The Naming

by Torsten Weitze

  Another one protested.

  ‘Everyone knows that after fighting a dragon, he was locked up in its cave. He escaped during an earthquake a moon ago and that’s why he’s back.’

  Ahren almost exploded with laughter but held himself together and continuing listening with amusement.

  ‘I don’t care where the old codger was hiding. I went to see the king’s rescuer’, said a maidservant nervously. ‘I hear he’s very good-looking, muscular and as strong as an ox.’

  ‘I heard he comes from Kelkor and only wears animal hides’, said another servant enviously.

  ‘You’re only jealous. I bet you he’s carrying an enormous axe or a mighty two-handed sword, or something like that.’

  Ahren couldn’t suppress a giggle and then he felt a powerful hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Do you find something particularly amusing or do you just enjoy listening in on honest people’s conversations, boy’, grunted a large servant to Ahren as he swung him around.

  Obviously, he took Ahren to be a fellow servant, and he was looking at the apprentice belligerently.

  ‘Egbert, I really don’t think he’s a servant’, said the lady-in-waiting, and looked questioningly at Ahren.

  Before Ahren had a chance to say anything, the large servant poked him hard in the chest, spurred on by the woman’s doubts.

  ‘Just look at him. He’s not even sixteen winters old. Cleaned himself up a bit so no-one would notice him.’ The man’s breath reeked of cheap wine and Ahren took a step backwards. He wasn’t in the mood for getting into an altercation with someone from the serving staff. Such a skirmish would really be childish after his previous injury in the alleyway in King’s Island.

  Most of the guests had gone in by now, leaving only the servants and a few of the nobility. Uldini and Jelninolan were standing in the queue before the ballroom. It was only the fact that the servants were more or less among themselves that gave the man the courage to continue harassing Ahren.

  ‘Come on’, he commanded. ‘Tell us who you belong to, or maybe you just weaselled your way in here’, he said in a mocking tone.

  Then the second bell sounded and three heartbeats later Falk, in full armour, which gleamed in the golden evening light, rode along the main street and approached the palace. Selsena was in full armour too, only her head protection was absent so that everyone could see she was a genuine Titejunanwa.

  In his closed fist Falk held an enormous lance, which glittered white and was supported by the right stirrup. A pennant bearing the insignia of the Falkenstein barony fluttered gaily in the wind.

  Ahren ignored the uncouth servant. He just couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The rider was wearing a helmet with a visor, and the pomp suggested that here was an imposter pretending to be Falk. Except for the fact that it was definitely Selsena – and she would never accept another rider.

  Another couple of heartbeats and the Titejunanwa and rider stopped beside Ahren.

  ‘What business do you have with my squire?’ asked Falk in an imperious voice.

  The eyes of all the servants widened in disbelief, and here and there Ahren could see shaking knees as it dawned on them who the young man was that the servant had been harassing. The man stammered a few incoherent phrases as an excuse but Selsena had already begun trotting again. Falk ignored the servant and nodded to Ahren, indicating that he should run beside them.

  Ahren glanced back over his shoulder at the dumbstruck servants, shrugged his shoulders casually and smiled mischievously. Then he walked determinedly beside Selsena.

  ‘What happened there?’ asked Falk quietly.

  ‘Well, I just think I’m not going to live up to some of their expectations. Their picture of how I should look doesn’t really tally with reality.’

  Falk laughed, a rumbling sound under his visor.

  ‘Now you can imagine how Uldini’s been feeling for hundreds of years. Everybody expects a wise old man with a big bushy beard and kindly eyes, and then they get…him.’

  Ahren chuckled and then quickly tried to control his expressions again as they arrived at the entrance to the ballroom. Falk dismounted Selsena in a grand manner and Ahren used the opportunity to throw his arms around the Titejunanwa’s neck.

  ‘Thank you for the lovely Autumn Day present’, he said quickly.

  Selsena sent waves of affection over him and Falk gave her an affectionate slap on her flank.

  ‘The old girl insisted. Probably so that you won’t try to let yourself be killed, sword in hand, again. Now you belong to the select few. Maybe thirty elves and humans possess a cord made from Titejunanwa hair. It will never become loose, works even when it’s wet, and its traction is immense’, he explained.

  They ascended the small step and were now standing in front of the steward. Falk took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. Ahren noticed that his master’s beard had been newly trimmed, and he even got the scent of eau de toilette. Who was this man standing beside him, and where was the stoic, simple Forest Guardian who had been training him for years?

  Falk noticed the young man’s look.

  ‘It’s only one evening, and it’s not every day you come back from centuries of exile. So don’t begrudge me the fun’, he said with a grin and a wink of his eye.

  Ahren shook his head in dismay and walked beside his master. Jelninolan had hit the nail on the head in her prediction of what Falk had been up to. The apprentice really didn’t know what to make of this Dorian Falkenstein, who seemed to have dislodged his Master Falk so completely.

  Then the steward spoke, and Ahren’s train of thought was interrupted.

  ‘Good evening esteemed and honoured guests. Are the gentlemen ready to be presented at court?’ he asked in a formal voice.

  Master and apprentice nodded. Satisfied, the master of protocol invited them to enter.

  Ahren saw a wooden wall in front of them and was taken aback, but then he saw entrances left and right and realised that it served both as a protection from prying eyes and as a wind breaker. The steward guided them to the right and around the wooden wall and Ahren would have stood rooted to the spot were it not for Falk giving him a discrete push forward. The first things that struck Ahren were the many candles, torches and fireplaces that lit up the enormous room. A wide stairway in front of them led into the rectangular room with a large dance floor in its centre. At the edge of the stairway stood a man with an ornately decorated staff in one hand and a long parchment scroll in the other. He exchanged a glance with the steward and then gave a gracious bow.

  Ahren and Falk were led up to the herald, and Ahren had a quick look at his surroundings. To the left and right of the dance floor there were tables and chairs at which the guests were eating and drinking, laughing and playing or simply chatting amongst themselves. The dancing had not yet started. At the other end of the room, which was a least two hundred paces in length, the young Forest Guardian could make out a throne behind a long table.

  The herald banged the bottom of the staff three times into the floor, and the noise rolled in a wave throughout the hall causing the crowd to fall silent. Ahren had never experienced the silence of so many people and he found the situation eerie.

  The herald cleared his throat loudly before banging on the smooth, polished wooden floor three more times with the base of his staff.

  ‘Baron Dorian Falkenstein, Paladin of the Gods, Champion of the Dark Days, General of the Northeastern Allied Cavalry, Conqueror of Delsorus, Thousand Tooth and the Low Worm Jagged Scale.’

  Falk stepped forward and walked slowly down the steps. There was a frenzy of jubilation and applause and somewhere in the room a band struck up a military march. All of the guests were down on their knees and the apprentice was sure he could see that some were in tears. Some others had fainted, and Ahren found the celebration more and more unreal.

  His master stepped across the dance floor and approached the throne, and once he had reached the last third of the room, the steward leaned ove
r to Ahren.

  ‘Just copy exactly what the baron is doing and nothing can go wrong.’

  Ahren nodded uncertainly and once again the herald banged his staff on the wooden floor. All the heads turned in the room and Ahren had a queasy feeling at the thought that at this moment more than three hundred pairs of eyes were fixed on him. No, four hundred, he mentally corrected himself. Among the crowd were many servants in red livery, who were serving food and carrying jugs and bottles. And everyone was staring at him.

  ‘Squire Ahren from the Barony Falkenstein, rescuer of our beloved King Senius Blueground’.

  The introduction had been considerably shorter, and the applause was less enthusiastic than for Falk’s progression, but that did not bother Ahren. He walked down the steps a little too quickly and waved a little awkwardly as he tried as much as possible to enjoy the applause.

  Nobody had ever cheered him like this before, and Ahren thought he could well get used to it. Three or four beautiful admiring young ladies smiled at him invitingly and suddenly the apprentice thought this feast might be more enjoyable than he had expected.

  He approached the other end of the hall, trying to imitate the graceful, measured steps of his master. When he reached the table before the throne, the music started playing again and the atmosphere in the hall returned to the previous jollity, with the conversations being struck up again once Ahren was no longer the focus of attention.

  The long table, situated in front of the richly decorated wooden throne, was overflowing with foodstuffs and drinks. Every one of the aristocratic guests sitting at the table was carrying enough valuables to buy Ahren’s home village of Deepstone. In fact, Ahren reckoned that if all the people at the table pooled the jewellery they had on show, they would be able to acquire the city of Three Rivers. And the land around it, with a radius of one hundred and twenty-five miles. Many of the aristocrats had the confident look of people whose orders were carried out in double quick time. And all of these mighty and wealthy guests were staring at him.

  Ahren broke out into a sweat and quickly positioned himself beside his master, suppressing the impulse to hide himself behind the broad, armoured back of the Paladin.

  Falk it seemed had waited for him and now bowed before the king, who smiled at him benevolently. The friendly warmth he had exhibited towards Falk in the throne room had been replaced this evening by a statesmanlike smile, and Ahren asked himself again how the king managed to separate his kingly self from his true self.

  The apprentice bowed too, and as he straightened up there was a polite smattering of applause.

  ‘We are thankful for the appearance of the Paladin Falkenstein at the royal court. We are similarly thankful to the Squire Ahren who helped to save our life and to reveal the dastardly treachery of Brother Wultom’, intoned the king in a formal voice.

  The applause grew a little louder and when it died down, the monarch gestured to the two guests that they should join the table.

  Falk sat down after he had hung his broadsword over the back of the expansive chair. Ahren followed suit, although he took considerably longer because of his nerves and he also had to set aside his bow and arrows.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you to leave them at the entrance?’ said Falk irritably and so quietly that nobody else could hear him.

  ‘I forgot. This is all so overwhelming, master’, he mumbled apologetically.

  Falk softened, nodded and took off his gauntlets.

  ‘You’ll get used to it in time. If you can disregard the pomp and ceremony, then you’re left with a good supper and entertaining conversation’, he said, winking at his apprentice. ‘Put them over there by the pillar, they won’t be in the way.’

  Ahren smiled back in gratitude, placed his bow and arrows by the pillar, took his seat and looked around the table.

  The king was sitting opposite them, with Jelninolan to his left, and a plump, elderly man with thinning grey hair and wearing a flashy robe, to his right. He spotted Uldini at the head of the table on the left. The Arch Wizard was in lively conversation with half a dozen aristocrats and every so often he would emphasise his words with some magic sleights of hand. All of his companions were following his performance with rapt attention. Falk leaned over and whispered into Ahren’s ear, ‘Uldini is in his element. Give him a royal court and he’ll enjoy the next two years by sweet-talking, intimidating and pressuring the courtiers until they are all dancing to his tune’, he said with an amused tone.

  ‘He comes across as perfectly charming’, said Ahren in amazement.

  ‘Oh, he can be very charming when he wants to be. The problem is that usually he doesn’t.’

  Then Falk turned away and began chatting to the nobles at the table.

  Ahren tried to listen in but he was so overwhelmed by impressions he decided to concentrate on one thing at a time. And so he turned his attention to the guests closest to him.

  Beside him was a young lady with eyes lowered to her plate, who looked as shy as Ahren felt. Like all the others, her clothes were richly adorned, and Ahren saw an enormous diamond which had been worked into her diadem. The gemstone sparkled with every movement, which drew his eyes automatically to her forehead. Because of this, her otherwise lacklustre appearance was not the focus of attention, which, Ahren thought, was probably the point of the diamond.

  An older lady sat next to her. She too had a diamond, on her head. However, the cut and size of the latter stone was more subtle and drew attention to the lady’s confident and dignified appearance. She caught Ahren’s eye, nodded politely and pointed towards the younger lady.

  ‘I couldn’t help noticing you looking at my daughter, Squire Ahren. Allow me to introduce to you Ludmilla von Glarding, the sole heiress of the Glarding Barony.’

  Her voice had a strangely furtive undertone, which Ahren couldn’t make head or tail of. And so he decided that politeness was the best policy.

  ‘It is my honour, Baroness Larding’, he said with a slight bow. Then he turned to her daughter, who gave him a shy look. Ludmilla was a few winters older than Ahren but her shy demeanour made her seem considerably younger, and when she greeted him with the same formality, he saw a hint of a smile, which gave colour to her otherwise blank expression. Perhaps the dinner would be quite enjoyable after all.

  ‘Did you really save the king’s life all on your own?’ asked the baroness’s daughter in a whisper.

  When it came to showing off, Ahren had learned his lesson, and so he decided on a modest approach.

  ‘I was the first to spot the High Fang’s thorn, and so I could foil his attack on the king. It was the Ancient Uldini who incapacitated him’, he said, trying to look as humble as possible. He was sure that Falk was listening in and the last thing he wanted was for his master to give him a dressing down in front of the king and the assembled high nobility.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell my daughter of your heroic deed during the first dance of the evening’, suggested the baroness in a persistent, almost sly tone.

  Ahren wasn’t sure if he’d done something wrong, and was about to agree so as not to annoy the baroness when he suddenly felt a painful stabbing in his foot. Falk had stepped on his foot with his steel-clad boot, and when the apprentice looked up at his master with a pained and annoyed expression, his master shook his head unobtrusively, while continuing to feast on a piece of venison.

  ‘I apologise, Baroness’, Ahren stuttered in a confused voice. ‘But my master has issued clear instructions that I am not permitted to leave his side.’ That sounded considerably less confident than he had intended but it was the best he could do on the spur of the moment.

  Falk winked at the confused apprentice and continued chewing contentedly. The baroness looked as if she had just been served some sour milk and acknowledged Ahren with a curt nod before turning away without saying a word. She then started a conversation with her neighbour at the table, an elderly gentleman with an array of medals on his full dress uniform.

  This was clea
rly a message to Ludmilla, who looked at him sadly and a little apologetically before staring down at her plate again in complete silence.

  Everyone else around him was either deep in conversation or helping themselves to food, and so Ahren decided to still his hunger. There was game, pheasant, vegetables and bread, and Ahren also saw a deep red wine in his goblet. He discretely smelled the drink and his nose was filled with a strong, pervasive aroma. He tasted it carefully and there was an intense taste of fermented berries. Before he knew it, he had drunk a substantial mouthful. He quickly put back the wine and filled his plate. If he got drunk at his first evening in court, his master would have him running up and down trees until his hair turned grey, and he could really do without that.

  And so he contented himself with the meat and listened in to any conversations he could catch. Most of them were too difficult to follow, and the rest seemed to be concerned with the events that had led up to Ahren’s presence at the feast. Falk seemed to be talking about some old families in Knight Marshes and was trying to get up to date regarding the present state of the nobility in the royal court. His master’s face was relaxed and contented, and so Ahren concluded that the answers his master was getting were satisfactory.

  Ahren slowly began to relax. Contrary to his expectations, he wasn’t the centre of attention and apart from the odd friendly glance or polite nod, he was left in peace. Falk was just finishing a conversation and so the apprentice took his opportunity.

  ‘Why exactly are they ignoring me now?’ he whispered curiously.

  Falk grinned and leaned into his ear.

  ‘You are now a squire of my barony and as you are sitting directly beside me at the feast table, you are here as my adjutant. That means that you stay by my side and are ready to carry out my wishes during the festivities’, he whispered almost inaudibly. ‘That means I can keep you away from trouble and protect you from the worst of the vultures, who would otherwise take advantage of your favour with the king’, he said, finishing his explanation.