The Naming

by Torsten Weitze

  ‘It’s for your own good, and you’re still my magnificent favourite wolf’, he said, trying to cheer up the deeply unhappy Culhen. He threw him a bit of dried rabbit from the provisions he had stored in his saddlebags, and the wolf snatched it out of the air before it could reach the ground. The whining stopped, and now the wolf scampered around Ahren’s horse, barking and begging for more. His master noted to his delight that Culhen’s vanity was outstripped by his gluttony.

  The attack came suddenly in the middle of the night. Figures with smouldering red eyes raced with surprising agility towards them from all sides. When Ahren awoke they were already visible in the light of the campfire, and on top of the travellers. Ahren could see deformed bodies with grimaces distorted in pain, long arms and long legs, all ending in claws. All of the creatures were unique looking, each was terrifying in its own way and yet they all had one thing in common - they had tusks. Nauseated, Ahren noticed that they had eyes where no eye should be, whether on the forehead, behind the ears or even on their shoulders. The same was true for mouths, noses and ears. Even the number of arms, legs and hands seemed to vary from creature to creature.

  Even as the attackers were raising their weapons, Ahren realised what he was looking at. These were Low Fangs, the shock troops of the dark god, people who had fallen under the control of HIM, WHO FORCES, and who had been formed into these monstrosities by the power of HIM.

  Ahren shook off the drowsiness of sleep and let out a cry of warning. But he was already too late. A Low Fang, with tusks like those of a wild boar under three red eyes, sank its crude blade into Jelninolan’s throat with an appalling crunch.

  Ahren’s eyes welled with tears and he sprang forward screaming in rage as he attempted to corner the killer, but two others had already stepped forward from right and left and were raising their ugly swords. He had to leap back quickly to avoid being hit, then at last he drew forth his weapon. He gasped as he saw Uldini and Falk surrounded by ten attackers. His master and the Arch Wizard had just pulled themselves up and a fierce fire was burning between the Uldini’s fingers. Hope burgeoned within Ahren, and with difficulty he parried the threatening blades of the Low Fangs.

  But then the circle of bodies closed in around the old Forest Guardian and the childlike figure, and furiously and insanely, the Low Fangs struck their blades again and again into the centre of the circle.

  Ahren dropped his weapon as if paralysed and stared at the horrific performance in front of him. His assailants smirked at him from their dreadfully distorted faces, and just as he heard in the darkness Culhen cry out in pain and Selsena’s wheezing whinnying, he felt a strange, cold resistance in his chest and his legs gave way beneath him. He looked incredulously at the bloodied blade sticking out through his chest.

  The Low Fang that had crept up behind him yanked the blade back out and a fountain of blood sprang forth from Ahren’s chest. His world darkened, he tumbled to the ground and he could hear the unfamiliar, fragile whispering of an old woman saying to him, ‘wake up’.

  Gasping for breath, Ahren’s eyes shot open and he looked in panic around him.

  This nightmare had been more realistic than any he had experienced before. He felt his chest, which was uninjured and revealed no gaping wound. Culhen grunted in annoyance. The wolf had settled in beside him as he did every night, and the young animal’s digestive sleep was being disturbed. The wolf had been feeling sorry for himself the previous evening and had been comfort eating as a result.

  Relieved to be alive, Ahren couldn’t resist the temptation to look at the others in the weak light of the dying embers. All were sleeping, untouched on their blankets, and slowly the apprentice calmed down.

  ‘Only a bad dream’, he whispered into Culhen’s ear and looked into the darkness with relief. He stroked the wolf’s fur to calm himself down and Culhen grunted again, but this time in contentment, and snuggled in closer to Ahren.

  The previous evening, they had set up camp on a little hill surrounded by a few fallow fields. The local farmers were giving the land time to recover, and so there was only grass and weeds. Ahren had almost dropped off again when he saw a red glimmer flaring up in the darkness.

  The light disappeared as quickly as it had flashed but Ahren’s pulse was now racing. He forced himself to be as cool, calm and collected as his master had taught him, and peered carefully around him, making sure not to look at the campfire but to accustom his eyes to the surrounding darkness. A few heartbeats passed by and then another glimmer flared up briefly, but this time in a different spot.

  Now that he knew what he was looking for, he spotted more of these strange flashes and understood immediately what he was looking at. The eyes of the Low Fangs, who were creeping towards them under cover of darkness.

  His first impulse was to jump up but then he thought better of it. Another of his master’s lessons flashed through his terrified brain. ‘Don’t be a terrified prey who takes flight without thinking when it comes to the crunch. Fight or flight, every situation should be considered rationally before taking the required action. If you don’t know what you’re doing, then your enemy will decide. So the hawk will catch the timorous rabbit. But the clever rabbit will escape the voracious bird of prey. The fate of most battles is decided in the head.’ Falk had explained all this to him one sunny morning while they were crouched down in a field watching a hawk as it hunted.

  If he stood up now, his silhouette would be clearly visible in the weak light of the campfire and their attackers would know they had been discovered. For the moment they were creeping slowly forwards and Ahren hoped to prolong the situation as long as possible. He calculated that the Low Fangs were still at least a hundred paces away and so he had sufficient time to act in a clever and judicious manner. Jelninolan was lying closest to him, hardly two paces away.

  ‘Jelninolan’, he whispered several times as quietly as he could, until the elf opened her eyes. The priestess looked at him sleepily and Ahren put a finger to his lips.

  ‘Low Fangs’, he whispered and made a faint hand movement, indicating that they were surrounded. Jelninolan nodded silently and pointed at Uldini, who was lying beside her, and then back to herself. Ahren gave her a thankful look and began very slowly, and in his lying position, to draw his bow and Windblade into position.

  Culhen was awake at this point and began to growl. Now that the young wolf was no longer asleep, he could sense the Low Fangs. Ahren tapped him gently on the bridge of his nose and the wolf became silent. He looked at his master questioningly and Ahren indicated that he should lie perfectly still. The hunting fever could be seen in the animal’s eyes, but he behaved and waited, crouched on the ground, every muscle tensed, ready to spring into action.

  Jelninolan had in the meantime woken Uldini up, who, with a few little movements, rang an almost inaudible bell sound in the ears of the others. It seemed the others recognised this signal, for Falk’s and Selsena’s eyes opened wide but they didn’t move any other muscles.

  ‘Low Fangs, eighty paces, in ring formation.’ Ahren heard Uldini’s voice right beside his ear, although the Magus hadn’t opened his mouth.

  Falk nodded and everyone began preparing their weapons while Selsena stood stock still. Uldini moved his fingers in incredibly complicated and serpentine movements over his crystal ball, which began to emit an irregular flickering violet light. He nodded in satisfaction and looked at the others, one by one. Jelninolan and Falk nodded back at him, but when the Arch Wizard looked at Ahren, he was only met with a questioning look. The rest of the group might well have had practice in this before, but the apprentice had no idea what to do next. He had reached the Void with difficulty and his fears and worries were like a sea of chaotic emotions crashing against the cliff of calmness to which Ahren’s spirit had retreated.

  Uldini’s murmuring magical voice whispered commands into Ahren’s ear. ‘On my signal you grasp your bow and kill as many as you can until they’re at the foot of the hill. Then change to the sword
and we’ll position ourselves back to back. There are too many, so Culhen will stay with you and keep himself ready.’

  Ahren nodded and within a heartbeat Uldini tossed the ball into the air, where it hung ten paces above them. The Wizard closed his eyes and his companions leaped to their feet.

  Falk and Jelninolan were holding their bows in their hands and Ahren did likewise. For a moment he wondered where the elf had got her bow from but then he remembered the heavy bundles she had been carrying with her. Of course, the priestess would have a bow in one of them. Perhaps she preferred the staff, but it was a relief to Ahren that Jelninolan didn’t hesitate using other weapons if it were necessary.

  The others had already shot three rounds of arrows, and the night air was filled with the screams of pain coming from the Low Fangs surrounding them. The pack started moving forward, and the apprentice could see a line of glowing red eyes staring at him scornfully. The attackers had to have been looking down at the ground up to that point so as not to reveal their presence, but now they looked at their prey and charged forward.

  Ahren could see at least two dozen eyes fixed on him, but to his horror he was unable to calculate the number of attackers. Here were three eyes in triangular formation, over there eight eyes in spider formation, and yet another creature with only one large eye.

  ‘Less staring and more shooting, boy!’ snarled Uldini as the wizard continued to concentrate on his magic with his eyes closed.

  Ahren raised his bow and began shooting arrow after arrow into the darkness, targeting the glimmering eyes of the enemy. Much to his satisfaction, almost every arrow hit its target and at least eight Low Fangs fell to the ground. But the fact that the eyes were not necessarily in the heads, but in various parts of the bodies, meant that over half of the wounded kept moving forwards to him, if considerably more slowly.

  Ahren kept firing until his quiver was emptied. He had shot twenty arrows, and yet five wounded and two uninjured Low Fangs were coming up his side of the hill.

  ‘No arrows left!’ he shouted over his shoulder and he could see that both Falk and Jelninolan had none left either.

  Uldini’s eyes were still closed and he was smiling.

  ‘Good. Then it’s my turn now’, he said with thrilled anticipation.

  ‘Take the healthy ones first if you don’t have enough for all of them’, said Falk firmly.

  ‘I have done this before you know, old man’, snarled Uldini venomously.

  Ahren knew that magic influenced the emotions of the performer in different ways, depending on what purpose it was being used for. When Uldini had weaved a Fireball that time in Deepstone, he had gone into such a rage that Ahren had been afraid the Arch Wizard would turn them into a pile of ashes if they put a foot wrong.

  Whatever the wizard was planning now, it was probably going to be just as destructive.

  Ahren laid down his bow and drew out Windblade as the beasts were storming up the hill. It was a very shallow hill so their attackers were already only a few paces distant and Ahren, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, could see that from where he was standing there were over ten attackers moving with disturbing speed towards them. He seized his sword with more strength and banished the nightmarish pictures of his dying friends from his mind, pictures which were constantly trying to break through into the Void so that he would succumb to his own fears.

  Uldini called out a single unrecognisable word and for a brief moment a lilac light broke through the darkness, as if, for a brief heartbeat, a strange light from another world was casting its colours over the heavens. Then narrow arrows of dark violet light landed on the distorted creatures below. Eight attackers were hit by the arrows, which travelled in gentle arcs before landing perfectly and burying themselves into the creatures’ heads. In an instant, the Low Fangs had fallen to the ground and were completely still.

  Surprised and overjoyed, Ahren gave a gasp of relief, and confidence overcame his fear. There were only three of the dark god’s downtrodden servants storming at him now. Each of the grotesque creatures had tasted at least one of his arrows and was injured accordingly. One of them had two arrows in its eyes that were positioned in its shoulders. Its face, however, made up entirely of a circular mouth full of needle-sharp teeth, was untouched. Curved horns were sticking out of the creature’s chest and it was slowly coming towards Ahren. The other two Low Fangs would reach him first and so Ahren reached a decision.

  ‘Attack, Culhen!’, he shouted and pointed at the four-eyed creature. It seemed to be considerably more injured than the other two and Ahren hoped that Culhen would be able to finish the weakened Low Fang off.

  Culhen shot off and there was no more time for thinking. The other two Low Fangs had arrived and Ahren was horrified to see that he recognised one of them. The wild-boar tusks were unmistakable, as was the derisive, toothy grin playing around the monster’s mouth. This was the Low Fang that had killed Jelninolan in Ahren’s nightmare.

  The Void was beginning to crumble, but then a wave of anger carried Ahren forward and into the midst of his enemies. He struck with his sword, quickly and with economy, all the while skipping towards the right and around the Low Fang. His blows were only there to keep his enemy on the defensive, and smiling scornfully, Ahren could see how awkwardly the monster was parrying them. Blood was streaming from a wound where Ahren’s arrow had dug itself into the Low Fang’s upper body. The apprentice’s sidestepping had brought him to the creature’s right side, so that the route for the third Low Fang was blocked, as it first had to manoeuvre its way around its companion. This gave Ahren precious breathing space. From the corner of his eye he could see how Culhen was snapping at the back of the third Low Fang’s knees, all the while prancing nimbly around the awkward creature.

  Then Ahren’s opponent raised its sword, bloody foam dribbling out of the mouth of the monster with the wild-boar tusks. Ahren’s arrow must have penetrated its lung. Ahren stepped in front of the Low Fang, his blade positioned laterally in front, one hand grasping the hilt, the other pressed against the back of the blade. He aimed towards the thing’s raised attacking arm, and when the blade made contact with the armpit, he simply pulled the blade sideways and turned behind the Low Fang. The creature collapsed with a grotesque squeal as the length of the sword moved along the armpit, causing devastating damage. Ahren knew that he had mortally wounded his enemy and that his fighting arm was completely useless, and so, after he had risked a sideways glance at Culhen, Ahren turned his attention to the remaining Low Fang. The wolf had already overcome his adversary and was snarling and biting into the martyred creature’s neck. Ahren could see that Culhen’s fur exhibited some cuts from the being’s claws and this sight enraged the apprentice.

  The Void gave way to a red mist of fury and thirst for action. Snarling, he raced up the slope towards his remaining opponent, an appalling face made up of two eyes, one above the other, accompanied by a far too wide mouth and two flat noses. A third arm came out of its chest and was hanging lifelessly. It was carrying a heavy club full of spikes, which it now raised in challenging anticipation.

  None of this made any impression on Ahren at all. He was intent on attacking this grotesque travesty of a human, and ran forward. His sword stroke was quick and strong, the blade bore into the Low Fang cleanly and with precision. Ahren’s movement brought him within range of the club, however, and as he was about to dance away, the creature’s third arm lifted itself suddenly and grasped his underarm with strong, knotty fingers.

  Ahren screamed out in surprise and tried to tear himself away as the club was swung in a high arc over and down towards him. His sword was still stuck in the creature’s body, and he couldn’t dodge out of the way, the third hand’s vice-like grip was simply too strong. And so, he fell to the ground, at the same time pulling with all his might at the hilt of his sword, his body weight pulling the blade downwards in the creature’s body. The creature shuddered and buckled as the strength of its knees gave way, but the club co
ntinued to race downwards and smashed into Ahren’s back with a shuddering power.

  The apprentice felt how two of the spikes had penetrated his body, and an appalling pain spread through his torso. The third hand’s grip loosened eventually, and Ahren rolled to the side, so he wouldn’t be pinned under the collapsing body. He was alert enough to pull his blade out of the gaping wound that his manoeuvre had inflicted. His back was burning like fire and he could feel blood seeping through his linen shirt. In his rage it had never occurred to him that he was carrying no armour and was therefore virtually unprotected.

  Annoyed with himself and grimacing with pain, he looked around him and struggled slowly onto his feet. Culhen was standing at the ready a few paces to his side, guarding Ahren with watchful eyes and looking at the carnage around them. The wolf had defeated the third Low Fang and was watching his surroundings furtively, ready to spring into action should any of the attackers venture near his wounded friend. Ahren slapped his thigh and Culhen jumped over towards him and positioned himself beside his master. Not a single Low Fang was moving anymore, and relieved, Ahren turned towards the others.

  Jelninolan and Falk were combating four Low Fangs in total, and Ahren wanted to rush towards their aid. But before he’d reached the crest of the hill, two of the attackers were already dead, sent to the ground with the well-practised blows of broad sword and fighting staff. Then Selsena ran forward out of the darkness and ran down the two remaining attackers. Her mighty hooves smashed their bodies into the ground with a crunching sound. Then the hill was silent.

  Ahren could only hear the sound of his own painful breathing and the others panting for breath. Uldini was sitting, his face distorted with anger, in the middle of the encampment, looking at the others with hostility. Ahren remembered the reason for the emotional chaos which was engulfing the Magus and went over to him carefully, making sure to leave his sword gently on the ground.