The Naming

by Torsten Weitze

  Ahren already knew about the terrible events surrounding the death of Falk’s daughter. It was only thanks to the patience and sensitivity of the elves that the old man had found inner peace again, and he felt a deep affinity with the forest folk. Had they not saved Falk from himself, then the cantankerous man would not have been able to save Ahren.

  Chapter 16

  37 days to the winter solstice

  When Jelninolan and Khara finally came out of the bath, they found their three companions in contemplation, each one pursuing their own thoughts. Culhen’s barking was the only sound that broke through the silence, a tell-tale sign that the wolf had gulped down the enormous portion of food that Ahren had handed out to him, following his constant begging.

  ‘See, I told you, too much meat causes depression and inertia’, said Jelninolan to Khara resolutely, who nodded eagerly, but still glanced longingly at the meat on the table.

  The elf looked up at the ceiling and screwed up her face.

  ‘Oh, dear goddess, how I miss the sun and the wind already! How can anyone live in a place so apart from everything living?’ she sighed.

  Falk roused himself out of his thoughts and looked sternly at the priestess.

  ‘You have a tendency to only accept points of view that are similar to yours. Humans, dwarves and elves have all been created differently and so they each have rules that only apply to them. A dwarf sees the forest as fickle, volatile and threatening, and a human settlement as primitively built, unplanned and chaotic. So, make judgements about their values, not their way of living. They are hard but fair, ostentatious and at the same time frugal, direct but consistently honest. I would like to have someone like that on my side; don’t you feel the same way?’

  Uldini intervened before a serious argument could flare up.

  ‘I take it that your friend, whom we are supposed to help, possesses all these qualities you’re raving about?’

  Falk nodded.

  ‘In those days he was called Tor. He had just earned the first syllable of his name and he had been hired out for several years to the Mountainshield Clan as a sapper to a company of mercenaries. I was new to the company as well and we got on well together. We laughed, drank and ate a lot and now and again we would save one another’s life. I was pretty reckless in those days and he got me out of more than a few scrapes with his strength’.

  Uldini frowned.

  ‘Hang on a minute. The Mountainshields don’t actually hire out young dwarves. What are you not telling us, old friend?’

  All eyes were on Falk, who looked uncomfortable for a moment.

  ‘He’s one of the Pure Ones’, he said finally.

  Uldini gave a whistle and Jelninolan was stunned.

  ‘No wonder you’re thinking of him as Ahren’s Einhan’, said the Arch Wizard and gave a concerned look. ‘But Pure Ones always mean big trouble. Have you thought about it properly?’

  Falk slammed his fist down on the table. The sound echoed loudly from the surrounding walls, and everyone looked at him in shock.

  ‘He’s my friend and he’s asked me for help. We help him, he helps us. I’m not going to turn my back on him just because it’s easier’.

  None of the others were willing to express their doubts, so Ahren cleared his throat and spoke.

  ‘I’d like to know what a Pure One is, and why that could be good or bad for us’, he ventured, trying to speak as calmly as possible.

  It was now well into the night and the beer was making him fretful. He just wanted an explanation, then a quick dip in the hot spring, and then bed.

  ‘The term is a little misleading. The Dwarfish word is Kulkumharan’thur. And if you translate that directly, it means ‘he, in whom the pure essence lives’. They have an excess of strength from HIM, WHO IS. This makes them stronger, more resistant and longer-living than normal dwarves’, said Falk reassuringly.

  ‘And more stubborn, opinionated and surlier than your normal dwarf. Which is probably why he was hired out to the mercenaries that time’, added Uldini with fury in his voice.

  He turned to Ahren but said to Falk instead: ‘the Pure Ones are deviations from the norm, and that goes completely against the Dwarfish culture. They automatically become members of the Mountainshield Clan, who are responsible for the defence of the little folk, and they are usually to be found at the most difficult posts that exist. No Pure One has ever died in their dotage. Their own folk have a love-hate attitude towards them. They’re of great value to their community on account of their fighting strength, but because of their peculiarities they are never considered fully-fledged members of their community.’

  The little Arch Wizard gave a deep sigh.

  ‘Which means of course that with their not-so-sunny disposition, they become even more uncommunicative with the passage of time.’

  ‘We have some experience of difficult travelling companions’, murmured Ahren.

  The beer and the cave walls ensured that the comment resonated more strongly than intended, and both Uldini and Falk gave him an offended look. Jelninolan had to hide a smile and Khara used the distraction to quickly shove a piece of meat into her mouth.

  ‘But then he’ll surely want to come with us, won’t he? If he doesn’t properly belong here anyway and Falk is his friend?’ said the apprentice quickly and with as innocent a face as he could muster.

  ‘Pure Ones are always given the most difficult tasks when they are sent on a Lonely Watch. If it were a normal dwarf, our help would probably be much easier. But however monumental the task my friend has to perform is, it will be a hard and time-consuming job to help him finish it’.

  Ahren’s master turned to Uldini.

  ‘I’ve kept in contact with him over all this time, and in his last letter he said that he would be busy for the foreseeable future. That was five summers ago, and as he didn’t meet us at the Grand Junction, he still has to be at his Lonely Watch. I think helping him is the right thing to do, in more than one respect.’

  Uldini was about to protest, but he was cut off by Jelninolan.

  ‘If I have to travel with a dwarf anyway,’ said the priestess, ‘then rather with one who has our cantankerous Forest Guardian as his friend and who, as a Pure One, will provide considerably more protection to our travelling party. I’m in favour’.

  The Arch Wizard folded his arms but said nothing.

  ‘Then it’s decided. Tomorrow morning we’ll go in search of the Mountainshield Clan and ask them where the dwarf, once called Tor, can be found’, announced Falk ceremoniously.

  Ahren gave a tired nod and stood up. He was tempted for a moment to slip into the water, but the lure of his bed was too strong. He wished his companions good night and went in search of his chamber, where he could lie down. Hardly had his head hit the pillow on the large bed, when he was out like a light.

  When Ahren woke up, he was completely disorientated. The room looked exactly the same as it had when he had fallen asleep, and there was nothing around him that could indicate for how long he had been slumbering. The reddish light was still the same and the timeless stillness that hung over the chamber weighed heavily on the young man.

  His companions’ voices could be heard coming from the common room, and he leaped out of bed gratefully and went towards the sounds. The feelings of loneliness and timelessness that had possessed him disappeared with every step and Ahren was relieved when he yanked open the door and found everyone sitting around the breakfast table. However, when he saw the choice of foods available he grew irritated. Meat, cheese and mushrooms. Somebody had obviously been in the room during the night and had replenished the provisions, but the menu hadn’t changed.

  Falk was just biting into a large piece of cheese and glanced in Ahren’s direction.

  ‘There aren’t any mornings or evenings down here. And as a consequence they don’t differentiate between the meals. If you’re hungry you just help yourself.’

  And he took another big bite.

  The rest of the
party weren’t quite so enthusiastic and nibbled at a few bits of mushroom.

  Such a breakfast being an acquired taste, Ahren decided to abandon it in favour of a bath, and trotted on to the bath cavern, where the hot spring bubbled a merry welcome. And not just the spring. Ahren laughed when he saw the soaking wet wolf, who was splashing about happily in the large basin.

  ‘Don’t let the ladies catch you’, he whispered conspiratorially as he undressed quickly and slid in beside his friend into the delightfully warm water.

  ‘They’ll be far from happy if it stinks of wet wolf in here.’ Culhen threw him an offended look and gave a snort, but then licked his master right across his face.

  After a while Ahren had finished giving himself a thorough wash and playing energetically with the wolf. Now he was floating in the warm current and was just holding onto the edge of the basin. Heavy iron bars on both ends slowed down the current of the subterranean river as it passed through, and here, at the edge, he could resist the pull of the current effortlessly and allow himself and his thoughts to float freely. He tickled the wolf’s fur absently. Culhen was lying outside the basin beside his master and was growling contentedly under the apprentice’s fingers. The smell from the wolf’s mouth suggested to Ahren that Falk had fed him a substantial portion of smoked meat, and the animal’s half closed eyes reflected his relaxed, satiated contentment.

  Ahren tried to remember the last time he had played around with Culhen. It was when they had departed from the elves before their journey to King’s Island. So much had happened over the intervening two months that he felt quite dizzy thinking about it. And now at last they had reached the dwarves. If everything went well, they would have all of the Einhans together and they would make their way to the secret Place of Ritual. Not even Uldini knew where it was. How the Wild Folk of Kelkor were to help them still wasn’t clear to Ahren, but at this stage of the journey he was happy to have learned to accept that it was better to take one step at a time. Everything was so new and so strange that he had his hands full trying to understand what was going on in front of his nose.

  His training too had stalled through the circumstances of the last few weeks. Instead of running around the forest, there was now sword training with Khara and Jelninolan, and the latter kept them both on their toes, instilling the ground rules of Elfish lightness of foot, and all of that was rounded off by Falk’s gruelling strength exercises.

  Ahren heard steps behind him and he quickly sank up to his neck in the water, but it was only Falk, who looked down at him critically.

  ‘Other people want to get in there today too, you know. So get a move on!’

  Ahren quickly got out of the water and used his old shirt to rub himself down.

  ‘The dwarves brought our things over earlier. Your rucksack is on your bed’, his master added.

  Ahren gave a nod in gratitude and went past his master, who hummed quietly to himself and began to get undressed. Culhen followed the apprentice, and the young man hurried quickly through the common room so that he could dress properly. Khara was sitting at the table and she gave the half-naked apprentice a critical look.

  ‘Chest like chicken’, she giggled and threw Culhen a piece of meat while her eyes sparkled mischievously at Ahren.

  The apprentice was sensible enough not to get involved in a verbal duel, dressed as he was, and so he went on to his sleeping cavern without saying a word. He stepped into his new clothing and realised it had been cleaned before being deposited. This meant that somebody had been going through his things, but at this point he happily accepted cleanliness over privacy.

  He hurried back into the main room and found Culhen contentedly chewing at Jelninolan’s feet.

  ‘Stop! Nobody feeds this wolf!’ he called out in a firm voice.

  The others looked at him in amazement, and Ahren began questioning them about how much Culhen had already managed to beg off them. To everyone’s surprise, the greedy animal had already scrounged enough for three days.

  Ahren raised his finger and looked sternly into Culhen’s eyes.

  ‘Bold wolf!’ he scolded, but Culhen merely licked his mouth contentedly as he swallowed down the last of his ill-gotten gains. Realising his final source had finally dried up, the wolf curled up into a large ball of white fur and fell asleep, completely unperturbed by his master’s scolding.

  ‘I think you may need to polish up on your authoritativeness’, said Uldini drily.

  The apprentice looked at him furiously and the Arch Wizard raised his hands in defence.

  ‘Merely a suggestion’, he added innocently. ‘I’ll shoo Falk out of the water. At this rate our dwarf friend will have finished his Lonely Watch before we’ve even left these lodgings.’

  Much later than originally planned, as Uldini had pointed out no less than six times, everyone was ready to depart. They had all wanted to free themselves of the patina of dirt and salt that a long sea voyage had laid on every inch of their bodies and had also made their clothing stiff and scratchy.

  But now they were all fully fed, rested, freshly dressed and beginning to feel restless, the young man included. The monotony and constant timelessness of their accommodation was beginning to wear him out and he was longing to see other things. Even a short sword-training session with Khara couldn’t distract him from this feeling, and she’d given up in annoyance after she’d slapped him across the face for the tenth time and declared the lesson over.

  Now they were standing again at the Grand Junction and Falk was explaining the layout of the Dwarf kingdom to them.

  ‘You’re already familiar with the Trading Hall. That’s something like the outskirts of a human city. The Grand Junction leads to all the individual Clan Halls, which can only be entered by invitation. These halls make up the residential areas of the dwarf settlements. Being a member of a particular clan depends on birth and occupation. If you are born a steel worker, you remain one all your life, unless you develop an exceptional talent in another area. It’s quite rare but it does happen. Then it’s possible to change clan through marriage. Which is how they make sure that the greatest talents aren’t simply wasted and fresh blood is introduced into the clans’ cloistered existence.’

  Ahren realised that this was the first hint that there were also female dwarves. He wanted to find out more about this, but Falk had already continued to speak.

  ‘That entrance over there, with the eight sentries in front of it, leads to the mines, the smelting, the smithies and the workshops of the Silver Cliff. Everything in there is the property of the enclave, and visitors are only allowed in with the permission of one of the clan elders’.

  Falk moved on and the others followed as he headed towards one of the clan entrances.

  ‘We’re going to try and talk to the clan elder of the Mountainshields. He can answer all our questions about my friend and also give us the permission we need to go to him. So, let me do the talking and don’t touch anything’, he instructed them.

  They reached an archway, beside which was a resplendent square with a stylized mountain top. The drawing itself was simple but the carving in the wall was diamond-studded and it sparkled in the shimmering reddish Deep Fire light.

  The two young dwarves guarding the entrance were dressed in heavy plate armour, which was so weighty no human could possibly wear it, let alone fight in it. They held long axes in their armoured gloves, and their ferocious faces with their still-short beards stared stubbornly forwards. Ahren recognised their characteristically torpid look and asked himself yet again; how the dwarves could keep watch that way.

  Then Falk stepped forward and suddenly, as if he had stepped across an invisible border, life came back into the guards’ features, and they looked at him seriously and officiously, the left dwarf asking him a question in his rumbling sounding language. This little being too used the echo of the hall to make his voice sound harmonious. Falk stood to his full height and intoned an answer, which sounded very formal, yet crude when compared wi
th the sounds of the dwarf, the Paladin not being able to manage the basics of the echo technique. Nevertheless, following a short consultation they were permitted to pass, and Falk nodded respectfully. Ahren had wondered earlier why his master had put on full armour and had strapped on his broadsword, but now he realised that without the old man’s impressive appearance they would never have been granted permission to enter.

  ‘Hero of the Three Gorges? Really? Are you not laying it on a bit too thickly?’ whispered Uldini to his companion.

  Falk threw an almost apologetic look over his shoulder.

  ‘I wanted to play it safe so that they’d let us through. I’ve fought in so many battles, I’m not going to be locked out by a pimply dwarf youth just by being modest’.

  Uldini gave an ironic bow and murmured, ‘but of course, Your Mightiness’. Falk snorted and walked on and Uldini floated behind him laughing sarcastically. Soon they’d reached the end of the short corridor and were entering the Hall of the Mountainshield Clan.

  The first thing Ahren saw was the enormous fire in the middle of the large vault. The room was at least one hundred paces in length and breadth and its roof stretched up roughly twenty paces. There were dozens of doorways along the four walls, and short wide steps led up to impressive galleries that ran all around and offered entrance through yet more doorways. Four stories towered one above the other in this manner, and the apprentice made out well over two hundred doors leading into this room.

  The hall was a hubbub of activity. The room was filled with long tables, along which dwarves were drinking, eating, laughing, throwing dice, messing about and polishing their axes and shields. It was just like in the old sagas with dwarves around the campfire, and yet it was also quite different to how Ahren had imagined it. Their tone of address was polite, almost friendly, everything was neat and tidy and the general impression of civilisation put many a human tavern into the shade. In the human ballads about dwarves, the little folk were seen as pugnacious drinkers with dubious morals, but there was no sign of that here. If it reminded him of anything, then it was of the hall in the barracks on King’s Island, which he had caught a glimpse of once.