The City of Cutthroats

Torsten Weitze The City of Cutthroats The Thirteenth Paladin Volume XI Translated by Tim Casey Proof Reader: James Bryan Copy Editor: Neil McCourt For all those who need new courage – it is never too late when you pluck up the courage And remember – there is nothing more enjoyable than experiencing a story for the first time www.tweitze.de www.facebook.com/t.weitze Instagram: Torsten_weitze © Torsten Weitze. Krefeld 2023 Picture: Petra Rudolf / www.dracoliche.de German editor/proof reader: Janina Klinck / www.lectoreena.de Table of content Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Epilogue Prologue The speckled shafts of Eathinian light seemed to shine into Ahren’s very soul. The almost palpable aura radiated by the northern elves’ blessed forest was so pure and unsullied that it even penetrated the very gloom of Ahren’s innermost thoughts, like a balm healing the deepest of wounds. Every breath he took in this place reminded the Paladin of what they were fighting for. Of what they were dying for, he corrected himself. Culhen’s wet muzzle pushed against his right ear as the loyal wolf nudged him. Don’t slip away again, warned his friend. The boy doesn’t deserve that. Ahren nodded, a crooked smile playing across his lips. He almost felt as though the wolf with his silent accusation had caught him red-handed. He carefully examined the scene around him from his position on the Elven bridge of cloth. He had to be hiding somewhere here, Ahren was sure of that, and the fact that he hadn’t immediately spotted the lad made him hopeful, temporarily silencing the constant sense of foreboding that was afflicting him. Artfully woven Elven treehouses, also made from cloth, hung among the enormous trees that dominated this region of Eathinian. Ahren had never been so far east in Evergreen before, and the raw charm in this part of the forest surprised him. According to Jelninolan, the trees that were in the majority here were the same ones that flourished on the edge of the Icy Vasts. Thus, despite the mild climate, there were many conifers in amongst the enormous oaks and beeches where the elves had made their lodgings. As always, the cloth houses of the nature-loving folk seemed in harmony with the individual characteristics of the trees from which they hung, but to Ahren they seemed emptier and more deserted than before. There are so many elves in the war, commented Culhen gently. Please stop brooding over death and decay. You must pull yourself together. For the lad’s sake. Ahren clenched his fists and shook his head. It’s so hard to do, he admitted. As hard as it is to find him? teased the wolf provocatively. The Paladin redoubled his efforts, trying to catch sight of the boy who had been driving him to distraction for almost two moons now. He leaned out over the stretched material, far enough so that he could look straight down, but all that he could make out were his friends standing together below and laughing. Their merriment seemed out of place to him. After all, it was only a few weeks ago that Blazing Eyes had… They have experienced such things before, said Culhen gently. Nothing like this, responded the Forest Guardian bitterly. He peered down at Jelninolan and Trogadon, who were standing beside each other, holding hands almost shyly. The majestic elf and the stocky dwarf seemed as different from each other as any two beings could be. Their love for each other was a sign to Ahren that the impossible sometimes was possible. But even miracles have their limits, he shuddered, as the unwelcome reservation came into his head. Be grateful for the miracle that you were presented with, said Culhen patiently. The wolf looked down at Khara, and Ahren could see through the canine’s eyes how relaxed she seemed, and how beautiful. A ceremonial Elven cape was an experimental new addition to her Deep Steel Robe and her imperial sash, the new pure-white material appearing so finely woven that it seemed as if the slightest breeze would surely cause it to tear. She and Jelninolan were involved in a lively discussion. Doubtless they were going through the various details of the following day’s festivities. Something that you should be doing too, said Culhen, reminding his friend. It won’t be long until autumn. The sun is already beginning to set. Ahren looked down at Khara for a heartbeat longer, then his eyes move on to Falk, Uldini, Fisker, Lanlion…so many of them had come here to be present for the next day’s event. He knew that this should have pleased him, but the heavy cloud that hung over his thoughts simply refused to dissipate. They want to celebrate life, added Culhen. So please stop lending death your ear. Ahren glanced sideways at the wolf. Have you been eavesdropping on Lanlion over the last while? asked the Forest Guardian with a hint of amusement. Puh! retorted the animal with a snort. His manner of speaking has been getting more and more bombastic over the past few days that even the bards have made a run for it. His cold body contains a veritable bonfire of poetry. Ahren rubbed his eyes and looked around again. A few paces away were a handful of young elves, waiting patiently for Culhen to make himself available for them again. Otherwise, the Forest Guardian could only make out leaves, thick branches, and the sky, speckled with wispy clouds, with shafts of light shining down from around the treetop, which stood proudly to attention ten paces above his head. Ahren looked down at the branches near his feet that marked the position. The young Forest Guardian was in the right place alright – yet there was no sign of him. Very well, he said as he sighed