‘Master, what was that you called out earlier?’, asked Ahren curiously. The wolf had reacted to the call immediately and violently.
‘We’ve just slain a Dark One that has been wreaking murderous havoc around the world for half a millennium and you want a lesson in Elfish?’ his master replied humorously.
Ahren realized that he wasn’t going to get a sensible answer today.
Instead, Falk gripped his hand and said, ‘yes, thank you, Ahren. Things would have turned out very differently without you’.
The boy was bursting with pride, at least until his master tousled his hair as if he were a child. The old codger could really spoil things at a moment’s notice. A feeling of happiness surged through his thoughts when Selsena started laughing at them both, and one heartbeat later they were all laughing their heads off, glad to be still alive.
He awoke with a start, wide-eyed and his face bathed in sweat. An old oath had been renewed, spoken by a voice he had thought lost forever. He looked over at the complicated network of lines, spirals and convoluted signs, which almost covered the marble floor completely. He could still hear the singing reverberating in the air. Quickly he spoke a simple spell while with a gruff movement of the hand he shooed away the servant, who had rushed to him when he had awoken. With full concentration he stared at the barely visible lines that led towards the west. He smiled and began adding a new sign to his magic web.
Now he knew where he must look.
A short time later they had lit a fire but Ahren was still shaking like a leaf. Falk watched him sympathetically and said, ‘Your body has to become used to the excitement. You’ll feel better soon’. Ahren wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to get used to the feeling of being in mortal danger but kept the thought to himself.
Falk rubbed his left shoulder absentmindedly. His movements were still stiff. After all, the wolf’s attack had almost ripped his arm off. Only the old man’s athletic constitution and the under-arm armour that the wolf had bitten into had prevented him from being torn apart - literally.
‘Have you decided yet which part you want?’ the old man asked abruptly.
Falk responded to Ahren’s questioning look by pointing with his knife at the spread-eagled shape of the Blood Wolf. ‘That is a Dark One. Tradition grants you the right to a trophy and you’ve certainly earned one’. The boy’s thoughts turned to the grey Fog Cat cloak that Falk wore at any traditional occasions. Falk could never be considered a pompous person and so he had wondered a few times over the preceding months why he owned such a cloak at all. But the great satisfaction that came with conquering such a strong opponent explained the desire to have tangible proof of such an achievement.
Ahren walked slowly around the cadaver, half afraid the Blood Wolf could come back to life. If this encounter had taught him anything, then it was respect for the opponent.
He circled the mountain of fur and was considering whether he could use one of the fangs as a dagger when he heard a curious little whimpering sound. He turned around and went gingerly towards the source of the sound. It seemed to come from a part of the pit where the wolf had been lying. Although he watched out where he was walking he kept stepping on dry bones which cracked and snapped under his boots. The skeletons of older prey lay all over the place and there was a strong smell of old blood emanating from the back of the lair. Ahren was about to turn back when he heard the sound again, which he now identified as a weak whimpering. A little puppy was lying among the bones, curled up in a protective hollow, with its snow white fur. It looked up at the boy with its golden yellow eyes while it weakly called for its mother.
Ahren was overcome by a feeling of guilt mixed with an instinct to protect and he sank to his knees, unaware of the blood from the remains of the slaughtered animals which soaked through his leggings. He gingerly stretched forward a finger, ready to pull it back at the least sign of aggression.
But the little thing just sniffed at him, whimpered timidly again and looked past Ahren towards the entrance. Before he had a chance to regret the decision he pulled off his cloak, wrapped the whelp in it and took the bundle in his arms. The little thing didn’t protest, just snuggled into the boy’s chest and closed its eyes.
Selsena had sensed the turmoil within the apprentice and warned Falk that something wasn’t quite right. The pair had stood up and were waiting at the edge of the hollow for him. The old man looked down at the boy with a stony expression. ‘Ahren, what do you have there?’ The tone in his voice could have cut through rock.
‘A whelp, master’, said Ahren carefully and pulled back the cloak a little so that the little head became visible and blinked its eyes at the bright world. Ahren turned so that the animal couldn’t see the body of its mother, and climbed out of the depression.
Selsena pranced nervously on the spot, threw her head back, and the wave of emotions that she let forth, a mixture of hatred and pity, were as disturbing as those he felt himself. She gave a neigh of protest and galloped off, disappearing into the undergrowth. Falk looked angrily down at Ahren, reached a calloused hand out towards the whelp and pulled out his dagger with the other.
Did he really want to kill the whelp? The boy retreated several paces, Falk in pursuit.
‘Give me that!’ The order was like the crack of a whip.
The little thing whimpered and Ahren shouted defiantly, ‘no!’
Falk rolled his eyes and checked himself with difficulty. Holding the dagger in his hand, he said calmly and slowly, ‘that is a Dark One. We kill Dark Ones’.
Ahren turned away so that his body was between the blade and the little ball of fur that was snuggling into him for protection. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t give up the whelp. His head and his heart told him that there couldn’t be any relationship between the horrifying beast that had only a few short hours previously tried to slaughter them, and this needy little creature. He looked at the little face with the pointy ears and pink tongue which was now licking his chin.
‘But he doesn’t have red eyes’, he argued stubbornly. All Dark Ones had, like the Adversary, who imposed his will on them.
‘Not yet’, responded Falk heatedly. ‘But his master will call him at the first new moon, and if he falls into a rage and tastes blood, then they’ll turn red. And then he’ll be ten times as difficult to kill. He might even tear apart one of your friends. What do you think now?’
Ahren was filled with a deep-seated rage. This whelp had to pay for the sins of its mother, without having the chance to live its own life, free from the sins of the past. He saw himself, locked in his father’s hut, with no hope of rescue. Until Falk came. He had saved him. And now he of all people was adamant that this living creature couldn’t be saved. To Ahren it seemed like a betrayal. He stood up straight and said in a firm voice. ‘I claim this whelp as my trophy. I shall save him and he shall live’.
Falk was about to say something but then shrugged his shoulders and put his knife away. A deep sadness was etched on his face.
‘Good, then I won’t keep you back. Sometimes the younger generation has to learn the hard way’. Then he sat down by the fire and stared into the flames. Ahren sat down warily on the other side of the fire and held the whelp close to his chest.
For the rest of the evening the master and his apprentice sat in an uneasy silence. This silence continued as they made their way home the following day. When they arrived at the cabin that afternoon, Ahren was in a dilemma. He could hardly take the wolf with him into the village as long as everyone was in a panic and waiting behind their locked doors for the whelp’s mother to attack. But he had to get food or the little thing would starve. That meant he would have to leave the whelp alone with Falk. The apprentice chewed on his lip before finally saying, ‘I want you to swear that you will do no harm to the little one’.
Falk grumbled, as though he had expected that and said, ‘Alright then. I swear by the Three that I will not harm this animal either directly or indirectly until its eyes are red. Then I will kill it
’.
That was more than Ahren had expected and he had to admit it was a fair condition. So he simply said, ‘thank you’ and put the whelp down on the floor of the cabin.
Falk raised his eyebrows and nodded silently. The whelp ran over to him as if to sniff his hand and the boy could have sworn that the old man was on the point of stroking it before deciding to wave it away.
But he didn’t want to push his luck and said nothing more but set off for the butcher. As the door closed behind him he could hear his master complain, ‘If the little boy pisses in the cabin, then you’re going to clean it up with your Godsday suit, do you hear me?’
Ahren smiled all the way to the village. Falk had regained his gruff nature and that was a good sign.
The following days were a tough struggle as Ahren tried to improve the whelp’s health. He had to work out the correct mixture of water and cooked meat pulp so that the little thing could keep his food down. He used all his knowledge of healing herbs so he could add the correct plants that would help the young animal to survive the adaptation. By the sixth day it was clear that the wolf would make it and that lifted a load off Ahren’s mind.
His master kept his promise but did not help the boy. The old man spent a lot of time outside with Selsena, who refused to come nearer than twenty paces from the cabin. Ahren felt her attitude didn’t help the situation but it didn’t throw him off continuing to raise the whelp.
Falk had been paying him the apprentice wage since the Autumn Festival. Ahren hadn’t touched it up until this point but now he bought everything he needed that would help provide for his little, furry friend. The new moon was ten days away and then his master would realize that Ahren had been proven right. The boy wouldn’t even consider the possibility of failure and its consequences.
The two Forest Guardians were acclaimed as heroes among the villagers, as they had driven away the shadow of the evil one from Deepstone. There were a few doubters who claimed that the wolf had never existed and this had just been a trick to curry favour among the community. Falk nicked this rumour in the bud by unceremoniously dumping the head of the beast in the village square. Ahren could imagine who had been spreading these malevolent rumours but he was too preoccupied with looking after the whelp and anyway he didn’t really care.
Ahren played as much as possible with the young wolf, held him close every night and fed him with such earnestness that it nearly brought tears to Falk’s eyes. The tragic end was fast approaching and he could only hope that the boy would get over it. The animal became ever more restless as the new moon approached. It snarled for no reason and snapped at Ahren a few times when they were playing. The boy reacted with stoic equanimity, cut a few strips off an old cloak, wrapped these around his arms, and continued playing.
Falk respected his apprentice’s determination and remembered the previous year’s Apprenticeship Trials when a timid young boy with a broken arm stubbornly defied a far stronger opponent.
And so the day they had both been fearing arrived. The young wolf was irritable and tried to leave the cabin at every opportunity. Ahren became more and more frustrated. Falk finally took pity on him and decided to give the young boy’s plan a chance. ‘What do you intend to do?’, he asked.
Ahren jutted out his chin and said, ‘I’ll chain him up if necessary’.
‘That won’t work’, said Falk. ‘That’s already been tried. The frenzy insures that he’ll snap the rope, or the animal will strangle himself on it’.
‘It’s been tried already?’ Ahren was stunned.
‘Not just once. A hundred times. Without success. I’ll admit, most of the animals were older when they were found. You’ve had an unusual amount of time for him to get used to you. But no, it has never worked. Either the animals escaped, or killed themselves in the process, or ripped apart their minders. First there’s the frenzy, and if they then drink a drop of blood, it’s too late. The eyes change colour and a new Dark One has been created. Herbs are useless during the frenzy too, so you can’t drug them’.
A heavy silence hung over the room. Ahren could think of only one way out. ‘Then I’ll hold on to him for the whole night’.
Falk looked doubtfully at the young animal, which was pacing the room and growling. The wolf had grown to the length of his arm over the previous ten days.
‘You want to hold on to a wolf in frenzy for the whole night and stop him from getting one drop of your blood into his mouth?’
‘Of course’. Ahren was warming even more to the idea. ‘I’ll stuff my arms with material, hold his head in an arm grip and I’ll hold his tummy in a grip with my other arm. I’ll always stay at his back, so he can’t bite me. He won’t be able to strangle himself in my arms, the stuff is too soft and I can adjust the strength of my grip. And he won’t be able to escape either’. The boy beamed at his master.
Falk rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘Ahren, that might work for an hour, then you’ll get tired and make a mistake’.
But his apprentice was already gathering together the strips of cloth he had worn when playing during the previous few days. He tied them tightly to his arms with strips of leather and lay down beside the young wolf, who tried to jump to the side. He quickly had him in the grip he had described to his master and now he was lying on his side, the animal pressed closely to him. The whelp was growling quietly but not moving. The young boy’s face filled with a triumphant grin and he called out, ‘it’s working!’
Falk stared at him, too tired and sad to discuss the matter anymore. ‘Alright. We’ll do it like this. You hold on tightly, I’ll sit over there on the stool with my dagger. As soon as your insane plan fails, I’ll do everything I can to save your life’.
The finality with which Falk described the failure of his plan was like a slap in the face. He avoided making eye contact with his master for the rest of the day and concentrated on perfecting his arm protectors while the night slowly approached.
‘Ahren, it’s time’, said Falk in an unusually soft voice. Dusk had settled over the forest and the sparkling landscape of snow outside had transformed into a collection of faint, grey shapes. Soon there would be the total darkness common to new moons.
The whelp had been standing in the corner for some time shaking and growling at the two of them. Ahren gave a tentative nod and then strapped the padding to his arms. The old man watched him for a while and finally started giving him advice. The construction of cloth and leather straps had to be snug to the arms without cutting off the blood supply but not so loose that the wolf could use the wriggle room to twist around in the apprentice’s arms and rip out his throat.
Ahren moved slowly towards the young wolf, speaking reassuringly to him. Meanwhile, Falk was tensely chewing on his lips. There were two major weaknesses in Ahren’s plan: there was the danger that his strength would not last, and the wolf might succeed in turning. The frenzy would last until sunrise and this was a night in the middle of winter.
For Falk the result was not in doubt. The padding and the leather jerkin would, in the eyes of the master, only protect the boy until he intervened. And that would be at the moment the animal was lost to the great Betrayer. He had tried to persuade Ahren to wear a neck guard to protect against a throat bite but the stubborn boy would hear nothing of it because if his neck were stiff he wouldn’t be able to keep a constant eye on the animal.
At last the apprentice picked the whelp up quickly and carried him to his bed. He lay down with his back to the wall so he could use the stability of the wood and crossed his arms over the front of the wolf, one arm bent around the animal’s neck, the other around the stomach, just above the hind legs. The wolf began to defend himself and snarled dangerously but Ahren continued to speak soothingly to him.
Falk was close to tears as he saw the heart-breaking inevitable conclusion that was drawing nearer. He took the stool and sat two paces away and in full view of Ahren. He had pulled out his dagger, but held it hidden. ‘I’m here boy’, he said in a hoarse voice, ‘as
long as it takes’.
Ahren looked up in gratitude to his mentor. The wolf wasn’t as strong as he had feared and he had no problem preventing his attempts to escape. This gave him courage.
The light faded noticeably and Falk placed a big log on the fire, which would burn for many hours. He could see from his stool with the flickering light of the fire how the young animal was struggling harder to escape from Ahren’s grip. The growling was becoming deeper and more threatening and the young boy’s body was swaying from side to side with the animal’s movements.
Beads of sweat appeared on Ahren’s face as he noticed that the wolf was producing more strength then he could have imagined. His arms were beginning to hurt and he had to keep reminding himself not to injure the whelp by squeezing too hard.
The evening moved on inexorably and it was now completely black outside the cabin. The animal was struggling incessantly in his arms, snapping the air, trying to twist and turn, scratching with his paws. Ahren tried to keep pressed against the wall so he could preserve his strength. The padding on his arms was holding, as were the leather leggings but the kicks were painful nonetheless. Any time he thought he had adjusted to the wolf’s resistance, the whelp would increase his efforts. The burning in his arms had now spread to his shoulders and back. He was panting and much to his consternation the little body in his arms didn’t seem to be tiring, but rather gaining in strength.
Falk stood up and came towards him slowly with the drawn dagger.
‘No!’ the boy screamed at the top of his voice and gripped harder. Then he saw that his mentor was holding a goblet in his other hand. He approached Ahren from above and poured some water laced with herbs down his throat, being careful not to come too close to the wolf’s fangs. At first Ahren hadn’t wanted to drink anything for fear it was a sleeping potion but then he smelled the Life Fern and Wolf Herb. He drank down the herbal tea greedily, knowing it would give him strength and ease the pain. He tried to reach the Void although all the muscles in his body were tense.
Ahren- the 13th Paladin Page 15
