The Naming

by Torsten Weitze

  Ahren gave a nod of understanding and looked in gratitude at his master.

  ‘But why is the king ignoring me? I’m one of the guests of honour after all’, pressed the young man. Although he was trying his best, he sounded a little as if his nose were out of joint.

  Falk’s eyes narrowed and he became serious as he responded. ‘A king cannot show any weakness, especially not when his kingdom has just been infiltrated under his very nose by an enemy cult. The fact that he was saved by a youth of tender age in his own throne room makes him appear weak. Which is why he’s showing you the minimum of attention that good etiquette requires and he’s hoping that the uproar over the cult and the manner of his rescue will die down as quickly as possible.’

  He pointed secretly at Jelninolan.

  ‘Why do you think he put our Elvin friend sitting directly beside him? Everyone has to see the strong alliance with the elves, and that the king has everything under control. You don’t understand how important such symbolic gestures can be when it comes to keeping a kingdom together in times of crisis.’

  Ahren looked over at the priestess. She was laughing merrily at a joke the monarch had just made, and had placed her hand on his forearm in a gesture of familiarity. The apprentice observed the long table, looking from left to right, and it was as if Falk’s words had opened his eyes. Everyone kept glancing over at the king and his guest, and every gesture and reaction of Jelninolan was examined and evaluated by critical eyes.

  The realisation that court life was a series of complications, and that the power of the king depended so much on the acceptance and goodwill of the nobility, confused Ahren and shattered his view of the world. A king had always been for him some kind of force of nature, unbending and absolute in his authority. He had already got to know the fallible human being behind the title, and now he could see the limits of royal authority. He now had a better understanding of the monarchy, and Ahren was glad that they would be setting sail the following day. King’s Island was certainly no place for him, and all the luxury seemed shallow on account of all the wheeling and dealing.

  ‘Are all royal courts like this?’ he asked, deflated.

  ‘Absolutely not’, replied Falk.

  Ahren breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘The Knight Marshes are relatively harmless. If you have the barons under control, then you can rule more-or-less unhindered. At the Sun Court or in the Eternal Kingdom it’s a different story altogether. No guest would turn up without a food taster for fear of being poisoned at the feast’, Falk added darkly.

  Ahren gasped and swore to himself to keep well clear, if at all possible, of all the courts of the wealthy and mighty.

  Ahren spent most of the evening eating out of boredom. After Falk’s explanations, he was quite happy at being ignored, and because he had nothing else to do, he ate far too much of the good food and ended up slouched inelegantly in his seat, and was in constant danger of nodding off. Falk had warned him several times to sit up straight but had eventually given up.

  Ahren considered whether he should nick a few bones from the table for Culhen, now that everyone was indulging in the wine, and the atmosphere was becoming louder and more boisterous. The dance floor was full, but the aristocratic dancing style seemed cold and formal to Ahren. The movements of the elaborately dressed guests were stilted and angular and bore no resemblance whatever to the joyful exuberance of the villagers of Deepstone when they had dances.

  And so Ahren sat at the half-empty table and had just hidden a deer-bone under the table when he heard a commotion behind him. A person in a brocade waistcoat embroidered with the insignia of the Falkenstein barony was storming through the dancers on the floor leaving a wave of indignation in his wake. The stocky man with a tiny goatee was heading straight for Falk. Ahren gave his master a shove and pointed at the incensed person who was no more than a few paces away.

  Falk turned around, raised his eyebrows and rose to his feet in a leisurely manner. The newcomer was now in front of him and looked at the old Paladin in a disparaging way.

  ‘So you are the imposter who the king has granted a hearing to so naively. Everyone knows that Baron Falkenstein is lost without trace, dead in some godforsaken dragon’s lair!’ the angry man shouted scornfully.

  Ahren was about to leap up but Falk stopped him with a sharp hand movement. The Forest Guardian stepped towards the guest, who was still shouting furiously. Falk, with his broad shoulders and tall figure and wearing his white armour, seemed to tower over his opposite number in every way. Remaining silent, the Paladin listened to the man’s words.

  ‘You may be certain that the Oblagon family does not recognise your claim and we shall do everything in our power to keep the lands safe from your fraudulent fingers. So long as an Oblagon is the custodian of the Falkenstein barony, so long will you not set foot in its castle’, shouted the man, finishing his tirade.

  Ahren had to give some credit to the man, for in spite of the aggressive manner of his entrance, there were not many among the cowed people present who could stand up to his master, who now had a ferocious look on his face. The man in blue fixed his eyes firmly on his master’s narrowed eyes, and refused to flinch. The music had stopped playing, and you could hear a pin drop in the enormous hall. Only here and there was there was there an outraged whisper.

  Falk reached behind him and without a word drew his mighty broadsword out of its scabbard, which had been hanging over the back of his seat the whole evening. There was a low gasp among the guests and for a brief moment Ahren feared that his master was going to cut down this disrespectful man in the same cold-blooded manner the king had done to Brother Wultom.

  But Falk merely stared fixedly into the man’s eyes, then grasped the hilt in both hands with the blade pointing downwards. Then he bellowed in a ritualistic tone: ‘Paladinum theos duralas!’ and thrust the blade into the floor, where it is stuck deep in the stone, making a singing noise as it reverberated.

  Then there was a deathly silence in the hall, and Ahren was sure that many of the people present had even forgotten to breathe. He too was shocked, but in his case it was because he had heard that call before. Falk had uttered the same words during his fight with the Blood Wolf, but later he had laughed off the phrase when Ahren had asked about its meaning. The young man only knew that the words were something in Elfish, but judging by the reactions of those present, they were familiar with the phrase.

  The effect on the troublemaker was dramatic at any rate. He trembled, dropped like a thunderbolt down on one knee, bowed his head and beat his breast with his fist.

  ‘Forgive me, m’lord. It’s just been too long a time, and I couldn’t foresee that…’ he began to stutter but Falk cut him off with a sharp voice.

  ‘Of course you could tell who I was.’

  His voice cut through the trembling man like an executioner’s sword.

  ‘Several portraits of my wife and me hung in my castle, by which you could have recognised me without any difficulty at all. But from what I hear, your great-grandfather banished these portraits into some musty store-room in the cellar and from that day to this not one of your family, who live in my castle and manage my lands, had the common decency to right this injustice. Instead of which, last summer the king received a request from you personally to rename the Falkenstein Barony as the Oblagon Barony!’

  The man had collapsed onto the floor as if he had been hit, and with his face on the ground, he repeatedly tried to stammer some kind of explanation. But Falk was merciless in his fury and the cold rage of his words echoed through the hall as he continued speaking.

  ‘You are right, Albrecht Oblagon. I refuse to set foot in my castle as long as your family are living there.’

  He drew his sword, seemingly effortlessly, out of the ground.

  ‘You recognise my sword of course, and know what deeds I have performed with it. The one reason that I will not use it now to execute you here and now for your neglect of duty is that I have no wish to
sully this blade, which felled Dragons, Wyrms, Grave Frogs, Fog Cats, and Blood Wolves when your forefathers were simple farmers on my land, with your worthless blood.’ Falk looked around, and then pointed with the tip of his blade at the leader of the palace guard.

  ‘You’, he roared. ‘Come here!’

  The addressee approached in double quick time and bowed before Falk. Ahren recognised him as the leader of the guards who had escorted them to the palace when they had arrived on King’s Island.

  ‘Your name, captain?!’ Falk demanded to know.

  ‘Erik Greycloth, your honour’, said the man, saluting nervously,

  ‘Greycloth? Your family are manufacturers?’ asked the Paladin.

  The captain nodded and blushed. It seemed that such a background did not amount to much among the higher nobility present.

  ‘My brother took over our father’s weaving mill and I decided to try my luck in the army’, he explained, apologetically.

  Falk nodded severely, then turned dramatically to all present.

  ‘This courageous man welcomed the esteemed Jelninolan with open arms, and under his personal protection accompanied her to this palace in the full knowledge that his action made him a target of the cult. For this reason I declare him and his successors hereby custodians of the Falkenstein Barony for as long as I am absent from my lands.’

  Albrecht groaned in shock and Falk added, almost casually: ‘The Oblagon family are hereby banished from the Falkenstein barony. If any adult family member is found within the confines of my lands after six days, then they shall be put in the dungeons’.

  Albrecht sprang to his feet and stared wide-eyed at Falk. The terrible fate that had befallen his family in such a short time could clearly be read on his face. He staggered, and Ahren realised that the man, now white as a sheet, thought for a moment of attacking Falk. But the Paladin looked at him calmly with his steel blue eyes, his sword still in his right hand.

  The king rose from his seat and addressed the gathering in a similarly loud and authoritative voice.

  ‘I recognise the pronouncement of Baron Falkenstein. My congratulations, Captain Greycloth. Let all present spread the word, how neglect towards the feudal lords will be punished and how friendship and willingness to help the weak and our Elvin friends will be rewarded.’

  Falk added in a lower tone, ‘perhaps it would be wise to warn your family, Albrecht. The ride to Falkenstein takes at least two days when conditions are good, isn’t that so?’

  With an indistinct scream, the deposed steward spun around and fled, stumbling out of the hall in his rush to tell his family of their misfortune, which his impetuosity had caused to befall them.

  The king raised his goblet.

  ‘To Baron Falkenstein, risen again from the legends, who has reminded us this day, why so many tales of the Knight Marshes sing his praises!’

  The hall exploded in thunderous applause and everyone with a goblet or tankard in front of them joined in their monarch’s toast.

  Ahren was dumbfounded and would have carried on sitting there in silence were it not for a stern look from Uldini, which brought him back to his senses before he hurriedly toasted his master. Falk continued to stand stock still however, his steely eyes fixed on the exit, with the completely befuddled newly selected steward of the Falkenstein barony standing beside him.

  The apprentice took a small sip of the strong wine and looked at the old Paladin thoughtfully. It seemed to Ahren as if there were two people inhabiting this weather-beaten body. There was Falk on the one hand, his master, the strict but good-hearted Forest Guardian who had taken him on and trained him. The man he would happily have called father. Yet on the other hand there was Dorian Falkenstein, Baron of the Knight Marshes and Paladin of the Gods, who with the full force of his power and authority could change the life of a person in a heartbeat, just as others might throw a broken pitcher onto the scrapheap.

  Ahren had been confronted by this aspect of his master for the first time when they had first entered the Knight Marshes, and it had taken him a while to find Falk again, hidden under his authoritative demeanour. Now the old man had taken on his task as Paladin again and Ahren worried about what would happen to the stoical, silent Forest Guardian he had become so fond of.

  All these thoughts were racing through the young man’s head when Falk tilted his head slightly and looked at him for a split second. During this heartbeat his master winked at him almost unnoticeably, before turning back and bowing before the king. Ahren gave a sigh of relief and looked over at Uldini and Jelninolan. The elf smiled at him good-naturedly and gave a slight nod and Uldini looked as contented as a Fog Cat in a darkened pigsty. Ahren looked at the king, more relaxed and at ease than he had ever seen him, and then the penny dropped.

  When Falk had sat down Ahren could contain himself no longer and he had to struggle so speak in a whisper.

  ‘The four of you planned all of this, didn’t you?’ he blurted out excitedly. ‘That’s the reason for the armour and everything. Was the feast just a smokescreen as well?’

  Falk placed his hand on the apprentice’s shoulder and pressed it so hard that it almost hurt.

  ‘Quiet, boy, or you’ll ruin it all’, said Falk quietly, and with an edge in his voice. ‘Uldini overheard that Albrecht was coming and was going to challenge me, so we prepared for the opportunity. Tonight was all about making clear to everyone that the Paladins have returned, that the king demands absolute obedience, and that the dirty tricks against the elves will have to stop’.

  He chuckled drily before continuing.

  ‘I’d actually planned on dealing with the Oblagons later and have half of them thrown into the dungeons, because they’ve bled my barony dry in the past few decades. But the opportunity was too good to miss, and we were able to kill two birds with one stone. We’ve united the Knight Marshes with this little scene more quickly than half a dozen royal proclamations could have achieved in five years. The news of this evening’s events will quickly do the rounds, and my idea of rewarding poor Greycloth for his good deeds will resonate with a lot of people. With a bit of luck, the people will start treating the elves in a friendlier manner in the hope of being rewarded themselves. Which will encourage more to do the same.’ Almost with pity, Falk looked over at the captain, who was still rooted to the same spot and trying to come to terms with his change of fortune.

  Ahren stood up.

  ‘I’ll go over to him for a moment. I know what it feels like to be in the middle of your machinations, master.’

  Falk tried to look at him severely but could only grin approvingly at his apprentice.

  The young man went over to Erik and put a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘You should return to your duty, captain’, he said softly. ‘I’m sure you’re not expected to travel tonight, and I’ve learned that the normality of a familiar activity helps people to come to terms with important events.’

  The new steward looked at Ahren in surprise and a little annoyance.

  ‘I don’t think you have any idea of how I’m feeling…’, he began but Ahren interjected brusquely.

  ‘You’d be surprised. But perhaps you’d like to remember the fact that two days ago we met each other as simple citizens, yet now I am a squire and you are steward of a barony.’

  Erik bit his upper lip and then his shoulders slumped.

  ‘But I’m a soldier, not an administrator. What if I do everything wrong?’ he asked helplessly.

  Ahren recognised himself in the question he was being asked, and the feeling that he would be giving advice seemed almost unreal. He thought back to what Falk had taught him, shrugged his shoulders casually and then answered.

  ‘If you don’t know what to do, ask someone. The worst mistakes are always the result of false pride. I’m sure the Oblagons didn’t do much themselves. Look for help from the attendants. Show them that you have the interest of the barony at heart, and they will teach you everything you need to know.’

  Al
l in all, he was quite happy with the answer he had given, and Erik was now looking at him with a lot more belief.

  ‘And anyway, I think that a soldier is exactly what the barony is going to need over the next few years. Hard times are coming and Baron Falkenstein, a Paladin of the Gods, has selected you to assist him. That surely has to count for something, doesn’t it?’

  Ahren didn’t wait for an answer, but turned and walked back to his place without a glance back.

  ‘And, what’s he doing?’, he whispered curiously to his master.

  ‘He’s going back to his soldiers, and he doesn’t look as if he’s afraid of his own shadow anymore. Whatever you said to him worked. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were beginning to use your head’, said Falk mockingly.

  Satisfied, Ahren took a drink of the strong wine and ignored the sarcastic tone.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Everywhere in the hall attendants were whipping out daggers and short swords, and they were stabbing at the palace guards. Aristocrats were screaming and rushing to the exit only to stop abruptly as figures garbed in the robes of the Illuminated Path emerged from behind the wooden windbreak, blocking the entrance. Each of them had either a bow or a sword in their hand and they began butchering the unarmed nobles with their weapons.

  Ahren was on his feet before he even realised it. Instinctively, he reached behind his back, but his grasping fingers found nothing but air. Falk had simply thrown himself backward in the chair and rolled behind the back of it as it went crashing to the ground. His hand grasped the broadsword at the same time, and he pulled it out of its scabbard, using the swinging motion to land lightly on his feet again. Ahren was thinking he should really consult his master about this manoeuvre later, but his master was screaming at him.

  ‘Don’t just stand there! Grab your bow. Jelninolan, Uldini, we need shields here!’ he screamed.

  Ahren threw himself sideways to his bow, which he had placed earlier that evening against the nearby pillar. He slipped behind it for cover, pulled out an arrow and carefully looked around the cold stone, while pressing himself against it.