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

by GJ Kelly

  “Do you believe these Toorsen elves would use such a despicable weapon against us? Against humankind?”

  It was Eggers who asked the question, and it seemed to Gawain in the aftermath of the destruction witnessed by those in the council chamber, it was Eggers to whom all others deferred, except perhaps the chamberlain.

  “I cannot say,” Gawain admitted. “Truly, I cannot say. You must remember, my lords, Juria is still to elven minds allied with Elvendere and wed to Thallanhall. And Elvendere for the most part believes entirely that the Toorseneth serves their best interests. That land has been elvish for so long, cut off from all others for so long, their view is the only one they’ve had to guide their lives. Though, I am told, there is likely much turmoil within the great forest. We can but hope that in the event of civil war, it is the Crown which prevails. If not, I cannot say what the Toorseneth might do with such a weapon as Benithet’s Orb in its possession.”

  “Is that its name, then?” the chamberlain asked.

  “It is now,” Gawain sighed. “It’s as good a name as any, since it was Benithet first saw it used.”

  “That I should live to see this night, and its horrors. Our queen, lost in her own mind, our allies shown to be enemies, our friends, invaders, and a weapon of such destruction wielded with such cold cold cruelty…”

  “You have more pressing problems, gentlemen,” Gawain sighed, and poured wine into a clean goblet. He suddenly felt very tired.

  “My lord?”

  “Your queen is unable to rule. The elven Ambassador and all his retinue here in Castletown have been destroyed. Your lands, or at least a goodly number of its southern and western towns and villages, are occupied. There is a force too, at Vardon. I would suggest, my lords, that Juria is in dire need of the wise stewardship of the queen’s council if it is to be safely extricated from the Toorseneth’s snare.”

  “You are leaving?” the chamberlain gasped.

  “I came here only to learn the disposition of the orb, Lord Chamberlain, as I declared earlier.”

  “My lord, I fear I have offended you greatly with my earlier…”

  But Gawain held up a hand to still the apology. “Unless the council, in the absence of the queen, intends to uphold the warrant issued against me, I intend to rest for a while, and return to my people. Word must be sent by all means possible for the protection of such wizards as may yet dwell east of Elvendere. Juria’s are, I fear, no more.”

  “How shall we fare?” one of the councillors mumbled, “How shall we fare without wizards?”

  “The way men have always fared,” Gawain replied, “With strength, and with courage, and with wits and wisdom of their own. You have little choice now but to adapt to your new circumstances, and become masters of your own lives. Perhaps in relying now upon no-one but yourselves, you might be surprised what can be achieved without a mumbling whitebeard to ease your passage through life’s obstacles.”

  “Will you not help us, my lord,” the old man looked on the brink of tears, “Now, in the hour of our greatest need?”

  “Help how?” Gawain sighed, refusing to accept yet another burden others were anxious to load onto his shoulders. “Your dealings with Elvendere now must rely on diplomacy and the strength of Juria’s arms. I’m neither a diplomat, nor a Jurian. Should I remain, Elvendere has cause to move against Castletown in force to take me, in accordance with the warrant you and they still hold. Should I take part in any action to evict elves from these lands, Thallanhall likewise has an excuse to take action, by force of arms if necessary. You see now how cunning is the snare about Juria’s neck. The longer I remain, the greater the threat.”

  “Yet if this Toorseneth has spies here, and they likely do, they will know soon enough what deeds have been done against them this night.”

  “So they shall. But you yourselves have seen the truth that is the Hallencloister. That is a truth which must also be borne as quickly as possible to all lands. I do not think, my lords, that once all eastern lands understand the nature of the Tau’s betrayal and Morloch’s part in it, they will wish to stray too far from their tree line. You must act quickly, both to evict the cuckoos in your nests, and to spread word and warning. Considered haste is, I think, your first defence against the Toorseneth. Truth is ever the enemy of evil.”

  “It seems,” Eggers announced, “We have much work to do this night, my lords and councillors. The full council must be summoned. They will know given the lateness of the hour the urgency of the need.”

  “And I and mine have done work enough this night,” Gawain sighed. “Are we yet safe within these walls, or must we flee to evade your warrant?”

  “Alas,” Eggers looked aggrieved, “The warrant is issued by the Crown, and we the council, even acting in stewardship while her Majesty is indisposed, cannot simply tear it up as I am sure all here would wish. The snare is cunning indeed, for should Crown’s Consort act quickly enough, quicker than we ourselves must act, then the boy Insinnian might seek to press his claim for stewardship. Not until the crown itself rests upon a new head may the warrant be annulled or a pardon issued.”

  “Then by your leave, gentlemen, I shall embarrass you no further with my presence and depart. You may always, should a need ever arise, point to your lack of wizards for my escape, there being none to prevent some mumbling charm uttered by the First of Raheen and Sardor of D’ith influencing all and clearing our path.”

  Gawain stood, the others following suit. He regarded them sadly for a moment.

  “It is true, Lord Chamberlain,” Gawain declared solemnly, “That this night, I leave havoc in my wake, and death has followed in my footsteps. At least we may take some comfort from the knowledge that no more Jurian names shall be added to the wall below this night. I’ll leave you with an admonition I learned lately from a long-dead Sardor of the D’ith Hallencloister: Never trust the Viell. Honour to the Crown of Juria.”

  “Honour to the Crown of Raheen,” Eggers replied solemnly, and there seemed to Gawain to be hint of regal dignity in the man’s voice.

  Outside in the courtyard, Captain Ector waited with a contingent of the Guards to escort Gawain and his party to the south gate. The mess that had been the soolen-Viell’s body had been cleared away, and the Jurian officer expressed the opinion that he wouldn’t be surprised if later in the dark hours before dawn a careless elf might accidentally set a blaze in the kitchen of the Embassy, elves not being accustomed to common fire and the dangers of keeping ellamas oil in such close domestic confines.

  Gawain had nodded grimly, and in silence, they had marched quickly and quietly through the sleeping streets of Castletown. At the gate, the men halted, the night’s watch opened the wicket door and stood back, and Captain Ector saluted smartly.

  “Thank you, my lord,” he said softly. “For the return of Juria to its people.”

  “Lord Eggers seems a capable man,” Gawain nodded, returning the salute.

  “Her Majesty’s cousin, and next in line should her Majesty’s health decline to the point where protocol dictates abdication in his favour.”

  “Protocol,” Gawain sighed. “It’s protocol brought this doom upon us all.”

  “And may yet save us from it, my lord.”

  “Perhaps. Has there been news, Captain? Of Igorn’s efforts in Pellarn?”

  “Some, but hawks now circle where none dwelled before, and few now are the birds from Callodon which survive their journey here. Or back, I shouldn’t wonder. Odd the timing of the appearance of those hawks, so soon after the Crown’s wedding was announced. Last we heard, all our hopes were progressing well enough, though a siege of Pellarn Castletown had begun.”

  “Well, there is some comfort to be had from that news, at least, when all else is chaos and carnage. My compliments to you and your men, it’s time I and mine took our leave,” Gawain saluted.

  “Speed your journey, my lord, and honour to you.”

  “And to you and the Guard, Captain Ector.”

  Wi
th that, Gawain stepped through the wicket door, and together with Allazar, Ognorm, and Venderrian, walked quietly to the paddock behind the inn, and to their horses.

  It was while riding quietly south towards the distant vineyards a dim glow from behind them drew their attention, and they turned to look at the smoke rising from near the Keep.

  “I am reminded of another conflagration there, Longsword,” Allazar sighed, his voice almost entirely his own again.

  “I, too. Though Willam hovered then at death’s threshold, and his daughter weeping for him. Now it is Hellin who lies stricken, and no-one weeps for her.”

  “True,” the wizard agreed sadly.

  “Except, perhaps, in quieter moments, once the council have finished their business, the old chamberlain, who would have known her all her life.”

  “It was not I, Longsword, who so afflicted her.”

  “I never said it was.”

  “You did not have to. I saw the glances you cast. I was intent upon maintaining the Cloak, and for far longer than I have ever held it. Had I attempted to silence the queen as you suspected, the Cloak might have slipped, as might the knife held to my ribs by Ranger Venderrian.”

  “Ah.”

  “It was grief drove her into the abyss, and the truth of the horror of the words you spoke. She could, indeed, have acted, and ended that protocol which sundered her from Jerryn. A pity no-one thought to suggest it at the time, but alas, all hearts and minds then felt the loss of Willam.”

  “And now another fire burns without her hall. Perhaps it’s as well she is lost within herself. I hope that place where now she dwells is a kinder one than she has ever known here in this world. Come, we have a little way west to go before we turn north.”

  “North!” Allazar gasped. “What possible business do we have there?”

  “It’s but eleven days to Tarn. We have friends there, and an object hidden which must be taken back to Last Ridings and kept safe in the down-below of Crown Peak. I do not know when next any of us will have the chance to undertake such a journey.”

  “And our lady?”

  “E will understand. Besides, at Tarn, you will have the opportunity to send word to old Arramin, and have him seek out the illustration which has so plagued you and eludes all your attempts at recalling it.”

  “The Book of Thangar.”

  “A copy of which, if Sardor Durminenn’s instructions were followed, rests within Arramin’s grasp. Assuming the older works of Hallencloister are stored in the vaults nearest the bottom of the steps rather than the top. I dread to imagine poor Arramin trying to walk up those endless steps.”

  They turned their backs on the Keep and the glow of the conflagration, heading west, intending to skirt the castletown in that direction before swinging north. Vardon, and its enemies, lay to the east, after all.

  “Dry night,” Ognorm sighed, “Least we won’t get wet afore dawn.”

  “And no moon to light the way,” Gawain muttered.

  “It has set, Longsword,” Allazar announced as sparks from the conflagration drifted overhead as if an omen. “It is a new day, November the fifth.”

  oOo

  22. Brother

  Gawain sighed, his description of events at the Hallencloister and in Hellin’s Hall at an end. “And so, my brother Rak, we are now here, in your home, in winter, once again.”

  Rak nodded, his expression hovering between despair and astonishment. Gawain and the others had arrived late in the night by the steep northern route into Tarn, avoiding the Mornland river-crossing where Jurian border guards may not have been reinforced by elves yet, but who would be aware of the Crown’s warrant nevertheless. He hadn’t wished to take the risk of delay or of embarrassing honourable friends there with a needless confrontation.

  Allazar was sleeping in the guest room, Ognorm and Venderrian at the Traveller’s Rest, all of them exhausted after pressing hard from Juria against chill northerlies and rain.

  “All now is chaos, Rak,” Gawain sighed again, and took another swallow of mulled wine, eyeing the flames in the grate. “I had such hopes after Far-gor. It was to be such a simple thing, Morloch slapped back, a little tidying here and there, and finally peace, rebuilding old lives and the making of new ones. Now the world is crumbling around us. What good have I done? What was the point of it all? How can I possibly end this catastrophe?”

  “You are tired, my brother,” Rak soothed, “And so your judgement of yourself is harsh and of the world poor. Rest. You will feel stronger and wiser for sleep.”

  But Gawain shook his head.

  “Morloch has trumped me again, his last spiteful weapon is unleashed, and I, distracted by worms and doubts as I was, saw it not until it was too late. But now the worms are ended. The worms are ended and the world is ended.

  “The west is all war, darkness unleashed, Goth-lords arisen and squabbling, Maraciss striving for his brother’s throne. Pellarn is all war and strife, Brock and Igorn and their unlikely alliance with Gorians struggling to liberate the Old Kingdom. The south now is denuded, its forces in the west, and Raheen… Raheen is gone. The middle kingdom? In turmoil, facing Elvendere and either outright war or conflict with elves, or internal struggles for power and a fight for the crown. Elvendere itself? Who knows? And Arrun and Mornland as always remain defenceless and hoping nothing nasty will come for them in the night. Only Threlland now sits above the mess I have made.”

  “You? This mess, as you call it, is certainly not of your making. Remember, Gawain, it is Morloch set the world upon this path, not you. But for your vexing of him, the world would have been lost years ago.”

  “He saw it coming. He saw something coming. It’s why he summoned Toorsen to the dreaming tower and sowed in his mind the seeds of this fresh destruction. And those seeds Toorsen then planted in his tower, and they germinated, sprouting deep and powerful roots. Benithet the seer was right, this is the world’s ending. Nothing will ever be the same now.”

  “Yet, Allazar now is the Sardor, and all D’ith wisdom is secure below Crownmount, or so you have said. The D’ith archive would certainly explain the many visits of wizards over the years. Warnings will be sent, precautions taken, wizards and their knowledge preserved. Who knows, perhaps Allazar will resurrect the Hallencloister, when you, and all of us, no longer have a pressing need for the White Staff.”

  Gawain shook his head, his eyes never leaving the fire. It was true, he was tired, but his mind was still surprisingly clear, the strange aquamire within him lending strength to that clarity which the wine and too much travelling threatened to weaken.

  “Allazar is not himself, my friend,” he sighed, quietly above the crackling of the fire. Merrin and Travak were sleeping, of course, the house silent but for himself and Rak.

  “Not himself? How so?”

  “Do you recall Eldengaze, and how that ancient bitchwizard so afflicted Elayeen?”

  “I do, though I prefer not to.”

  “Eldenbeard is arisen. I spoke to you of him, at my hall, when we returned from Urgenenn’s Tower.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “I had thought, or rather I had hoped, that Eldenbeard arose there but briefly, putting in a timely appearance at the tower in the Eastbinding only because Elayeen and our unborn child were nearby, and dark wizardry threatened both. I have known for some time now that the past has something special in mind for my son’s future. It’s hard not to ignore so many ancient artefacts piling up, never mind the tremor in my lady’s voice when she and others speak of it. Not that anyone seems to have the nerve to give voice to the fears they hold where he is concerned, my unborn prince. In the dark hours of sleepless nights I cannot but recall all the instances when Elayeen or Meeya or Valin have stood poised to reveal to me some terrifying truth, and then turned away from me in silence and with sorrow in their eyes.

  “But, my friend, Eldenbeard did not arise simply for their protection or mine. He has another purpose, and a deep one which I cannot see. Eldengaze arose to
give the Sight back to elves, to keep Elayeen apart from me once our throth had been broken, and to drive her to safety in the south far from Morloch’s influence. Eldengaze lies dormant now, the bitchwizard back in her crypt. But now her counterpart rears his ugly head in Allazar. And such a counterpart! He burns there in Allazar’s eyes, all power, all dread, and whatever his purpose it trumps all compassion, all the laws of men and elves and wizards, all pretence at civilisation abandoned. Eldenbeard would slay us all to achieve his ends, whatever they may be.”

  Gawain took another drink, and eyed the dark and spicy liquid in his cup.

  “Am I rambling? I’m sorry if I am. I’m not drunk.”

  “Indeed you are not, my brother. A single cup of wine held for an hour while talking and barely sipped is unlikely to tip a maiden’s scales in favour of a hopeful philanderer, much less cloud your thinking. But I believe you overestimate your strength; Allazar and your companions are already abed, exhausted, and knowing you as I do, you would have taken more than your fair share of the watch on your journey here. Retire, Gawain, and sleep.”

  Finally, while the fire popped and hissed, Gawain conceded.

  “I shall,” he announced, rising to his feet, legs and back aching.

  “In the morning we’ll talk more. A good breakfast, a long rest, clean clothes. It will freshen your perspective as well as your appearance.”

  “Alas, Rak. We cannot stay long. Nowhere near as long as I or you or Merrin would have us remain. I fear for Elayeen and Last Ridings. I fear for us all.”

  “Why?” Rak whispered, his hand poised on the living-room door-knob.

  “The worms are ended, Rak. For so long I carried so many of Morloch’s worms and now, I have none. I cannot see Morloch’s next move, and I fear that means he has none. He has let slip his last spiteful weapon, and retired beyond the Teeth, there to lick his wounds and regroup, or to wither, fade, and die.”