The Naming Read online

  Torsten Weitze

  The Naming

  The 13th Paladin

  Volume II

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  © Torsten Weitze, Krefeld, 2017

  Picture: Petra Rudolf / www.dracoliche.de

  Translator: Tim Casey

  Proof Reading: Neil Mc Court

  Chapter 1

  The rays of morning sunshine shone brightly on the vast leafy roof of Eathinian. The treetops of the elf forest, which people called Evergreen, stretched in all their majestic glory in front of Ahren’s eyes. He had woken up early and his need to be alone had been overpowering. He was familiar with this feeling from an earlier and darker chapter in his life, when he had regularly sought refuge from his drunken father in the forest. Of course, he was now much happier as Falk’s apprentice, and his master treated him fairly. But so much had happened over the previous days and weeks that he really needed time to take in all the events that had so suddenly befallen him.

  And yet everything had started so quietly and unobtrusively two years previously. Falk, by profession an experienced Guardian of the Forest with more than fifty years’ experience fighting, had taken Ahren on as his apprentice completely out of the blue and had begun to teach him everything a would-be Forest Guardian needed to know: endless hours of running and climbing, not to mention lessons on plants and animals and all the minor details pertaining to survival, which meant the difference between aimlessly wandering around in the undergrowth and being a proper Forest Guardian. Those two years had been the happiest in his young life, even taking into account the ribbon-tree, the enormous king oak-tree on which he had had to practise for hundreds of hours until every bone in his body had ached.

  Everything had changed when he had touched the stupid rock at the Spring Ceremony. The silly thing had to pick him out as the Chosen One, and so he had become the candidate for the position of the Thirteenth Paladin. He was now one of the warriors handpicked by the gods, who, along with twelve other similarly blessed men and women, was to destroy HIM, WHO FORCES.

  It was true that his task sounded like one of those heroic ballads, but the reality was considerably more laborious and complicated. When the Thirteenth had died on account of being betrayed, the Twelve had, only with great effort and with the help of the immortal wizards, chained the dark god to a sleeping bane. Since then they had been waiting for a new Paladin to be chosen so that HE could finally be conquered. Unfortunately, it had taken the sleeping gods of Jorath over seven hundred years to gather enough strength to choose Ahren as the new Paladin. During this time the free peoples had become used to the deceptive peace, and it was only stories and legends of the Dark Days that remained with them. The huge armies of yore had long been disbanded or were now fighting in mortal wars, the names of the Paladins were either only found in legends or were long forgotten and those warriors of the gods continued living over the centuries, free to pursue their own ambitions.

  Which meant nothing but trouble for Ahren. As a Chosen One he had to undergo his Naming, a magical ritual that would prove to the gods and the people of Jorath that he was a worthy successor. In the past it had been merely a matter of form but now he was on a treacherous treasure hunt. Ahren needed the approval of a human, an elf and a dwarf, each of whom carried a holy artefact of their deity with them.

  The human had been an easy one. Uldini, the immortal wizard who looked like a child, had sought out Falk in Ahren’s home village of Deepstone, and had brought along an artefact of HIM, WHO MOULDS. Unfortunately, the grumpy wizard had also brought along some bad news with him. A swarm of Fog Cats, sent by HIM, WHO FORCES was coming their way to kill them and finish Ahren off too. Once Ahren had been chosen, the self-proclaimed god had gradually awakened, sending his henchmen to track down the apprentice Forest Guardian, while he gradually sucked the magic of the gods out of the young boy. And so the three had headed straightway for the elves of Evergreen so they could win the high priestess Jelninolan and the elf artefact Tanentan for their cause. That too had proved far from easy, but they were successful in spite of the attacks and the intrigues of the adversary’s servants.

  An indignant barking interrupted Ahren’s train of thought and he looked down the enormous trunk he had climbed in the early morning so he could think in peace. Culhen, his young Blood Wolf, whom he had freed from the spell of HIM, WHO FORCES, was jumping up at the tree and barking in a half-ordering and half-sulking tone. Culhen hated it when prey flew into the branches of a tree, and this feeling obviously also applied to horrible Forest Guardian apprentices who left their four-legged friends too long on their own on the ground. Ahren looked with affection down at the bundle of energy making giant leaps up at the tree trunk with his shiny white coat. Ahren couldn’t see everything on account of the branches but from time to time the young man caught a glimpse of the wolf’s clever yellow eyes filled with silent reproach at having been left alone for so long.

  Ahren smiled and called out,’ don’t worry, my friend, I’m coming down!’ As he began his descent the barking became friendlier and the apprentice couldn’t stop smiling. Culhen was true, courageous and loyal, not to mention vain, greedy and easily offended. The elves had organised a feast in his honour two days previously and Culhen had enjoyed every bit of the attention – as well as half a dozen rabbits. The wolf had slept the whole of the previous day, except for occasional binge eating sessions when he devoured the previous day’s leftovers, which the elf children had brought by. Ahren really hoped that the little ones would stop spoiling his wolf, or the next part of their journey would be punctuated by whining and begging for rabbit.

  For they had to journey on, and more quickly than they had wanted to. Ahren was still in need of the dwarf and the artefact of HIM, WHO IS, the patron god of the little people. So they would travel on to the Silver Cliff, a sort of trading enclave on the coast of Kelkor. Uldini had made it perfectly clear that time was of the essence, and Ahren was sure they would be heading off soon. Their enemy was growing stronger by the day and the blessing on Ahren was growing weaker. The Naming would have to be carried out to stop this process and cut the connection between the young man and the dark god. And it would have to be before HE, WHO FORCES had sucked too much strength out of him, giving the free peoples no time to prepare for the dark god’s awakening. It was already the beginning of autumn, even if this was impossible to tell in Eathinian (which had no seasons), and Uldini wanted to carry out the Naming before the winter solstice if at all possible because Ahren would surrender a huge amount of strength to HIM on such a magically significant day.

  The apprentice reached the forest floor with a sigh. Before the dark thoughts of such a monumental undertaking could overpower him, a friendly, barking and slobbering wolf, stinking of rotting rabbit, planted his paws on Ahren’s chest, knocking him to the ground before licking the face of his human companion.

  Ahren couldn’t stop giggling as he turned his face one way and then the other so Culhen could lick him all over. Experience had taught him that it was better to succumb to a quick wash than to defend himself. Otherwise he would spend the next hour being stared at by an offended animal that looked for all the world like an unloved and rejected whelp.

  Culhen growled contentedly and climbed off Ahren’s chest once he was satisfied that every inch of his master’s face was sopping wet. The young man wiped himself with the sleeve of his linen shirt and vowed to take a bath in the nearest river. He loved Culhen above everything else but the thought of smelling of rotting rabbit for the rest of the day was too much to bear.<
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  He fell into a steady trot, something he had learned to do by watching Falk and had become used to. It was useful when he was in a hurry but still had to conserve his strength. Ahren’s strength and endurance had developed significantly through his training, and although he could still only run half as fast and as far as his master, he was delighted with his progress. He soon reached the river which gurgled quietly as it flowed between the trees of the elf forest. There was no-one to be seen, so Ahren peeled off his clothes and slipped contentedly into the cool water. Culhen joined him with an almighty splash and soon they were playing happily in the water.

  ‘If you’ve no objections, we do have to save the world from a destructive god. Unless of course, you and your wolf are too busy playing’. The voice was that of a child but with the biting tone of someone much older and Ahren didn’t need to turn around to know who was hovering there.

  ‘We’ll be straight out, Uldini. But it’s the perfect opportunity. Who knows when we’ll have fresh water available to us again on our journey’, answered the apprentice.

  ‘Alright, alright. But hurry up. We’re going to head off after breakfast and Jelninolan has a surprise for you before that’. The wizard’s tone had softened a little.

  Ahren turned around and looked at him with interest. A surprise? What could it be? He knew the wizard well enough not to persist with questions. He’d get nothing but a sarcastic comment in return. Instead he simply nodded at the bald dark-skinned boy, who really did not look at all like having centuries of knowledge and wisdom. Then he pushed Culhen away from him so he could quickly scrub himself. He had climbed into the water to get rid of the smell of rotting rabbits, but not to come out smelling of wet dog. Culhen snorted in disgust before scrambling onto the riverbank. Uldini was on the point of turning back to head for the guest accommodation which the elves had put at their disposal when the young animal leaped nimbly to his side before energetically shaking off the excess water. Ahren dived with a snort under the water just as the wizard, now soaking wet, let out a scornful yell. Culhen would have no problem avoiding Uldini’s rage by disappearing among the trees, but Ahren would be the perfect target if the wizard spotted him laughing at his misadventure. He came back to the surface once he could control his facial gestures and looked at the darkened face of a master wizard, whose childish build was covered by a sopping wet robe. Ahren’s face betrayed no emotion and he was very proud of himself. Uldini’s dark eyes bored sternly and questioningly into his for a moment, then the magician threw his arms into the air and he stamped away, muttering to himself. Of course Culhen was nowhere to be seen. Ahren had always been of the opinion that the wolf was unusually intelligent.

  Laughing quietly to himself, Ahren climbed out of the water and dried himself off with his shirt. Then he slipped on his trousers before bending over the river to have a quick look at himself in the reflection. He could see his dark hair was falling over his eyes, which were a soft brown, and his face was alert in a way that it hadn’t been before. His features were no longer childish and the fifteen-year-old was pleased to spot a little stubble on his chin. His shoulders were broader now and although his frame wasn’t particularly muscular, it was sinewy. Satisfied, he stood upright and looked cheerfully into the trees.

  ‘You can come out, he’s gone’, he called quietly, and in an instant saw Culhen fifty metres away, trotting out from behind one of the massive trees which were scattered all over the forest and lent Eathinian a noble atmosphere.

  The wolf tilted his head and his tongue lolled. Ahren could almost swear that Culhen was laughing.

  ‘A few days ago you took on a giant snake and now you’re goading an immortal wizard. You’re either very brave or very stupid’, said Ahren mock seriously. Then he slapped his thigh and Culhen ran over to his right side and trotted beside him.

  They returned together through the forest to the knotted tree houses of the elves and with every step Ahren enjoyed the peace and harmony that filled this place and dissolved his troubles just as the early morning mist dissolved in the sunshine. He had no idea of what lay ahead of him but Ahren was convinced that he should absorb every pleasant memory he could lay hold of.

  The others were already waiting for him when Ahren arrived back at their accommodation. Uldini, as was to be expected, looked irritated – his black robe was already dry again – and stared at Culhen with a severe look. The wolf whimpered and pressed himself into Ahren’s leg while the apprentice looked in concentration at his master.

  Falk was leaning, arms folded, against the outside of the hut and looking at the wizard with an amused expression on his wrinkled face with its grey beard. The short grey hair of the muscular man was wet. He too must have taken the opportunity to refresh himself, and he was already dressed in his leather gear with his bow slung over his shoulder.

  Ahren was suddenly uncomfortably aware of his naked torso and the crumpled shirt in his hand. He was about to hurry inside to prepare himself like his master had. He didn’t want to give Falk the chance to list out Ahren’s flaws in his gravelly voice. But the old man calmly raised his hand and smiled at him.

  ‘Don’t worry, Ahren. Wait here with us for a second. Jelninolan is just preparing your surprise’, he said in a friendly voice.

  Ahren was taken aback. Of course his master was still intolerant, strict and intimidating, but since Ahren’s successes in Evergreen there were moments of leniency among the persistent criticisms from the old man.

  The apprentice had been able to save the Voice of the Forest, the sacred animal of the elves, from a Swarm Claw. It was true that he had defeated the monstrous bird for other reasons and had known nothing of its prey’s significance, but afterwards he had, with Culhen’s help, nursed the newest incarnation of the Voice of the Forest - a little chipmunk – back to health. Everyone had been amazed and overjoyed when he produced the animal, now fully recovered, from his rucksack. Ahren was stunned that all of a sudden he had been promoted to the status of a hero.

  The fabric that served as the entrance door to the tree house was moved aside and Jelninolan stepped out. The plump little elf with her dark red hair and green eyes smiled merrily as ever. Ahren thought yet again that this was how he would have loved his late mother, whom he had never known, to have been. The high priestess of the elf-goddesses, SHE, WHO FEELS, was carrying a bundle in front of her. She addressed Ahren with a solemn look.

  ‘The Evergreen folk want to express their gratitude once again and so I present you with this gift: a suit of elf ribbon-armour put together by our best magic-craftspeople.’ She pressed the bundle into his hands, and he looked down at it in amazement.

  The reward he had asked for had been the suspension of his master’s enforced exile from the elf forest, an exile that had been imposed because after his training, Falk, being a human, had spent far too much time with the elves. He couldn’t believe he was getting a second reward.

  He moved the finely woven cloth (gift enough in itself) aside and stared down in confusion at a complex assembly of leather bands and over two dozen variously formed leather panels. None of the panels was larger than a wooden plate and Ahren was unsure if this was one of the impressive elf suits of armour he had seen worn by the tree top guards of this forest folk.

  ‘Is it magical?’, he asked hesitantly, only to be met with a disappointed shake of the head from his master and a derisive comment from Uldini.

  ‘Not even two days a hero and he’s already getting greedy’, interjected the boyish figure in a dry voice. But Jelninolan smiled and dismissed the wizard’s words with a wave of her hand.

  ‘This armour has been designed to fit you perfectly and will adapt as you develop but it isn’t magical. It takes more than one day to create a magical object – many weeks, in fact.’

  ‘I didn’t know that’, mumbled Ahren and gave the two men an accusing look. He had already complained to them before that he had been left in the dark about too many things, and after having innocently carried around the
Voice of the Forest in his rucksack for many days, the others had promised him that they would keep him in the loop and give him more information.

  He laid the bundle on the ground in embarrassment and gingerly pulled at one of the leather bands. Jelninolan gave a warning sound but it was too late. The individual bands seemed to be interconnected in a confusing way and as he pulled randomly at one, the others gathered together, and he was left with a complex knot of leather bands surrounded by an irregular, tightly knit combination of leather panels.

  Uldini laughed like a billy goat, Falk covered his eyes with his hand and Jelninolan looked on with sadness. Ahren stared in shock at the chaos he had created.

  ‘Have I broken it?’ he whispered in the stillness, whereupon Falk let out another sigh.

  ‘No, you haven’t. But it will take quite a while to untangle. The ribbon armour is an elf masterpiece, made of interconnected leather panels, a network held together by these leather bands in a perfect balance of weight and counterweight. It takes a lot of practice to put on this armour without help. One of the reasons I never wore it’, his master explained in a tired voice.

  Uldini gave a derogatory snort and suspended himself with his customary magic a half pace in the air, where he stayed hovering.

  ‘I’ll tell the elves we’ll be leaving as soon as you’ve cleared up the lad’s mess. Falk, tell Selsena she should meet us, and organise the necessaries for the journey. And this time a little more than the bare minimum, please! There’s nobody on our heels, unlike the last places we travelled through. We’d better disappear from here before your apprentice riles everyone up against us.’

  The disapproving tone disappeared from the wizard’s voice as he spoke and was replaced by a mild mocking tone. It seemed that Ahren’s new position within the group meant that the honeymoon period was over, and he was now fair game for the moody wizard’s biting humour.