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

by GJ Kelly

  When word came of an army mustering at Ferdan even I could ignore no longer the portents and prophecies of Benithet. No longer could I deceive myself with false hope, ignoring Durminenn’s adjuration to abandon such futile effort. But word also came, of traitors within our ranks, servants of Morloch hidden from sight and senses by the foul runes of n’iman sett, of brethren striking brethren and Morloch himself answering a summons uttered by a traitor at Kings’ Council.

  Orders I gave then, to raise the gates, all of them. Many were the protests, but the Blue Guard remained loyal to the key about my neck, and the gates were drawn up, though some few of the brethren fled before all the walls were sealed and the wheels, bolts and bars locked. Protest there was, for our duty to our kindred of commonkind, protest but not panic. Many held the faith. Traitors were found, and ended, though at a cost to the faithful.

  Council of Sek was summoned and met, and there, finally, I revealed the prophecy of Benithet; that the world’s ending would come after a great loss in the west, a great loss in the south, and a great war in the north. Great relief there was that Pahak of the Ahk-Viell was not present, his seat at the table of Sek empty since his recall some time ago now by Thal-Hak of Elvendere. Great relief there was that the war was yet some weeks, perhaps even months, from commencement. We had time, it was agreed, for trusted Masters of Sek, Met, and Reen to be chosen and sent north to support the army with staff, rod, and wand, and for such preparations as might be made by the remainder for the coming of the final cataclysm.

  But there was no time. Of course there was no time. How could there be any time, when a Source Unimpeachable makes immutable fact his declaration of the world’s ending?

  During the darkest of hours beyond midnight while the Council deliberated and made its plans the very day that I ordered the gates drawn up, a contingent of elves arrived at the southern lesser gate in the west wall, and being recognised by the Blue Guard as allies from the great forest, admitted. Twenty there were, I was later told, on horse, and with a wagon, which they left without the walls. Their leader was an unidentified elfwizard of the Ahk-Viell and they had with them, so the bemused gate-watch were told by this wizard, a mystic device for the Council of Sek to aid in the war to be waged in the north.

  It was borne on a litter from the wagon, and described as a large metal barrel which possessed a sheen of gold in the starlight. Later we surmised that it was some new alloy of the elven Viell, gold-infused Morgmetal, though how so much of that latter uncommon substance had been obtained and forged by them is a matter for minds other than mine to speculate. Under escort from their cloaked elven contingent those bearing the litter stole through the shadowed passages led by the Ahk-Viell who, it was said, seemed to know well his own way.

  No escort, therefore, was given by the Blue Guard. Thus, when the contingent returned with the litter empty, it was assumed that the device had been delivered to me here at the North Tower or to the Cloisters of Sek. Instead, it had been set upon the uppermost dish of the Fountain of Zaine in the very heart of Hallencloister, where it was discovered at dawn.

  At the lesser gate, the elves departed, the gate was secured, and the gate-watch remained undisturbed the rest of the night. They had come like brigands in the night, those elves, just as Benithet had foreseen and foretold, and we, busy in the Council, noticed not, knew not, until sunrise brought with it a commotion, and our world’s final day.

  The barrel had been found and a large group of Guards and brethren gathered to observe the spectacle and gape in astonishment at the sacrilege before them. So we were told by survivors of the carnage which ensued. So I saw from my window in the tower. As the sun broke over the walls to the southeast, its rays struck the barrel and soundlessly, it opened as a flower might, petals of metal blossoming to reveal a double horror. One, a foul black shadow of a thing which immediately when exposed to the pure light of the sun’s rays sped down through the water and into the drain in the base of the fountain’s pool. The other, an evil core of warped and twisted brown metal small as a pear, which they said seemed to be glowing with a malevolent light.

  Some of the braver guardsmen and brethren advanced to peer into the pool, to ascertain the location of the shadow-thing they had observed fleeing the light. “It has gone into the pipes!” they were heard to call, but then they began to cry out for help. When they turned, their flesh appeared to be burning, though no flame could be seen. Hands and arms they plunged into the waters of the fountain, faces too, for relief which came not, and their cries became desperate.

  Others hurried to their aid, and were likewise afflicted. A humming was heard, the vile core of the device began to glow a dull red, the colour of blood they said, and as the sun rose higher, a great flash of some putrid light was seen, and many in the courtyard fell writhing. All those in the courtyard who had been gazing at the device were blinded, and staggered about with hands outstretched, crying out for aid and tripping over the fallen.

  The brave came, and did their best. Blue Guards with pikestaffs advanced and attempted to close up the petals of the barrel, but were burned by the invisible flame emanating from the core. As the sun rose higher so too those unseen flames grew in strength and power. Lightning came from it then, a foul brown in colour, it danced and flickered in the air and struck the ground all about the courtyard, growing stronger until, at noon and in spite of all efforts to shield against it, it struck the Cloisters of Sek, and fires at once began to consume beams of oak and all other combustible materials within.

  I ordered the immediate evacuation of the Hallencloister, all gates to be opened, and what books and other mystic treasures close to hand to be taken to safety. But there was no hope. Durminenn’s adjuration is not to be ignored. Reports came to me that the gates could not be opened, and Master Erinenn of Sek came to me with the news that the gates had been sealed from without. The brethren set to with stave and rod, the gates all unlocked and unbarred, wheels unlocked and chains loose, yet still the portals would not open. So thick had the elders made our gates to be proof against the barbarians without, that we could not break those external seals from within.

  Smoke rose. Lightning danced in the courtyard. Men and brethren sickened and weakened from the emanations of the device thought too late of fleeing over the walls. Perhaps some succeeded, I know not. Our walls were no defence against the emanations of the device in the fountain, the Fountain of Zaine, dried up, all its water evaporated in the heat from the foul thing elf-made and elf-delivered which always was to be our doom.

  In accordance with the words of Benithet, I took the Book of Sardor, and one of the three remaining Sardorian keys, and my staff, and as an afterthought, paper and pen and food, and took myself down to the crystal chamber in the vaults beneath the North Tower. There, I lit a Light of Aemon for my comfort, and for the writing of this account.

  Old Master Salen took himself up to the roof of the tower, and sent word to me through the great crystal prisms by means of which I watched for as long as he and I were able. Towards late afternoon the emanations from the device seemed to diminish, and later, at dusk, faded. Many were too sick to continue their assault upon the gates, and those who had fallen in the central courtyard had been entirely consumed by dark crimson fire from the device, leaving, he said and I saw through my tears, ghastly shadows of their passing on the hallowed pavement there.

  It was with darkness that the shadow came, rendering into lifeless mould all it touched as it roamed the corridors avoiding starlight and moonlight. Lights of Aemon were lit, Candles of Aaron launched by those strong enough, white fire loosed, maroons sent up by the guardsmen of commonkind who could not summon such mystic lights as those brought forth by the brethren. The shadow, Salen said, moved below ground, and could not escape the walls any more than we could. The night was filled with fire, and the loud rumbling of burning floor-beams collapsing in the Cloisters of Sek which blazed and crackled.

  At midnight, and through the prisms, all was quiet. Old Master S
alen, his flesh covered in blisters and running sores, described the shadow enveloping the vile metal rock at the centre of the device. No movement, he said, came from below. No lights burned of the mystic variety, only the faint pinpricks of orange made by glowstone lamps opened by the Blue Guard, and embers, glowing remnants of the conflagration around the courtyard.

  Later, when it was darkest, he said he saw a great winged creature hover above the courtyard and a ray of some dark mystic light shine upon the device, the petals of the barrel closed up, sealing the twin horrors once more within. Then, he said, the creature descended, grasped the barrel with its claws, and with a great flapping of leathery wings, succeeded against casket’s weight to bear it over the west wall and down onto the ground below.

  Some time later he reported with great hope seeing a stream of lights appear through the southern lesser gate of the west wall. His last report was ‘elves have come!’ and all was silent thereafter.

  More time passed and I heard sounds from without in the vaults, and for the briefest of moments I had hope that this was the thunder and lightning of which Benithet spoke in his dream-visions. But it was not. I believe it was our doom, rifling the vaults, destroying all, removing all trace of the D’ith from the Hallencloister, leaving none alive who might have hidden from fire and shadow.

  They attempted entry here, too, but the old Sardors were not fools. They heeded Durminenn’s warnings. The Viell have no knowledge of the crystal chamber or its construction, as the imbecile who loosed white fire against the door to force it open would doubtless now be aware had he survived the attempt.

  They have gone. I wait.

  I am alone. I have opened the great gates below. When the thunder and lightning come as they must to herald the arrival of the Last Sardor, then I shall open the chamber, and seal it behind me, and I shall take to him, he who surely must come soon, the Book of Sardor, and the key. To him shall they be given, with the hope that our fate shall at last be known, that a day shall come when the D’ith shall be avenged, and that the Last Sardor shall renew our world and let the wisdom, knowledge, and enlightenment of Zaine once more shine bright as a beacon in these darkest of days.

  Until then, I wait.

  Until then, I am alone.

  Until ends,

  Eljon Meritus, Master of Sek and Sardorian of D’ith Hallencloister

  oOo

  15. Worm’s Ending

  The silence that followed lasted for hours. Some wept. Some occasionally shook their heads in shock and disbelief. One or two took a breath as if to speak, but thought better of it.

  Gawain’s mood swung like a pendulum. Rage at the treachery of Toorsen. Calm, the worms of his disquiet and the strange compulsion to come here dissipated. Sorrow, for Allazar, and perhaps even for the world. And in the calmer moments came the dreadful certainty of strange aquamire and an understanding of Benithet’s dream-visions concerning Toorsen’s madness and the actions of his acolytes since the building of the Toorseneth, the stones of that tower imbued, it was said, with the force of the wizard’s will.

  He at last understood the reason for the sending out of wizards of the D’ith to all lands, and understood the reasons why some turned traitor. Allazar had spoken himself at Urgenenn’s Tower of that ‘perfect freedom’ which was evil’s gift alone to give. He understood too Morloch’s cunning, and the temptation of his dreaming tower, and he understood at last Allazar’s strength in resisting that temptation.

  In truth, he knew now, Allazar had been vexing Morloch far longer than he. Allazar had vexed Morloch as a child, a child who had once stood in shame before the gold-inlaid and imposing table behind which had sat the D’ith Sardor and two Masters and Councillors of Sek, and had frightened those imposing old wizards all three with his strength.

  Strength which now seemed to have deserted the wizard, sat with the staff still resting on his shoulder, its light dimmed now, holding the heavy Book of Sardor in his hands, the key that marked him as Sardor about his neck. Sardor of what? Sardor of whom? How many wizards of the D’ith yet remained in the lands east of Elvendere? How many would be permitted now to remain by a Toorseneth bent on their destruction?

  Gawain sighed, and bowed his head as another worm died. He knew now with certainty why Maraciss had risked Pelliman Goth and his ship to recall Kallaman Goth from Urgenenn’s Tower and take him back to the west.

  Another worm died, and Gawain recognised why the elves of the Toorsengard riding with Cherris and Dirs had loosed, all of them, upon Allazar.

  Another worm died, and in its passing, its ghost revealed to Gawain the reason for the fortification by elves of Doosen, Bardin, Vardon, and Ferdan, and by now, other towns and villages in Juria. He blinked, the world fading into a grey mist as other worms wriggled through his strange consciousness, as if eager to end themselves as Sardor Eljon had, in a bright flash of release and understanding.

  Another died, the reason for the bands of Flagellweed sown in a wide arc miles from the Hallencloister, to deter the curious from discovering the truth. And then another, and another, and he groaned aloud, and his head fell forward into his hands as all the pieces at last tumbled into place. “Va takan thul” he whispered, more to himself than to his comrades.

  “Melord?” Ognorm whispered, all eyes drawn to Gawain’s despondency.

  “Morloch,” Gawain replied.

  Hands inched towards weapons, and even Allazar blinked and slipped one hand up onto the white staff, stuffing the goldpaper book into a pocket of his robes.

  “That bastard’s ‘ere?” Ognorm grunted, peering out into the gloom.

  “He’s been here all along, Oggy,” Gawain sighed, and lifted his head from his hands to stare at Allazar, and then at the others, in turn.

  “Gawain?” Allazar asked, his voice wracked.

  Gawain nodded, and drew in another breath before speaking, softly.

  “Elayeen told me, Morloch would never forgive my vexing him. Never forgive the destruction of his army at Far-gor. I should have seen the deeper truth in her words, though she herself did not. All this, all this fresh misery, and all the stale, all has been of Morloch’s making. It’s not just I he would never forgive for his defeat. It is all of us. They even warned us themselves, those traitors of the D’ith who struck at us. Joyen at Tarn. The Meggen prisoner at Ferdan. Morloch himself said it often. Doryenn at Far-gor. Kallaman Goth at Urgenenn’s Tower. Va takan thul. He will consume you all.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Gawain gazed at the wizard.

  “I know. But you should. You, of all people yet living, you should understand. You have been vexing Morloch far longer than I. He summoned you, as a boy, to his dreaming tower. You flew over the Dragon’s Teeth, remember? You told me, at Far-gor, of your dreams, of your nightmares.”

  “I did.”

  “You said, each time you dreamed the dream you would see more details in the wilderness beyond the mountains, and draw closer to that dark tower, close enough to know that there, in that tower, was something, someone, dread beyond anything the word has ever been able adequately to describe. And you knew that the something, the someone, was waiting for you.”

  “I did.”

  “He was. Yet you succeeded, where Toorsen failed. You fled, each time eluding Morloch’s grasp, evading his power, refusing the temptation. But Toorsen peered in, and saw who it was waiting for him. That old wizard Benithet, the seer, described seeing it. He said he saw Toorsen flying over the Teeth, saw him look in, and saw the madness Morloch planted in him like a seed. Toorsen was old, Morloch fresh-bound and yet powerful enough to tempt even the elfwizard who’d helped bind him beyond the Teeth. Perhaps Toorsen, in his arrogance at helping to bind Morloch, thought himself powerful enough to look in and resist whatever dread he saw there. He was a fool. And he was wrong.”

  Gawain shook his head, and there was such dread in his aspect that all of them leaned forward, fearing whatever might come next.

  “Morloch could never all
ow these lands to enjoy a lasting victory over him. Benithet said as much when he declared that Morloch was bound but not his will. Do you think Morloch would simply give up his desire to consume us all? Do you think in his own evil madness he could stomach a total defeat? It was Morloch planted the madness in Toorsen’s mind. Toorsen Grey-elf, neither light nor shadow, his mad belief and the bizarre seeking for ‘balance’ he bequeathed to his creed’s followers; they are the seeds of our destruction, sown by Morloch long ago.

  “With his army of the north destroyed, the Avongard Canyon gaping, Goth-lords risen, all his hopes for invasion crushed... What hope would Morloch have left to sustain him in the aftermath of such a defeat?”

  “Bugger-all,” Ognorm whispered again, startling himself when the words actually came out of his mouth.

  “And that is why he planted the seed in Toorsen’s mind. Armies of old fleeing a stronger force pursuing would burn crops and villages behind them, scorching and salting the earth to deny their enemy succour. Thus did Morloch create Toorsencreed. To wreak his vengeance upon us should invasion fail. And fail it did. All the years of his labouring to cross the Teeth, from over their heights and through their depths, centuries of work, wasted in an instant.

  “Toorsen’s creed demands they obtain ‘balance’ between light and shadow. Benithet has given us the truth of it by naming Toorsen as Grey-elf. They’ve never struck back against Morloch for his darkness, because they could never cross the Teeth so to do. But they have struck at him now, and at us all. They are making a grey world, with neither light nor dark to disturb the balance they seek. They destroyed the Hallencloister to achieve that end. The destruction of all wizards. The ending of the D’ith. The final dimming of the Light of Aemon. And with no wizards of the D’ith left alive, who then could Morloch call to his dreaming tower to corrupt the light into the darkness and make black fire from white? Dark wizards are not born. They are made from those born white-haired and turned to the path of perfect freedom offered them by Morloch and his minions.”