Worms' Ending: Book Eight (The Longsword Chronicles 8)

by GJ Kelly

  “Indeed,” Allazar added his reassurances, “And the likelihood of another such creature as we today encountered setting foot here in West Forkings within the next few hours is remote indeed. Such creatures would have no targets here, only in Last Ridings might their evil be sated.”

  “Then let us go, milords, I need no preparations and can rely upon my deputy to oversee affairs here in my absence.”

  It took a little time to negotiate the outskirts of the market and traverse the narrow roads which avoided the chaos in the large square, but once on the west road the going was hampered by traffic brought to a near standstill by earlier events. It was with a palpable sense of relief, therefore, when at last they watched the mayor clamber aboard his brother-in-law’s small and sleek sailing boat, and with a wave of a pudgy hand, the vessel was pushed from the dockside and out into the faster waters. There, its bright yellow sail raised, it sped swiftly east, and was soon lost from view.

  “The ferry is yonder,” Allazar declared, “And if I’m not mistaken, that is it leaving the north bank now. If we don’t dawdle we should meet it without much of a wait.”

  They mounted, and moved off along the stone-built quayside, weaving their way through the ropes and bollards, bales, boxes and barrels scattered here and there. It was busy, but their serpentine route was certainly a quicker one than the road and its traffic on the other side of the boatsheds and warehouses would have allowed.

  When finally they found the ferry and its pontoon and paid the fee for the crossing, they stood together, a dozen feet or so from what appeared to be a small family group and a handcart filled with potatoes making the crossing in the same direction.

  “Tell me, Ven, what reason can you think of for elves to fortify the village of Doosen near the Jarn Gap?” Gawain asked softly.

  “None, miThal. Doosen is of no concern to Thallanhall, and elves do not dwell south of Minyorn.”

  “Which is itself considerably further north than Doosen, standing as that village does close to Calhaneth.”

  “Yes, miThal. Minyorn is much further north.”

  “A show of strength and support for Hellin,” Allazar pronounced, “A gesture of support by her husband, the boy Insinnian. And also a strong suggestion to Brock of Callodon to remain on his side of the border.”

  “Insinnian is aptly named, miThal,” Venderrian declared, “His father is a worm who wriggled his way to petty power and a voice in Thallanhall. The boy learned his lessons well, and knows how to squirm his own way into favour. The Toorseneth has many such puppets, miThal, and some, like Insinnian, know well who it is pulls the strings of their lives.”

  “The timing could not be worse, coming as it did before Brock’s plans for Pellarn.”

  Allazar grimaced. “True. And given what we know of the Toorsencreed and their short-lived but effective dealings with Maraciss, we need look no further for an explanation for the fortifications. A distraction, Longsword, to take Brock’s eye from the Ostern and lands west of that river.”

  “Hellin is beginning to annoy me,” Gawain sighed.

  “I fear she learned nothing of statesmanship from her father,” Allazar agreed.

  “Willam was a good man,” Gawain declared. “I liked him. Killed by a traitor of the D’ith, in his own hall, during victory celebrations. That’s another thing I’d like to talk to the Sardor of Hallencloister about.”

  “If they’ll let us in.”

  “You have a big stick.”

  “The doors are of mighty oak and thicker than my arms held wide.”

  “Did you remember to bring the ellamas oil, Ven?”

  “I did, miThal.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We are dealing with wizards, Longsword, powerful ones at that. This is no Ramoth tower we are facing to be razed by such simple means as ellamas oil and a spark from a firestone.”

  “Indeed. And can these powerful wizards put out a fire on the far side of a mighty oak door thicker than your arms held wide, or must they open that door to extinguish the blaze before it eats its way through?”

  Allazar blinked.

  “Besides, I’ve seen you chew holes in rock walls with the white stick. For now, though, we’ll worry about the Hallencloister when we get there. I’m much more concerned that the Toorseneth possessed a Grimmand, and likely has the ability to make more.”

  “The Viell Obin warned us they had spore, Longsword. And there were three cages in the cavern below the dark tower in the east.”

  “I know, Allazar. And there is nothing we can do about it. Not yet, anyway. We are driven, both of us, to the Hallencloister. Who knows, perhaps once there we might be able to enlist a little mystic aid against the Viell and the other enemies ranged against us.”

  “Do you believe so, miThal?”

  “No, Ven. Not for a moment do I think the Sardor will aid us, else he and his D’ith minions would have done so long before now. I go there to demand a reason for their treachery and for their abandonment of the kindred races. And I will have that reason if I have to whittle a hole through the gates with my boot knife, and through anything else that stands in my way.”

  “The ferry is leaving,” Allazar announced. “Do we tarry on the north side, or proceed at once? That part of the town is new, it was not there when last I passed this way.”

  “Sightseeing will have to wait for our return, Allazar. Our way lies a shade west of north, though we’ll stay on Arrun’s side of the border until we reach the line Elayeen spoke of that runs from the Hallencloister to Nordshear.”

  “Our lady spoke of strange weather there, Longsword.”

  “She did. Some power of the D’ith, do you think?”

  “No,” Allazar declared emphatically. “There is nothing in the realm of the kindred or of mystic kind which can alter or control so vast and powerful a thing as weather or climate. Such power is nature’s alone, and no amount of tinkering can alter a course set by her when the stars were young.”

  “Pity. It looks like rain.”

  “Aye,” Allazar agreed, casting a glance up at the heavy dull overcast, “But not before we reach the north bank.”

  oOo

  6. Oy!

  Nearly three weeks of hard, hasty and utterly uneventful travelling had Gawain almost believing that some benevolent force was gently nudging them along and clearing all obstacles from their path, until they found themselves riding straight into the teeth of a gale. Winds were fierce, cloaks and hoods whipping and lashing about them, and they had no choice but to find what shelter they could while waiting for the storm to abate.

  When the wind and rains finally died in the early hours of the morning, they were all exhausted, including the horses, and Gawain succumbed to the need for rest. Sunrise found them all asleep, and they remained that way almost until noon when Gwyn gave Gawain a nudge and he awoke with a start.

  They were, he judged, well in the west of Arrun’s Midshearings, and a week or so of swift riding due east would probably find them in Fallowmead, where Elayeen had so courageously and effectively faced Pelliman Goth and annihilated the dark wizard’s forces. And that meant they were probably a week or thereabouts from the Hallencloister. It couldn’t be far from here where his queen had discovered the remains of Kistin Fallowmead, and the plea for help poor girl had been carrying to the D’ith Sardor.

  Allazar and Venderrian were still asleep, and Gawain left them in peace. He was too cold and too tired himself to consider chiding anyone for failing to keep a watch, and besides, some of Gwyn’s senses were a lot keener than theirs. He stood quietly, and gave his horse-friend a gentle pat on the neck before shouldering the sword and moving away to relieve himself behind a wind-blown blister of gorse.

  It might have been his imagination, but it seemed to him that the land hereabouts sloped gently upwards to the north. On the map, Arrun had something of an hour-glass shape, narrow-waisted, and they were roughly on the line of the waistband. They’d crossed boggier ground a week earlier, the land so
ft and waterlogged in places, but here it was hillier, scrub and long grasses, woody shrubs and occasional rocky outcrops and springs. Thinking of Elayeen out here with Meeya and Valin made his heart ache for her. The thought of her relentlessly pursuing Pelliman Goth across this wilderness made his chest almost burst with pride.

  Frak for breakfast, standing with Gwyn, though a glance at the sun shining dim behind high and drifting clouds showed it was nearer lunchtime, and a smile spread slowly like the warmth of Jurian brandy. It had been a long time since horse and rider had stood together as they had at West Forkings, and here they were, out in the wild again, horse and rider, both of Raheen. Gwyn bobbed her head, and gently nudged him as she turned away in search of choice grazing, the other horses following.

  Gawain watched them, noting a few signs of stress beginning to show in his companion’s horses. They’d pushed hard, and Gawain acknowledged that perhaps he had pushed them a little too hard. He cast another glance skyward, and decided that today they would walk instead of riding. The Hallencloister wasn’t going anywhere.

  Finally, with his cloak still flapping in stiffer breezes yet chasing the tail of the autumn storm, he woke his companions, and when their hasty camp was broken and the horses saddled, they resumed their journey, trudging north with the horses grateful for the rest and ambling along behind them.

  “The nights are drawing in, Longsword,” Allazar sighed, traipsing along in the mid-afternoon. “We have perhaps three hours of daylight left this day.”

  “Aye, and less than twelve hours daylight from sunrise to sunset. Brock’s hopes for the liberation of Pellarn might better have been attempted in summer. More hours, and better weather.”

  “I wonder how General Igorn and his plans are faring there in the Old Kingdom.”

  “I don’t. I’m trying my best not to think of the dozens, perhaps hundreds of things which might have gone wrong. Igorn has far fewer men at arms than we did at Far-gor, and we had few enough of those.”

  “He had the entire South-halt contingent,” Allazar looked hopeful, “And that is not a trivial mounted force. And all the Black and Gold at his disposal which Brock retained for defence of his realm should the line have failed at the farak gorin.”

  “True, but those men left guarding towns and villages when the rest stood at Far-gor were most of them well past their prime or too young to shave.”

  “Yes, and it is true that there is nothing we can do in the here and the now to make a difference in the southwest. Yet I cannot help but worry.”

  Gwyn snorted, and Gawain turned to see her standing sideways on, head and ears pricked towards the south.

  “Did you hear anything?” Gawain whispered.

  “No.”

  “Ven?”

  “No, miThal. And I saw no… wait… There is a light, it has dipped below a rise in the land to the south of us, perhaps a mile behind us.”

  “Longsword?”

  Gawain shrugged, peering in the direction from which they’d come, but seeing nothing other than gorse and grass and the gently undulating wilderness.

  “How many lights, Ven?”

  “I would say one, miThal. Moving quickly. A rider and horse perhaps.”

  “Dwarfspit, if it’s Reef or one of the others from Last Ridings, I’ll kick his arse.”

  “If it is, Longsword, he will have good reason for disobeying your orders.”

  Gawain grimaced. “Well, whoever it is, he isn’t moving at the gallop. Ven?”

  “At the trot, perhaps, miThal.”

  “Come then, we’ll move on a ways, whoever it is will catch up to us soon enough. There’s another rise ahead which’ll give us a better view of him and clearer ground for a shot if it turns out to be someone less than friendly.”

  Ten minutes later, and Gawain and his companions turned again to face the oncoming rider, loosening shoulders and necks, moving the horses behind them out of the way while they faced the stranger.

  “Was that a call?” Gawain asked.

  “I think so,” Allazar replied. “Whoever it is has some lungs.”

  “Whoever it is is small, miThal.”

  Snatches of another hollering call were caught between gusts which whipped the cry away.

  “Is he shouting oowee at us?” Allazar frowned, cocking his head and cupping his ear.

  “Ooooooy!” came the call again.

  “No,” Gawain sighed and shook his head sadly. “It’s oy, and from the sound and the looks of it, it’s Ognorm of the Ruttmark.”

  “Oy!” came the call from the dwarf, clearer now and louder, and over the tops of gorse and hawthorn they saw the diminutive figure waving frantically while clinging to the pommel of his horse’s saddle. “Oy!”

  The horse, when finally it arrived, was in better condition than the grinning and sweat-soaked dwarf upon its back, and that dwarf, breathless, practically fell from the saddle and stood, bent double, hands on his knees, gasping.

  “By them thrukken Teeth, melord, be you all cloth-eared since leavin’? I bin shoutin’ for ye to stop fer thrukken miles! Ooh I are knackered an’ no mistake.”

  Gawain blinked, and eyed first the exhausted dwarf, and then the happy-looking horse that had once been so cruelly treated by elves bearing the mark of the Tau at Urgenenn’s Tower. The animal, though breathing as expected after a lengthy trot, seemed well enough, which surprised Gawain, and doused the anger which had begun to glow in fear of the beast’s mistreatment.

  “You look worse than your horse, Ognorm,” Gawain remarked sternly, arms folded.

  “Arr, ain’t surprised, me bein’ the one done most o’ the running, ‘specially at night.”

  “Here, master dwarf,” Allazar handed Ognorm a water skin.

  “Ooh ta!” the dwarf took the skin, straightened his back, and drank a long draught, spilling a goodly amount down his bearded chin.

  “What are doing here, Oggy? Who sent you?” Gawain demanded, caught between admiration for the dwarf who had shared the quest for the Orb, and frustration that the strength at Last Ridings had been diminished for his presence here.

  “Me king sent me, melord, that’s who,” Ognorm blurted, taking a gulp of air before another long pull on the water skin. “And who am I to disobey me king? No-one, that’s who!”

  “Eryk is at Last Ridings?” Allazar gasped.

  “Narr,” Ognorm handed the water skin back to the wizard and drew his sleeve across his chin. “Told me back in his own hall, Oggy, you take Nadcracker down there to where Raheen now dwells and if anyone or anything so much as squints at ‘im sideways, you shove that Nadcracker up their arse and tell ‘em hello from Eryk! And Arr said I! So here I be!”

  Ognorm drew in another breath, and glared fiercely up into Gawain’s eyes. “I told you melord! Told you with a pint in yer ‘and at The Orb’s Ending in front of all me mates and yours what me king ordered me to do, and yet you ride out without me! You knowing me orders from me king you left me behind!”

  Gawain was astonished. “I meant no offence, Ognorm, nor dishonour to Threlland…”

  “Narr well! How did I look! How did I look before ‘em all when I walked in to the Endin’ for me lunch and them all gaping at me like I was some Morloch-made monster! What be you doin’ ‘ere Oggy, cries they! What be you doin’ ‘ere when ‘im you were sent to watch over’s gone north into danger!”

  The dwarf who’d proudly carried the Orb of Arristanas on his back so many long miles, who’d answered the call and been elevated like the pebbles from the stream they all carried for memory of the quest and good companionship, looked to be on the verge of tears.

  “How did I look to ‘em, melord! How did I look to ‘em, me there and you gone!”

  “Ognorm of Ruttmark!” Allazar announced, his voice mystic hard, snapping the dwarf’s attention away from Gawain immediately. “His Majesty is not accustomed to being addressed in such a manner, no matter what hardships we may have endured together in the past!”

  Ognorm’s anger with
ered, and he seemed to shrink before their very eyes. “Don’t send me away, melord,” he whispered. “Don’t send me back to me king in shame.”

  “Dwarfspit, Ognorm,” Gawain sighed, “I had no intention of shaming you, either before Eryk in his hall or before all our friends at the Ending. I didn’t think. We travel in haste on a simple quest to knock on the doors of the Hallencloister and demand an answer. I didn’t think we’d need the strength of Threlland for such a task, and I didn’t think about the duty Eryk had imposed upon you. Forgive me, my friend. My only excuse is that I had much upon my mind. Forgive me.”

  Ognorm, eyes downcast, shuffled his foot, and sniffed. “Arr well, if ye put it like that, melord…” and then he suddenly seemed to remember something, and looked up. “Got a letter, melord, steward Arbo brung it to me at the dock while I waited for Morkel’s ferry.”

  The dwarf fished inside a satchel slung over his back, and drew out a waxed leather packet.

  “’Tis from her Majesty, says Arbo, for your hand…” and he held it out, arm outstretched as if not daring to approach any closer.

  Gawain, remembering all that Rak had told him about the honour of Threllanders, stepped forward, grasped Ognorm’s arm tightly, taking the packet with his left hand.

  “Thank you, Oggy, you daft bugger. All you Threllanders are mad.”

  “Arr well,” the dwarf smiled sheepishly, “Maybe we are at that.”

  Gawain grinned, and released Ognorm’s arm. In truth, they had indeed endured much together along the way.

  “At least you didn’t kill your poor horse catching up with us.”

  “Arr. Know you like ‘em. It’s why I done most o’ the running.”

  Gawain shook his head in astonishment, then peeled open the packet, turned, and began walking north again, the others following discreetly behind. The letter was from Elayeen, and dated the day they had left Last Ridings.

  MiThal Gawain heth am min,

  Your letter and your instructions arrived with the mayor of West Forkings before noon, together with the fresh news which you yourself learned from him before you crossed to Northside. Your instructions have of course been followed; Ranger Nuriyan left immediately to his duties in West Forkings, and further precautions are being taken here. All is still well in Last Ridings, though you are now missed by all, word of your departure spreading quickly soon after your departure as we knew it would.