Chapter 3

"By the ideas! By Diersa!" Tomga's eyes opened so wide you would have thought his skull wanted to split in two. The elf was stuck in place, not moving a muscle, instead gazing up into the vastness of Badazan. "That... how... that's... that's..."

"One of the main streets. And that's why we don't stand around here for too long, otherwise people will bump into us or take a liking to our bags." Seroin pulled the broad elf steadily to the side of the wide street, his weight slowly crushing her strength and her muscles groaning for a break. Gently, she helped him onto a bench and stretched her burning arms.

"The towers ... like ... and ... in the air." Tomga was still clinging to the picture in front of him as if he had been enchanted forever.

The free and beautiful city of Badazan stretched as far as a mortal eye could see. Built in a circle, it was protectively surrounded by high city walls, with canals running like veins through its streets. Massive main avenues opened up into side streets, which flowed into narrow side paths, which were lost in dark corners. The foundations of the city were the countless rows of straight and colourfully decorated walls, some rotten and old, others freshly planted.

But between them, at regular and not very long intervals, rose the columned towers of Badazan. Mighty bodies of solid stone, wide and long like a castle, high like a mountain itself. Some of their outer walls were closed and hid their interior, while others could be seen into like a chicken coop. The columned towers grew taller and more beautiful the closer they were built to the centre of the city.

The law of hecticness prevailed on the streets. But all the colours and sounds blurred into a strangely rhythmic picture. The streets were dominated by mortals of all sizes, colours, widths and ages.

The slender and elegant elves wore ornate earrings in their long pointed ears, and on their bodies hung either imposing fabrics from tall houses or the rags of street thieves.

The small but sturdy dwarves flaunted beard hairstyles of various kinds, some proudly presented the steel from their homeland, others carried mechanical handicrafts around with them.

The sturdy and sometimes hairy orcs moved jerkily through the alleyways, many of them in typical tribal leather costumes, others in fine merchants' robes, their tusks adorned with small golden rings and their eyes trained to deal with numbers.

They were surrounded by countless faces, sounds and movements, as if life itself was trumpeting in the alleyways.

People called out to each other, shouted at each other, voices emphasised new goods and safe trade, others sought strong craftsmen and helpers. Many shouters stood on the firm benches at the side of the main street and hurled their words over the vast crowd. Shouts of pickpocketing were followed by laughter of glee, whispered offers of immoral acts or goods were usually waved away with a wave of the hand.

The hustle and bustle took over the entire streets of the city, but so did its sky. Elongated stone platforms flew back and forth between the towers. Their surfaces were smooth, their floors reminiscent of the basin of a ship. Figures stood on their metal railings and stared down at the tangle of the city from above. Some of these platforms were inhabited by just one person, others were full of people. One figure was always recognisable, lingering behind a kind of stone table and directing the movement of the platform. Judging by their bored posture, for folk from Badazan this type of flight only harboured the excitement of a slow carriage ride.

"Mrs ... Seroin ... I mean ... how?" Tomga shakily tried to raise a hand, but Seroin grabbed it and helped him to his feet.

"I'm not a master builder. I don't know." She clutched his body, dragging him along. "And gather your composure. This quarter is one of the nicer ones."

"This quarter?" Tomga stood rooted to the spot and clutched his mouth in amazement. "There's... there's more than... than..."

"Correct. You came from the east. This is the Ieswibe quarter. A nice introduction to the city, lots of trade, lots of people and hustle and bustle, but clean streets and few false eyes. To the south is the Sagvi quarter and the Willow quarter. Willow grows crops and provides food, rather less exciting, but there are said to be a few good pubs there. Sagvi, on the other hand, is less clean, but full of honest people."

She pointed her head to the north. "The Lieb quarter is to the north. Good for partying and numbing powder, you can quickly forget the time there. Narrow alleyways, good invitations, few clothes, lots of skin. Next to it is the Magic quarter."

"Magic quarter! In a city like this, you have to..."

"We're not going there. Never. Every pair of eyes there is hungry for possessions, blades are waiting around every corner. There's been a new gang there for a few months now, they call themselves Young Harvest. It was already unpleasant before, now it's no longer passable."

"And that?" Tomga pointed to the centre of the city. There, the houses were enthroned much higher and finer, with the city's largest colossus rising even further in the centre. It consisted of countless narrow, tall towers that snuggled up against each other and ran upwards until only a single spire remained. It looked as if they were helping each other up. Or trying to pull down the next highest, to pull themselves up.

"There lies the neighbourhood called The First. Old town before the expansion. Old and rich. People like us can't get in there. Well, like me. You're a war hero." Seroin stared at the colossus in the centre. Its tip gleamed sharply, as if it were already chastising her eyes for the look. "This is the heart of Badazan. The tower called The True One. That's where the councils and conferences sit, the city's administrators."

"Your king? What man rules your city at this time?"

"King? We..." Seroin had just started when a bright light flashed in front of them and an image formed in the sky.

Almost 50 paces high and with shimmering, distorted light, the illusion of an orc in a white coat appeared. His image could be recognised in semi-focus, you could even see something through him.

"Fever? Plague? Sore or simply tired? Whatever ails you, you will find healing in the hospitals of the Ringa family. Whether it's blood cleansing or a spell against sleep, here we will make you the way you were meant to be. Be tested today and begin a life without torment of the body. I am Borf Ringa and that is what I stand for with my tusks!"

After these words, the illusion began to flicker and finally disappeared completely. A glance downwards showed the deeply yawning man who had apparently cast the illusion from a huge glass sphere into the sky. He pocketed the sphere, pulled out a list, put a cross in one place and trotted off to his next destination.

"That was... I've never seen such powerful illusion magic, never! What..." Tomga began to sway and Seroin pushed him back onto the bench.

"Acting for the Ringas. Their shops aren't doing so well, apparently they need A.M.I.s. Sure you can go on?" Seroin scrutinised the elf and a twitch on her brow showed her dwindling patience.

Tomga was just about to look at her when another tall illusion shot out of the rushed crowd.

Now we saw an elderly man with a fine grey beard and dark green robes.

"The Zweimeer family only has you and your worries on their minds. Food on the table? Safety at home? How do friends, even your own family, talk about you? Clear up all these questions with one decision. The inspector programme. Enrol today and become a proud protector of the city of Badazan. Magic aptitude desired, not necessary."

Once again, the image disappeared back into a glass sphere, this time carried by a young girl surrounded by her friends. The group was clearly not interested in the illusion, but rather in a slender elven boy on a bench nearby

He tweaked his fingers with a knife, regularly brushing his strands behind his pointed ears. Then he gave the girls a cheeky look and the group all scurried down the street, giggling, the ball-bearer quickly putting a cross on a piece of paper.

"Badazan has no king. We have councils and boards, committees and meetings. And in all of these you will always find members of one of the three great families of Badazan. You've already seen Ringa and Zweimeer." Seroin scrutinised Tomga's leg. "We can't get through the city like this. We need a healer. You're a mage, aren't you?"

Tomga found it difficult to pull himself away from the spectacle before him. "Yes ... I was a battle mage under the great Arabara, I ..."

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

"Very good, then this won't cost me any A.M.I. Come on, let's find the nearest healer, I know someone." Seroin was about to support him again, but the man just stared at her in amusement.

"My wounds are over 100 years old, inflicted by the forces of Defala itself. They cut deep into my flesh. Demigods and omniscient spirits could not help me. You want to do me good. I am grateful to you for that, and I do not want to steal your fresh hope. But you can't give me any more."

Seroin rolled his eyes in annoyance. "No. I'll just buy it for you."

"It ... it's gone ... my flesh." Tomga jumped off the gurney in the middle of the small room and reached down his leg in disbelief. "The scars ... the tears. Everything ... all gone. It looks like I've just been born ... I ... I can walk again ..." Thick tears gathered in his eyes and he didn't know who to cry to.

Next to him stood Seroin and a dwarf, still holding the thin fork. "He's standing, as promised. So. A.M.I.s!" The healer threw down the fork and stomped over to a basin of water, washing his fingers in it. "Because its you, three A.M.I.s."

Seroin puffed angrily "Marz! Three? For the simple stuff in his veins?" She gestured wildly over to Tomga.

The latter was still standing in the centre of the room, still completely distraught. "I can again... I can again... I..."

"You and I both know it'll cost a full A.M.I. at most, nothing more. And I know how you get yours, without any authorisation."

Marz jerked his coarse skull towards Seroin with narrow eyes, his curly black hair shaking with rage. "You know how much the taps here charge? Insolence, through and through."

"Exactly. Authorisations are only exchanged between friends. We know the game. But. He's a mage. Tap you two A.M.I.s here and all is well, yes?" Seroin slowly wandered around the dwarf, her expression part playful begging, part smile.

"Stupid thing! Two. Fair." Marz hurried back to Tomga and pushed him back onto the stretcher. As he did so, he batted away the arms of the elf, who tried to hug him.

"By Diersa! By all ideas. You are a miracle, a gift of being, a child of love, a..."

"Shut up. And not a word to anyone." Marz waved towards the door. "Lock up, now."

Seroin scurried to the door and took another cautious look outside. Marz's house was so tangled and winding in the alleyways of the Ieswibe quarter, you would have thought it was hiding from an angry creditor. She locked the door. "You're good to go."

Marz rummaged around under the stretcher and dug out a twisted, metallic tube, at the end of which lurked a round, spiked mouth. Without asking too many questions, he grabbed one of Tomga's arms and pressed the jagged mouth deep into the elf's skin.

He was still holding back his tears of joy, but now he hissed. "A word ... of warning ... there's already ... something burning."

The dwarf nodded absently. "Two A.M.I.s from his blood. Takes a little while, but that's the price."

Seroin nodded and pointed behind the stretcher to a small hatch. "Why don't you get us a quick schnapps while we wait? That's only fair with two A.M.I.s." After the dwarf left the treatment room with a murmur, she looked down at Tomga. "Over in a moment. And payment for the cure, it's worth it to you, isn't it?"

The elf began to whimper with thanks again. "Have so much thanks, Seroin, I can't put it into words. To Diersa herself." With glazed eyes, he scrutinised the twisted tube on his arm. "What... What am I paying for here?"

Seroin pointed to a small, glass cylinder in the centre of the tube. "A.M.I.s. You pay for everything in the city with them. And you get them from magical blood. This thing here filters and distils your magical blood into an A.M.I." She brought forward a similar small cylinder and held it up. The little light in the room nevertheless showed the deep red liquid contents inside. "Can be used for many things. Magical devices, strengthening your own spells or various alchemies. But for most people, it's simply a good form of payment."

She tapped briefly on the tube in Tomga's arm. "Actually, you need a licence for A.M.I. tapping. But some people don't take that too seriously. I'd advise you to keep your hands off it. There are plenty of people who mix A.M.I. with numbing powder and shoot themselves into another world for days on end. Not healthy." She quickly replaced the cylinder in the tube with an empty one of her own. "I'll take the liberty. Tell me if you get dizzy. Tapping costs a lot of blood."

For all her words, Tomga just stared at her in confusion, scrutinising the small cylinder in her hands like a foreign object she had never noticed. "The city ... everyone agrees on this ..."

"Sure, it's also practical. What do you pay with in the ... Cold belly was it?"

The elf averted his eyes in shame. "We barter. Swap what we think is fair, what we think is just. Tying everything to one thing seems ... easier."

"It is." Seroin swapped the cylinder again and placed the tapped A.M.I. next to Tomga on the stretcher. "It gives the mages here a lot of power. If they know how to use it. Fools among them like to be boxed in. Must be avoided."

"Boxed in?"

"Forget it. Just don't wave your A.M.I.s or magical abilities around too carelessly. Wrong eyes, wrong times." Seroin took the cylinder out of the tube again and pulled it roughly out of his flesh. Then she placed the A.M.I. in his hands. "Look, there on the edge. Seal of its authenticity and cone with authorisation."

With great difficulty, Tomga recognised the small lines on the edge of the cylinder. "Acute magical infusion?"

"Exactly. A.M.I., that is." Seroin sauntered to the hatch in the back room and knocked roughly on it. "Not a word to the good Marz. We've tapped two here, not three, alright?" She grinned at Tomga.

"Ready? My payment." Marz grabbed an A.M.I. from her hands and one from Tomga's. "Good, ready. Now get out of here. And not a word to anyone."

"You still deserve my thanks, my deepest honour and my ..." Tomga was about to begin, but was then pushed roughly out of the room by the dwarf.

"Not a word ... to anyone!"

The sun slowly began to set on the horizon between the mighty columned towers. Its light shone through the broad stone as if it had been de-energised and the numerous magical lights of the city began to take over the night sky. Torches lit up the poorer side streets, the main streets had wide glass canisters from which almost real sunlight flooded steadily, at least just as warm. But the night did not put an end to Badazan's hustle and bustle; the hectic pace of work was replaced by the urge to party.

Seroin and Tomga were sitting on a bench, still in the Ieswibe quarter, less than a thousand paces from the entrance gate to the city. They hadn't made it any further. The elf couldn't stop touching his leg, stroking the new, smooth skin and stretching and twisting it. "None of mine at home will believe it. None of them. One stitch and already, so fast. The creation of the gods never stops giving us miracles."

Seroin leaned back on the bench and stared upwards. Like every night, her eyes found only a dark grey in the sky, the light of Badazan blotting out the stars completely. "Plenty for one day I suppose. Do you have a place to stay?"

Tomga shook his head and tapped the bench. "I slept worse. The wood here will do. I like to sleep under the stars. They say the stars are the eyes of Diersa and she brought me shelter and..."

"Certainly not." With an annoyed groan Seroin pressed an A.M.I. into his hand. "Sagvi quarter. Aderlass. That's the name of the shop. That's where we're going tomorrow. Got it? Find somewhere near here, somewhere with a lot of people. You can sleep out there, not here. Trust me."

"Because it stays too loud? Are you worried about my sleep?"

"Certainly. Find a place to stay. That should be enough. And to the Aderlass tomorrow."

"Seroin. I can't waste too much time. I ..."

She straightened up and stretched her limbs. "You're looking for your sister, I know. Our friend Shiverlip has enlightened me. But to find her, I need a picture. The Aderlass will help us, just trust me"

"I wouldn't leave your side." Now his warm eyes blurred into wetness again and his round face shimmered red with joy. "You gave me healing. You gave me help in my search. I already give you my full trust."

Seroin nodded absently as he gently reached for her hand. "Have you been healed like me? Is that why your face is so smooth and straight? Perfect?"

The woman briefly wanted to tear herself away, the touch was foreign to her, but instead she smiled. "No, but thank you. I learnt early on to spare my features, to keep calm. My face doesn't tell as much as yours."

Tomga smiled half proudly and dug out his A.M.I. "One day and already defying your laws. Like a cheeky bunch of mischievous rascals. What if someone asks about it?"

"Just keep it to yourself. Marz isn't the only one who taps heavily without authorisation. Just keep quiet." She symbolically put her finger to her lips and he giggled like a little boy on his first prank.

"Or he'll be boxed in?" The elf maintained his smile.

But Seroin could only reply to hers in a forced manner, carefully releasing his grip. "Let's hope not. Across the city there are towers and walkways for the public Plattis, by which we mean platforms. They fly from one neighbourhood to another here."

Between all the smaller platforms, you could see larger specimens, about the size of a longboat, flying the same route again and again and stopping at some of the column towers. People stepped on and off the platform there, then it moved on.

"These Plattis cost nothing, just watch your pockets there. You allow yourself more in the air than on the ground." Seroin found something other than enthusiasm in his gaze. "Everything here seems to take your breath away, except the flying Plattis of Badazan."

The elf did not look up, but clutched the hilt of his sword. In a brief pause in the city noise, Seroin heard the clink of his blade in its sheath. "I thank you for the advice. But I'll stay on the ground. I ... can't ... in the Daumaje, in the war, we stood against the forces of the nothing, Defala. His troops were based on the so-called Defa-Olir, ring-shaped flying cities almost as big as this quarter. Too often I stormed ... too often I stood on high ground." The elf uttered a short prayer, incomprehensible to Seroin. "But Diersa thinks and loves. And she guided me to this wonder and to friends like you and Mr Shiverlip. My path is blessed."

Seroin couldn't help but grin sardonically. "The Plattis won't get any bigger than those up there, I promise. But I understand that. Then find your way on foot. Just a little warning. Avoid narrow alleyways, don't stray off the main roads and if anyone asks you about anything, just shake your head. I'll pick you up here tomorrow, right by this bench. Then we'll go to the Aderlass. Enough for today, for you anyway."

Tomga shook his head in amusement. "Strange customs for such a strange city. But all right. I'll be here at sunrise, waiting for you." He tapped the bench again. "And I can't just sleep here? I've slept so often in the dirt, mud and cold. Often surrounded by shivering bodies. Or by dead ones."

Seroin scrutinised his face only briefly and saw it for what it actually was. Scars upon scars, sunken, tired eyes and the features of a man who had seen too much for his life. But Seroin kept her expression indifferent. "I would prefer it, yes. But I can't stop you."

"I'll think about it. It's certainly much better to sleep behind these high city walls than in front of them." Tomga was still playing with the A.M.I. in his hand, but Seroin stared towards the eastern city gate of Badazan. She knew enough people who rested eternally in the ground outside the city walls. And a girl she had put to bed there herself.