She beamed at Falk.
‘So your rebellious phase did have its advantages’, she said in a motherly voice.
Ahren nearly choked on his potato with laughter, and got a warning look from Falk which suggested yet more climbing lay in store.
‘The good news is that we’ve solved the problem of finding a ship to bring us to the Silver Cliff’, said Uldini cheerfully. ‘The king has put a swift frigate at our disposal for the journey. We can set sail the morning after the feast. And with this ship we’ll get to the dwarves faster than we’d expected. And so we can make up time for some of the delays we’ve experienced here.’
Ahren stared over at Khara with curiosity. The girl was sitting quietly at one corner of the table, hardly moving at all. From time to time she would put a grape in her mouth, but she spent most of the time looking down at her plate. He studied her carefully. Her skin had a bronze undertone that he had never seen before, nor had he seen such almond-shaped eyes, which were so dark they were almost black. Her shoulder-length jet-black hair seemed to almost swallow the light as it fell straight like a curtain. She was smaller than he was, probably by as much as a head, but seemed to be the same age. She was a little thin, and Ahren couldn’t help thinking she must have had a difficult life.
She sensed his eyes and looked at him with hostility. Then she said something in that strange language she had already used in the alleyway.
Ahren looked at her uncomprehendingly and turned to Jelninolan.
‘What language is she speaking?’ he asked.
‘It’s the language of the Eternal Kingdom. Quite complex but not dissimilar to Elfish. I can speak it very well, as can Uldini and Falk’, the priestess answered.
Both men gave a dismissive wave as they continued to eat.
‘My trips to the Eternal Kingdom were over two hundred years ago and the same goes for Uldini. So we’re a little rusty in the language. The Eternal Empress banished all Ancients and all Paladins from her empire. You know, she was always a difficult customer’.
Ahren started.
‘Wait a minute, you know the Eternal Empress?’
‘She’s one of us. A Paladin, I mean’, said Falk.
‘And at the same time an Ancient. This combination is peculiar and makes dealing with her difficult’, Uldini threw in.
Ahren nodded absently and his gaze went back to Khara.
Her cheekbones were unusually pronounced, her nose on the other hand was small, and it all gave her an exotic look, which Ahren had to get used to. She looked up again and said something in a sharp tone.
‘What is she saying?’ asked Ahren, frowning.
‘She’s asking if it isn’t rude to stare at people in your country’, translated Jelninolan, without batting an eyelid.
Annoyed, Ahren lowered his eyes and concentrated on his food again.
‘Why is that girl still here? Not that I’m not grateful she rescued our little hero here, but still, a street urchin has no place in the palace’, said Uldini in his inimically sensitive style.
Jelninolan slapped her palm on the table, and everyone looked up in shock.
‘She’s staying with us’, she said firmly. ‘Khara came to King’s Island as a stowaway, which means that if she gets work at all here, it can only be as a Touchable. And I’m certainly not going to let that happen. We’ll take her with us to the Silver Cliff and then take things from there.’
‘She used that expression in the alleyway already. What are Touchables?’, asked Ahren.
‘Touchables are ladies in the Eternal Kingdom who provide certain services. You recognise them by the scar on their right cheek’, explained Falk curtly.
‘What kind of services?’ Ahren persisted.
‘Services in which they are touched. Hence the name’, interjected Uldini drily.
‘Oh’, said Ahren. Then the penny dropped.
‘Oh’.
‘Precisely’, said Uldini.
‘If she stays here, she has no choice. But I want to offer her one’, said Jelninolan forcefully.
‘Your decision, your problem’, answered the Arch Wizard and raised his hands defensively.
Falk merely nodded in agreement, and Ahren breathed a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t like to see Khara suffer such a fate if it were in the power of his companions to prevent it. He gave her an encouraging smile and she looked at him disdainfully. The apprentice sighed. It was going to be a long crossing.
Ahren was sweating like a pig. Falk had been shooing him around the training ground all morning and was badgering him constantly with his broadsword, which put a whole new intensity into the day. Up until this point, Falk had been implementing swordsmanship as one element of many and had been happy that Ahren had mastered the basics. But this morning the lesson and manoeuvres were considerably more complex.
The apprentice was aware that something had changed between them since the previous day’s talk. It was true that Falk was not his father and Ahren was not his son but there seemed to be an unspoken agreement on both their parts to ignore these facts.
And Ahren’s opinion of his own swordsmanship had changed. All heroic dreams of combat had been driven out of him by his near-death experience of the day before. He thought of Falagarda, the armourer, and how she had presented him with Windblade that time. She had shown Ahren his first thrusts and parries and had taught him well. One of her phrases, that he had forgotten in all his excitement at the time, came back to the apprentice now with a new clarity. ‘The graves are full of warriors who recognised what heroes really are.’
At the time he had had no idea of what those words really meant, but now they had a totally new significance for him. If he really wanted to avoid killing anybody when at all possible, if he really wanted to protect those who were close to him and yet still deal with the horrors of the battlefield, then he still had a very long way to travel. Most fighters paid for this realisation with their lives. He was lucky that he was surrounded by such powerful friends. He had been given a second chance and he was determined to take advantage of it.
The flat side of Falk’s broadsword crashed into his ribs and he was flung upwards before crashing into the dusty ground. He coughed and pulled himself onto his knees. Falk looked down at him sternly.
‘Philosophising is an admirable quality, but when you’re training, stay in the here and now. How else are you going to learn?’ he instructed.
Falk was still completely inflexible, but his tone had taken on a hint of warmth which Ahren appreciated, and so he was listening more carefully now than before.
He nodded and was about to get up when he heard a laugh of derision behind him. He recognised Khara’s voice, who said something in her own language to which Jelninolan laughed. Ahren turned around as he was getting up to his feet and saw the two women approaching. Khara was wearing one of Jelninolan’s garments that had been shortened in a make-shift manner but still looked baggy and fluttered in the breeze, but this didn’t seem to bother the girl. She had tied up her hair in a tight, intricate plait, and she walked lightly beside Jelninolan, who was carrying her armour and held her staff in her hand.
‘I thought I’d find you two here alright. How are you getting on?’ she asked.
Falk grimaced.
‘When he’s not dreaming, he’s complaining, and when he’s not complaining, he’s making mistakes. And when he’s not making mistakes, he’s sprawled on the ground’, said Falk, grinning all the while.
Ahren stuck his chin out sullenly and silently went back to the starting position, where he held Windblade in front of him, his knees slightly bent, just as Falk had taught him. Behind him he heard Khara snorting, but he ignored it.
Falk’s broadsword was heading for him at lightning speed, but Ahren feinted a thrust and the flat sword headed in an arc towards the ground.
Ahren had avoided the thrust but he realised too late that it had only been a trick. The flat side of the mighty blade smashed into his ankle and the swing swept him off his feet
. Again, Ahren was spitting out dirt from the ground, and again Khara was laughing scornfully. He jumped to his feet and threw her an enraged looked, but she looked back at him impassively.
‘Susekan’, she said mockingly.
Ahren looked at Jelninolan questioningly and she chuckled.
‘That means something like ‘milksop’. It’s what they call someone in the Eternal Empire who had no military training but still holds a weapon in their hand.’
‘She can count herself lucky that I don’t hit girls. If she was a boy, she’d really get what’s coming to her’, he grumbled.
‘Very adult’, was his master’s dry commentary.
Khara gave Jelninolan a questioning look, and the elf translated what Ahren had said. She had hardly finished speaking when the girl charged towards the apprentice. He just managed to throw Windblade aside and raise his arms to parry her first blow. More followed and the young man avoided the blows only with great difficulty. She still managed to hit him three times in the stomach and ribs, and he felt her elbow in his jaw. He backed away two paces and she stared at him expectantly.
‘You defied her, and that’s something that’s taken very seriously in the Eternal Kingdom’, explained Jelninolan. ‘If you want to give up, just put your flat hand on the ground’.
Ahren was torn between pride and common sense. It was clear as daylight to him that Khara was far superior to him in unarmed combat and so there were only two possibilities: either to allow himself to be beaten to a pulp in the presence of his master or to surrender. Slowly, he went down on his haunches and placed his hand on the ground.
‘Good choice’, said Falk and there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm.
Even Khara seemed surprised and she bowed while hitting her open palm with a fist. She went over to Ahren’s Windblade and picked it up.
‘Hey, that’s mine!’ shouted Ahren weakly. Somehow this girl brought out his worst qualities.
‘Not anymore, to be precise. She defeated you in a duel and so has the right to your weapon. At least, according to her traditions’, said the priestess, clarifying the situation.
Ahren was about to protest but then Khara began performing a complex sequence of manoeuvres while she danced from one fighting position to the next. Her movements were as flowing as water, and after ten heartbeats her performance was over and Ahren was standing there, open-mouthed.
‘By the THREE, that wasn’t bad!’ Falk called out.
‘But she has a bit of work to do on her foot positions and her back is strangely inflexible’, said Jelninolan thoughtfully. The elf clapped her hands once and Khara reacted instantly, falling to the floor and sitting on her knees.
Jelninolan imitated the same flowing fighting movements with her staff, and, while Ahren couldn’t see any noticeable difference, Khara blushed a deep red and bowed forward in her sitting position until her head was touching the ground.
Ahren looked in amazement at his master, who grinned back at him.
‘I think we should introduce that gesture when I’m showing you what to do’, he said jokingly.
Jelninolan began speaking to the girl in her own language and the men listened in. Falk followed the conversation with some difficulty and frowned at the effort while Ahren could do nothing but stand there and wait. He looked around him, bored, and spotted Culhen, who was frolicking around the palace park which adjoined their training area. Ahren called his friend over, and the wolf hurtled into his arms, and Ahren gave him a tickling all over. The wolf greedily searched Ahren’s pockets – the servants were still not used to the animal’s enormous appetite, and so Culhen was always looking out for extra portions. Ahren made a mental note that he should have a word with the stable boys later.
Jelninolan’s tone was growing harsher now and Khara’s answers meeker, which made Ahren turn his attention back to their conversation.
‘Can you follow what they’re saying?’ he asked Falk.
The old Paladin shook his head.
‘I’m too out of practice. Jelninolan is asking her about her past and where she comes from, but Khara’s answers are very vague.’
Jelninolan was become angrier, and when Khara gave a bow of apology, the elf grasped the girl’s clothing and revealed her neck and shoulder-blades.
Ahren couldn’t believe what he was seeing and turned away in horror. Khara’s skin was covered in scars, elevated and grown together.
‘She was a slave’, whispered Falk, stunned.
Khara hid her face in her hands and her head was bowed. Jelninolan continued speaking to her, and drew further hesitant answers from her. Finally, the conversation was over, and the elf priestess looked at the two Forest Guardians angrily.
‘I’d forgotten how much I abhorred some elements of human culture’, she said passionately.
Falk slowly raised his eyebrows.
‘Now take it easy. What did she say?’
‘She was a slave in one of the rural areas. She was born and grew up there, and when her mother died in the wars, she inherited the debts. Last year she succeeded in fleeing and she survived on the streets of Thulasthan by begging and stealing. When she got the chance, she smuggled herself onto a ship which was leaving the Eternal Kingdom, and spent several months as a stowaway on the seas before she jumped overboard in King’s Island harbour and swam ashore’, explained Jelninolan.
Ahren was dizzy at the thought of the hard existence the girl had already endured in her young life. Suddenly, life at home with his father seemed like a walk in the park, and Falk’s training methods were heaven on earth! He looked thankfully at his master.
‘But why does her back look like that?’ asked Ahren.
‘An elementary part of slave training is the imposition of pain. If you make a mistake, you’re whipped, burned or you have acid poured on you. That’s how they break the wills of the poor souls and at the same time ensure they will never be as flexible or as well able to fight as their guards’, said Jelninolan darkly. ‘Any movement they make causes terrible pain in their backs. And I’m certain their legs and arms look no better. If I ever see Qin-Wa again, I’m going to demand an explanation as to why she allows such horrors in her empire’, she blurted.
Falk looked awkwardly at the girl who was still huddled together in shame.
‘And now?’ he asked helplessly.
Jelninolan looked back at him with blazing eyes.
‘Now it’s time for magic. Tell the soldiers the training ground has been closed. I need the area for myself.’ Her tone brooked no dissension, and Falk’s centuries of life experience taught him to follow her orders to the letter. He left in silence to carry them out. Ahren was about to follow him but the elf stopped him.
‘You stay here and make sure that nobody disturbs my circle.’
He nodded obediently and went to the edge of the circular area, roughly sixty paces in diameter.
Jelninolan led Khara into the centre and began speaking to her. The girl knelt in obedience and then went back onto her heels where she remained immobile. Jelninolan took her staff and began tracing drawings and patterns in the sand at the girl’s feet. The girl looked down uneasily, and Ahren positioned himself on the edge of area so that he was standing directly in her field of vision. He made comforting gestures towards her and pointed at where the short sword had penetrated his breast. Then he pulled up his jerkin and stroked the smooth skin, which now revealed nothing of the terrible injury he had suffered. He was quite a distance away and he wasn’t absolutely certain that the ex-slave understood what he was communicating, but she seemed to be less anxious.
The following hours felt endless. Jelninolan drew, fully concentrated, step by step, lines and waves in the sand, at the same time creating a deliberate, ever widening spiral. There was a gentle breeze, but the symbols remained clear and sharply delineated. Ahren walked the perimeter, shooing away inquisitive servants and curious soldiers. His title as squire made the task easier because everybody obeyed without complaint, if a little hesitantly.
Only once did an officer, who was doing an exercise with a troop of the palace watch, try to override Ahren. But the apprentice gave the man an apologetic smile and said in a disarming voice, ‘I’m only following the orders of Baron Falkenstein. You’d need to discuss the matter with him’. At which point the grumbling officer withdrew.
Jelninolan was finally finished in the early afternoon. The practice area was strewn all over with the elf’s magical symbols and now she stood beside Ahren with a tired face, smiling wanly, but with a look of satisfaction on her face.
‘Does the magic begin now?’ he asked excitedly.
She gave a weak laugh.
‘Oh my dear boy, that was the magic’, she said, correcting him.
Then she stamped her staff once into the tiny circle that marked the end of the enormous pattern, and a blue flame blazed inside it. The tiny flame sped along the line, tracing it as it ran along, with the symbols vanishing behind it as though they had never existed. And so the blue light worked its way backwards, through each of Jelninolan’s designs, erasing more and more of the ritual circle while the flame grew steadily with every symbol it passed through. Khara stared petrified at the approaching fire, and Ahren tried to make calming gestures towards her, but now she wasn’t reacting. The girl became increasingly anxious and Jelninolan called out, ‘she must not leave the circle while the charm is working or it will all have been in vain!’ The priestess had slumped over after the outbreak of the charm and she was leaning heavily on her staff. Ahren could see that the elf could help nobody in her present condition.
The apprentice tried to establish eye-contact with Khara, and when he succeeded, he saw a wild, almost primitive terror in her eyes. With a moment of inspiration Ahren passed his hand through the blue flame. It felt surprisingly cool and his skin was completely undamaged, just as he had hoped. This calmed Khara down a little and he gave her an encouraging smile.
Behind him he heard Jelninolan groan.
‘Don’t do that again. That type of interruption drains my strength.’
The Naming Page 16
