The Naming

by Torsten Weitze

  Ahren glanced over at Jelninolan to see if she had anything to say on the matter, but the elf kept her head hidden under her hood, trying not to attract attention.

  Culhen was whining, and Ahren looked down at his friend with concern. The wolf was continually looking quickly from left to right and back again. The hordes of people, their smells and the noises they made unsettled the young animal. Ahren quickly dismounted and led his horse by the reins, while at the same time commanding Culhen to walk by his side, and so the wolf’s attention was concentrated on his master and his commands, and this put him at his ease. Thanks to Jelninolan’s illusion, Culhen wasn’t attracting any attention and the apprentice was eternally grateful to the priestess.

  They pushed their way closer to the end of the drawbridge and now Ahren calculated that the enormous wooden construction had to be over forty paces long. He realised that he had miscalculated with the rest of his measurements concerning the dimensions of the city walls and the buildings. It would never have occurred to him that houses could be so tall. The two towers left and right, which soared in front of him and contained the chain winches, seemed to stretch unbelievably far up into the heavens, and Ahren could only compare them to the mammoth trees of Eathinian.

  The elves would allow a tree to grow and then build a shelter among its branches, which would be harmoniously intertwined with the qualities of the tree, whereas the humans would simply build their dwelling place wherever and however they wanted, without compromising on anything. Humans had to seem very strange to the inhabitants of nature, and Ahren could see how easy it was for the Illuminated Path to drive a wedge between them.

  ‘Why does the capital city not have a proper city gate, but only a hole in the wall?’ he asked Falk curiously.

  His master grinned and pointed at the two towers, which were rising up before them. Ahren saw three openings in the sides of the fortifications.

  ‘In the case of an attack the drawbridge is simply pulled up, and three enormous bolts are pushed out of the wall. The bridge itself is the gate. In times of peace the island is open to all day and night’, replied the old man.

  ‘One of our better ideas’, said Uldini contentedly. Ahren looked questioningly at the Arch Wizard, and Uldini gestured to the whole city. ‘The Ancients used to intervene considerably more openly in the lives of humans than nowadays. During the Dark Days the king of Knight Marshes asked us for a defence of the capital. We destroyed the promontory that time and built this bridge instead. Ye gods, how I miss Belsarius’, said Uldini wistfully.

  Ahren looked over the edge of the bridge and was dumbfounded by the thought that this strait was once a land-bridge. Then he remembered the remains of the exploded mountain they had ridden past when they were travelling along the Red Posts on their way to Eathinian, and the thought of what the wizards had done here seemed more plausible. The thought that the miracles and also the destructive powers of those days could be repeated once HE had awakened made Ahren dizzy, and so he tried to turn his thoughts in another direction as quickly as possible.

  ‘Who’s Belsarius?’, he asked.

  ‘He was one of the Ancients. An exceptionally gifted visionary and at that time the first among us. My predecessor, so to speak. Although I couldn’t hold a candle to him in so many areas. He fell in the war.’ There was sadness in Uldini’s face, and he became lost in thought.

  Before Ahren could ask any more questions, they had reached the castle walls and pushed themselves along with the other travellers onto the dry land of King’s Island. Ahren was looking in amazement around him at the soaring buildings with their neatly tiled roofs when ten armed city sentries broke away from their companions and marched quickly toward them.

  ‘Master!’ whispered Ahren fearfully and looked pleadingly over at Falk.

  His demeanour was grim, but he made a placating hand gesture.

  ‘Everyone, stay calm. They seem relaxed and they’re not holding their weapons. Let’s follow their example’, he muttered firmly.

  The sentries arranged themselves in a semi-circle in front of them, their looks were alert but respectful. Their hands were clasped behind their backs and they stood erect, while the leader of their troop stepped forward and with his closed fist punched his armoured chest with a clatter, presumably a military greeting.

  ‘Uldini Getobo, first among the Ancients, and Baron Falkenstein, I greet you. The King of Knight Marshes, blessed be his rule, requests hereby most graciously your attendance. It is therefore my honour to escort you forthwith to the palace’, he said with a loud voice which was familiar with giving orders.

  Even Ahren recognised, in spite of his limited experience of military or political protocol, that this was no request. The soldiers arranged themselves into a guard of honour and they marched together at a trot along the main street and up to the monumental building, which was the physical manifestation of the regal seat of the King of Knight Marshes.

  While Ahren, who was surveying the imposing building which rose up before them ten furlongs ahead, had a queasy feeling in his stomach, he heard Uldini’s furious voice mumbling darkly, ‘well, this was all we needed!’

  Ahren was sitting in the saddle again and looking around nervously. Culhen, on the other hand, had fully calmed down and was trotting beside the horse and was sniffing the scents around him. Every time the young wolf caught an interesting smell, he would young try to move away from the soldiers that surrounded them and were escorting them to the palace, and Ahren kept having to whistle orders to make him come to heel. Luckily, their guards of honour were more amused than annoyed at the animal’s escapades and they maintained their relaxed air.

  In contrast, pedestrians’ eyes from all directions kept looking at them as they proceeded along. Ahren saw haggling traders, eager craftsmen and aristocratic nobility, who were for the most part sitting in splendid, open coaches. Ahren tried not to stare open-mouthed at the luxury, but Falk’s grumpy stare suggested the apprentice was unsuccessful in this regard. Many of the coaches were richly decorated in silver or gold, and every so often a gemstone, artfully set, would sparkle. The aristocrats themselves were dressed in the finest clothing, whether extravagant or noble. Any aristocrat who wasn’t in a coach was surrounded by an army of attendants and guards, and all the wealth that Ahren observed made him quite dizzy. In Deepstone there were precisely three gemstones and every villager knew to whom they belonged, how long they had been in the family, and how they had been come by. In the last five furlongs, Ahren had seen certainly over fifty diamonds, emeralds or rubies.

  It wasn’t long before he began to concentrate, not so much on the wealth he was seeing, but rather on the people who possessed that wealth, and his amazement was now accompanied by disquiet. The expressions on their faces ranged from curious to hostile. And it wasn’t Jelninolan who was the target of their mistrustful looks, but Falk and Uldini. The wealthier the onlooker of their little procession, the more disgusted the look appeared to be.

  ‘Why are the really wealthy people looking at you so angrily?’ whispered Ahren, who had ridden up as closely as possible beside Falk.

  His master shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Uldini and I are well-known here on King’s Island. Everybody here knows Selsena, and because they know her, they also know me, which has led all these gentlemen and wealthy merchants to ask themselves why we are being given a parade of honour to the palace. Everyone that you see here has three or four devious plans or intrigues in their minds that they are just trying to implement. We two turning up out of the blue presents a potential problem for their machinations. The resentment is less aimed at us than at the political turbulence we might cause’, explained the old man calmly.

  Ahren was confused. Politics was foreign to him and he couldn’t really follow what he’d just heard. While he ruminated over what his master had said, he tried to ignore the people around him but instead he looked curiously at the city itself.

  The main street leading straight up to the p
alace was at least fifteen paces wide and covered with cobblestones which had been so artfully set into place that there were none of the weeds that would customarily be growing in the gaps. Trimmed trees, set at intervals of ten paces, lined the street on both sides, and were carefully pruned, and curbed by cobblestones. The contrast to the wild and powerful vegetation of Eathinian couldn’t have been greater, and Ahren sensed what Jelninolan would feel about these constricted plants. Everything smelled somehow sticky and claustrophobic, while the overpowering perfumes of the wealthy, mingled with the sweat of the oxen, horses and craftsmen, combined into a horrible mixture of hypocrisy and egoism.

  The buildings left and right were, in contrast, breathtakingly ornate. Ahren saw frescoes, reliefs, mosaics and many gargoyles or crenellations on the outer walls, and even turrets stretching up from the enormous stone houses. Each house seemed to want to outdo its neighbour and Ahren could figure out the intense competition between their residents. The side streets they passed by were wider than any of the trade routes they had travelled on. Ahren saw no narrow lanes nor communal yards, all houses had their own private gardens, protected through high hedges from curious passers-by. There were watchmen everywhere and every building seemed to be guarded.

  Ahren felt a cold shiver run down his spine and suddenly he yearned to be back in Deepstone, where there were precisely two bailiffs and where a house door was only bolted in the darkest of dark nights. The jealousy and mistrust that was so clear already as they strode along made Ahren feel uneasy and he turned once again towards his master.

  ‘It almost seems as if everybody hates everybody else here’, he said a little indignantly.

  Falk grinned and looked at Ahren kindly.

  ‘Hold onto this insight, my boy. I learned to understand a long time ago that power is always accompanied by a dark side. And concentrated here, over an area of just a few streets, is the political and economic power of the Knight Marshes. The noble district is laid out like an upside-down horseshoe with the palace at the end of the bow. The harbour area, loud and filthy, is situated behind the royal residence, and it’s a lot more honest and open than this nest of vipers here!’

  The old Forest Guardian nodded his head towards Uldini.

  ‘Look at Uldini. He’s loving it here. You can be sure he’s gathered together over two dozen useful bits of information just by studying the family coats-of-arms on the houses, which belong to the aristocracy we’ve been observing. Our magical friend lives and breathes politics. Wait and see how he lives it up once we’re in the palace.’

  Now Falk was grinning broadly and Uldini threw him a withering look before saying snidely, ‘not everyone is content to spend his life in a filthy mud cabin and watch from afar how the world continues to turn’.

  Ahren was surprised at Uldini’s sudden arrogance, but then he saw a twinkle in Falk’s eye. The apprentice noticed that the guards were listening in on their every word, and within a few heartbeats the penny dropped. Falk and Uldini were playing roles in front of the guard of honour. Obviously, they were supposed to think that Uldini was an overbearing, powerful man of the world. The young man had no idea what good that was supposed to do, but as he also didn’t what role they’d thought out for him, he decided to keep his mouth shut and to have a good look at the palace instead.

  The closer they got to it, the clearer it became to Ahren that there were five buildings rising up in front of him, all behind a gold and silver bordered ceremonial wall. The main building was without doubt the actual palace, but the surrounding buildings were no less impressive, bar the fact that they were considerably smaller, which is why he had only now really noticed them.

  The royal residence was a rectangular building, which, in spite of its ornate surface, looked well-fortified.

  The four short towers, one at each corner, radiated a threatening presence, an impression which was further strengthened by the four enormous crossbows they contained, which were recessed into wrought-iron mountings. Ahren could also see the guards, who looked frighteningly small when compared to the defensive installations.

  Falk noticed where Ahren was looking and indicated to one of the guards.

  ‘A gift from the dwarves of Thousand Halls. These things are called Dragon Bows, because supposedly they can bring down a dragon from the skies. That’s nonsense of course, but these weapons are very effective against conventional armies’, he said.

  Ahren swallowed hard as he imagined that one of these constructions with its iron staff, three paces in length, sharpened and ready for action in the guide-shaft, could shoot straight at him. He looked away from the deadly weapon and turned his attention instead to the tall central tower, which dominated everything else, looking for all the world like a tall finger pointing up from the centre of the palace. An enormous open archway crowned the top, above which was a small, golden roof. Even from this distance Ahren could see an enormous cauldron standing within the archway. He remembered what Uldini had said and concluded that it had to be the beacon for the seafarers. Most likely it held oil, which burned at night. Ahren pitied the poor souls who had to carry the fuel up day after day.

  The other four buildings that made up the palace complex were completely different to each other. One of the buildings exuded pomp, and its bell tower had the sign of THE THREE embedded in it. That building had to be the cathedral. Ahren had never seen such a place of worship before and he calculated that hundreds of people could gather together there and worship HIM, WHO MOULDS. He couldn’t figure out what the other buildings were. It was true that they were decorated, but all in all they looked rather simple.

  ‘What’s the point of these three buildings?’ he asked his companions.

  ‘The one at the back is the barracks, with its monument to the knight in front of its portal’, Falk answered.

  ‘In front of it are the servants’ quarters. All the servants who work in the palace complex live there with their families. That’s why an appointment there is a dream job. Not only because the pay is very good but also the sleeping quarters are roomy and secure. Anyone who works in the palace doesn’t have to worry about his family.’

  Falk scratched his beard. ‘One of the better ideas of past kings. The servants are extremely loyal and if there’s an emergency, they are all together in one place, so palace life continues smoothly in spite of any crises.

  He pointed at the last building, which was closer to the palace, and was connected to the royal residence through an archway.

  ‘The administration building. Whatever the king decrees is published in a proclamation and then divided among the heralds. They also process the tithes that every baron has to submit to King’s Island, and they deal with all the minor activities that the royal house either can’t or doesn’t want to tackle’, said Falk, finishing his presentation.

  ‘If you disregard all the pomp and circumstance, then this is the most important building in all the Knight Marshes’, murmured Uldini.

  They arrived at the ornate palace wall, which wasn’t quite three yards high, but had pointed, copper-coloured spikes at the top. They were granted entry through a large open doorway which was lined with twenty alert-looking palace guards, all of whom were equipped with halberds, small under-arm shields and light crossbows, which were hanging across their backs. Both the men and women were all wearing shimmering scale armour.

  They all radiated discipline and purpose, and Falk said under his breath, ‘another good idea from the old days: veterans who have earned their spurs on the field of battle make up the squadron of palace guards. No spoilt sons and daughters of the nobility who want to live the easy life of an officer, but battle-hardened soldiers’.

  He gave a deep sigh.

  ‘Somehow it’s nice being here again’, Ahren’s master mused nostalgically.

  The guard of honour stopped at the door and gave a brisk salute, hitting their closed fists against their chests. The gatekeepers replicated the gesture and allowed the soldiers and their guests throug
h.

  Ahren could hear snatches of conversation. Things like: ‘is it really him?’, ‘I thought he’d fallen’, and again and again he heard his master’s official title – which he’d only hear the first time himself a few weeks previously – Dorian Falkenstein, Knight of the Marshes.

  The others still called him Falk, and that’s what he’d continue to be to Ahren unless his master told him otherwise. It still didn’t fit in with the apprentice’s idea of the world, that his master actually had a different name and that he had lived a completely different life before his time in Deepstone, and so the apprentice ignored this fact as much as possible.

  They strode in under the shadow of the palace, and the high building seemed to be looking down on Ahren and impressing on him the insignificance of his existence. They dismounted their horses on a step so wide, the whole population of Deepstone could have stood on it, and their horses were led away by some liveried stable boys. One of the young lads tried to grab Culhen by the neck, but Ahren immediately ran over and slapped his hand away.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he growled angrily.

  While Falk threw Ahren a warning look, the trembling stable boy pulled himself together.

  ‘Animals are not permitted in the palace. Your wolfhound must stay in the stables with the horses’, he explained timidly.

  Their guard of honour were suddenly a little more alert and watched Ahren with interest. Up until that point Ahren had been almost invisible, but now the situation had changed.

  ‘Nobody touches this wolf…hound’, Ahren corrected himself quickly.