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

by GJ Kelly

  But the Keep was not their objective. Their objective was the stone building to the left, twenty yards from the Keep’s east wall, and it occupied almost exactly the same spot where once a Ramoth tower stood, its dark emissary holding the King of Juria in thrall to a dread and insidious poison. Ironic, Gawain thought, the location of that new Embassy. With a jerk of his head he summoned Venderrian forward.

  “Only three lights within,” the elf whispered.

  “Three?”

  “Three. On the first level.”

  Gawain nodded his thanks and eased back into the darkness. Three? He held up three fingers to pass the information to Allazar and Ognorm, and then gave a hand-signal to indicate the first floor of the squat building.

  Allazar held up a black-wrapped hand, three fingers extended. Gawain returned the gesture, and silently agreed it seemed not to make any sense for so small a number to be ensconced there. Gawain eased back towards the Keep’s end of the alley again, and there, crouched between a cobbler’s shop and a dressmaker’s, studied the rear of the Embassy. Several barrels and crates were stacked against its rear wall to either side of a simple door. Barred windows, small and perhaps opening into kitchens or ablutions, were set in the walls either side of that door. The stone was old, and Gawain wondered whether Juria’s walls had been plundered to provide the building material, or some other dwelling or structure torn down to build a home for Serat of the ToorsenViell.

  Thirty yards across the cobbles to the Embassy, but with no guard set here on the north side of the Keep, it might be possible to sprint, nimbly, across that open space, and not be seen at all; unless of course some unsuspecting resident dwelling above the shops and businesses lining Juria’s great square happened to look out from their window at precisely the wrong time. Gawain sighed, and again held up three fingers, this time to Venderrian, who replied with the same gesture.

  So be it, Gawain thought, and after another glance around the northern side of the courtyard, began making the gestures signalling his intentions. He would lead, of course…

  But then Allazar reached out a hand, grasping Gawain’s arm firmly. Without a word, the wizard stood, released his grip on Gawain and lifting the staff theatrically, stepped out onto the cobbles to gasps of surprise from Ognorm and Venderrian.

  “Allazar!” Gawain half-whispered, half-hissed, furious, but there was nothing he could do. The wizard had brought forth a Cloak of Quintinenn just as he had at Urgenenn’s Tower, and just as he had when he and Gawain had first stood together in darkness, here, in this very square.

  Gawain could see him, and when Venderrian remembered his eldeneyes, so too could the ranger. Only Ognorm was left completely at a loss while his companions watched the wizard stride purposefully to the back door of the Embassy, open it, and step inside.

  They waited, listening to the faint night-sounds around them, Castletown bedding down for the night. The wind rose, swirling around the great courtyard, creating tiny whirlwinds of dust and debris in doorways and alleyways.

  There was a brief flash from an upstairs window of the Embassy. Gawain blinked, wondering if he’d seen it at all, but when a second came, and Venderrian held up a single finger, he knew he had not imagined it. There was a long silence then, Gawain chewing his lip, Ognorm’s eyes disappearing and reappearing in the gloom as the worried dwarf blinked rapidly, too nervous to ask the questions Gawain couldn’t answer. Only Venderrian was able to see Allazar’s light moving within the distant building.

  Then came a third and soundless flash from the windows, and the elf made an unmistakeable cut-throat gesture and held up three fingers. None were alive in the Embassy now. None, save Allazar.

  oOo

  18. Crisis

  Gawain was grinding his teeth with fury, fists balled, watching the wizard intently. Allazar shut the back door of the Embassy firmly and quietly behind him, paused there awhile, perhaps locking that door with some mystic tool, and then ambled across the courtyard to the alley as if enjoying an evening stroll. When the wizard let out a sigh and reappeared to Ognorm’s eyes in the gloom of the alley, the dwarf was expecting it, having followed Gawain’s and Venderrian’s gaze, and thus he made no sound of surprise.

  “Allazar..!” Gawain began to vent his spleen, but the wizard held up a hand.

  “Serat is in Hellin’s quarters, dining. With him his assistant, Kahsen of the soolen-Viell, and six of the Toorsengard. The retinue of elves here is small, the larger force is now in barracks in Vardon. This I learned from the last of the Toorsengard, his two comrades being rather more… recalcitrant than he.”

  Gawain’s fury cooled, but anger and deep concern remained. Though he could not see the light in Allazar’s eyes, he had no doubt that embers glowed in the depths of those orbs now hidden in the gloom. This Allazar was a far cry from the timid preacher and practitioner of Zaine’s first mandate, and that was worrying indeed.

  “Dwarfspit,” he managed, and crouched again, eyeing the Keep. “Dining in Hellin’s quarters…”

  “We know the way. We have dined there ourselves,” Allazar whispered.

  “Or we can wait for Serat to return to the Embassy, and take him there.”

  “The Embassy is small and cluttered,” the wizard announced firmly, “Ceilings are low, rooms small. Fighting half a dozen of the Toorsengard while trying to take a wizard of the Ahk-Viell alive against his wishes and those of his guard and a soolen-Viell would be noisy, messy, and prone to failure.”

  “And Hellin’s apartments are on the first level, above the Great Hall and Guards’ Hall, where sleeps her entire retinue of honour-guards!” Gawain hissed back, and led them further from the mouth of the alley into the darker reaches of the passage.

  “Dwarfspit, this is madness,” Gawain sighed, and flexed his shoulders. The rope was heavy and chafed, and the sword, though light in his hand when he wielded it, hung by its scabbard’s strap which likewise seemed to press uncomfortably into his neck and collarbone.

  “Yet you always planned on coming here,” Allazar whispered, anger giving an edge to his words. “Else why did you bring with you a miner’s chisel for the cutting of stone?”

  Gawain grimaced, caught as he knew he had been when Allazar had favoured him with an accusing look the day he’d given Ognorm the borrowed dwarf-made tool.

  “Ooh good point,” Ognorm breathed through the cloth covering his mouth.

  “I had it in mind,” he confessed, “That if we found ourselves nearby…” but then he trailed off. He’d always intended to try to honour Jerryn’s request if he could, and in truth while he’d had it in mind, he’d never actually planned to invade Hellin’s Hall to carry out the deed. Circumstances had changed.

  “It was the Hallencloister brought us here,” Gawain reminded them, drawing in a breath. “And we have friends here deceived by traitors. Hellin too must know of the Hallencloister’s fate, and who it is now serves Morloch’s spite. But we can’t just walk in the front door. It will be guarded. The rear door too will likely be barred and bolted from within.”

  “I can,” Allazar declared.

  “You are become all too consumed by your rage, wizard,” Gawain announced hurriedly, his teeth clenched, “And though some other whitebeard named you Sardor before fleeing this world, you are still the White Stick of Raheen and I am still your king! Or does your oath of service no longer bind you as Zaine’s first mandate once did?”

  “I can walk in there and take Serat from under their sleeping noses! Or I can walk in there and immolate them all as they did the brethren at Hallencloister! It is to the latter course I am inclined and only a dim and fading memory of service to you is all that prevents me from so doing!”

  Gawain snapped, and in an instant had the wizard by the throat and pressed up against a wall, his face inches from Allazar’s as he hissed at the smoky eyes glowing dangerously back at him.

  “You are the First of Raheen and you shall do as you are bid by your king! It is I who am the Deed, not you! You are
the Word! You’re supposed to add knowledge, power and give meaning to the Deed! Not go off and do it all by yourself! Remember who you are! And remember who I am!”

  They were both breathing hard, nostrils flaring beneath the darkening cloths hiding their faces, the thin material puffing in and out in time with their breathing. Slowly, as if reluctantly, the embers of rage in the wizard’s eyes faded, and the slight sizzling at the top of his staff died. Gawain loosened his grip, and looked across at the top of the Dymendin, the black cloth wrapped there was darker than the rest, as though wet. He grimaced, and remembered Allazar’s casual destruction of Kallaman Goth at the Tower of Urgenenn.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, melord, but if’n it’s up that twisty staircase with the dangly rope for a banister we’re goin’ again, we’ll need to go unseen.”

  “That we will, Ognorm,” Gawain whispered in reply, and stepped back from the wizard.

  “As I recall, melord, the Great Hall is ahead and to the left o’ the main door, Guards’ Hall ahead and to the right of it, or so it was when our mate Jerryn led us in last time.”

  “Aye, that is my recollection too.”

  “Then, melord,” Ognorm muttered quietly, “This big wall o’ names our mate Jerryn told us of is to the right, where them honour-guards are billeted?”

  “True, and directly beneath Hellin’s chambers above. What’s your point, Ognorm?”

  “Got me ‘ammer. Got the chisel. You needs a distraction while yer upstairs, I can give it. Some of ‘em might know me from Far-gor, but all of ‘em will likely know Jerryn, and if I can keep ‘em quiet with tales of him, it’ll give you chance to grab the elfwizard above.”

  Gawain pondered the dwarf’s suggestion.

  “Arr, well, it were just a thought,” Ognorm mumbled, sheepishly.

  “And an interesting one,” Gawain admitted. “Allazar, in the Eastbinding at the tower you shielded me from view of those within using Quintinenn’s Cloak. How many of us can you shield with it at one time?”

  “One.”

  “Bugger,” Ognorm sighed. “’Oped it would be all of us.”

  “At Dun Meven you shielded not only me from sight, but Reesen and Ognorm too as well as yourself!”

  “Ooh good point,” the dwarf muttered, recalling their advance up the steep and Spike-strewn slope unseen.

  “At Dun Meven only a single pair of eyes stood atop the hill to be confused by the Cloak! Here as at Urgenenn’s Tower there are many pairs of eyes, and all around us.”

  “Could you get us all in one at a time?”

  The wizard didn’t answer, and with Gawain’s patience already on a knife-edge, it didn’t take long before the question was repeated.

  “Can you vakin get us all in there one at a time or not?” Gawain demanded.

  “It would depend on the number of guards on duty, their location, and the sensitivity of the Ahk-Viell. It would be too much of a risk should I or the Cloak be detected while you were alone on the spiral staircase. You would have the Viell and Toorsengard descending upon you while Hellin’s guard ascended and barred your escape.”

  “Vak!”

  “I could simply walk in there and bring him out, unseen,” Allazar declared again.

  But Gawain stared back at the wizard.

  “I don’t trust you, Allazar. I don’t trust that the minute you clap eyes on elfwizards of the Toorseneth you won’t simply burn to ashes everyone in sight, including Juria’s Crown!”

  “Oh but I am the First of Raheen, your Majesty, I live but to serve,” Allazar hissed. “If you command me to fetch the Ahk-Viell out alive, so shall I do.”

  “Hellin must know of the depth of the treachery to which she and Juria are now wedded! We cannot simply lift Serat from under their noses and carry him off! That will achieve nothing but another ‘crime’ added to the list for which I and Elayeen are sought. And still I don’t trust you, not now with sarcasm dripping from your lips, and not after the slaying of the three elves in that Embassy and their blood yet dripping from your staff!”

  “This is not good, miThal,” Venderrian announced, softly. “We must work as one or withdraw.”

  “Ven’s right, melord, this ain’t getting us nowhere, if’n you don’t mind me sayin’ so.”

  Still Allazar fumed behind his darkening cloths. “Surely the Deed had a plan when he breached the walls after twenty days of journeying here?”

  “Yes I had a plan! To confront Serat in the Embassy, to obtain answers, and to drag him before Hellin’s Court and have him confess all! But you in your rage burst that plan asunder when you burst the elves asunder within!” and he jabbed a finger in the rough direction of the Embassy. “Now we have precious little time in which for me to make fresh plans which don’t involve you killing everyone including us with your rage and lust for vengeance! Nor can we withdraw, not now, when at any time those Toorsenelves might return to the Embassy and find their comrades slain by a wizard’s blast!”

  Gawain’s heart hammered, and he stared at the wizard, saw him trembling and knew that Allazar was fighting to keep a grip on his rage. Then, after what seemed an age, the wizard’s shoulders slumped a little.

  Gawain’s mind wheeled. Of course he’d thought about what they would do once the walls of Castletown were breached. In his mind’s eye it had been simple. Sneak in, grab the elfwizard, beat the truth from him and drag the wreckage of his treachery before Juria’s Crown and end the insane alliance between the middle kingdom and the Toorseneth. Elvendere would be elvish once more, Pellarn would return to the fold, liberated, and Gawain and Elayeen would live in peace in Last Ridings, with the new Prince of Raheen.

  No plan ever survives contact with the enemy, he heard Captain Hass say.

  Yes, yes, I know, he thought angrily back to that voice, You must always be prepared to be creative…

  Quite so, y’highness. Quite so! It’s always easier to plan in the peace of a tent, the calm of a quiet ride or in the silence of a night-camp far from danger. The trick is being able to think on yer feet. Assess! Always assess! Think of the objective and not the obstacles! Think of the task and not of the deadline! And if yer not going to be dead in the next few moments, why then you’ve plenty of time to think, y’highness.

  And if I am going to be dead in the next few moments, Captain?

  Why then act, don’t think!

  Gawain nodded to himself and leaned back against a grimy wall. He really couldn’t trust Allazar. Even though he so often told himself he never really could or would trust a whitebeard, it was still alarming, shocking even, to think that he couldn’t trust Allazar to carry out what might otherwise be a simple task. Eldenbeard was responsible for that, he knew. Eldenbeard had arisen at Urgenenn’s Tower and the terrifying arrogance and power of that long dead and dust wizard had been mightily disturbing, for Gawain and Allazar both.

  It had been Eldenbeard compelling Allazar to the Hallencloister, and possibly, through the mist of strange aquamire perhaps even Gawain too. It had been Eldenbeard, doubtless, who’d slain the elves of the Tau, there in the Embassy. For so long, Gawain had wished Allazar and his robed brethren would set aside the nonsense of Zaine and bring their mystic power to bear on common enemies. Now he understood the veracity of the old aphorism about being careful what one wished for.

  The casual slaughter of Kallaman Goth and sundry lower-ranked elfwizards of the Tau at Urgenenn’s Tower had been one thing. The same cold execution of elves in the Embassy was quite another. Eldenbeard, a wizard dead perhaps for millennia, could not be trusted. And certainly never allowed to act without the closest supervision. Too much depended on it, with the freedom of the midland kingdom at stake, and with the lives of all surviving wizards of the D’ith hanging in the balance.

  They were all waiting for his decision, for his orders.

  Assess!

  The Embassy was salted ground, too dangerous to confront Serat and his men there, forewarned as they would be by the discovery of their wizard-slain comrades.
What qualities did his enemies lack? Enemies? Most in Juria hailed him as friend, revered him almost, the famed Commander of the Kindred Army, who saved all the southlands at Far-gor. His true enemies were dining together now, up in the Crown’s private chambers where he too once had dined, with Jerryn, and Reesen, Ognorm, and Allazar… Jerryn, once beloved of Hellin, and she now Queen of Juria...

  He drew in a breath, allowed the grey mist of strange aquamire to swirl while he pondered the likely outcomes of his new-found strategy, and nodded to himself. The crisis was over. Think on the objective, not the obstacles. Think of the task, not the deadline. Always assess. Thank you, Captain Hass, I would you could know how much you taught me…

  “Ognorm and I will enter the through the main south portal of the Keep in plain sight, and from there enter the Guards’ Hall to honour our friend’s last wishes. Allazar, once Ognorm and I are past the honour-guard at the main portal and have entered the Guards’ Hall, you will take Ven under Cloak of Quintinenn directly up to Hellin’s apartments, there to remain hidden until such time as I myself summon you both to reveal yourselves. You will take no action until that time, do you understand?”

  “Understood, miThal.”

  “Allazar?”

  “I understand, Longsword.”

  “Ven, if you suspect even for a moment that the wizard is going to strike out on his own without my command, kill him.”

  Ognorm gasped. Venderrian blinked. Allazar scowled.

  “MiThal?”