The Naming

by Torsten Weitze

  Falk noticed Ahren’s expression and he gave him a wink, and then they approached the fire in the centre of the enormous room.

  Gradually the noise died down as the conversations subsided, the dice cups were placed on the tables, and the tankards were set down. Many of the dwarves stared openly at them, and the apprentice saw some of the little folk bowing respectfully towards Jelninolan and Khara, in the same way that the guards at the Cliff entrance had done. Culhen sniffed along the rows of benches and received many strokes along the way and, of course, more to eat once he had given his best impression of a starving wolf. Ahren remembered what Falk had said the previous day concerning the respect dwarves had towards domesticated wolves. He decided not to scold Culhen but instead he gave a clear, shrill whistle, and when the wolf’s head flew around to see his master, the young man gave him a steely look and gestured towards his heel. Culhen obediently trotted over to him and Ahren noticed, to his satisfaction, how some of the dwarves gave him an approving nod.

  ‘You’re good for something, anyway’, he whispered to the white animal and ruffled his fur lovingly. Culhen gave an annoyed snort but stayed by his side nevertheless.

  The two women were still being bowed to respectfully as the group neared the fire, and Ahren’s curiosity got the better of him. ‘Why are they being so unbelievably respectful to Khara and Jelninolan? I thought dwarves weren’t particularly close to elves and humans’, he asked.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with their origin, but with their sex. Women are very special phenomena to dwarves. Only one in every twenty dwarf children is female. The only reason they haven’t all died out is that dwarf women usually give birth to quadruplets or even quintuplets. Hence, their respectful behaviour. Many of them have never seen a female in their lives, with the exception of their mother.’

  ‘Which is why the female dwarves decided thousands of years ago to hide themselves from the world.’ Falk’s voice sounded sad as he continued. ‘If too many of them die within one generation, whether through war or disease, then the whole race of little people will die out.’

  Ahren looked at the polite, almost longing looks of the bowing dwarves and a feeling of melancholy came over him. Almost everyone of these dwarves would spend their life without a partner. Friendship and camaraderie, they would certainly have, but never togetherness. And the realisation that their own race always had the threat of extinction hanging over them had to be difficult to live with.

  Ahren now understood some of the dwarfish qualities better. Everyone of them wanted to prove something to the others, put their value on show and perhaps become one of the lucky ones to win the favour of a she-dwarf. Even the grim willingness-to-fight that every dwarf radiated made more sense now. A dwarf would undoubtedly give everything to protect their homeland and the precious female custodians of the future dwarf generations, who were hidden away in the depths of the enclave.

  They arrived at the crackling fire, over which were hanging enormous pots at different heights, attached to cables which were operated by hoists. Ahren could smell a multitude of earthy aromas and he watched a dwarf, with a singed beard and a red face, turning several cranks, which lifted and lowered some of the metal containers. The dwarf reached to the side and turned over a large hourglass before drawing strange angular shapes on a slate that was standing beside him.

  While Ahren was still pondering if it wouldn’t make more sense to have several smaller fires for stewing the food instead of one big one, he noticed a dwarf who was bent over, with a blanket over his back, standing directly in front of the fire and stretching his hands forward as if to warm them. The apprentice’s eyes fell on the dwarf’s hands, with their knotty, bony fingers and pale age-spotted skin stretched tight over his knuckles.

  Falk cleared his throat respectfully and the figure slowly turned around. Ahren looked in shock at the old dwarf’s face and tried hard to hide his feelings. His bald head looked more like a death mask than a living face, and his incredibly long beard, which resembled a snow-white waterfall, reached all the way down to his ankles. His translucent skin revealed deep blue veins and it was only his intelligent, lively eyes that betrayed that there was life in the body standing before them. Ahren was flabbergasted to see that he was wearing chainmail, albeit one that was thinner than normal. It was made of pure gold and instilled respect towards the dwarf in spite of his decrepit appearance.

  Falk bowed deeply and spoke formally and at length, remaining all the time in his stooped position. The dwarf listened impassively, the time passed by, and Falk continued his monologue. Ahren looked around without attracting attention and noticed that almost all the dwarves had returned to what they were doing, with just the occasional secret glance, filled with respect and longing, at the two women.

  Uldini glanced at Ahren in annoyance.

  ‘The dwarves’ introductory ceremonies are pure torture. First Falk has to relate to the venerable Fulretedurkolok the story of his life, which the dwarves know about already. Then he has to relate the life story of the dwarf we’re looking for, to prove that they’re friends. It’s very important for the dwarves to hear the details of a dwarf’s life because it’s very hard to tell them apart until they have their own names. Falk’s description is as detailed as possible, not only because it’s a reminder of all his services to the dwarf folk, but also to show the Elder of the care he is taking in respectfully upholding their traditions. It’s not forbidden for outsiders to help a dwarf on his Lonely Watch, but if the Elder tells us the way to Falk’s friend, it could be presented, according to the dwarf traditions, as interference in a dwarf’s Lonely Watch. If the Elder decides against us, then we will neither gain access to the mines, nor find out what the Lonely Watch’s task is, nor where our dwarf is.’

  Jelninolan prodded the Arch Wizard’s foot once Falk had finished with his torrent of words. Uldini stopped speaking abruptly and looked down to the ground with as neutral a face as possible.

  It was only then that Ahren noticed that the dwarves were taking practically no notice of the Arch Wizard. It had to be a surreal experience for the ageless wizard not to be the centre of attention – he, who dined with kings and queens and had the upper nobility wrapped around his little finger. Culhen, on the other hand, who had slipped away, was being stroked and given portions of meat by the dwarf warriors. They had obviously fallen for his impression of the starving wolf.

  The Clan Elder began to speak, and in spite of his age, his voice rang clear and precise.

  ‘You come to us with great deeds and a little request, Dorian Falkenstein, friend of the dwarves and of all free folk. And, though you need to polish up your pronunciation of the Cliff language, I very much enjoyed your story of your life. He, whom you know and was once called Tor before he left, has concerned himself with the Ancestry Name.’

  There had been total silence in the room since the old dwarf had begun talking. Uldini gasped when he heard those words, and Falk stiffened, as if he had suddenly been plunged into an icy bath.

  ‘The task was selected as appropriate to the honour he sought, and as he is a Kulkumharan’thur, we expect greatness from him. He has taken on, as befits a Mountainshield, the greatest danger that the Silver Cliff is currently facing. He has been keeping watch for five summers and must do so for another ninety-five, unless he succeeds in overpowering our enemy once and for all.’

  The Elder stopped speaking, and Ahren feared the worst. He looked with concern at Uldini’s and Falk’s stony faces. Then he looked appealingly at Jelninolan, who laid a hand on his shoulder to support herself and pressed the surprised Khara into her chest. Ahren swallowed hard and concentrated on the Elder who spoke again.

  ‘You’ll find him on the deepest level of the northern shaft, far beyond the Warning Runes. Help him, and he has the blessing of the Clans to accompany you’

  The Elder gave a dignified nod and then turned back to the fire.

  Ahren saw that the aged dwarf’s hands were shaking as if from the cold as the
stooped figure stretched his fingers out towards the blazing flames again.

  Falk gave a deep bow behind the Chief of the Mountainshield Clan and stiffly signalled to the others to follow him out of the hall. Everyone in the group, with the exception of Khara and Ahren, seemed to be in a state of complete shock, and the girl threw the apprentice a quizzical look, but he only responded with a puzzled shrug of his shoulders. The silence that followed the Elder’s words continued as they walked back towards the entrance. The lines of dwarves bowed respectfully as Falk passed by, and Ahren’s master tried to reciprocate as many bows as possible without slowing down his pace. The others followed him like a royal household rushing after their hurrying king.

  They were hardly back at the Grand Junction when Uldini shook off his state of shock and exploded with rage. He floated directly in front of Falk’s nose and sparks flew in all directions as the Wizard tried to regain his self-control.

  ‘An Ancestry Name!? What by all the gods was your dunderhead friend thinking of? As if it wasn’t difficult enough being one of the pure dwarves, he wants to lay claim to the most important name in Dwarfdom? Dwarf generals and master blacksmiths need aeons to have an Ancestry Name bestowed on them by the Clan Board, and your dwarf friend, who isn’t even two hundred years old, expects to be granted one at the drop of a hat?’ the Arch Wizard shouted in frustration. ‘Oh, Falk, what have you ridden us into? Are we going to have to hollow out a mountain? Or take over Southern Kelkor? Or exterminate every Gorge Spider from here to Thousand Halls?’

  Uldini was discharging little sparks, which were exploding on the ground and ceiling.

  Jelninolan laid a calming hand on the raging Ancient’s forearm.

  ‘You really need to control yourself. Half of the Honour Guards have awoken from their torpor and are giving you fearsome looks. You know what dwarves think of magic, and at the moment there are over forty hostile eyes looking at you and at this very heartbeat they’re wondering if you might be a threat to their Clans’, she implored.

  The priestess’s urgent words finally brought Uldini to his senses. The discharges suddenly stopped, and the Wizard floated away from the old Paladin, who was standing there grinding his teeth. Ahren could see that his master was in a state of shock, and so he did what he always did, to defuse a fraught situation. He asked a question.

  ‘What exactly is an Ancestry Name?’, he interjected.

  Uldini’s response was to curse quietly, but Falk pulled himself out of his lethargy.

  ‘There are names that are so important in the history of dwarves that it is forbidden to form them from the individual syllable that a dwarf gathers in the course of his life. The names of heroes from a bygone era, of the original Clan founders, or of legendary blacksmiths are all to be found in the Ancestry Names. The king of Thousand Halls, Holwortunur, for example, bears such a name. At this time there are two dozen Ancestry Names, and each can only be borne by a single dwarf. As far as I know, there only three in use at the moment along with the king’, explained Falk in a monotone. ‘Achieving an Ancestry Name is the almost unattainable pinnacle of a hard but successful dwarf life. Only exceptionally honourable, not to mention talented dwarves have ever achieved them. They’re only bestowed by the Clan Board, the ruling council of the dwarf kingdom. Theoretically you can claim one for a Lonely Watch but that’s…unusual, because performing a task worthy of an Ancestry Name usually results in death’, said the Paladin as he concluded his explanation.

  Uldini raised a sarcastic eyebrow but remained silent.

  Falk shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

  ‘It makes no difference. We’ve permission to enter the northern mine and to help him. And a licence to bring him with us afterwards. I only hope the task is not one of the ones Uldini fears. That could take longer than planned. We should at least listen to what he has to say. If worse comes to worse, we’ll just have to leave him here and hope that another dwarf will help us’, he said with a worried voice.

  Ahren stopped in shock and stared at his master’s back. The apprentice had assumed that Uldini, in his rage, had exaggerated wildly, but it was obvious that Falk shared the wizard’s worries concerning the enormity of the task that the nameless dwarf was currently faced with. The old man’s doubts were so strong that he was even toying openly with the idea of abandoning his friend.

  Ahren stomped after the others with mixed feelings and earnestly prayed that they hadn’t bitten off more than they could chew this time.

  Chapter 17

  33 days to the winter solstice

  The blackness in the tunnels under the Silver Cliff was endless. There were too many passages, corridors, quarries, smelting areas and tunnels for them all to be lit. And so the dwarves only took their lanterns and oil hoses to where they were currently working, and everywhere else was left to silence and darkness.

  Uldini provided them with light through his crystal ball, which emitted a faint brightness and which floated along over their heads and just under the ceilings. Ahren had noticed early on that the dwarves’ love of imposing structures played second fiddle to their pragmatism, and so the tunnels, while wide, were not particularly high. Ahren had to duck his head repeatedly, and Falk was almost constantly walking in a stooped position. Having banged his head several times, his master had resorted to putting on his helmet. From time to time they would hear a scraping, metallic sound when Falk was too near the ceiling, but at least there was no danger of him doing any serious damage to his head.

  They had taken all their armour with them and put it on as they had no idea what task awaited them. Khara had been a little disgruntled and looked at the others with envy, because she was the only one who hadn’t taken body armour with her when they left their quarters. And so she had grasped Windblade firmly and Ahren was certain that her hand had been on the hilt ever since.

  During the first few hours of their journey Ahren and his companions had seen the hustle and bustle of work everywhere. Carts filled with ore, or rocks streaked with precious stone, were pulled up from the depths of the tunnels on their way to large smithies and workshops where the majority of the dwarves were working away within comfortable distance of the Clan Halls. But the bustling activity gradually diminished during the course of their first day travelling in the mines. Ahren huffed and puffed more and more loudly under the weight of the enormous rucksack full of provisions. Falk had tied it onto his back before they had set off, but Ahren couldn’t complain because his master was carrying a similar load of foodstuffs on his broad shoulders, and even Jelninolan and Khara were heavily laden. Ahren realised with a sense of unease that Falk and Uldini had calculated on their journey taking several days, and the thought of their little group stumbling through the dark bowels of the mountain, far from any help, filled him with gloom.

  The first night Ahren lay under his blanket surrounded by darkness, and the oppressive feel of the rock all around him almost caused him to scream in panic. It was only Culhen’s soothing presence that prevented him from losing it. The quiet calmness of the wolf helped him to drop off to sleep as he snuggled close to his furry friend.

  The group pushed further and further into the northern tunnel, following the angular line drawings that marked each turn off and passageway. Every one of these tunnels, hewn out of the rock, looked the same to Ahren, and with every hour that they progressed Ahren would imagine that they were walking around in a circle. No Deep Fire kept the cold of the rock at bay here in the mines, and he felt a clammy dampness in his bones. This part of the tunnel seemed abandoned, and only occasionally would they come across a dwarf scurrying along, clasping a pickaxe and looking at them suspiciously.

  Then they started their descent into the depths. The corridors and tunnels looked as if they were on the level as the descent was very gradual, but thanks to Ahren’s balance training with Jelninolan, he sensed the downward direction. The air and the pressure which he felt on his chest changed subtly with every hour they walked, like a constant whispering that
you grow used to, but which changes its volume or tone ever so slightly.

  They had rested for four nights by this point. In the morning the square-shaped hewn tunnels had disappeared, and yet, in spite of the many angled warnings etched into the walls for a stretch of over sixty paces, they had carried on walking. Once they had passed the warning signs, the tunnels changed dramatically. They were now circular, three paces in diameter, and the surface of the rock was smooth. Ahren had seen no signs of pickaxes and the rock looked as if it had been worked on by some incredibly fine machinery before being polished. Ahren asked himself why somebody would go to so much trouble to smooth a tunnel in the depths of the earth.

  In order to fight the monotony and danger of their slow, gruelling progress, Ahren had again begun to practise the Northern Language with Khara. Jelninolan helped out when he ran into difficulties but she seemed happy that Ahren had taken on the task of helping the girl.

  ‘These mines have been abandoned for some time and the warning runes make it clear to any traveller that it’s dangerous here. If you practise with Khara, then I can concentrate on establishing if there are other beings present. Other creatures live in the mountain and they spread out unhindered in areas where the dwarves have withdrawn their guards. We don’t want to walk into an ambush down here, do we?’ she had said.

  These words had made Ahren uneasy, but Uldini and Falk seemed to have blind faith in the elf’s abilities and so they proceeded, more bored than frightened, down the endless passageways.

  They were now resting for the fifth time, at least that was what Ahren guessed, for he had lost all feeling for time. Falk had insisted that they bring along as many provisions as possible, but this didn’t stop him from rationing their supplies. Drinking water would have been a problem under other circumstances, but Uldini possessed a magic charm that sucked all the moisture up to the surface of the rock. The water was extremely cold and had a strangely metallic taste, but the Arch Wizard had promised them that it was palatable.