The Naming

by Torsten Weitze

  ‘You can take the Forest Guardian out of the wild, but you can’t take the wild out of the Forest Guardian’, said the wizard smirking. ‘Come with me before you stain that expensive carpet with weapon oil, and the steward has a heart attack.’

  Ahren and his master grinned at each other, then stood up and left the room with Uldini. The quiet feeling of togetherness with his master which he had experienced as they had worked in concentration at their familiar tasks had done Ahren good, and he found it sad that the wizard had put an end to it.

  Uldini was the same as ever, just his black robe was clearly new and made of high-quality material. The arms and seams were sewn with a gossamer golden thread that subtly sparkled here and there whenever the wizard moved. Otherwise, the appearance of the Arch Wizard was as timeless as ever.

  They knocked on Jelninolan’s door, and as soon as the elf opened it, Ahren was speechless. She was wearing a green robe cut in the Elvin style, and it seemed to be of the same material as that used to make the Eathinian houses and paths. Her red hair was plaited up into an artistic beehive shape and only two strands fell left and right of her face, framing and highlighting her pronounced Elvin cheekbones.

  Falk and Uldini paused for a moment. After a heartbeat the Guardian gave an elegant bow while Uldini raised his eyebrows in admiration.

  ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful you’re capable of looking when you put your mind to it, auntie’, he said mischievously.

  She grinned at their reactions, but then she furrowed her brows.

  ‘The Knight Marshes are certainly civilized but not particularly progressive. I’d rather be coming in my ribbon armour but when the ladies-in-waiting continued to giggle after my third time mentioning it, I gave up. If a woman is not a soldier in this kingdom, it seems she will only find a sympathetic ear as long as she’s wearing a dress’, she said irritably.

  ‘I’d prefer to be able to go around in my own clothes, but that doesn’t seem to be an option here’, grumbled Ahren crossly, and pulled at the scratchy collar of his linen jacket.

  Falk ignored his apprentice’s interjection and gave Jelninolan his arm.

  ‘At least you seem to have prepared yourself very well for this situation. Or did the royal court really have an elf dress lying around the place that they could lend you?’ he asked cheekily.

  ‘I thought something like this might happen and planned ahead. Unfortunately, I didn’t know before we started this journey that I’d be going back into my old form again. I spent half the afternoon charming this dress until it fitted me properly’, she said, linking arms with the old Forest Guardian.

  Uldini floated on ahead and Ahren trotted unnoticed behind them. He missed Culhen and promised himself he’d pay the wolf a visit at the earliest opportunity.

  They headed for the throne room, and, in the meantime, Uldini brought them up to date on the latest news.

  ‘Elgin isn’t in his rooms. His ritual chamber is sealed up and I have a feeling he’s been sitting around in there for weeks. But without blowing up half the palace, I can’t get in there. It will take me a full day to release the protective spell so that I can see how he is. So, we’re going to have to deal with Brother Wultom on our own this evening’, said the Arch Wizard quietly.

  ‘Is he in the palace already?’ asked Falk.

  The magus nodded and a devilish grin lit up his face.

  ‘He’s reporting back to the king at the moment. It’s going to be such fun later’, said the wizard, with a disturbingly euphoric tone in his voice.

  ‘Don’t overdo it, Uldini. We don’t want a battle and a smashed-up throne room. It’s true that the king knows you, but for many you’re a stranger in the court. First there will be speaking, and everything will be explained, and then you can have his guts for garters. If you attack him without explaining yourself first, then all people are going to see is an enraged wizard attacking a man of the cloth. There are too many swords and crossbows in there to be the target of a misunderstanding’, he said calmly to the little figure.

  ‘Spoilsport!’ said the wizard with a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘Sometimes I really wonder how you’ve survived for hundreds of years’, interjected Jelninolan, rolling her eyes in mock dismay.

  ‘Well, it was obviously my devastating charm and noble demeanour’, replied Uldini cheekily.

  Ahren was sure the verbal sparring would have continued, but for the fact that they had had reached the throne room and everyone became serious.

  The first thing Ahren noticed when they entered was that there were far fewer people present than in the morning. All the petitioners had left, and half of the courtiers. There were no more than two dozen people in the room, including the king and his guards. A few heavily decorated members of the nobility and advisors were gathered together in twos and threes, and a gaunt man in a white robe was standing before the king and speaking to him in a deep, soothing voice.

  ‘…and unfortunately, our efforts have borne no fruit as yet, your majesty. We simply need more time to close the deep chasm that is dividing your people at this time. And it pains me to say that there seems to be some truth to the accusations that have been levelled against the Elf folk. There is some evidence that Evergreen is not quite the true friend you have been led to believe it is.’

  ‘I’d like to hear this evidence’, said a strong voice.

  Amazingly, it hadn’t been Uldini who had spoken, but Jelninolan. She stood there, bolt upright, and stared demandingly at the haggard man with her hard, green eyes.

  The priest spun around and looked in shock at Jelninolan and Uldini while the king stood up, took a step forward and opened out his arms.

  ‘Welcome, indeed! Brother Wultom, let me introduce my guests to you. This is Uldini Getobo, the first among the Ancients and favourite of the gods. This elf of breath-taking beauty is none other than Jelninolan, priestess of the elves and also an Ancient. And I don’t think you need any introduction to Dorian Falkenstein.’

  Ahren felt completely invisible as the king ignored him and so he positioned himself at one of the pillars, where he remained motionless and watched what was unfolding.

  The king’s words and the sight of the three companions had a devastating effect on the cultist’s mood. His eyes flashed quickly from left to right as he tried to digest the situation and work out a strategy.

  ‘I’m listening, Brother Wultom. What harm exactly have the elves of Evergreen done to the brave citizens of the Knight Marshes’, Jelninolan persisted, and Ahren saw Uldini smirk as the haggard man shifted uncomfortably at the elf’s words.

  ‘Harm is such a harsh word, m’lady’, he answered quickly. ‘I’d prefer to say that there has been a whole succession of misunderstandings which could have been prevented if your folk had been more diplomatic.’

  Jelninolan gave him a merciless look, but the cultist turned to the king and stepped towards him while making an imploring gesture with his hand.

  ‘Your majesty of course can see the wisdom in the counsel that suggests we should carry on with our efforts. We have served you loyally up until now, and with the help of these distinguished visitors here we are sure to find the necessary answers which will again bring peace to your kingdom at last’, he said, indicating to Ahren’s companions with a wave of his hand.

  While he was speaking, Ahren saw a slight movement of the brother’s hanging arm. The others’ attention seemed to be focussed entirely on the gaunt man’s words and on his gesticulating hand, and the young apprentice was certain he was the only person standing at just the correct spot. For visible to him alone was a little black thorn sticking out of Wultom’s palm. The palm that was hanging unnoticed and seemingly innocently, within striking distance of the king’s throat.

  Ahren reacted instinctively. His hand immediately gripped the small dagger he always had on him and which was hidden under a fold of his jerkin. Without pausing, he drew the weapon and flung it with a sudden movement at the man in the white robe.

&
nbsp; Then everything happened at once. There were screams as people pointed at Ahren. The priest raised his barbed hand in an effort to slice at the distracted king, the guards aimed their weapons at Ahren, who raised his hands and stood stock-still at the pillar while his knife bored with a crunch into the cultist’s leg. He buckled with a scream of agony, and this involuntary movement caused his hand to fly in a harmless arc right in front of the stunned monarch. The moist, jet-black thorn glistened in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Uldini made a gesture with his hands and the priest was thrown against the wall while Falk positioned himself imposingly and protectively in front of Ahren and roared to all in the room, ‘don’t shoot!’

  Ahren’s hands were shaking uncontrollably as he realised the mortal danger he was in. To his left and right were two heavily armed guards, whose swords were drawn and aimed at him, ready to thrust at any moment. He quickly glanced around the room and saw at least six crossbows aimed at his head. Half of the guards present seemed to believe he had mistakenly hit the priest, and that his intended target had been the king.

  The apprentice was glad that his back was against the pillar. He was weak at the knees and at least he could get support by leaning against the cool stone. If he collapsed to the ground now, one of the fraught guards would surely shoot him. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the Void. There had been no time for it earlier but now he really needed the peace and calmness that the trance-like state promised. But it was impossible, he was too distracted, and his body was so tensed-up that he gave up after a few heartbeats. Well, at least he was still alive.

  He opened his eyes and saw that Falk was continuing to fix his eyes on the guards while he moved around in a circle so he could look at each of them individually, all the while placating them with hand gestures.

  Ahren was relieved to see that the tips of the swords were now pointing downwards and that the crossbows were no longer aimed directly at him, but the strained concentration could still be seen in the king’s bodyguards. The two sword-carriers positioned themselves close to him and each grasped one of his arms in an iron grip and pushed him hard against the pillar.

  Ahren looked at them in relief and he gave a smile which they returned with impassive looks. Nonetheless, they loosened their grip somewhat, so blood flowed into Ahren’s hands again.

  Once Falk was certain his apprentice’s life was not in imminent danger anymore, he turned towards the king and the wounded cultist.

  Now that Ahren was breathing easily again and could see around him, he realised that the throne room was in a mixture of turmoil and shock. Half of the courtiers were attempting to flee the hall in a panic but were being stopped by armed guards who were running in. The other half were either cowering on the floor or had retreated to the walls.

  A circle of shields and swords had formed around the king as the rest of the king’s guards had moved in to protect him. Uldini and Jelninolan were standing near the priest and were using their magic to press him against the wall. The elf had clasped her hands in a complicated pattern and the air around the two Ancients was flickering. Two crossbow arrows were lying on the polished throne room floor and Ahren was horrified when he realised that they had been aimed at the elf. Thanks to her protective magic they had bounced off the sparkling wall of magic and the priestess had been uninjured. The prejudices whipped up by the Illuminated Path must have infected some of the Palace Guards, who in the confusion of the moment had seen the elf as a danger.

  ‘How does it look, Uldini?’ called Falk, still keeping his eyes fixed on the guards.

  ‘Our Brother Wultom is a surprisingly strong magician. I can keep a tight rein on him here, but no more than that. You’d better concentrate on explaining the situation here’, said Uldini in a strained voice. The little figure’s arm was still raised in a crooked shape that was pointing at the wounded cultist, who was being pressed against the wall by Uldini’s powers but was thrashing around in an attempt to escape the wizard’s control.

  Falk tried to catch the king’s eye, which was next to impossible on account of the wall of guards. He crossed his arms and spoke in a powerful, commanding voice. ‘I am Baron Dorian Falkenstein. You know what that means. Allow me to pass.’

  Much to Ahren’s amazement, the wall of blades and steel parted, revealing Senius Blueground, who looked at Falk with joy on his face.

  ‘You have taken on your title again, Baron? This is indeed a joyful day for the whole kingdom!’ And he stepped forward towards Falk and grasped both forearms in a ceremonial greeting. Whatever fear for his life the monarch may have been feeling, this news seemed to cheer him so much that everything else was apparently forgotten. Ahren was confused and at the same time curious.

  ‘Welcome back to the court, Baron Falkenstein!’ said King Blueground cheerfully.

  Then he turned, looked at the chaos around him, frowned, and his good spirits vanished.

  ‘I think an explanation would be appropriate’, he said shortly and looked at Falk with a questioning look.

  The old man scratched his beard, uncertain of what to say, before looking over at Ahren.

  ‘I think perhaps we should ask my apprentice. I didn’t see everything, but he can probably relate exactly what happened.’

  Suddenly Ahren was once again the centre of attention in the throne room. King Senius came over to him with a mixture of curiosity and no small element of annoyance written on his face.

  ‘Now, young man. Why did you draw a weapon in front of the king, something which is totally forbidden, and why did you attack and injure a man of the cloth, and why have you caused such uproar in my throne room? Speak quickly or it will be my head jailer putting the questions.’

  The guards had tightened their grip on the young man again when the king had approached him. Ahren’s hands were going numb again and the words ‘head jailer’ had him worried. He looked helplessly at the monarch, his knees gave way, and he only managed to stay upright with the help of the guards. Falk looked at him firmly, and his master’s warning stare helped Ahren clear his mind sufficiently to be able to answer.

  ‘I suddenly saw a small, sharp thorn jutting out of Wultom’s right hand. He was about to stab Your Majesty, and from my position at the pillar, I was the only person who could see this. I am sorry for throwing the knife but I had no time to warn anyone of what was about to happen’, the young man summarised as quickly as he could.

  The king studied Ahren’s face and for a few heartbeats Ahren was terrified that the ruler didn’t believe a word of what he’d said. Then the king became thoughtful.

  ‘I did spot something black earlier, but my attention was distracted by our knife-thrower here’, he said and frowned. ‘I find it difficult to believe that a friend of the crown, who has served me loyally over the past few months and who is furthermore a holy person, would try to harm me’, he said sceptically.

  ‘But he belongs to the Illuminated Path, they are followers of HIM, WHO FORCES. They stir up the people against the elves and bring pilgrims to the Pall Pillar where HE transforms them into Low Fangs.’ The words tumbled out of Ahren’s mouth.

  A wave of murmuring spread through the assembled crowd as Ahren’s accusations rang out in the hall, and soon the place was in tumult again. The king looked over at Falk with a serious look. It was clear he did not believe Ahren.

  ‘The boy is speaking the truth. This is why we wished to speak to Your Majesty and to Brother Wultom. This man is neither your friend nor a friend of the kingdom, nor a friend of the people. I think he is a High Fang, if my apprentice’s observations were accurate’, said Falk, speaking in measured tones.

  King Senius stumbled backwards as if he had been hit.

  ‘A High Fang? Here…are you certain…?’ he stuttered before pulling himself together and ordering in a commanding voice: ‘bring Brother Wultom here!’

  The guards who had circled the king now gathered around Wultom and Uldini. Jelninolan stepped to the side, still keeping her shield uprigh
t as the crossbow men and women eyed her.

  The king made a threatening hand gesture.

  ‘Put down your crossbows! If anyone aims it at Lady Jelninolan, they will no longer see the light of day!’

  All of the king’s fury and uncertainty seemed to be expressed in this command and the guards reacted immediately. Jelninolan looked at him in gratitude and then dissolved her magic shield.

  ‘And let go of the young man! He can hardly stand up as it is. In the worst case scenario, he made a mistake and did the wrong thing for the right reason, and he can work off his punishment in the quarry’, he added lightly.

  The quarry? Ahren swallowed hard, broke into a sweat again and looked pleadingly over at his master, while the guards loosened their grip on his arms and he clung clumsily onto the pillar behind him so he wouldn’t slip down to the floor.

  Falk turned again to the ruler.

  ‘I’m sure everything will be clarified’, he said in a placatory tone.

  In the meantime the priest had been dragged into the middle of the throne room. There, where the apprentice’s knife was still lodged in his leg, an accusatory red stain was spreading outward on the priest’s white robe.

  ‘Nothing but lies and false accusations’, he whined, as soon as the king turned his attention to him. ‘These people want to lead you away from the Illuminated Path and drive a wedge between you and your most loyal follower’, and he raised his pleading hands in so far as it was possible considering the guards’ firm hold of him.

  ‘I never had a dagger or thorn or anything in my hand. This is a conspiracy, aimed at discrediting me.’

  ‘I’ve had enough of this masquerade’, growled Uldini and uttered a charm which covered the cultist in a violet hue, only to vanish again within a heartbeat.

  The gaunt man stiffened up immediately and a moist, shining, black tooth shot out of the middle of his right palm, where it had been hidden under a fold of skin.