The Naming

by Torsten Weitze

  The king gave a start and the guards grasped the holy man in a tighter grip and forced him down onto his knees. The courtiers screamed in fear and made a dash for the doors in an attempt to escape the throne room, and this time the guards let them pass.

  While the king was gathering himself together again, Falk turned furiously to Uldini.

  ‘Why hadn’t you noticed beforehand? Thanks to you I could have lost a halfway decent apprentice’, he said grumpily.

  Ahren was pleased to receive this hidden compliment from his master while Uldini rubbed his bald head in bewilderment.

  ‘He is undoubtedly a magus, and incredibly strong. A High Fang successfully camouflaging itself in front of me should actually be impossible’. Searching for help, he looked over at Jelninolan.

  The elf closed her eyes and for an instant the room was filled with a silver glow. ‘His camouflage is perfect and now I know why. He is receiving his strength from another magus. And you can guess who it is’, she said and opened her eyes.

  ‘Elgin’, said Uldini darkly.

  ‘Exactly right. Elgin hasn’t woken up from his charm ritual for weeks because this monster has been drawing his power and using it for his own purposes’, said Jelninolan furiously.

  The king had recovered from his shock and began to speak.

  ‘So he is responsible for our Court Wizard not being available for so long?’ he asked with outrage in his voice.

  ‘And for the fact that your kingdom is on the brink of war. The Illuminated Path preaches hatred against the elves and sows discord between the common folk and the barons. We also suspect that they are behind the arson attacks on the granaries throughout the kingdom. Starving people are easier to influence. The letters that you gave to the missionaries have in all probability never reached the barons’.

  Senius Blueground stared wide-eyed at Falk. Then he looked at the black tooth that was still jutting out of the white robed cultist’s hand. Without saying a word, he drew his ceremonial sword and rammed it into the chest of the High Fang. The creature’s expression was one of surprise, before it went limp a moment later.

  Ahren had never been present at an execution before and the cold-heartedness of the monarch overwhelmed him. He felt nauseous and turned away. Falk too had made short shrift of the High Fang who had ambushed them that time, but at least the apprentice hadn’t had to look on. Ahren knew that the servants of the Adversary were beyond redemption, but they were so human in appearance. He forced himself to look at the black barb, and almost threw up.

  Uldini looked down at the lifeless figure with satisfaction.

  ‘And about time’, he said contentedly.

  The sudden, violent death of the High Fang didn’t seem to bother Falk or Jelninolan either, and Ahren asked himself if he too might end up being so callous sometime in the future. He found the idea disturbing and pushed it to the back of his mind.

  Senius wiped his sword clean on the deceased’s robe and then put it back and its scabbard.

  ‘Is our esteemed Court Wizard going to wake up now?’ he asked impatiently in a raw voice.

  Uldini, a picture of worry, shook his head and indicated to Jelninolan. ‘The two of us will unseal his Ritual Chamber, and then we’ll have to awaken him slowly from his trance. If his strength has been continuously sucked out of him for months, then he is quite probably at death’s door.’

  ‘Then hurry’, ordered the king. ‘Baron Falkenstein can give me all the answers I require.’

  The two Ancients hurried out of the throne room, and Jelninolan gave Ahren an encouraging wink as she left.

  ‘And now it’s your turn’, said King Senius and turned to face Ahren, at the same time drawing his sword. Ahren looked around in panic. His majesty must have come to the conclusion that throwing the knife had been an unforgivable act.

  But before the apprentice could do anything silly, his master’s large hand had landed unceremoniously on his shoulder, and he was gently pushed down onto his knees.

  ‘Keep your hair on, Ahren. Nothing’s going to happen to you’, he said quietly.

  With flowing movements borne from years of practice, the king landed the flat of his sword, first down on Ahren’s left shoulder, then down on his right.

  ‘I hereby anoint Ahren, Squire of the Falkenstein Barony. May he continue to serve his master with such distinction as he has served me this day’.

  Ahren, completely taken aback, looked up at the good-natured smiling face of the ruler until Falk pulled him gently back up onto his feet.

  ‘Many thanks, your majesty’, he stuttered in a daze.

  The king gave him a brief nod, then turned to concentrate fully on Falk again.

  ‘Tell me everything, Baron. I want every piece of information you have, concerning this matter, no matter how insignificant’, he commanded.

  ‘Certainly, your majesty’, said Falk obediently, and bowed slightly. ‘But first, have my squire brought back to my rooms so that he may rest. I think what he’s experienced has overcome him’, said the old man, ordering the guards. Then he turned back to the king to continue their conversation.

  ‘The boy has put on a good show’, said Senius, and the young apprentice almost burst with pride as he walked out the door of the throne room.

  ‘You’re right. Normally he just passes out or throws up’, said Falk, and both men laughed.

  The palace corridors seemed endless now to the exhausted apprentice. He had the feeling he’d been walking an eternity to Falk’s rooms, accompanied by a friendly guardsman who was making sure that the exhausted young man would find his way.

  He went through all the events in his head again and wished, not for the first time, that his body would become accustomed to the excitement of his new position in life. He pulled himself together as much as possible and decided to quiz the guardsman a little.

  ‘What exactly does being a squire mean?’ he asked uneasily. He couldn’t make head nor tail of the title and really hoped his new position wouldn’t make life more complicated.

  The guardsman raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Where do you come from that you don’t know that?’ he asked, baffled.

  ‘Hjalgar. A small village called Deepstone’, answered Ahren.

  ‘Ah…’, said the guardsman and there was a look of comprehension on his face, almost as though Ahren had just told him he had been raised by swine. ‘A squire is the lowest title in the nobility you can achieve, and it’s the prerequisite to becoming dubbed a knight. Now that you have become noble, you have the right to carry a weapon in court.’

  At this point he paused and gave Ahren a meaningful look.

  Ahren stared back at him, holding his ground, and almost a little defiantly. Had he not been carrying his knife, then the king would probably be dead by now. There was no way he was going to apologise.

  When Ahren didn’t respond, the guardsman continued.

  ‘Also, you’re only allowed to be tried in the palace if you have been accused of committing a crime, and you receive a monthly wage from the baron to whom you swear fealty’.

  ‘You mean I still have to obey Falk?’ asked Ahren, ‘I mean, Baron Falkenstein’, he added quickly, correcting himself.

  The other man nodded and Ahren gave a sigh of relief. So really, nothing was going to change, except that he might get a better monthly stipend. Which wouldn’t be difficult considering Falk hadn’t given him a penny since they’d left Deepstone. But if Ahren were to be honest with himself, he didn’t really know when he could have bought anything, let alone what. All in all, his master and the others had provided for him.

  ‘Is it no problem then that I come from Hjalgar? Because, actually I am not a subject of the king’, he said after some moments silence.

  The guardsman shrugged his shoulders. ‘You didn’t object earlier, which means you are his subject now. The king will have the traditional gold coin sent over to Hjalgar. The laws of your country are…well…pragmatic.’ Ahren again had the feeling that the gu
ardsman considered the neighbouring country to be a better class of pigsty.

  Now that Ahren knew how easily Hjalgar let its subjects go, he could understand the guardsman. Even his father had demanded Falk give him three gold coins for Ahren’s apprenticeship years. It was ironic, thought Ahren, that his worth had apparently dropped so dramatically since then.

  They reached Falk’s rooms and Ahren stepped inside. The guardsman stood at the door respectfully and paused.

  ‘May I ask you a question?’ asked the man shyly.

  Ahren nodded absently and turned towards him.

  ‘What’s it like to travel with a living legend?’ There was a note of deep respect in his voice.

  ‘Uldini? Well, mostly he’s a cantankerous, fractious old so-and-so, who has an answer to everything, whether you want to hear it or not’, said Ahren, shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘I actually meant the baron. The rest of the world might have forgotten his name, but here everyone still remembers the deeds of the Paladin Dorian Falkenstein. So, what is he like?’ the guard asked curiously. Ahren stood there, struck dumb, and stared in shock at nothing in particular. In his mind’s eye the apprentice tried to recall all the clues from the past and to digest this new information. His body was frozen but his mind was racing.

  When it was clear that he wasn’t going to receive an answer, the guard bowed once and closed the door, leaving a young man behind, whose world had once again been turned on its head.

  Chapter 9

  60 days to the winter solstice

  ‘How could he do that?!’ shouted Ahren for the umpteenth time as he stormed back and forth.

  Culhen answered with a dutiful bark while Selsena didn’t seem able to stop swamping the young man with waves of cheerfulness.

  ‘More than two years as his apprentice! I am the chosen THREE’S Thirteenth Paladin!’ he almost screamed.

  Culhen responded with a yelp, which echoed through the royal stable, where the apprentice had sought refuge. His own room had been too quiet and empty for his whirlwind of emotions and so he had fled to his wolf friend where he could give out to his heart’s content about his dishonest, stubborn, and - to top it all - immortal Paladin master.

  ‘Oh, by the way Ahren, I’m a Paladin too and I know exactly what you’re going through’, he muttered deeply, imitating Falk’s bass voice, then threw his hands in the air. ‘It really isn’t that difficult!’

  The stable boys and girls had long fled the scene. Ahren had put on his ribbon armour and armed himself in his room because he felt the desperate need to just be Ahren the apprentice Forest Guardian. But his deed in the palace and his dubbing as squire must have done the rounds in no time at all, and as soon as he had begun giving vent to his feelings in the stable, all the servants had discretely withdrawn. He was sure they were still listening in on him, and that the rumour mill would exaggerate everything. But just at this moment he didn’t care a whit.

  He was about to launch into another tirade, spurred on by Selsena’s seemingly endless cheerfulness, which she underlined every now and then with a whinny, when Culhen sat down on his back paws, whimpered quietly and stretched out a foreleg to tap Ahren’s shin.

  The apprentice lowered himself and buried his face in the wolf’s fur, stroking his loyal friend and breathing deeply. Then he sprang up and indicated to the wolf to follow him.

  ‘Come on, Culhen, let’s explore the city. I need to blow off steam and clear my head. The palace just feels like an up-market prison’, he said loudly. Anyway, it would be better for him to avoid his master until he had calmed down and knew exactly what he should say to him.

  Selsena emitted a warning to Ahren, who turned back towards her.

  ‘Tell the Lord Paladin that Culhen and I are taking a look at the city’, he said determinedly. ‘We shall be back later in the evening and, yes, I’ll be careful, I promise’, he added when Selsena radiated serious concerns.

  The Elvin war horse seemed far from convinced. However, she had no choice but to let the apprentice go. And so off he went with his boisterously romping wolf across the green palace lawns, hotfooting it to the golden gates of the palace, behind which lay the city, ready to be explored in all its glory.

  Ahren hadn’t felt so free in a long time. He wandered through the streets of the capital until dusk, rounding the palace, exploring the living quarters of the merchants and workers, not to mention the many marketplaces full of hidden nooks and crannies, where goods from all over the world were offered for sale. The sounds and smells surrounding him were many and varied and strange, and thankfully they distracted him from the afternoon’s events.

  Ahren had already spotted quite a few dwarves and elves, some Clansmen from the Green Sea, and ferocious-looking warriors from the Kelkor Mountains, wearing thick pelts, and with their hair held in thick plaits. Because he had promised Selsena that he would be careful, he made sure that he kept his distance when admiring the large and small sights. Three Rivers had seemed enormous to him that time, but the Hjalgar trading town was smaller than even the old town of King’s Island, which he had walked through earlier. The wide trading road, which had led them up to the palace, divided in two before the royal residence and flowed like a river east and west around the palace complex. Ahren had followed the broad roads that had branched off the trading road, always keeping his bearings by the commanding palace signal tower. When the night finally drew in, Ahren had sat down on a low wall and watched the enormous flame, which was burning in the enormous cauldron and had been lit at the onset of darkness. The flames were reflected in the golden roof of the signal tower, which increased the power of the light. It was an awe-inspiring sight and Ahren could well imagine that the sailors at night were grateful for this beacon which promised them safe harbour.

  Now, with night replacing day, some of the merchants had packed up their wares and left their stalls, but to Ahren’s surprise most remained and continued to offer their wares by the light of the torches that were hanging on walls everywhere throughout the city, and were now being lit by the night-watchmen. The streets were just as busy now as they had been during the day and wherever Ahren went, the hostels and taverns seemed full to overflowing. Patrols and town watches were a common sight, and the young man was impressed by the fact that so many people seemed to be living together in peace. Large towns had always had a bad reputation among the people of Deepstone, and Ahren now asked himself if this had been just the villagers’ prejudices.

  He wandered another while through the streets of King’s Island, absorbing the impressions of the city until he noticed that he was coming closer to the city harbour. He considered going on, but then thought better of it. It would take him a considerable time to get back to the palace, and it was better for him to head back or he’d have to bear the wrath of his master.

  Thinking of Falk led him back to his dilemma. How was he to confront the old man? What was he going to ask him? Over the past two years he had felt an increasing attachment to the Forest Guardian, but his certainty concerning their relationship had been severely shaken by this latest revelation concerning his true identity. This breach of faith on his master’s part hurt him deeply.

  As he made his way back, he mulled over what he knew about the old man, who had taken him under his wing. Falk had been born in the Knight Marshes, that was certain. He had told Ahren that he was the son of a noble lady, the Baroness Falkenstein.

  He stopped for a moment. Falk had never explained to him when he had been born. The baroness must have been a Paladin and Falk was her successor. The time he had spent with Uldini had been in the Dark Days. And when Falk had had enough of fighting, he had gone off and had a row with Selsena. He had then travelled throughout the world and ended up with the elves, who had made him into a Forest Guardian. It all made sense if you substituted centuries for the years and decades that Falk had talked about.

  Ahren was turning these facts over in his mind when Culhen suddenly stopped. Ahren had taken the shortest rout
e back to the palace and was just passing through the workers’ area, which was squeezed between the harbour and some of the smaller marketplaces, where it seemed the poorer inhabitants of the city bought their goods. There were smaller side streets here and narrower laneways and Culhen had stopped before one of them and was growling at the shadows that were lurking within. An uneasy feeling crept over the apprentice and he walked carefully up to the wolf, adopting the silent, stalking steps he had practised endlessly during dozens of hunts.

  The laneway lay in darkness and only shadows could be seen but just twenty paces away Ahren could see three figures who had circled a fourth, and he could hear scornful voices.

  ‘Come on, Culhen, this is none of our business. We’ll find a town watch and tell him what the story is.’ He had had enough excitement for one day and wasn’t going to get mixed up in a row between a few drunken workers.

  Just as he was turning, he heard a low shout of anger echo down the laneway. It was the voice of a young woman. Ahren stopped frozen and looked back with narrowed eyes, trying to make out as many details as possible.

  The three silhouettes looked considerably larger than the fourth, which they were surrounding. He saw the smaller figure trying to duck out underneath the arms of one of them, only to be pushed back roughly. He heard raw laughter and Culhen growled and took a step into the laneway, at the same time looking back impatiently at Ahren.

  Ahren stepped stealthily into the narrow street and gave Culhen a gesture to remain quiet. The wolf wagged his tail once in delight and began stalking forward, hunched low. The house walls on either side of the street were scarcely two paces apart and Ahren could smell rotting refuse, and saw that the ground was full of rubbish. Their silhouettes stood out in the light of the street they had just entered from and Ahren was under no illusion that they could pounce without being spotted. A fleeting glance in their direction would give the game away, but the nearer they approached, the clearer the picture he would have of how they would deal with this situation.