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

by GJ Kelly

  Gawain paused, smiling disarmingly, every inch regal and charming. Hellin blinked, and her head twitched as though she would shake it to wake herself from some dream.

  “If you will allow me, your Majesty,” Gawain continued, deliberately avoiding looking at the far corner of the room behind her where the misty shapes of Allazar and Venderrian remained motionless, “I should perhaps explain that I am about the business of another urgent quest, this time to discover the whereabouts of a certain orb, which some time ago was used to annihilate the D’ith Hallencloister, and to destroy all those who dwelled therein. How convenient for me, then, that one who likely has knowledge of that orb’s current whereabouts is here, seated at this very table.”

  And at this, Gawain turned an icy gaze upon Serat of the Ahk-Viell. The direction of his gaze was not lost on any at the table, or standing guard nearby.

  “You!” Serat announced, excitement and perhaps a little fear giving his voice a shrill edge. “You shall be taken in chains to Thallanhall, there to face judgement for your crimes!”

  “Be silent, Serat, traitor of the creed responsible for the destruction of all wizardkind!” Gawain commanded, his voice charged with regal power. “Crowned heads are talking!”

  “You dare speak to my honoured guests in such a manner, in my own hall! At my own table!” Hellin’s eyes flashed, her expression darkening, lips white with anger. “You dare to enter here armed and defiant and threaten my guests!”

  “Ah,” Gawain announced, hearing noises behind him, and from the look of dismay and alarm stealing over all the faces at the table, he knew it was well-dressed and well-armed men of the Guards from below, filing in to stand in silent readiness along the wall at his back. “So now at last we hear the ire of a queen. Where was that queen, Hellin, when your father Willam fell? Where was that queen when her beloved Jerryn was denied to her? Jerryn, who walked from this very table, and rode from your side to face horror and death in a distant land, your honoured guests’ land.

  “Jerryn, who said to me: I should like my name never to be graven on the Wall in the Guards’ Hall, at home. I do not wish forever to be a question in the mind of any who might see it there and wonder who I was, and how my name came to be there. I wish for my name to end when all the hearts who have ever known me cease their beating.”

  Hellin stood, trembling with rage. “How dare you…!”

  “How dare I? Oh you make it sound as though there is some kind of risk attached to my being here. I assure you, there is not. Spare us your posturing, Hellin, your queenly ire masks a dead heart and a dull mind. Where was this queenly queen, when the Crown passed to you? You were Juria! Had you the wit and the heart and the spine you could have dispensed at the stroke of a pen with the worthless protocol which denied Jerryn your hand! You could have ended with a word that decrepit decree which sundered a noble man from his dreams and his love, and in the grief of Willam’s passing and the fresh joy of Far-gor’s victory none would have denied you your happiness! None! Not a single man or woman of this realm would have denied your heart its cleaving with Jerryn’s, knowing as they did Willam’s intentions before his demise!

  “But you, standing there now with your fists balled and tears coursing, face flushed with queenly rage, instead became dullard stone and cold, and sent Jerryn to his doom, the man rendered nought in your heart but a name etched on the colder stone below this very table. A name now struck off, in accordance with his wishes! Tell me, your Majesty, do you even remember the colour of his eyes? Did you spare Jerryn a moment’s thought when you wed a weedling worm and boy of the forest and took him yonder, there beyond this table, to your private rooms and to matrimonial commencement?”

  Shuddering, blinking, trapped between fury and grief and the rising horror of being unable now to recall the details of Jerryn’s aspect which Gawain had demanded, Hellin sat hard back into her chair, as if felled by a sharp blow to the head.

  “You were queen. You could have commanded, but you did not,” Gawain advanced a pace, tension rising in the air all around him. “And now, you have wedded Willam’s proud land to that of a creed bent upon the destruction of all wizardkind save their own. Allied now is your Crown to those who have destroyed the Hallencloister, and all within it. All save one. Sardor Eljon Meritus, Master of Sek and Sardorian of D’ith Hallencloister, who survived to bear witness to the attack by elves of the Toorseneth, all of those foul and murderous elves wearing the sign of the Tau, as do your honoured guests and their retinue!”

  “Lies,” Serat declared. “Lies and foul calumny, my Queen, from the mouth of a criminal condemned by all those noble Jurians who witnessed murder and theft in the north!”

  “No. Truth from the mouth of the D’ith Sardor, a wizard your foul treachery could not reach. The Toorseneth erred, Serat of the traitor’s tower. They left a survivor. The Sardor of the D’ith yet lives. Tell me, Hellin. Where is Mahlek, First Wizard of Juria?”

  Hellin blinked again, her mind wheeling, and stunned, it seemed, beyond simple comprehension.

  “He is gone to Ferdan in the northwest, taking private letters and papers to Insinnian, Crown’s Consort, in Elvendere,” an elderly nobleman to Hellin’s immediate right declared emphatically.

  “Then he is doubtless dead,” Gawain asserted, his gaze fixed upon the queen but his attention fixed on the elfwizard sitting a quarter of the way around the table from Hellin’s left. “Tell me Hellin, where are all those other wizards who survived Far-gor, or who remained here in defence of the good folk of Juria when war came?”

  Again, Hellin’s lips moved, but no sound emerged. Gawain glanced from her to Serat, and then across the table to Kahsen of the soolen-Viell, lest some unobserved mumbling be the cause of Hellin’s silence rather than shock and outrage.

  “Dispersed, to the south,” the elderly fellow declared.

  The old fellow was perhaps, Gawain guessed but did not know, Hellin’s chamberlain, but the nobleman was certainly seated in a place of high status at the table. A place Jerryn would have occupied but for Hellin’s lack of strength.

  “Dispersed,” the elderly nobleman repeated, and continued, his expression one of a man greatly affronted, “Lest Callodon in his madness breach the border there, or through the immense provocation of that madness, Gorian retribution for his insanity at Pellarn cross the Ostern into these lands!”

  “Dispersed, to Doosen,”

  “Yes,” the nobleman replied hesitantly.

  “And to Bardin, and other villages and towns in the south, many close to the border with Elvendere.”

  “Yes.”

  “Dead, then. All of them.”

  “Madness!” the old fellow protested. “Insulting madness!”

  “Truth,” Gawain declared. “Is that not why so many honoured guests now fortify and occupy so many Jurian towns and villages, and patrol in such numbers this friendly land? Is that not the reason, Serat, snake of the Tau? To seek out and destroy wizards of the D’ith?”

  “Traitors!” Hellin blurted, her voice querulous and sounding very much like that of a little girl. “Traitors who slew my father in his own Hall!”

  “And now you see the depth of the treachery. The Crown’s mind once turned against wizards of the D’ith for the slaying of her father, why should the Crown protest at the destruction of all of them, even should evidence be forthcoming as it is now, that the lands were betrayed at Far-gor not by wizards avoiding their duty to all the kindred races. But by Toorsencreed, who destroyed the Hallencloister before the war began, while all eyes were on Ferdan and the army mustering there in the north.”

  “Your Majesty,” Serat oozed, “Your orders are clear, the warrant issued, this man is a criminal who must be taken to Thallanhall, there to stand trial for crimes against your husband’s people…”

  “Toorsencreed,” Gawain announced, “Who allied with Maraciss of Simatheum sowed a crop of Flagellweed in Jurian soil. Elfwizards of that creed riding on Grakens of their own making, flitting here and t
here and raining evil upon innocent Jurian heads. How convenient Serat’s arrival then, to clear the ‘weed they themselves had sown.”

  “More desperate lies, your Majesty…”

  But Hellin sat blinking, silent, mouth agape, slumped back in her chair. Again Gawain studied the soolen-Viell, but the elfwizard sat with one hand clutching a napkin and the other still idly holding a goblet of wine, blinking in astonishment at the proceedings and, it seemed from his expression, not in possession of the grander details of his masters’ plans.

  “Be quiet!” another nobleman declared, this one heavy set, verging on obesity, well-used to good living. He was seated next to Serat, and thus was clearly of some social stature. “I would hear Raheen’s words! Too long at this table have we been obliged to listen to yours!”

  “Lord Eggers!” the old man protested, “You forget whose table this is!”

  “I do not, Lord Chamberlain. It is the Crown’s table! And it is a Crown speaking!”

  “Aye,” another agreed hurriedly. “Speak, my lord Raheen! If this treachery be true I would hear it long before I would see Lord Vex in chains and dragged to the forest!”

  Along the walls, elves of the Tau inched closer together and closer to Gawain. He remained unconcerned, for though they were armed with short swords, their progress came to an abrupt halt when Captain Ector and his contingent took half a pace forward from behind him.

  Gawain’s visage darkened, and he had to fight hard against the urge to look towards the gloomy corner where he had seen Allazar and Venderrian cloaked from everyone’s view. Hellin’s paralysis to his eyes seemed rather more mystic than emotional, and since it was neither the soolen-Viell nor the Ahk-Viell mumbling a chant to bring such weeping silence about, there could be only one mystic source responsible.

  “Recently,” he declared, “You will by now know, I and others, including my friend Major Jerryn, once Defender of Juria, set out on a quest to rid the world of the Orb of Arristanas, a device constructed long ago to defend all lands from darkness Morloch-made. That device was corrupted by treacherous wizards of a tower in Ostinath, named the Toorseneth. So corrupted was it, it unleashed fire and shadow upon the city of Calhaneth, and destroyed it, utterly. Such survivors as there were, were later were hunted down and killed by those same traitors…”

  “Lies! I shall not sit here and listen to this calumny!” Serat declared in sudden panic, throwing down his napkin and making as if to stand. His staff was eight feet behind him, propped against a bookcase.

  “You shall!” Lord Eggers declared, placing a meaty hand upon the elfwizard’s shoulder and thrusting him back into his seat. “And you shall do so in silence!”

  “That Orb,” Gawain continued, “Was the last of many earlier, failed devices. We secured it, and carried it to safety, pursued by dark wizards and mercenaries from the west, and disposed of it. But another, older, device, twisted and warped, was taken in a casket by elf-warriors of the Tau, all of them wearing the same mark as those now armed and standing behind you, and carried it in the dead of night into the very heart of the Hallencloister. There, its evil was unleashed, the gates of the citadel sealed from without against all hope of escape from within. All perished. All save one, the Sardor whose account of these events I have just given you, though his, of course, is far more detailed.”

  “And we may have this account from him ourselves, my lord?” lord Eggers enquired.

  “You may, though knowing the Toorseneth’s intention to destroy all wizardkind in the name of their absurd creed, you will understand our decision not to provide it here, where the Sardor’s enemies are made welcome at table. It is sufficient to say that the Sardor is nearby.”

  Eggers grunted, and eyed the soolen-Viell opposite him with intense suspicion.

  “It is entirely too convenient, my lord,” the Chamberlain announced, his elderly voice faltering in places through age rather than any lack of courage, “That your evidence is elsewhere. The crime of which you stand accused was witnessed by many of our people in the north, yet here you stand with nothing but a silent dwarf beside you and a tale to tell, though also with, I grant, the rather disturbing sight of many of her Majesty’s Guard at your back. It is difficult to perceive by this light, whether the good Captain stands poised to arrest you, my lord, or to arrest us! You will, I am sure, understand why, in such circumstance, I am certainly disposed more towards my Crown and her honoured guests, than to yourself.”

  “You will, I am sure, Lord Chamberlain, understand why your disposition is really no concern of mine.”

  The old man blinked, and many were shocked by Gawain’s assertion and cold dismissal. But he ignored them all, and continued.

  “The device used by the Toorseneth to destroy the Hallencloister remains at large. It is contained in a casket of gold-infused Morgmetal, elf-made, a barrel of evil containing dark fire and shadow. Though of lesser size and power than the Orb of Arristanas, it is of the same pedigree, and possesses the power to destroy utterly any town or village in which it is unleashed. Including this one.

  “It is the current disposition of that foul and murderous elfwizard device I am entirely concerned with. It is, though I never believed I would hear myself uttering these words, it is the welfare of all surviving wizards of the D’ith I am concerned with. And it is the complete annihilation of the Toorseneth and all its perverted pious acolytes I am concerned with. Friyenheth Ceartus Omniumde. Freedom and justice for all, and that includes freedom and justice for those of the D’ith yet living who have kept their faith and would yet serve the best interests of the kindred.

  “As for the Guards behind me, ever have they served the Crown, and Juria. They stand for the honour of both, and woe unto him, or her, who would bring dishonour to either. I do not doubt the good Captain and his men will do their duty when called upon so to do.”

  Eggers grunted again, and took a draught of wine, and eyed the elves in the room over the rim of his goblet. And still Hellin said nothing.

  “And yet, my lord,” the chamberlain declared in the absence of word from his Crown, “Still your speech gives us neither comfort nor reassurance. What are we to think? What are we to believe? We have only our senses upon which to rely, and our senses speak of a threat to us all here in this room. You have not denied the charges of murder levelled against a Crown of Raheen, nor the charges of theft of a precious elven artefact, events witnessed as I have said, by many…”

  Gawain felt a familiar bubble rising, and tried hard to tell himself that the Jurians before him were struggling to cope with extraordinary circumstances. But he could also feel the tension rising, and knew too that Allazar would be fighting his own internal battle against a rage which could destroy everything, and everyone, in the room.

  “No,” he declared, quietly, and with great menace. “I do not deny it, and had she not spared him from my blade, I would have split that whitebeard bastard A’knox of the Toorseneth in two for the filthy bile he spewed at my queen on a battlefield soaked in the blood of good men and women of these lands! A battlefield betrayed by treacherous bastards the like of which now dine beside you at your Crown’s table!

  “You require comfort and reassurance? Be comforted with the knowledge that it was your Crown’s dinner guest who seeded your lands with foul-made filth, allowed it to grow, and then conveniently arrived to remove it for you. Take what reassurance you may from the knowledge that they possess a weapon which, if set upon the roof of this very Keep tonight, would by nightfall tomorrow have destroyed every living thing in Castletown and left it, and you, nought but a smoking stain.

  “You require something to believe, Chamberlain? Believe this: In a few moments from now I am going to demand answers from Serat of the ToorsenViell and if they are not forthcoming I am going to drag him from Hellin’s precious table and beat them from him.

  “Believe this also: I hold Hellin of Juria Morloch Collaborator, witting or otherwise, allied to an evil whose depths cannot be fathomed by reasonable min
ds, wed to a puppet whose strings are servant to agents of a Morloch-corrupted wizard dead and dust these thousands of years, and whose goal is now the complete destruction of wizardkind even at the expense of us all.”

  Jurians at the table were astonished, all of them. Jurians behind Gawain, likewise. He was famed throughout all lands, this longsword king, this Darkslayer, this Lord Vex, and here he stood, a wanted man by Crown’s decree and warrant, declaring that very same Crown a Morloch Collaborator…

  It was Serat who broke the silence, and he did so by gently clapping his hands.

  “Oh well done, Raheen, a pretty speech worthy of a great leader of men. A pretty speech made by one whose name adorns a warrant and who by his own words convicts himself of the charges levelled by an outraged people. It was not the Toorseneth who asked Juria for aid in bringing you to justice, but Thallanhall. And Thallanhall speaks for the people of Elvendere! All of them! A people afflicted by an ancient curse wrought and inflicted upon innocents by your infected queen! A people robbed of its beloved guardian and keeper of the…”

  “Shut up,” Eggers declared, and again clapped a meaty hand upon the elfwizard’s shoulder as the latter once more made to rise from the table. “This is not your place to speak.”

  “Indeed it is her Majesty’s place to speak!” another declared. “Orders, your Majesty! Your Guard stands yonder and awaits your orders!”

  But Hellin, her once gentle beauty robbed by grief and made pinched and pallid by cruel circumstance, hair once shimmering long and ink-black now cropped and faded, sat gazing around the table, her head moving one way, her eyes dull and lifeless, another.

  “Your Majesty,” the Chamberlain said softly, his voice rich with concern, and he leaned over, and reached out a trembling hand to touch his queen lightly on her wrist. “Your Majesty?”

  But no response came from her lips, and no reaction did she give to the wizened hand gently tapping hers.

  “Your Majesty,” the Chamberlain repeated, alarmed.