren’s master was right in his prediction. Six days later they crossed the Eastern Forest and the warm feeling of home increased in Ahren’s breast with every familiar pine tree and fondly remembered stream they passed. He found himself nattering on to Jelninolan, telling her stories of his training, which had mainly taken place in this forest. The elf priestess responded to his talk with an indulgent smile. A heavy covering of snow lay over the countryside, and so Deepstone appeared tiny and sleepy as they at last walked along its solitary street one clear winter’s day. They were nearing the village square, and the simple wooden structures, standing in a row within the protection of the forest edge – no house further than an arrow’s flight from the trees – seemed to Ahren to be both strange and familiar. He recognised each of the houses of course, but they all seemed smaller and less impressive than in his memory. He was musing over this change in his perceptions when Trogadon poked him in the side with his elbow. ‘Why did you people make your village so long? Seems a bit impractical. Getting from A to B must take forever’, he said in surprise. It was true that the warrior was anything but your typical dwarf, but he still possessed the pragmatic instincts that were typical of the little folk.

  ‘Our houses are too draughty. The East Wind brings the Blue Death to many, and so we build close to the trees, and they give us the necessary protection’, said Ahren curtly. His mother too had died in this way, shortly after his birth, and the apprentice didn’t like talking about the illness.

  Trogadon rubbed his beard thoughtfully. ‘Hmm...I understand’, he murmured as he looked at the surrounding houses with a critical eye.

  Ahren was just about to ask the dwarf what he was thinking when a loud scream caused him to spin around. They had managed to remain unnoticed up to this point in the cold winter morning but now the baker had spotted them through his shutters, and he was shouting the village down.

  They managed to make it to the village square with its mighty oak, its brick forge (which had been built since Ahren’s departure), and the little chapel of the THREE, where Ahren’s journey had begun. But now the villagers of Deepstone were hurriedly flocking together and they soon were surrounded by a crowd that was both fearful and exuberant. Falk had deliberately left Selsena back in the Eastern Forest as her appearance might have been too much for the villagers. Even so, the sight of an elf and a dwarf was a sensation in the sleepy little village. The familiar faces of Falk and Ahren, however, ensured a hearty welcome.

  The mayor Gordo Pramsbildt was just stepping out of his house with his mayoral chain hanging crooked and his clothes in disarray when Uldini floated upwards into the air to the amazement of the onlookers, and thundered in a resonant voice: ‘I am Uldini Getobo, chief of the Ancients and Beloved of the gods. With whom do I speak regarding accommodation?’

  The crowd immediately parted in front of the unhappy mayor, who wanted nothing more than to retreat within the safety of his own four walls.

  Uldini floated over to the trembling man and began speaking to him in lofty tones, but Ahren heard very little before he was pulled around and found himself in a violent embrace which he caused him to gasp for breath. It was Holken, one of his friends from his youth, now dressed in the colours of a fully fledged bailiff, who was squeezing him tightly and smiling broadly.

  ‘Wow, Ahren, it’s great to see you again! We were really worried about you, ever since you disappeared the night of the Fog Cats attack’, he called out heartily.

  Ahren was about to answer when he felt a hand come down on his shoulder and he was spun exuberantly around. A heartbeat later and the apprentice was in the considerably weaker but just as friendly embrace of Likis, his loyal best friend in his childhood days.

  ‘Ahren!’ screamed the slender merchant euphorically into his ear. ‘Where have you been hiding? Is that your sword?’

  ‘Did you bring the dwarf with you?’

  ‘Are you a Forest Guardian now?’

  ‘Did you see any dragons?’

  His friends’ questions were raining in on top of him and laughing, Ahren raised his hands protectively. ‘Slow down’, he gasped, tears of affection and joy rolling down his cheeks.

  ‘Why don’t we look for a cosy warm place and I’ll tell you everything.’

  Hungry

  The word bored violently into Ahrens dreams and destroyed the wonderful image of a comforting clearing in the wood, which his subconscious had just created.

  Hungry, the word sounded again in Ahren’s head.

  He opened his eyes with a groan and stared accusingly into Culhen’s loyal eyes. A slobbery, stinking welcoming lick of the wolf’s tongue and Ahren was wide awake.

  Hungry resonated through Ahren again as Culhen gave vent to his seemingly endless desire for food.

  The apprentice rolled his eyes in annoyance and got up quickly so as to avoid another lick from the wolf. He questioned, and not for the first time, the benefit of the miracle that connected his mind to Culhen’s. The wolf was now his companion animal, chosen by HER, WHO FEELS, created to help Ahren in his dangerous war against HIM, WHO FORCES. But all he had heard from the animal up until this point had been insistent demands for more food, more cuddles, and then still more food. If the dark god wasn’t ready to be cuddled to death or wasn’t in a food bowl waiting to be gulped down, then Culhen wouldn’t be much use.

  The wolf gave a short howl before sitting back on his hind legs and staring at Ahren with an offended look.

  Unfair. The thought sounded in the fresh-faced Paladin’s mind.

  The apprentice sighed bitterly while he rubbed his head in frustration. Culhen could
read his mind just as much as the young man could read the wolf’s. Which meant that he was never alone, and every one of his thoughts could be read by his four-legged friend without any filter whatsoever.

  He called to mind a memory that he had of Culhen, how he had escaped from the Weeping Valley with the Silent Lute in his mouth. The memory of this moment of glory placated the young wolf every time and usually gave Ahren a moment of respite while the conceited animal sat there in the warm glow of his famed exploits.

  The light in the hut darkened as Falk’s broad silhouette appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Well, are you getting used to each other?’ rumbled his voice through the small room. A deep warmth and considerable mirth resonated in the old man’s question.

  Ahren threw his hands in the air and with a look of frustration pointed at Culhen, who was still sitting there dreamily, captivated by his past heroic deed. ‘It just won’t get any better. He doesn’t say anything more than individual words and basic feelings – and they’re almost always about food’, the young man exclaimed.

  Falk’s amusement was plain to see. ‘I’ve told you plenty of times. It takes time for the connection to grow. Practise with him. Use full sentences when you’re talking to him. And above all, have patience. Up until now he’s only been a very clever wolf, but his mind has undergone a greater change than yours. Help him come to terms with this and you will get used to your connection too. Then you’ll never want to do without his presence in your spirit.’ A wistful tone had crept into the Forest Guardian’s last few words.

  Ahren gave his master a compassionate look. The old man had had a falling out with his animal companion, the Titejunanwa, Selsena, which had lasted for decades. And during that time they had lived apart from one another. The thought of not seeing his conceited and greedy wolf for even a week gave Ahren a lump in his throat and he quickly cuddled the animal, who pushed in beside him, panting happily. Their affection for each other fused into a harmonious feeling of togetherness, and Ahren smiled happily.

  ‘There you go!’ grunted Falk contentedly. ‘Come into the village as soon as you’re ready. Uldini has news for us.’

  Ahren pricked up his ears and was about to enquire further but his master had already turned on his heels and left the hut. Ahren dressed excitedly, putting on the elf ribbon armour that Jelninolan had given him over half a year earlier. For one thing, Ahren wanted to continue practising how to put on the complicated network of leather strips and ribbons more quickly and without assistance. And for another, he found the admiring looks of the village youth very encouraging when he sauntered in his armour through his home village of Deepstone. Ahren was burning to know what had happened in Jorath over the previous moons but he still took the necessary time to concentrate fully on his task. He knew what could happen if he got tangled up in the ribbon armour and he suddenly had a vision of Jelninolan the time that she was lying on the floor of her room, helplessly entangled in her own armour, and he had to laugh out loud.

  Culhen gave an amused yelp and Ahren tousled his fur. You understood that then, did you? he thought, communicating silently with the wolf.

  Culhen tilted his head and Ahren felt a confused sensation. ‘It’ll all work out’, he said aloud, and tousled his friend’s head again.

  He finished putting on his armour, then hung his quiver and Wind Blade on his back, not forgetting his bow. The thought crossed his mind that he was overdoing it a bit but he assuaged his conscience with the excuse that he was planning on training later anyway, and he would have his weapons close to hand.

  Culhen gave him an admiring look, and as he walked out through the door Ahren asked himself if the wolf’s vanity was rubbing off on him now through their thought connection. Maybe that was why he had decked himself out so impressively. Winter was coming to an end; the cold air filled his lungs and he smiled again when he heard and smelled the familiar sounds and scents of the Eastern Forest. He slowly turned around on his own axis and enjoyed the warm familiar feelings that the trees and Falk’s hut released in him. The mighty firs all around seemed to provide a protective roof over the little wooden hut and the bright rays of winter sun made the snow on its roof sparkle hypnotically.

  He had taken his first steps as an apprentice to a Forest Guardian here, and it was from here he had left the previous year on a dangerous journey to be appointed a Paladin of the gods. There had been times over the last few moons when he had been certain he would never see the Forest Guardian’s hut again. He had barely escaped death on more than one occasion and his quest for the three Einhans had led him farther and farther away from Deepstone. But finally he had found the advocates for his Naming, and they had completed the ritual whereby he had been named Paladin and been granted the gifts of the THREE.

  Two of them, at any rate, because he still hadn’t received the armour and weaponry of HIM, WHO IS. The first gift had certainly put him at his ease: HE, WHO MOULDS had protected Ahren’s spirit and body from any outside influence. Gone was the danger that the Adversary or anyone else could force his way into his head and tinker about with his thoughts and emotions.

  Well, apart from Culhen, he thought wearily while his thoughts were being abused by an insistent hunger, which was clearly coming from a wolf source.

  You’ll get something soon, he assured the animal, and Culhen licked his chops in anticipation.

  The second gift he had received was the magnificent wolf as his companion animal, a gift from HER, WHO FEELS – although Ahren thought a little bit of cheating had been involved there. After all, it was he himself who had saved the Blood Wolf single-handedly from the control of the dark god when the wolf was a whelp. And now he was getting it as a gift from the goddess?

  Culhen whimpered at the thought and Ahren quickly stroked the animal’s head. If he were honest with himself, he wouldn’t swap the wolf for any companion animal in the world, not even for a dragon or a griffin.

  Reassured, Culhen scurried off into the undergrowth and Ahren sensed through their spiritual connection that he was chasing a rabbit who had foolishly ventured too near the forest path. While Culhen was catching his light breakfast, which would be followed no doubt by a little well-deserved nap, Ahren continued on his way toward his home village. A few things had happened since their arrival in Deepstone.

  Uldini had taken full advantage of his status of course and within half a day the mayor, who’d been caught on the hop, had offered the Arch Wizard, along with Trogadon and Jelninolan, accommodation in his own house, while he suddenly found himself retiring to the little hut for visitors to the village – his own home suddenly bursting with celebrities.

  The tavern bustled every day now with curious villagers listening in as Trogadon endlessly and unashamedly told of his adventures. He spoke of his days as a mercenary, and he wasn’t afraid to exaggerate as he imbibed vast amounts of beer, laughing and singing dwarf drinking songs. His fellow travellers were eternally grateful to the warrior for drawing all the villagers’ attention to himself. This meant that they hardly had to answer any questions and could recover their energy in peace. The dwarf, on the other hand, was so full of joie-de-vivre that he thoroughly enjoyed his unofficial role and his consequent success with the ladies of Deepstone. More than one jealous admirer of the now distracted ladies had wanted to give the dwarf warrior a thrashing, only to end up with a bloody nose which was then stanched by the winter snow. The dwarf’s standing rose further among the villagers when he shared his knowledge of dwarf architecture. He taught them how to make up a new mortar mixture which enabled them to insulate the walls to such an extent that at last the threat of the Blue Death was consigned to history.

  The excitement over the new arrivals gradually died down during the following weeks and although the tavern was still full every night and the dwarf’s arms never empty, the sheen surrounding the travellers had mostly faded away.

  Ahren had really enjoyed the winter. The weeks had flown by and he had spent his time either sitting with h
is old friends or keeping up with his training.

  The wizards may have had to have their rest but Falk had quickly made it clear to his protégé that the same did not apply to him. ‘You didn’t perform any magic, so you don’t get a break’, was the only thing he said on the topic before shooing Ahren off hither and yon through the snowy Eastern Forest. The old man had created an obstacle course and painted targets on tree trunks all around the forest. Then he had used an hourglass to check the time that Ahren needed to run the courses and at the same time hit all the targets with his arrows. These training sessions were interspersed with swordplay practice where Khara constantly gave him a sound hiding, much to the wonder of the village boys.

  Now that spring was almost upon them everything fell into a certain routine. Uldini and Jelninolan had almost completely recovered, Trogadon was still living it up, and Ahren spent his time either with his friends or training. The only annoying thing was that Holken and Likis both insisted that he bring Khara to their meet-ups, and they were constantly trying to outdo each other in impressing the girl. Much to Ahren’s displeasure, Khara seemed to enjoy their attention and in one afternoon she smiled more often at his friends than she had in the previous half a year.

  Ahren blinked in surprised when he reached the edge of Deepstone. His thoughts had preoccupied him all the way to the village and now he saw the liveliness of the little hamlet as it slowly awoke from its winter slumber. A lead-grey sky hung over the Eastern Forest, warning of a heavy snowfall, but it hadn’t struck yet and everyone in the village was hopeful that the cloud would move on without incident. And so, inventories were checked, the first deals were made for jobs to be done early on in the year, and here and there busy hammering could be heard. Friendly faces greeted him wherever he walked, and the apprentice noticed that some shyly averted their eyes when he gave them a friendly hello. He still hadn’t got used to his new-found status as Paladin, and it was clear that some of the villagers were finding it even harder to come to terms with his new position. Ahren had received over a dozen apologies from embarrassed-looking fellows who had made his life hell when he was younger. The young Paladin found the first few apologies refreshing, but with the later ones he simply interrupted the repentant youths, assured them that further speaking was unnecessary and forgave them.