Falk nodded, rounded the corner of the wall and led them into what had once been the inside of the house. Shards of broken earthenware were scattered around the floor, and here and there Ahren could make out bent door hinges and nails lying around. Everything else that had been in the house must have been destroyed by Time’s decay.
Uldini and Jelninolan gasped for air, and the Arch Wizard slapped his forehead forcefully with his hand.
‘Of course. This is where the Naming must take place. It begins where it ended.’
The elf turned to the bewildered apprentice, placed her hands on his shoulders and looked at him with her eyes filled with tears.
‘Ahren. This is the home of the Thirteenth Paladin. This is where he was murdered.’
Chapter 25
Winter Solstice
While Ahren was still getting over the shock of discovering that his predecessor hat met his violent end centuries previously at the very spot where they were standing, Falk, Uldini and Jelninolan quickly began clearing out the floor space of the ruin. They then started drawing elaborate symbols on the floor with charcoal, in which they placed the artefacts of the three gods that they had collected on their travels.
Jelninolan gently placed Tanentan in the western part of the pattern and placed herself behind the object. Trogadon did the same on the eastern part with his hammer. Uldini positioned himself and his crystal ball on the northern part, and Falk, having put on his armour, stood on the southern section. Ahren didn’t need to be commanded. As soon as he saw the circle in the centre of the pattern, he knew what he had to do. The others nodded and he stepped in.
‘We can now begin with the ceremony. Selsena, Culhen and Khara will watch out for any sign of danger. The Naming can easily be sensed by any creatures receptive to magic. As soon as we’re finished, we should disappear with no delay’, warned Uldini.
Ahren wiped the sweat from his hands and carefully stepped over the lines of the drawing, being careful not to smear them. This was the moment he had been longing for over many months and also the moment he had been dreading. Nothing would be the same after this, and he really wasn’t sure if he was ready for it.
Uldini spread out his hands and raised them shoulder high, at which point the lines of charcoal began to burn, casting the whole area in a shimmering golden light.
‘The wording of the Naming won’t be exactly right, but we’ll do our best to stick to the original in order not to risk complications, so don’t be surprised’, whispered Falk to him.
Ahren nodded weakly and then Uldini began to speak in a singsong voice.
‘We have gathered here today to see how the burden of the Paladin passes from father or mother to daughter or son. We ask the gods to bless this transference and to grant their true servant a long and happy life, he having served THE THREE so truly.’ The Arch Wizard paused and everyone looked in a corner of the room.
Ahren suspected that that was where his predecessor’s bed had stood, the bed in which he had been stabbed to death. He gulped heavily and forced himself to concentrate on the here and now.
‘We further ask for the blessing of THE THREE on their new champion, who is now taking on the heavy burden to fight for creation, to halt the progress of HIM, WHO FORCES, and to wipe HIM off the face of Jorath.’
Now everyone looked at Ahren, and he shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other. Should he bow or say a few words?
Not knowing what to do, he looked at Uldini, but the wizard was speaking again.
‘To show that he is worthy, the Einhans have gathered to intercede on his behalf, and also a Paladin, who will welcome him into the circle of his kind.’
He was stopped from continuing by Selsena’s shrill whinnying.
‘Dark Ones! They’re approaching from all sides!’ Falk called out in horror.
‘It’s an ambush. HE knew that we would come here’, groaned Uldini. ‘You’re going to have to defeat them without me. I’ll keep the Naming in position. If I break off now, the magic will crumble and Ahren can never be named. Then it will be a piece of cake for HIM.’
Trogadon grasped his hammer with a questioning look at Falk, who nodded hesitantly. The dwarf picked up his weapon and went over to Falk, who changed places with Selsena.
‘Ahren, come out of the circle’, said Jelninolan quickly. ‘Uldini will keep the Ritual in limbo until everyone is back in their place. We’ve no other choice. But be careful! Don’t step on the lines.’
The apprentice left the Ritual Circle and tiptoed out, avoiding the lines. Then he snatched his quiver and bow, strapped on Windblade, and joined the others. Khara came down from the wall, where she had been standing guard, and pointed to the sky.
‘A swarm is flying in from Geraton’, she said carefully. Although it was absurd to be thinking of such things in their chaotic situation, Ahren couldn’t help but be proud of her new-found grasp of the Northern language.
Jelninolan looked grimly up at the heavens. Nothing could be seen from where they were standing in the light of the Ritual Circle, but if you listened closely, you could already make out the whoosh of leathery wings, which were approaching swiftly like an oncoming storm.
‘I can keep them at bay for a while but I’m going to need cover.’
Khara nodded immediately and drew her weapon, making it clear with a look that she was going to stand by her mistress through thick and thin. Jelninolan closed her eyes and began singing quietly in Elfish.
Suddenly the wind freshened up and a single gust turned into a terrific storm which whipped up over their heads, turning the sky above them into a bubbling chaos of spinning air masses. Even on the ground, the gusts of wind were powerful and bitterly cold. It was true that the Swarm Claws were enormous birds, but Ahren was certain that they would not be able to fly through the storm at them. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Falk, who smiled grimly.
‘It’s a start, but neither Jelninolan nor Uldini will be able to maintain their magic for long. We’re going to have to deal with all sorts of enemies who will be on top of us in no time at all. Selsena is sensing two dozen Low Fangs and something large, perhaps a fully-grown Blood Wolf. They’re coming from all sides so be at the ready.’
Ahren and Trogadon nodded, and the three separated into a semi-circle in order to protect Uldini and Jelninolan in so far as was possible. Khara too walked two paces away from her mistress and joined the semi-circle in preparation for the battle.
The storm was raging unabated over their heads, and a quick glance at Uldini reassured Ahren that the Arch Wizard was quietly concentrating on stabilising the magic circle and awaiting their return.
Ahren place an arrow on the bowstring and waited, all the while trying to find the Void, but without success. The turbulent emotions of the last few days were still too fresh, and he simply couldn’t slip into the trance. However, much to his surprise, he realised that he was remarkably calm, even without the Void.
Suddenly the first pairs of red eyes became visible in the darkness beyond their light, and Ahren and Falk didn’t waste a heartbeat. Arrow after arrow flew into the night and bored into the Low Fangs, who went screeching to the ground. But for every one they felled, another came into sight and soon the two Forest Guardians were no longer able to keep them from encroaching on the ruins.
Those who got through were received by Trogadon and Khara. The pair were like fire and water as they stormed into battle. The dwarf simply ignored his enemies’ claws, which slid off his chainmail, and he hit them with mighty hammer blows, either into their chest, sending them crashing back into the night, or on their skulls, silencing them forever.
His direct brutality was in marked contrast to Khara’s graceful fighting technique. She evaded their dangerous extremities with graceful dancing steps or else simply cut them off, when their claws reached out to grasp her. She leaped and she stabbed. She swayed, first left, then right, and Windblade drew elaborate patterns as it weaved and bobbed in the air. In no time at all she had
sent three Low Fangs crashing to the ground.
Now there were fewer attackers coming up from behind and Ahren breathed a sigh of relief. He was running out of arrows, and once they had both shot their last ones, they drew their close combat weapons. Culhen and Selsena were nothing more than flitting shadows beyond the light, dealing with the Low Fangs who approached them in their own way. Ahren braced himself and stood back to back with his master as they prepared to cut down their enemies when suddenly his sight became blurry and his legs gave way.
I’ve found you at last, little Paladin, a voice droned in his head.
The ruined house, his companions, even the attackers seemed suddenly to have slipped into the background. Ahren knew they were present but he could concentrate on nothing. On nothing but the tall, emaciated figure, clothed in black ribbons, that was rising up out of the ground before him, in the middle of the ruin. The ends of the material were fluttering in the storm and made it difficult to make out the creature’s contours. The figure was a good two and a half paces tall but only half the breadth of a human and it seemed skinny and fragile, as if there were not enough substance to fill out its frame. This impression was in sharp contrast to its razor-sharp will, which was boring into Ahren’s reason and almost causing him to break down on the spot.
Ahren found himself being forced to look into the depths of the hooded being but was unable to make out a face. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Falk had thrown himself in front of his apprentice and was desperately fending off the three Low Fangs that were attacking them, but without taking any notice of the figure in front of them. None of the others seemed to be aware of the stranger in their midst either.
Ahren made every effort to get back up on his feet but to no avail. The stranger’s will was too powerful, and it slowly dawned on the apprentice who he was looking at.
You’ve recognised me at last, little Paladin? I am your deadliest enemy, said the presence in an amused voice. The self-confidence and certainty in the Adversary’s voice were so striking that Ahren doubled up instinctively.
Images of ravaged landscapes flashed past before Ahren’s eyes. He saw King’s Island with all its inhabitants churning down into the depths of the sea, dragging down the Lost People; men, women and children being dragged mercilessly down into the depths. He saw Eathinian ablaze, the colourful ribbons of the Elfish villages looked like burial shrouds, laid over the charred bodies of the elves and the animals.
And finally he saw Deepstone, attacked by a multitude of Swarm Claws and torn to shreds until nothing was left but abandoned houses with their roofs ripped apart and their doors hacked to bits from which pools of blood were slowly flowing out onto the streets…
The apprentice gave a sudden sob. And behind all these pictures he could hazily make out how Falk was fighting hard against the Low Fangs and being assisted by Culhen, and calling out Ahren’s name again and again.
If we fight, all this will happen. All this and much, much more. Tens of thousands will die because you will have made the wrong decision today, the voice of HIM, WHO FORCES continued. But it doesn’t need to be like this. My offer still stands. Follow me of your own free will and together we shall save many, many lives.
That thought ran like a sword through the weak point in his armour and through the young man’s resistance. This was everything that Ahren wanted – to save lives. Perhaps he could persuade the god to protect creation if they worked together. HE was once the guardian of the world. Surely it was possible to bring HIM to the point where HE would recognise the beauty of creation and HE would take HIS rightful place as its guardian once again.
Torn, Ahren looked into the hooded darkness, searching for a sign of goodness or mercy, but could see literally nothing.
In the meantime Falk and Culhen had defeated the Low Fangs. The last one crashed to the floor a hand’s breadth away from the apprentice and blood splattered his face. He turned his head away instinctively and caught sight of the corner that the others had been gazing at earlier. The corner where the bed must have stood. Where his predecessor had died, because his wife, out of her love for her child, had acquiesced to the offer of the dark god for one terrible heartbeat. Ahren was heartbroken as he thought pitifully of the poor woman who had been faced with an impossible choice and in the end had lost everything. And suddenly, defiance exploded within them.
HE had deceived her that time, had used her love against herself and had broken her will, HE had perverted her desire to save lives and stamped his will upon her.
Just as HE was trying to do now to him.
Ahren turned his head back again and stared into the hooded blackness. He wanted to shout out to the figure all of his resistance and all of his ideals and his love for life and his gratitude to the multifaceted, living and breathing world that he was a part of. But all that came out of his mouth was one word. ‘NO!’
The Adversary’s reaction was instant and powerful. HE, WHO FORCES let out a loud screech, and his ribbons of material whipped through the air. For a brief moment Ahren caught a glimpse of the god’s grey skin. He saw eyes where no eyes should be, he saw mouths and teeth, all of them in flux in a constantly changing nightmare of meat and bones.
Then the head swooped out from under the hood and stopped a finger away from Ahren’s face. Then you are of no use to me and I will satisfy myself with your blessing without using your shell as the puppet to my will, he hissed.
Ahren felt his heart beginning to be pulled, as if a metal barbed hook had placed itself in his soul and was now trying to wrench it out of his body.
‘He’s stealing my body’, the thought shot through Ahren’s mind. The apprentice became weaker with every heartbeat, and the figure before him filled itself out and became more material.
At the same time he saw behind the god an enormous figure of smoke and corporeality pushing itself into the ruins while Falk and the others flinched back some paces. Whatever that thing was, even his master seemed afraid, and Ahren’s understanding became filled with despair.
HE, WHO FORCES laughed and instantaneously Ahren knew what he had to do.
If he was to be responsible for making the god mightier, then he must prevent HIM from stealing more of his blessing from the gods.
With all the willpower he could summon, he slowly slipped the hunting knife from his belt while the Will of the Adversary was completely concentrated on the blessing of the gods within the young man.
The apprentice was possessed by fear. He didn’t want to die, he wanted to live, to enjoy the world to the fullest and to save all the beings of creation from this evil thing that was currently feasting on him. But the only thing he could do now was to buy the others’ more time in the hope that something would occur to them to prevent the oncoming Darkness. The best he could do now was to die.
He raised the hunting knife with excruciating slowness up to his heart and placed the blade on his chest in a gap in his armour. Falk and the others were focused only on their opponent in its covering of smoke and nobody saw what the young man was about to do.
Trembling, Ahren inhaled and then drove the dagger with all his might into his heart.
At least that’s what he’d planned.
His muscles failed their duty at the last instant and beside his ear he heard a croaking voice.
‘You really wanted to do that, didn’t you? Offer yourself up and give Jorath another two or three summers before everything went down the river?’
Ahren couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw Tlik floating in his field of vision and blocking his view of the dark god. The pressure on Ahren’s chest vanished as the goblin made some peculiar hand motions and his edges began to fray, as though his own soul and not Ahren’s was being sucked up by the black figure.
‘Woe betide you if you don’t save them all’, whispered Tlik.
And then his figure was sucked under the god’s hood and an almighty explosion threw the apprentice backwards while the silhouette of the Adversary burst in
to a thousand pieces.
Ahren heard an echo of derisive cackling as the goblin’s final practical joke dissolved, leaving Ahren as lord and master of himself again.
The ruin descended into chaos and darkness. Aghast and confused, Ahren looked up at the enormous, smoking shape that was coming closer to them step by step.
‘What sort of a thing is that?’ he called out as he pulled himself up and picked up his weapon.
Falk glance around quickly. ‘The gods be thanked you’re back’, he said with relief.
Then he nodded towards the figure that was furtively approaching.
‘That’s a Glower Bear. Ten tons of pure muscle and fury. Its skin is incredibly hot, which explains the smoke rising up from him. Be careful, he’s faster than he looks.’
Ahren swallowed hard. Glower Bears were one of the most dangerous Dark Ones he’d ever heard of. According to what Falk had told him, they were particularly intelligent.
Which was why the bear had been holding himself back, thought Ahren. He’d waited until we’d run out of arrows.
The figure with its height of four paces and its width of two looked so massive that it resembled a smoke-covered wall than a creature of flesh and blood. The Glower Bear stood on his hind-legs and produced such a bone-shaking roar that the walls of the ruin started crumbling.
‘Ideas, old friend?’ asked Trogadon nervously. Even the dwarf had changed his approach to fighting in view of the sheer size of their opponent and was standing with the others.
Falk frowned. ‘He’s behaving strangely. Normally they attack in a fit of frenzy once they’ve trapped their prey.’
Ahren had an idea, even if it was nothing more than a wild hope.
‘Maybe he’s not under the control of the Adversary at the moment’, he suggested gingerly.
The Naming Page 40