Ahren- the 13th Paladin
Page 6
‘That’s true, now you say it. I was starving for a week after Keeper Jegral patched me up that time’.
Likis had broken his leg four years previously during one of his climbing escapades. He had fallen three paces from a tree. Vera, the village Healer, told Likis’ parents that his bone was shattered and he would probably be limping for the rest of his life. However, Keeper Jegral intervened and summoned the strength of the Moulder. Ahren had heard horror stories from other villages where the priests would only undertake healings if they received donations or sometimes wouldn’t perform them at all. But this was shrugged off as only a rumour in Deepstone. The few disabled villagers were the unlucky ones who even Jegral’s powers couldn’t fully heal. And yet there was no ill-feeling among them towards the priest – for he had indeed saved most of them from certain death. Like old Tohl with his missing arm. He had been the one and only victim of the Fog Cat that Falk had killed. The monster had ripped the farmer’s arm off and disappeared into the forest with it. Jegral had prayed for many hours and managed to close up the gaping wound and thereby save the farmer’s life. Ever since then old Tohl never failed to assist the priest in his ceremonial duties. In fact, Ahren could think of only one person who showed animosity towards Jegral - his father.
Ahren was brought right down to earth when he thought of Edrik. He looked cautiously around for his father but he was nowhere to be seen. He was probably sleeping off his drunkenness or he had made himself at home at the beer barrel without his son. That was fine by Ahren. With a sigh of satisfaction he pushed the empty plate away from him and looked around the table. Everyone was deep in conversation. Likis’ mother had taken on board her son’s attentiveness towards Ahren, who was now feeling quite calm and at ease. The meal had strengthened his body but his friend’s friendly words and those of his family had strengthened his soul. He listened to the laughing and joking of the others with delight, saw the genuine closeness among the villagers and watched the torches being put into position. He had lost all sense of time, and only when he looked up at the sky did he realise, how much time had passed by. Darkness was slowly drawing in and soon the torches would light up the festive square. The celebration normally went on late into the night and this one would be no exception.
On an impulse, Ahrens spoke to Keeper Jegral as he was passing the table. The Keeper wasn’t averse to good food and the occasional tankard but he was a stickler for observing his religious obligations. It was getting dark and so he was returning to his chapel to hold evening prayers as he did every day. It didn’t seem to bother him that he sometimes held them without any attendees and he always had a friendly word for the villagers.
‘Keeper Jegral?’ Ahren asked the priest shyly.
The priest stopped in surprise and paused. Then he spoke. ‘Ahren, my congratulations to you on your formation into Forest Guardian. What can I do for you?’
Ahren blushed slightly. He wasn’t used to addressing the priest. ‘I just want to thank you, Keeper Jegral. Without you my hand would…’ He couldn’t say the words. He would never have become Falk’s apprentice without a healthy hand and would have remained a cripple by his father’s side. The priest had saved far more than a boy’s limb today.
Jegral nodded patiently and came to Ahren’s rescue as he struggled to find the right words. ‘It wasn’t me that healed you, it was He, who moulds. You must thank him. You could do this by attending prayers on Godsdays’. Before Ahren could apologise the Keeper continued, ‘I know it wasn’t your fault in the past but perhaps I shall see you more often in future?’
Ahren was still too embarrassed to answer and could only muster a nod. The Keeper game him an encouraging smile and continued on to the chapel. The young apprentice turned to the table again and Falk, who had been involved in a lively discussion with the others asked curiously, ‘what happened there?’
‘I just said thanks’, he answered.
The Forest Guardian’s face softened for a moment and he said, ‘that’s good. I wouldn’t be happy if I took an ungrateful apprentice under my wings. How did the priest answer?’
‘I should go to Godsday prayers’.
‘Well, that’s only right. Remind me in good time’.
Likis’ father, Velem, looked over at the two of them and said, ‘there’s one other thing you two should do to finish the formalities’. Likis’ father drew his knife from his belt and passed it to Falk.
‘Sit down over there’, he said and pointed Ahren to the seat opposite his master’s. The boy changed his place obediently. ‘You seem to have recovered sufficiently, so now it’s time to make the bond’.
As the apprentice sat down, he asked, ‘the bond? I’ve never heard of that’. The conversations around the table had now come to a halt and everyone was looking at the pair.
Likis’ father answered, ‘It’s an old custom that we rarely perform here in Deepstone. In days of yore the pact between master and apprentice was sealed in this way. It was a promise never to leave the other in the lurch even in the most difficult of times and to make the training the strongest bond until it was deemed completed. In those days it was necessary in order to overcome feuds between families or class distinctions between master and apprentice. It’s an important tradition and one worth retaining’.
Falk looked at the knife in his hand and replied, ‘But nowadays the position of the master is generally seen as untouchable and he doesn’t need to slash his apprentice as part of an old ritual’.
He looked at the merchant reproachfully, who, however remained unimpressed and replied instead, ‘my master completed the bond with me and I won’t treat his memory with contempt by ignoring his teachings. Likis and I will likewise complete the bond even though we are father and son. You should heed my advice in this matter’.
Once Ahren had heard the word ‘slash’ he had stopped listening and could only now look at the knife in horror.
Falk gave the merchant a searching look, rubbed his chin as he thought and then said determinedly, ‘right then. Let’s do it’. He turned to his frightened apprentice and sighed.
‘Look at the young boy, we’re frightening him to death’. He shook his head and spoke reassuringly to Ahren. ‘You have no need to fear. Look’, and with a quick cut Falk scratched his palm until a little blood appeared. ‘And now you. Put your arm out’.
Ahren obeyed reluctantly.
‘You must trust your master’, said Falk. Then the fledgling apprentice felt a slight pain as the blade cut his skin.
‘Now, put it there!’, said Falk and stretched out his hand. Ahren gave his master his hand who gripped it firmly and then said, Now we are master and apprentice’.
‘Now you are master and apprentice’, intoned Master Velem. Turning to Falk he murmured, ‘even if you think this form of ritual is outdated, it’s important to do it properly’. He turned to the surrounding tables, all of whom were looking at this point, stood up, and called loudly, ‘I as a neutral master witness the bond between Master Falk and Apprentice Ahren. Do any other masters bear witness?’
Many of the assembled seemed baffled at first. This form of ritual was indeed older than Velem had indicated. After a few moments however half a dozen mistresses and masters had raised their hands. Velem sat down again contentedly and turned to the two Forest Guardians.
Falk looked Likis’ father in the eyes and nodded once. Whatever was going on between the two of them, Ahren couldn’t figure it out. All he knew was, if Falk didn’t loosen his grip soon, he would definitely lose his right hand. At this point it had stopped tingling. Falk finally released his grip and fished two clean towels from his cloak. ‘Here, press that on the cut. It will stop bleeding in a few minutes’.
Likis got involved now. ‘You say it was a spontaneous decision to seek an apprentice, yet you still brought suitable bandages for the bonding with you. We see through you, good Master Forest Guardian!’ He beamed at everyone and many nodded in agreement.
‘Admit it. You planned it all along�
�.
‘Likis, as a Forest Guardian you always need to have bandages with you. You never know when you need them’, Falk responded unmoved.
The others laughed and clapped Falk on the back, and Likis and Ahren exchanged looks. ‘Am I glad I’m becoming a merchant’, the wiry boy whispered to his friend. Ahren looked at his bloody hand and the bandage and at this moment could only agree.
Two hours later and Ahren had really joined in the merriment the table. There was much laughter. Falk had passed around a bottle of wine and Ahren was allowed to drink too – after all he was now an apprentice – and several songs had been song. Ahren had only been an observer at these feasts up until now. He had never been a part of them. This feeling of security was remarkably pleasant and he felt a warm glow inside.
Suddenly he felt a calloused hand on his shoulder and an overpowering smell of beer and stale sweat filled his nostrils. ‘So this is where you’ve been hiding yourself’. His father’s speech was slurred. ‘Come on, we’re going’. The grip on Ahren’s shoulder became even more painful, as was always the case when Edrik’s movements had been numbed by alcohol. This hand seemed to be sucking out all the warmth and affection, and the sense of belonging Ahren had experienced over the last few hours. He hardly had time to react when his father turned around and started to leave without loosening the grip. Before the boy had pulled his second leg back from the table he lost his balance and fell to the ground. His father lost his balance too and crashed against one of the tables. Cursing and swaying, he planted himself over Ahren, when he heard Falk’s voice, ‘That’s my apprentice you’ve thrown to the ground. You’d do well to help him up’.
The drunkard squinted owlishly as he prepared his words. ‘Apprentice? Him?’ Edric laughed disdainfully. ‘That’s my son, and I’m taking him with me now’. With an almighty yank he pulled Ahren to his feet by the hair.
Ahren gave a pleading look to everyone around him and saw Velem whispering something to the Forest Guardian. At which point Falk slowly rose and said in a quiet voice, ‘you will leave my apprentice alone or I will defend him according to the old law’. His arms tensed up and Ahren saw muscles like cables bulging under his leathery skin. The older man’s posture had completely changed and his whole appearance radiated enormous danger – like a predator sizing up its prey. The question didn’t seem to be if he would attack his opponent but when. A fire blazed in the eyes of the Forest Guardian such as Ahren had never seen before and judging by the shocked looks of the other villagers, he was not the only one. Only Master Velem gave Falk a satisfied look.
Ahren’s father, meanwhile, strengthened his grip. He was too drunk to notice the danger he was in, and began hauling is son away from the light of the torches into the darkness. ‘I’m this boy’s father, and I decide what’s to be done with him until he comes of age. The village will never allow the father’s rights to be questioned’.
In the meantime, the bailiff had stood up with his apprentice and quickly approached them. With a slick hand movement borne of years of experience dealing with tavern brawls, Master Pragur freed the young boy from the drunkard’s grip and gestured to Holken to step between the adversaries.
Falk calmed down visibly once Ahren was free and resumed his normal, relaxed attitude. Ahren was just as surprised by this transformation as he had been by the first. His master turned and with a quiet voice addressed the bailiff. ‘I hereby declare a feud with Edrik the farmworker. As his son is my apprentice, I will take him according to the rights of my bond until his apprenticeship is complete or the feud ended’.
Pragur stroked his moustache and stared at Falk with narrowed eyes. ‘The bonding. Yes, I saw the ritual earlier. As did half the village. So, it looks like I can’t do anything about it’. He gave Ahren a quick smile before turning to his father. ‘The master will take the young boy with him as is the custom. And you, my friend, will sleep off your drunkenness and let the good people here carry on with their festivities’.
Pragur and Holken grabbed Edrik and brought him, despite his loud, drunken protestations, to the bailiff’s barrack room. It had a room where troublemakers could sleep off their intoxication. It wouldn’t be the first night Ahren’s father had spent there.
‘That young boy is going to be a first rate bailiff’ mumbled Falk as he watched Holken go off. ‘Did everything correctly and reacted well, even if he doesn’t particularly like you. You’ll really have to match up to that, after all the trouble you’ve caused’. The twinkle in his eyes softened the blow of what he had said and he laid an arm on Ahren’s shoulders, ‘we’d better bring you home. That’s enough excitement for one day’. The villagers had begun having quiet conversations among themselves again and occasionally looked over at the master and his apprentice. Most of them gave Ahren smiles of encouragement. Falk went to the table with the young boy to pick up the rest of his belongings. Master Velen, with his arms clasped in front of his chest, looked up at the Forest Guardian and grinned broadly. He nodded to the merchant once and said, ‘I should listen to your advice more often. That was a clever way out you gave me. That wouldn’t have worked without the bonding, and Ahren’s father would have been in the right. Thank you’. Likis looked up at his father in awe, who shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘it stood to reason that Edrik wouldn’t let his son go. I was only too happy to help. For years I’ve had to listen to how that awful man treats his own son. Sometimes it only takes a few well-placed words to emerge the winner in a particular situation. Look on it as your first lesson, Likis’. At that point Velem began to explain to his son and apprentice the finer points of trade negotiations. Falk nodded goodbye to the revellers and led the exhausted boy to his new home.
Chapter 3
The sun was already a hand’s span over the horizon when Ahren woke up. There was no sign of Falk and so the young boy looked around the hut which would be his home from now on. He had been worn out the night before and the Forest Guardian had led him to a corner of the room with a mattress and a blanket. The boy had fallen asleep straight away. He could see by the light of day that the hut was quite big enough for one person. It was completely finished in wood. At first glance there didn’t appear to be any joints in the wood but when Ahren went closer to the wall and looked more closely, he saw that each beam was cut perfectly into the next. He had never seen such accurate craftsmanship. The furnishings in the hut, on the other hand, were very plain. A simple stool adorned a round table. There was a shelf on the wall, with a few wooden bowls and cooking utensils. The massive chest in the corner of the room was padlocked, so it probably contained all the Forest Guardian’s worldly belongings. The cooking area consisted of a pot on a tripod, over which a hole in the ceiling was visible. No fireplace. No oven. Ahren pulled the blanket back and stood up. The bed on which he had spent the night seemed to be made out of some kind of fibrous material which he didn’t recognize. The mattress was only two fingers thick and yet the young boy had slept better on it than on the usual straw mattress two hand spans thick. He was still puzzling over the material and design of the mattress when the room darkened. He turned his head and saw Falk standing in the door.
‘Good morning, Ahren. Good that you’re awake. I wouldn’t have let you sleep much longer’.
‘Good morning, Falk…I mean, Master Falk’, Ahren caught himself.
‘We actually get up much earlier, but because you had to go through rather a lot yesterday, I’ve decided on a more leisurely start to the day so I went to get a few things. As you can see, I’m not set up for guests, never mind an apprentice’. Ahren was taken aback and had another look around. There really were no more mattresses. ‘Where did you sleep?’
Falk pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Outside. If it’s warm and dry enough, I feel better in the open air’.
Ahren glanced through the window in the direction indicated. Five paces from the house there was a broad fir tree and at its feet there was a blanket. His master didn’t seem to place much value on comfort.
‘I can imagine you have a few questions. If you have too many questions in your head, there comes a point when you can’t hear the answers anymore’.
With practised movements Falk quickly lit a small fire under the pot. ‘Unpack your things while the stew is warming’. Falk stirred the spoon in the pot with one hand and pointed with other at the bundle he had put down on the floor. Ahren went over to it with curiosity and opened out the oilcloth. He gasped in surprise. He saw a pair of boots, a jerkin and leggings, all made from buckskin. There was also a hunting knife in a buckskin scabbard.
Wide-eyed he stared at the treasures in front of him. The boots alone looked better made than anything he had ever worn. His father had never brought much money home and had drunk most of it, leaving Ahren very often dependent on the charity of the other villagers. And so he often wore the cast-offs of the other village boys, and these were continually patched up until he had grown out of them. He had never seen clothes like those lying in front of him. He looked up at his master with gratitude, but he had turned his back and was fully occupied with the stew.
‘You’re lucky that I placed an order for a new set of clothes with Mistress Dohlmen. I collected them earlier. The woman is up almost as early as I am. Her new apprentice Rufus doesn’t seem too happy about that.’ Falk laughed heartily before continuing, ‘what you’re wearing at the moment would have been in tatters by the afternoon. Not that they’d be much loss. But you’d have lost half your skin as well’.
He could have given me his old clothing and held onto the new for himself, thought Ahren.