Ahren- the 13th Paladin

by Torsten Weitze

  Unsure of where to go, he first returned a little on the path they had come in on the previous day. He peered curiously into every cloth house he passed. Most of them were empty; now and then there would be an elf sitting in one, eating, who would give a friendly nod. He wondered where everyone was, but soon he realized that the settlement stretched out over several levels and there would certainly be something like a village square somewhere. He had seen the elf children climbing up and down the cloth paths the day before and these connected the various levels. Ahren was on the lowest level, exactly at the height where the foliage on the giant trees began. He looked down into the depths and he was only too happy that he had a head for heights for there were at least two dozen paces between himself and the forest floor. He could make out above him at least two further paths among the branches that led to different heights. After wandering around for a little he came to the cloth ramp that led downwards to the forest floor. He hadn’t seen anybody below him as yet so he carried on walking in search of a path that led upwards. The cloth ribbon snaked its way between the tree trunks sometimes gently inclining or declining. Ahren could see that the wide cloth path that he was walking on was artfully wound around the branches at regular intervals as it led past them. He never had the feeling that he would lose his footing, and the path always gave him a feeling of stability. Whether that was down to the qualities of the unusual material or the almost magical knotting and wrapping techniques used by the elves, he could not tell. For a while he wandered aimlessly. Here and there the ribbons would intersect and now and then Ahren would take a turning in the hope that he would see a familiar face or find the path that led upwards. He called after Culhen a few times, but the Blood Wolf was undoubtedly enjoying himself with his new playmates and Ahren didn’t begrudge him that pleasure. This was the first time since Deepstone that the animal found itself in a community that accepted him without question, and the young man was determined to allow his friend to enjoy this positive experience as much as possible.

  He strolled on, taking in the idyllic peace and majestic beauty of the elf forest. The emotions that the enormous trees and the greenish light had stirred up in him the previous day had been tumultuous and overwhelming, but today they had a more subtle influence on him, like the steady sound of a noisy waterfall, just far enough away not to be a disturbance, but close enough to penetrate everything he was experiencing. The result was an inner calm and clarity, which lay over every thought that came to him.

  At last he spotted a ramp among the branches that led upwards and into the distance. He smiled contentedly and walked purposefully towards it. As he approached it, he noticed a group of trees that were even taller than the ones whose branches he was walking among. There were at least two dozen of them, leafy giants soaring at least a hundred paces into the skies. Ahren could see a large platform, seemingly floating between their mighty stems, and buzzing with elves. The ramp he was on led upwards to the ramp and Ahren quickened his steps. The nearer he approached, the smaller he felt in the presence of the gigantic trees. He concentrated on the platform ahead and noticed after a time that it was not floating but was attached through a series of ropes that were variously attached upwards and downwards to the surrounding enormous trees. There were well over two hundred elves scurrying around the platform going about their business, and most of them seemed to be artisans. This had to be the centre of the elf city.

  Ahren rapidly ascended the ramp, and he noticed that the layer of material, out of which the platform was constructed, was the thickness of his forearm and the material was intertwined in complicated patterns. He reached the top of the ramp and stopped at the edge of the circular surface to get an overview of the scene playing out in front of him. There were elves everywhere, sitting or standing, performing the most varied of tasks, and strange sounds and smells permeated the air. There were some trades he recognized immediately: weavers, tailors, cooks and tanners. But he also saw trades that clearly involved magic. Two dozen paces away he saw a group of six elves who were working a lump of metal together. Where one human or dwarf would have used a hammer, an anvil and a roaring fire, here five of the elves sang to the lump of metal while the last she-elf formed the metal into a long blade with her hands, stroking the material again and again, warping it ever so slightly with each gentle stroke. Finally the blade was finished and the song faded to a whisper. Ahren unwittingly moved closer, still wanting to hear the sound of the elf voices. The woman blacksmith now ran her finger nail over the surface of the blade and scored patterns and signs on both sides of the metal before she paused and the whispering ceased. Ahren was sure the workers were finished when suddenly the five singers held hands and began to sing full-throatedly. The woman smith held the blade on her outstretched hands and slowly turned around in the middle of the circle, looking each singer in the eye for several heartbeats. A silver shimmer covered the blade for a moment, then the singing stopped and all six sank onto the floor and into a deep sleep, the blade still resting on the hands of the woman smith. This seemed most unusual to Ahren and he looked around to see if anyone had taken notice of this unusual scene. But with the exception of a few approving looks, nobody batted an eyelid.

  Ahren shook his head and walked on. He saw at least seven further elf groups lying on the floor and sleeping. Quiet song seemed to accompany all of the more difficult actions that were being performed here. Not alone did he see blacksmiths, but also potters, carpenters and bowyers, surrounded by up to a dozen elves who were giving them magical support. Now the young man understood the elf tales the other peoples had related. Magic seemed to come so naturally to them that they used it to make even the easiest tasks simpler. But Ahren was actually quite thankful that his was the case. The thought of a blacksmith’s fire on a platform made from cloth which was seventy paces in the air was quite terrifying to him. He strolled on, looking at all sorts of magical handcrafting until he finally saw familiar faces. Falk and Jelninolan were sitting together in the middle of the platform and deep in conversation. They would probably send him away but he wanted to say hello at least and ask what was going to happen next. As he neared them they looked up and their serious demeanours disappeared.

  ‘Sit down, Ahren’, said the elf priestess with a warm smile and Falk grunted in approval. Ahren did as he was told, all the while watching in fascination how an elf, three paces away, was manufacturing glass. He put his hands into a bowl of sand, while the other three elves overlayed a magic spell through their song. The first elf pulled out his hands, holding a lump of soft glass which he skillfully manipulated into a goblet. On the ground beside him were over two dozen other goblets, all exactly alike. Ahren pointed over at the trades-people and said in astonishment, ‘nobody will believe the wonders I have seen since stepping on to this platform’.

  Jelninolan chuckled and said, ‘we must come across as very pretentious, showing off our magical abilities so intensely, and in public. If truth be told, there hasn’t been an elf born yet that has had more than the most rudimentary skill in using a hammer’.

  Ahren looked over at his master in puzzlement, who laughed loudly when he saw the young man’s face.

  ‘She isn’t exaggerating. All elves are very talented in magic, but they are truly awful as classical hand-workers’, he explained.

  The priestess giggled again but then became serious. ‘You have to understand we are a people guided completely by feelings. That’s reflected in our magic and in all our dealings. If we feel the materials, we can create amazing things using our bare hands, but if we have to use a tool, we lose this direct connection and the results are…not very impressive. Magic is our tool. Our workers in magic always work in groups, as you can see’.

  Ahren nodded towards the sleeping group. ‘And what about them? I saw the same with the woman smith earlier. There are a lot of people sleeping, considering it’s a workshop’.

  There was a touch of disapproval in his voice.

  The elf responded calmly. ‘That’s p
resumably why the rumour exists that we elves are lazy and lie around in the sun all day. Our magic is exhausting and we invest all our feelings into the things we create. It wouldn’t work otherwise. It’s energy-sapping and we get tired quickly. I think our average craftsperson works about two hours a day. But we create more in that time than others do in ten hours. So we’re quite satisfied with that’.

  Ahren looked thoughtfully over at the sleeping figures until he was brought back to the present by Falk’s calloused hand as it slapped the back of his head.

  ‘Don’t think now that you can be lying around in the sun too. Make yourself useful instead and go find your wolf. Time is running out and we should head off this afternoon’, grunted the old man.

  ‘Head off? Where?’ asked Ahren, disappointed. ‘We came here to find an Einhan for you’ replied his master, ‘and to take an elf artifact with us that we will need for the ritual. Unfortunately it’s not here, but deeper in the forest.’ At this point Falk gave Jelninolan a poisonous look and she looked back at him scornfully.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that. It was the Voice of the forest that decided. You know full well I cannot go against the Voice’.

  Falk harrumphed and looked away. It looked as though trouble was brewing between the two of them so Ahren stood up in order to look for Culhen. Then he paused for a moment and asked, ‘who is going to be my Einhan?’Jelninloan smiled at him and said, ‘I will be your advocate of course, And now go look for your wolf before he hides himself in the forest to escape from over-boisterous elf children. Take the ramp back there, after two hundred paces there’s a descent to the ground. He should be around there somewhere’.

  Proud that the elf priestess considered him worthy to become the thirteenth Paladin, Ahren turned around and followed the route indicated. Every so often he would stop and look in amazement at another wonder being created by the craft-elves. Now that Ahren knew the background, he found the process less mystical but all the more enterprising. The elves certainly knew how to compensate for their natural limitations through the use of magic. He was even more cheerful now he knew that Jelninolan would be accompanying them. Their task would certainly be made easier by the presence of another friendly soul to combine with Selsena’s on their journey. He left the platform and soon found the ramp that led him downwards. Once he was on the forest floor he immediately looked for signs of the wolf and found them immediately. The young wolf’s paw prints, which were now very big, could be seen everywhere. It seemed he had been playing with some of the children again. The challenge was to find the tracks that indicated where he was now among the prints left by the children jumping here and there, not to mention the ones that simply went around in circles. Ahren followed a track that went around a tree in an ever-increasing circle before it led into the forest. After some minutes he heard an excited whimpering and yowling. He knew the sound. His friend must have flushed out some game which had retreated to the safety of a tree. That always frustrated Culhen and then he would make this grumbly whimpering sound, as if he wanted the world to know the injustice of it all - that wolves couldn’t climb trees - although the best food was to be found up there.

  Ahren reached the Blood Wolf within a few heartbeats. Culhen glanced briefly over his shoulder before fixing all his attention on the tree again and continuing with his grumbling and whimpering. The young Forest Guardian looked up the tree to see if he could find the cause of his friend’s discomfort. Several man-lengths above him he saw something move. There was something dark perched on one of the lower branches and it seemed to be doing something to the stem. Ahren couldn’t make out its shape and he whispered absently to Culhen, ‘what have you flushed out there, my friend?’ He squinted his eyes in an attempt to make out some details.

  Much to his surprise, the potential prey seemed to have heard his quiet words. It turned its long, narrow head towards him and glanced at him with its smouldering red eyes. It had a hooked, blackish-red beak which ended in a razor-sharp point. It gave a short warning chatter before turning back to its original position and Ahren again saw its amorphous, black outline, which he now identified as a dull, leathery back.

  He slowly went down on one knee and put his arm around Culhen in order to quieten the wolf, all the while trying to breathe calmly.

  It was a Swarm Claw. He would recognize them anywhere, ever since the night in the hostelry. What was a servant of the Betrayer doing in the elf forest? According to Falk, they didn’t dare come here. But here was one, sitting up in that tree and ignoring him. Suddenly a terrible thought struck him. What if the bird wasn’t alone?

  He began to check the surrounding trees for more of them, all the while instinctively holding his breath. He was terrified at the thought that he may have wandered into the middle of a swarm of them and that dozens of sharp beaks could rip into his flesh. It would be a pretty unedifying end to his brief career as a Forest Guardian.

  Luckily, the bird seemed to be on its own. Ahren gave a sigh of relief and slowly began to move backwards. But Culhen whimpered quietly and remained rooted to the spot. Ahren gave the wolf an agonized look and then looked back up at the black outline in the tree. Of course he should do something against the Dark One, but he had left his bow and armour at the lodgings. It had never crossed his mind that he would have to fight here in the elf forest. He only had his hunting knife. True to his word he had never left the house again without his short knife. He slept with it, ate with it, even went to the privy with it. The only problem was, if he wanted to take action he would have to tackle an enemy with his knife. An enemy who was a dozen paces up and who could fly. He needed a plan and he needed more information. He circled the tree as slowly and as quietly as possible until he was to the side of the Swarm Claw and able to make out what the animal was doing up there.

  There was a knothole in a massive branch of the tree, and the beak was constantly disappearing inside, hacking away at something. The Swarm Claw was on the hunt. Ahren watched for a few heartbeats and considered the situation. He was confused. According to Vera’s books and Falk’s lessons, Swarm Claws caught their prey by swooping on them in an ambush. They would skewer the smaller victims in their sharp claws and carry them away. They would bore through the larger prey with their beaks, mainly attacking the eyes and throat. This hunting pattern was unusual, as were the facts that the animal was here and alone. Whatever was in this tree, it was irresistible to this monstrous bird.

  Ahren bit his lips and considered his options. It would probably take too long for him to go and get his bow. The same applied to looking for help. Allowing the Dark One to escape was an option but the thought of appearing before his master without having done anything was unbearable to the young man. Anyway, the Swarm Claw had seen him and if he got away, then all the Dark Ones that were hunting him and his companions would know exactly where to find the travellers. The Swarm Claw had to die, preferably before it killed its prey. At the moment it was pre-occupied but once it had what it wanted it would doubtless take flight. Ahren drew his hunting knife and weighed it in his hand. Falk had practised knife-throwing with him, but only over very short distances if he couldn’t use the bow, and always as a last resort.

  ‘Throwing a knife is the same as disarming yourself’, his master liked to say. It was highly unlikely that Ahren could fatally injure a Swarm Claw with a top-heavy hunting knife at a distance of twelve paces and in an upward direction. He would be more likely to hit it with a stone, but that would disturb rather than injure the Dark One. Maybe the bird would then attack him rather than flee. Both options were not particularly attractive to the young Forest Guardian. That left one other option – Ahren would have to climb up and take the animal by surprise. Not the best plan, but the only one. He couldn’t climb up the trunk. The animal would see and hear him coming. It would have to be a neighbouring tree.

  Ahren had a quick look around and found a suitable candidate. It was an older tree, its trunk nicely gnarled with plenty of grip, and one of its branches
grew high enough for Ahren to be able to attack the bird from above with a leap. He quickly imagined all the things that could possibly go wrong in this enterprise, but a weak squeak from the knothole told him that time was running out. The Swarm Claw’s prey was tiring. It was now or never.

  A crouching run got him as far as the old tree and he climbed it quickly, always careful that the trunk would be between him and the other tree, where the Dark One was increasing its efforts to catch its prey. In little more than ten heartbeats he was at the same height as the Swarm Claw. He climbed a little further up the trunk and then began to move around it as quietly as possible. Finally he saw the branch he had selected when he was on the ground and stretched his whole body so that he could pull himself up to it in one fluid movement. Squatting and on his stomach he slowly began to push himself forwards into the leafy, younger part of the foliage that grew at the end of the branch, which would bring him to within two paces of the Dark One. The aromatic, slightly resinous smell of the leaves wafted into his nostrils and the comfortably gnarled, barky structure of the wood gave him a stable hold. The trees in this forest were perfect for climbing and Ahren understood once again the deep love his master felt for this place.

  These thoughts dissipated as soon as the prey squeaked again and Ahren carefully stood up on the branch, now no thicker than his thigh. He could just make out the Swarm Claw’s leathery skin through the leaves, about a man’s length under him and one pace away. It had now stuck its head completely into the hole as it sought to finish the hunt. Without thinking of what he was going to do next, Ahren drew his hunting knife, prepared himself, and leapt, planning to land behind the Dark One on the branch, hold on to the branch with one hand and stab with the other.