The Brazen City Page 4

  Although it would have been more sensible for Ahren to ration his breathing, he couldn’t help whooping with joy. Falk had surpassed himself with his choice of course. The route led them over fallen trees and under snow-covered branches which threatened to punish them at the slightest contact with their freezing loads. The old Forest Guardian’s signs led them through thorny bushes and even over a frozen pond, testing their steeplechase skills to the utmost. That in itself was challenging enough, but with every manoeuvre Ahren had the bow in his hand and an arrow at the ready, preparing for the next target that had to be hit. In this respect too, his master had shown an unerring instinct. There were targets that truly tested Khara to the limit when she had to pull herself upwards or leap off branches to hit them. Ahren was able to hit those ones as quickly as he spotted them, and so he would pull ahead of the agile girl. But then there were the targets that were hidden at ground level or concealed behind an obstacle. Here Ahren would be forced to spend more time, slowing down, and swinging his bow around at the last moment while Khara swung her blade over her head and downward in a flowing movement, leaving a tiny score on the target as she raced past. And so, the two were forced into constantly varying their speed, and Falk had masterfully ensured that they wouldn’t hit each other in their enthusiasm, as they were always focussing on different targets.

  All in all, it was simply wonderful to be running through the winter forest, spurred on by the swordsgirl who was sometimes a step ahead of him, sometimes a step behind, but always forcing him to stretch himself to the limit.

  Ahren heard a loud howling in his head as Culhen awoke from his digestive nap, sensed his master’s joie-de-vivre and reciprocated in his own manner. It wasn’t long before the wolf was running beside him, open-mouthed and with his tongue lolling. Ahren’s heart was ready to burst with joy. The clear forest air in his lungs, his loyal friend beside him and in his head, the sound of the leaves as he ducked between them, all these combined into a magnificent feeling, everything melting together into a perfect experience as man and wolf raced as one through the snow-covered Eastern Forest.

  Five marked trees later and they had completed the course, with the feeling of elation being replaced by mild exhaustion. The apprentice collapsed on the ground and embraced his wolf, who wagged his tail, licked his master’s face repeatedly and called out in Ahren’s mind again and again Hunt?Play!

  Khara joined them after only a few paces, leaned her body over, placed her hands on her knees for support and gasped for air. ‘Your...endurance...is good’, she panted.

  Ahren tried to grin broadly at her but only succeeded in grimacing terribly as he continued to gasp. ‘But on the other hand...you’re faster...than me’, he managed to say before he ran out of breath.

  Khara nodded in agreement, but then frowned and looked around. ‘Where’s Likis?’

  They found the unfortunate merchant’s son two hours later. He had overlooked a marking and then got hopelessly lost. He was perched sullenly on a stump of a tree and was singing a song about villainous friends in the forest. Doubtless he had composed it while he was waiting.

  Ahren felt a wave of guilt for a brief moment. They had abandoned Likis and left him to get hopelessly lost while they had battled it out between themselves. But it didn’t take him long to realise that his guileful friend was really milking the situation. He had linked arms with Khara after explaining to her how exhausted he was following his solitary search in the forest.

  Ahren scowled and led the little group back to Deepstone, while Likis held on tightly to Khara, who was laughing.

  Culhen could feel his master’s annoyance and looked at Likis while licking his chops. Bite? he asked Ahren in his head.

  Khara gave another peal of laughter, and Ahren considered for a brief moment how he should answer the wolf.

  They were freezing by the time they arrived at Falk’s hut. The wind had freshened, and Ahren predicted that there would be a heavy snowfall later that evening.

  ‘Come in with me for a moment. You’ll catch your death of cold if you go the rest of the way without a break’, said the apprentice.

  Khara and Likis stepped inside gratefully, and Ahren quickly followed, closing the door behind him to prevent the warmth from the hearth escaping. He hadn’t extinguished the embers when he had left the hut that morning but had made sure it would stay alight as Falk had taught him, so that the heat was retained throughout the day. It wasn’t particularly warm in the Forest Guardian’s dwelling, but in comparison to the temperatures in the forest it was quite cosy.

  It wasn’t long before Ahren had the fire blazing and gestured to the others that they should gather around it. Likis had sweated profusely earlier and then rapidly cooled down on their return journey. Ahren did not want to be responsible for his friend becoming ill.

  Of course, Likis would get Khara to nurse him back to health! - the thought flashed through Ahren’s mind. He forced himself to think of something else and turned his attention to Culhen. The wolf was still cavorting in the forest snow, and if Ahren couldn’t really see through his eyes, he was slowly getting better at reading the impressions that the animal was sending him. He smiled when he perceived that Culhen was chasing snowflakes but gave a start when Likis suddenly addressed him.

  ‘What’s it like, being able to sense him?’ asked his friend curiously. Ahren heard an air of wistfulness in the young man’s voice and for a moment he wondered if his friend was envious of his new ability.

  ‘It’s hard to explain’, began the apprentice haltingly. He hardly understood how it worked himself, and now he was supposed to explain it to others? Likis and Khara looked at him curiously as he struggled for the right words. ‘It’s as if Culhen is in my head and I’m in his. If I concentrate, I can read his thoughts – well, at least what the little whippersnapper considers to be thoughts.’ An offended howl resounded in the forest and Ahren winced guiltily. ‘The same applies to him of course, as you can hear. His new understanding is still very young, the magical connection still has to grow, but Falk says he’s clever enough that sometime I’ll be able to communicate with him normally.’

  ‘So you can send information to each other?’ asked Likis doubtfully. Ahren realised that his friend couldn’t really follow him. The apprentice felt a stabbing pain in his chest as he understood his world was different to his friend’s in that one respect. They might well remain friends forever, but Ahren saw a distance in the eyes of the merchant that hadn’t been there before.

  ‘It’s more than that. We can always sense what the other is feeling. We really have to make the effort to suppress that sensation, and it’s exhausting at the moment and not particularly successful. Falk says we have to keep practising, but sometimes I’d really like to have my head to myself.’

  Ahren sensed Culhen’s immediate offended snort but was too concerned with responding to Likis’s reaction. Ahren could clearly see in his facial gestures how his understanding was trying to make sense of the rules governing Ahren’s new life.

  ‘So it’s like the two of us devising some prank or other? One of us always knew what the other was thinking’, he finally said with his famous half-smile, which only reached one corner of his mouth.

  Ahren laughed out loud with relief. Likis’s nimble spirit translated the apprentice’s words into a picture he could comprehend, and the young Forest Guardian gratefully jumped on the idea.

  Soon they were relating to Khara the pranks they had got up to in Deepstone, and before long it seemed as if the moment of alienation had never occurred.

  Falk arrived back in the hut late that evening only to find three figures sitting at his hearth and so engrossed in conversation that they hardly noticed him. Likis and Ahren had persuaded Khara to tell them of one of her fights in the arena, and the girl had now trusted them enough to accede to their request and was now basking in the amazed looks of the young men.

  Falk smiled but then his eyes fell on the almost empty pot of venison stew which he had p
repared for the week, and whose miserable remnants barely covered the bottom.

  ‘Boy’, he growled, ‘have you eaten up all the stew?’

  Ahren spun around as if he’d been bitten by a Needle Spider and looked into the pot with horror. ‘Ehm...to be honest I didn’t really notice. It tasted so good and... we were...so hungry...’ The apprentice’s voice faded away to nothing as the old man’s face darkened.

  ‘So, you decided that you would reward my hard work in setting up the obstacle course by gobbling up all my provisions for the week?’ His master’s voice had become so deep and ominous that Ahren believed he could feel it reverberate in his bones.

  The three young people looked at each other in embarrassment, but Falk only threw his arms in the air and stomped out into the night.

  ‘I’d better go out and shoot a stag so I can prepare another stew. That will calm him down again’, said Ahren hastily.

  ‘Now? In the middle of the night?’ asked Likis in disbelief.

  Ahren nodded. ‘The best way of apologising to Falk is by owning up to your mistake and then making up for it.’ He turned to Khara. ‘Can you make sure Likis gets home safely?’

  She nodded, but Likis sat up angrily. ‘If anything, it’ll be me bringing Khara safely home. That’s how it goes.’

  Ahren suppressed a grin as Khara buckled on Wind Blade with deliberate slowness and murmured, ‘if you say so.’

  Likis sensibly left it at that, and they said their goodbyes. Ahren trotted out into the dark forest while Khara and Likis headed back to Deepstone.

  That left Falk, grumpy and growly and venting his spleen at greedy young people in general, and thankless apprentices in particular. He stamped back into the hut and proceeded to scrape out the remaining stew from the bottom of the pot.

  Chapter 3

  The night was deep and the moon only a faint memory behind the rolling clouds, whose icy load had covered the landscape that evening in a thick blanket of shimmering new snow. Visibility was severely hampered and Ahren could barely make out the outlines of things ahead of him. If it weren’t for the powdery snow crunching under his steps, which reflected the faint moonlight the young man would have no chance at all of a successful hunt.

  Hunting? Culhen had absorbed his thoughts, and Ahren couldn’t help smiling when he identified the wolf’s joy and excitement as the animal eagerly awaited the young Forest Guardian’s response.

  Yes, we’re going hunting, answered Ahren solemnly. This would be their first hunt together since they had become connected, and somehow this still and snow-filled night seemed ideal to the fledgling Paladin.

  Culhen’s nose immediately turned upwind. After a few sniffs he sent Ahren an image of a hare and sank his nose in the direction of the scent.

  Joyfully surprised, the young man tickled the wolf’s fur.

  Well done, big lad. But we need something more impressive to satisfy Falk, he thought regretfully.

  Culhen whimpered quietly and cocked his head as if he didn’t fully understand what Ahren wanted to tell him.

  The apprentice thought for a moment and then sent the animal the image of a stag. The wolf understood immediately. His nose in the air, he ran ahead of Ahren, and the two of them went further into the heart of the Eastern Forest.

  It had to be around midnight when the wolf suddenly stopped and cocked his head.

  Do you smell a stag? asked Ahren hopefully. He was frozen and tired, and the romance of their first hunt together had diminished considerably. He just wanted to get it over with quickly so he could return home to a warm fire.

  All thoughts of a comfortable hunt faded when the wolf responded. No stag...rotten. Dead. And the young animal perceived a fear and confusion that gave Ahren the feeling that the scent was new to his friend and didn’t fit into any system of hunting that the wolf understood.

  He knew of only one thing that might smell like that to the predator.

  Dark Ones.

  Ahren hesitated and considered the situation. Should they follow the scent on their own or would it be better to get help? The dark Eastern Forest suddenly seemed much less familiar and much more dangerous to him, and suddenly Ahren wished he had the calm self-confidence that Falk always radiated when he was out in the wilderness. The memory of his master’s mood settled it. If Ahren asked for help without knowing what Culhen had discovered, his master would certainly be far from impressed. But if he were to return with a detailed report concerning how many and what kinds of Dark Ones there were, and where there stomping ground was, well then, the old man would simply have to forgive him his transgression regarding the venison stew.

  He squared his shoulders and took his bow from his back. It was a done deal: he and Culhen would hunt down the Dark One. The wolf reacted with cautious enthusiasm, took up the strange scent again and purposefully led Ahren northwards through the snow-covered trees.

  The night was almost half over when Culhen reported that the smell of death and putrefaction was becoming ever stronger. By now Ahren’s nose had smelled the rotten stench too, and he had tied a cloth over his nose so that he wouldn’t retch. Culhen kept looking up at him pleadingly, and finally the young Forest Guardian understood and told the animal to stop. Culhen pressed in against him thankfully and then rolled up into a ball, his nose in the fur of his tail, so that he could have a little relief from the appalling stench. Me ensure drawback, he said slyly, and Ahren hesitated for a moment. Had his wolf just cracked a joke?

  He suppressed the question and concentrated on their prey. The wolf had led him out of the Eastern Forest and to the little lake north of Deepstone, where it lay in a low valley, surrounded by wheat fields now dormant in their well-deserved winter sleep.

  The Dark One had to be somewhere nearby, and the way in which its aroma penetrated over a wide area gave Ahren an idea of what he might be following. The stench became so intense that Ahren’s eyes streamed and he felt as if he were standing in front of a mountain of bloated cadavers on a humid summer’s day, and so he dropped down onto the cool carpet of snow and crawled slowly towards the edge of the depression and the smell of fermenting death. The black of the night was normally a problem for hunters, but Ahren was using it to his advantage now. At least if he was on the right track. If he was mistaken, then he would probably be in trouble. A Fog Cat could use his present conduct to its advantage and, as Ahren was in a vulnerable position, slice open his veins within a couple of heartbeats. Ahren pushed the unpleasant images out of his head. No Fog Cat would tolerate such a stench, and just as he was calming himself down with this thought, he caught sight of what he had hoped to see. Barely two hundred paces north was a solitary baleful point of light, which was undoubtedly being emitted from a glimmering red eye. Ahren was overwhelmed by feelings of both relief and fear. He was certain he had found a Pallid Frog, one of the three sub-species of Grave Frogs. They all shared the same horrendous smell, and their skin secreted a highly poisonous substance whose fumes could be dangerous even at a distance of some paces. The Pallid Frog was the least harmful of the three. At least in close combat, thought Ahren, correcting himself. Pallid Frogs were usually precursors to the appearance of many Dark Ones in a swathe of land. The frog-like creature, one pace in diameter and with a pallid white body containing a single large eye on its back, liked to borrow into muddy banks where it would gradually befoul the waters and the surrounding ground with its secretions. Other Dark Ones from miles around could smell the contamination and were drawn towards it. And so, healthy fields, meadows and forests would be quickly transformed into nothing less than death zones through the influence of several Pallid Frogs. Ahren swallowed hard when he considered what disaster would befall Deepstone if the creature was left alive to carry out its baleful work undisturbed. A failure of the following year’s crop would be the very least of the evils that might occur.

  Ahren quickly took his bow from his shoulder and raised it upward just far enough to be able to shoot an arrow. Pallid Frogs buried themselves deep int
o the water-bed at the first sign of danger, and this one could only be up on the bank out of necessity. The creatures absorbed moonlight once a night, which they needed in the production of their vile secretions. This one clearly felt safe enough in the middle of the night and in the depths of winter. For this reason, it had broken through the thin layer of ice on the bank of the lake, and now it was perched, with its snow-white body half on land and its worm-like legs still floating in the water.

  Ahren placed an arrow on the bowstring, which he tautened into the shooting position. He sought out the Void but only found Culhen, whose hunting instincts were distracting the apprentice and urging him on at the same time. The wood of the bow creaked in his hand as he increased the tension further with his arms. His muscles were burning as he quietly aimed at the red point and brought the tip of the arrow into the correct trajectory. He released the bowstring, and the projectile flew in a precise arc towards the red eye. At the last moment, however, the Pallid Frog sensed the danger it was in and Ahren saw the red point of light jerk to the side before his arrow slammed with a satisfied squishing sound into the flesh of the froglike creature. Ahren cursed and swiftly pulled another arrow out of his quiver while the creature let forth a hissing wheeze. There was no time for finesse now – the Pallid Frog would dive down in a second and bury itself somewhere deep in the slime. Without hesitation, Ahren shot off a hail of arrows towards where he could barely make out the almost closed eye, and only when his hand grasped thin air and he realised all his arrows had been used up, did he pause for a moment.

  Panting from his efforts, Ahren listened for any other sounds in the night air. The eye was no more to be seen, and Ahren couldn’t be sure if the unholy light of the Dark One had been extinguished forever, or if the animal had found refuge in the lake. A cloud had covered the moon, leaving the apprentice to listen anxiously.