The Naming

by Torsten Weitze

  Uldini pulled a face and snorted.

  ‘Well you’re some Forest Guardian, allowing yourself to be wounded by a simple Wild Fang. We might as well all lie down and give up if you’re supposed to be the saviour of the Free Peoples’, he scolded, his face distorted with scorn.

  Ahren turned away without saying a word. What the wizard had said was hurtful, but he knew that it was Uldini’s emotional recoil to the battle magic that made him like that. He pulled his blood-spattered shirt over his head with a sigh, and a few heartbeats later he saw it lighting up behind him.

  Uldini was screaming out the magic formula, a mixture of defiance and rage in his voice. Constructive healing magic was the best antidote to the negative emotions that destructive magic brought with it. The Arch Wizard always tried to keep his distance on account of his unstable emotional condition when he used too much battle magic.

  Ahren could feel his wound healing as Uldini continued to scold.

  ‘Why didn’t Selsena or the wolf know the horde was nearby? The mangy cur could at least make himself useful after eating all that food.’ The wizard continued to complain but his words were gradually softening.

  Culhen whined at Uldini’s comments and Ahren tickled him gently between the ears. Then he pushed the wolf under Uldini’s healing hands.

  ‘Are you serious? Those few scratches require the healing service of an Ancient?’ grumbled the youthful figure, and Ahren had to suppress a laugh. Uldini was always sulky and behaved like a spoiled nine-year-old in the moments before he regained his spiritual balance.

  Ahren looked at the others, who all appeared to have escaped unharmed.

  Uldini finished his incantation and Culhen thanked him by licking his hands and looking up at the Arch Wizard with his loyal golden eyes.

  ‘Alright, alright’, he grumbled. ‘Happy to have obliged’, and he stroked the wolf, who threw himself on his back enthusiastically.

  While Uldini was rubbing Culhen’s stomach and trying to hide a smile, Jelninolan chuckled and leaned over conspiratorially to the others.

  ‘If he has to work his battle magic again, we’ll just give him Culhen to tickle. That seems to help’, she said quietly.

  Everyone laughed, but then Ahren became serious.

  ‘What will we do in an emergency if he gets into an uncontrollable rage? We can’t just allow ourselves to be injured so that he can heal us.’ He frowned and his back tensed up at the memory of the recent wound.

  Falk looked up at him sternly and was about to launch into a tirade concerning Ahren’s negligence during the battle, but Jelninolan intervened.

  ‘Uldini’s self-control is considerably better than it appears. He releases his anger and scorn immediately and in a controlled fashion. He can spend weeks in this state if he needs to. But it’s true that if it comes to a battle at that point, it is possible that he will lose himself in his emotions’, she explained.

  Ahren’s anxiety was plain to see and she made a reassuring gesture with her hand.

  ‘There are many things we haven’t tried yet. Selsena can calm him down and, if necessary, I can soothe him with Tanentan’, she continued.

  Ahren had completely forgotten about the artefact that had caused them so much trouble when they had been retrieving it from the Weeping Valley. The lute influenced the emotions of those who heard it and was extremely powerful.

  ‘Why didn’t you use Tanentan earlier? You could have prevented unnecessary bloodshed’, said Ahren deferentially. He didn’t want to sound as though he were accusing the elf, but he wanted to understand better the tactics of his new travelling companion. Every time he thought he understood the elf, something new turned up.

  Jelninolan looked down sadly at the grotesque bodies lying around them. Luckily, most of them were only recognisable as outlines in the darkness.

  ‘Low Fangs are immune to suggestive magic. Their natures have become so corrupted that nothing human is left. Which is why Uldini’s magic was so effective.’ She broke off and put her hand to her heart, and then quietly murmured something in Elfish.

  Falk pointed to the enemies that Uldini had slain and were lying at the foot of the hill.

  ‘He calls them Night Arrows. But don’t be fooled, the magic works during the day too, but it becomes damned dark when he unleashes it. I’ve never really understood it, but Uldini manages to cut the connection for a heartbeat between HIM, WHO FORCES and his servants. Whoever has been hit by one of these missiles is free from his influence.’

  He scratched his beard and continued. ‘The Low Fangs die immediately. Their bodies have been so deformed that it is only through the Will of the Adversary, who has forced the deformations on them, that they can exist. One heartbeat without HIS control and their insides are torn asunder’, said his master.

  Ahren shivered. Only now did he fully understand how absolute the dark god’s power was. He felt a wave of pity for the creatures. Who could say which of the poor souls lying around them had just strayed too near the Pall Pillar, the prison of smoke and shade, where HE, WHO FORCES lay imprisoned? The nearer you got to the pillar, the greater the risk was that you would fall under HIS control. Which was why only fanatical individualists lived in the Borderlands, the area surrounding the Pall Pillar.

  Falk cleared his throat and Ahren listened again to his master.

  ‘On the other hand, the magic only confuses High Fangs for a moment. They are briefly in control of their own free wills and most of them have no idea how to react. The changes that have been made in them are not so drastic and so they don’t die when the connection with HIM, WHO FORCES has been temporarily cut. But they are so used to his commands that they simply wait until the magic wears off’, explained the old Forest Guardian. ‘And Dark Ones are hardly affected by the magic at all. The alterations that the Adversary has made to them are subtle and usually only intensifications of tendencies they already possess. His orders to them are usually only short impulses. Things like “hunt in this valley!”, or “there’s the prey!”, and he leaves the rest to the Dark Ones’ instincts’, said Falk, finishing his explanation.

  Ahren nodded and looked down again at the Low Fangs that were barely visible in the flickering firelight.

  ‘So that’s why you resorted to the bow and arrow without hesitation. Even if we are victorious against HIM, WHO FORCES, all of the Low Fangs are destined to die?’ he asked, turning to Jelninolan.

  She nodded and placed her hand on his shoulder while she looked deeply into his eyes.

  ‘That was one reason. But if it is necessary, I will shoot at anything and anybody if it means protecting this group. I would prefer not to do it, though’, she said quietly.

  Ahren nodded thankfully. He found her assurance that she would defend the group as well as she could very reassuring at that moment. He gave Falk and Jelninolan a grateful smile and then turned to Uldini.

  ‘Thank you for your help, both in the battle and in healing my wound’, he said sincerely and even a little solemnly. If positive words helped Uldini come back to his old self, then a few words of gratitude could hardly do any harm.

  Uldini rolled his eyes and threw his hands up to heaven.

  ‘I swear by all the gods, if this touchy-feely business starts again, I’m going to throw up!’ he called out, grumpily.

  ‘Look, he’s back to his old self’, said Falk drily.

  Chapter 5

  93 days before the winter solstice

  Ahren spent the rest of the night in an uncomfortable half-sleep.

  Uldini had cast a small magic net to ensure that there were no further servants of the Adversary in the area, and after they had rolled the lifeless bodies down the hill, they had all lain down again. But now the elevation was surrounded by corpses and the wind kept blowing the stench back up to them. When dawn began to break, Ahren had had enough. Anything was better than this half-sleep from which he was constantly waking in fright every time he had visions of glowing red eyes in the distance.

  He s
tood on the slope of the hill and began his sword training. It had struck him that he had had problems fighting on a slope the previous night, and his steps had been awkward and uncertain. If he were honest with himself, one small stone in the darkness would have been enough to have caused him to stumble just at the wrong moment.

  The thought that he had only survived the night by chance shook him to the core, and so he trained as hard as he could while the sun slowly rose, all the while ignoring the corpses of the Low Fangs as much as was possible.

  In the middle of his second routine he heard steps behind him. He was about to break off but then recognised Falk’s quiet voice from the brow of the hill.

  ‘Keep going, boy. Good idea to practise on an uneven surface. Could have been from me.’

  Ahren turned his back to his master while continuing his manoeuvre and allowed himself a broad grin of satisfaction.

  ‘Stop smirking!’ snapped his master, and Ahren forced his face to become impassive, all the while asking himself how Falk could possibly know that he’d been grinning.

  ‘I wanted to talk about your escapade last night. You do know what I’m talking about?’ asked the old Forest Guardian.

  Ahren nodded and then waited for his master to give him a dressing down. But nothing happened. Then Ahren realised that Falk was waiting for him to explain his own mistakes.

  ‘I fought in a rage and ran into my enemy with too much gusto. I forgot to keep up my guard in the process and ignored the fact that I wasn’t wearing any armour. I underestimated the capabilities of the Low Fang in my anger and so he was able to take me by surprise. Because I administered an unnecessary blow, I found myself unable to parry.’

  There was a harshness in Ahren’s voice, and his dissatisfaction with himself was clearly to be heard. He couldn’t see Falk smirking but he could hear it in his master’s voice.

  ‘I see you are developing something like ambition. And your description of your deeds was open and honest and without any attempt to cover up. It had been my plan to punish you for yesterday’s mistake by forcing you to run around the hill six dozen times. But a reasonable young man like yourself would be willing to do it voluntarily, isn’t that right?’

  Ahren nodded respectfully and dropped his sword. Then he heard the voice behind him again. ‘First you will finish your practice session. We wouldn’t like you to neglect your swordsmanship’, Falk ordered merrily.

  ‘Yes, master’ said Ahren and suppressed a sigh.

  When Ahren returned to the camp, everyone was ready to leave.

  He prepared himself for the accusations that he had held everyone up, but the other three were standing around an object which seemed to be taking up all their attention.

  Ahren moseyed over to them, all the while trying to bring his quick breathing under control by drawing in his breath and expelling it in a slow and concentrated manner. Hectic breathing wasn’t just an impediment when it came to the hunt, as it could easily reveal your whereabouts, but it also slowed down your recovery time. If Falk caught him panting like a dog, he’d make him do another ten laps of the hill. As Falk liked to say, ‘there’s nothing worse than a breathless Forest Guardian’.

  Ahren joined the others, trying to be as relaxed as possible and glanced down at the object at their feet, only to look away immediately in horror. Lying there was a Low Fang, one considerably smaller than its companions. When standing it would scarcely reach up to Ahren’s hips. It was completely covered in obscure symbols that had been scored into its skin and Ahren could have sworn that they were moving!

  The hairs stood on the back of his neck, and he noticed that his hands were shaking. This thing seemed to be emitting a real danger, and Ahren would have taken a few steps backwards were it not for the fact that the others were looking down at the body so calmly.

  ‘A Bane Bearer’, said Falk into the silence.

  Uldini nodded and tipped the body gently with his foot. The symbols puckered and contracted where Uldini’s shoe made contact with the skin.

  ‘The sigils are still fresh, no more than two days old’, he said. Then he laughed like a billy goat. ‘I think I know where our not very successful Doppler from Evergreen has got to’, he added. Then he looked demonstratively up at the cloudy skies.

  ‘What a wonderful day’, he said merrily.

  Jelninolan threw him a reproachful look, then took pity on Ahren’s uncomprehending face and decided to explain the situation.

  ‘Doppelgangers who fall out of favour are transformed by HIM, WHO FORCES into Bane Bearers. These poor creatures are nothing more than empty shells, who have more than a half dozen spells burned into their essence. Wherever they go, these spells are put into effect. In the Dark Days one Bane Bearer alone could strengthen a whole army. Luckily for us, HE is still in a deep slumber, so HE only managed that.’

  She pointed pitifully at the corpse and continued.

  ‘That explains why Selsena didn’t sense the Low Fangs. Or why Uldini’s magic net didn’t find them.’

  She pointed at different parts of the complex drawings. ‘This drawing here indicates camouflage from wizards and this one is for a tireless forced march. The rest are conjurations summoning all Low Fangs, Swarm Claws, Fog Cats and Blood Wolves to come under the control of the Bane Bearer.’

  ‘We were very lucky’, interjected Falk. ‘Had there been more Dark Ones in the area, it could have ended very nastily for us.’

  Ahren nodded thoughtfully and suppressed a shudder. The thought of being attacked here in the open field by hundreds of Swarm Claws was horrifying. The birds could slice a person’s throat open with ease using their razor-sharp claws and beaks in a nose dive. Without magic it was practically impossible to fend off a swarm.

  He swallowed hard and pointed over at Uldini, who was cheerfully mounting his horse. ‘And why is he so happy’, he asked in wonderment.

  ‘Doppelgangers are rare. They cannot reproduce themselves and HE, WHO FORMS had only made a few hundred before HE realised his error. Any time a Doppler dies, it’s a great victory. By our calculations there are less than sixty of them left’, she said sadly.

  Ahren remembered her talk about the extermination of a species and he understood her feelings.

  Falk too seemed to understand what the elf was feeling and so he came over to them and spoke softly to her.

  ‘Remember that the Doppelgangers serve the Adversary willingly. It is their own decision that has put them on their course, not coercion. It is their hunger for a concrete form and purpose that drives them into the abyss.’

  Ahren thought over his master’s words and they seemed to ring true. He himself found it very hard to know who he was and what he wanted to be. How would a being then feel who couldn’t take on a permanent form without external help? The offer from the dark god must simply be too tempting for the Doppelgangers.

  Falk clapped his hands together and jolted Ahren out of his musings.

  ‘We’ve no time for dawdling. Uldini, will we throw the bodies into a heap so you can burn them?’, he asked.

  The Arch Wizard shook his head. ‘Not necessary. Our little friend is still emitting a little camouflage magic. I should be able to practise a few little finger exercises without us having to get our fingers dirty and letting anyone locate my magic.’

  Then he made some sweeping gesticulating motions with his hands, and within a couple of heartbeats the fallen Low Fangs raised themselves into the air before slowly stacking themselves into a large heap on top of the hill. Uldini made a swift hand movement and uttered a quick magic charm. The bodies immediately ignited and burned brightly, causing Ahren to step back in surprise. The others mounted their horses showing no concern, and Ahren did the same. Only Jelninolan stayed for a moment beside the magical burial place and spoke a few words in Elfish.

  Ahren leaned over towards Falk. ‘What’s she saying?’ he whispered.

  ‘She’s asking for forgiveness for the souls of the poor devils who were trapped in those bodies. Whe
ther they were willing or not, I’m pretty sure that after one day as Low Fangs, each one of them hoped for redemption. I imagine that the gods will give it to them now’, answered the old man.

  Ahren looked sadly at the blazing pyre and silently added a prayer of his own.

  The next few days flew by. In the mornings Ahren was taught by either Falk or Jelninolan, and during the course of the day he would practise his archery skills. If other people were in the vicinity, he would have to balance objects or a full rucksack on his outstretched arms until they felt like frayed elastic bands. Ahren began to search out the healing herbs on the sides of the path - the ones that alleviated the worst of the pain and that he had already begun to learn about in the Eastern Forest. His master looked on approvingly as he used all his knowledge of the healing arts as remedies and to strengthen his tired body. Jelninolan also gave him a few tips along the way and it wasn’t long before the apprentice always had a flask of herbal tea hanging on his belt, which helped his body recover from the daily lessons. But the exercises were becoming more challenging and Ahren began asking himself if improving his bodily regeneration was really such a good idea. After all, his master and the priestess would invariably come up with even more difficult things to practise.

  They usually slept in the open or, whenever possible, in one of the many farmhouses they passed by. Now and again Ahren would see a castle in the distance but it seemed to him that the Knight Marshes consisted for the most part of farmyards, charcoal burners and the odd artisan dwelling. The little villages they travelled through reminded him of Deepstone, and he regularly found himself thinking of his old friends. Once he even thought of his drunken father. He wondered how he was getting on. Doubtless, the money he had wangled from Ahren’s master for his son’s apprenticeship was petering out, and Ahren doubted that his father could have found his way back onto the straight and narrow without the crutch of alcohol. Falk seemed to be able to read his apprentices gloomy thoughts because he was constantly showering Ahren with new exercises which challenged his mind and distracted him from his musings.