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

by GJ Kelly

  “Come, my brother, sleep well. We’ll speak again when you are rested.”

  Alone in the familiar room he had shared with Elayeen, Gawain propped the sword beside the bed, hung his cloak on a peg, and sat heavily on the bed to drag off boots which seemed reluctant to part with feet they had known for so long.

  Then he simply lay back, let his arms flop beside him, closed his eyes, and slept.

  In the kitchen next day, almost at noon so late had Gawain slept, Rak poured hot breakfast wine into a cup and ladled rich stew into a bowl for Gawain’s breakfast.

  “Merrin and Travak have gone to a friend’s house, my brother,” Rak explained, “She is writing a letter to Elayeen with all sorts of news. Not the least of which is our expecting another child.”

  “Oh Rak, my dear friend and brother!” Gawain sprang to his feet to embrace the beaming diplomat. “Congratulations! When did this happen?”

  Rak laughed. “Who can say? One night in early September, you know how these things are.”

  “Ah, yes, stupid question really. My mind is still foggy from sleep and the hot bath. Doubtless I and my new clothes are much less of an affront to your nostrils this morning too.”

  Rak gave Gawain a slap on the shoulder. “Come, sit, eat. Allazar was up early, and sits now huddled in a cloak up at Arramin’s Cabin. I daresay you’ll join him there later, but hot food and wine first.”

  The food was welcome, it being the first decent and cooked meal in a long time. Gawain ate ravenously, barely tasting the flavours of the stew or the bread he mashed into it. Rak’s expression flitted between concern for his friend, and concern for the world.

  “I’m sorry,” Gawain mumbled, noticing and suddenly pausing in his assault on the contents of his bowl. “I have brought the chill of winter into the warmth of your home once again.”

  “Nonsense,” Rak sighed, taking Gawain’s bowl and refilling it, “We may dwell here at the roof of the world but its events don’t escape our notice. But here, eat, while I talk.”

  Gawain nodded, and took the bowl of fresh stew, this time allowing it to touch the sides while he ate, listening intently.

  “Allazar has written a letter, he penned it in my study at dawn, and begged me to have it sent to Arramin at Crownmount as soon as possible. He also had a brief missive for Eryk’s First Wizard, Dakar. Such was the urgency I saw in Allazar’s eyes I at once summoned a courier, and those missives are now well on their way to Crownmount. And, as I said, Allazar now sits huddled in the cabin atop the Point.

  “Here, our defences have been strengthened. A tower, stone-built, has been erected near Arramin’s Cabin, and a system of bells and beacon-fires established to provide warnings to the town, in the case of the bells, and to similar towers which have been built on other peaks, in the case of the beacon-fires. Eryk and General Kahn insisted that should a threat be sighted from any of our watchtowers, north, south, east or west, word must reach Crownmount via the beacons before a Graken could itself make the journey.

  “There was a test, at the beginning of this month in fact, and the speed with which the signal was passed from here in Tarn all the way to Crownmount was indeed impressive. But, of course, passing a warning and being able to respond to it are two different matters entirely.”

  Rak paused, took a sip of wine, and eyed Gawain over the rim of his cup before continuing.

  “However, work has progressed apace and though there is no way to speed the journey of horses from Crownmount to here, or indeed to anywhere else in the Black Hills, our defences have been further strengthened with new weapons and volunteer reserves armed with them to answer the alarm bells should they ring out. Eryk has ordered new grappinbows be made, and also smaller, lighter versions some of which have been already deployed in the watchtowers, intended to bring down Graken or, should they come close enough, Condavians.

  “And, my brother, since events in Juria this summer while you were about your business in the Eastbinding, elves of the Kindred Rangers have arrived to swell the numbers already deployed here. Eight there are, I believe, who once served in Juria but whose conscience would not permit them to remain once Hellin wed her land to Thallanhall. We are well-protected, my brother. Threlland is one land for which you need have no fear.”

  Gawain sighed, and leaned back, sipping his wine.

  “There is nothing I can do to aid Threlland, Rak. There is nothing I can do now to aid anyone.”

  “Then sleep has not softened your judgement of yourself?”

  “Why should it? The world did not change while I slept. All is as it was. The only difference is my appearance, and that, I presume, must be so grim that your lady has abandoned her hearth in fear of me.”

  “My lady has done no such thing. Merrin has granted us the time and the space to discuss matters which she would prefer our son not to hear. He understands much more now than when last you saw him, and we must speak of troubling events and likely troubled times ahead. She would also have you remain far longer than you shall, and so seeks to spare her heart the keener sorrow of welcoming you only to bid you farewell.”

  “Forgive me, Rak, I have been far removed from gentle company for some time and never will be as astute as you in such matters as ladies and their feelings.”

  Rak smiled. “You’re astute enough to want to return to your own lady as quickly as possible. It’s a pity you chose this miserable season for this adventure, though. At any other time you could sail the River Shasstin clear to Princetown Harbour, take a ship there all the way to Sudshear, and from there, sail upriver to Last Ridings. You won’t find a ship will make the journey now, though. This is the season for fierce winds, and great storms at sea.”

  Gawain nodded, and wiped the remains of the stew from his bowl with a hunk of bread. “I have had enough of the sea as it is, my friend, and would make for a most reluctant passenger at the best of times. I doubt Gwyn would relish a journey aboard ship either. We’ll take an overland route as direct as possible through Mornland and Arrun when we leave.”

  “And when will that be?”

  Gawain pondered the question a moment, while draining his cup. “Tomorrow morning, most likely. I must speak with Allazar first, and then Ognorm and Venderrian at the inn to let them know my intentions.”

  “Well, before you take yourself off up the path to the cabin, I have had some thoughts concerning Juria and Elvendere. All may not be as hopeless there as you imagine.”

  “How so?”

  Rak eased forward, and folded his hands in front of him. “Hellin was Willam’s first-born. She has two younger sisters, Tamsin and Pandalene. Tamsin is the eldest, and she is but eight years old. If the Jurian council remains true to protocols, they need not cede stewardship to Insinnian if Hellin is declared unfit or unable. If they act swiftly, it would be in order for Eggers, Hellin’s cousin, to take the title of Steward in Tamsin’s name, she being next in line while Hellin yet lives.”

  “Yet the alliance with Thallanhall would remain intact.”

  “Any treaties would remain in force, yes. But consider this; you are married to the daughter of Thal-Hak of Elvendere, but this cedes you no rights in law in Thallanhall. Unless treaties are in place and ratified between Juria and Elvendere, the same is true of Insinnian now that Hellin is unable to rule.”

  “There is no parallel. Elayeen was declared faranthroth, she is dead to elves, and our marriage certainly not granted any license of approval in Elvendere.”

  “True, but the principle and the protocols are all. Only if Insinnian acts quickly to state a case for stewardship could he hope to prevent the council from acting in the interests of Juria and appointing Lord Eggers, or another, as Steward until Tamsin is of age. Without ratified treaties, Juria would remain well within their rights to evict, by force if necessary, all elven forces currently on their soil.”

  “And risk conflict or even war?”

  “It won’t come to that. The Toorsen faction is powerful in Thallanhall, this we know. But El
vendere will not go to war with their eastern neighbours. Certainly not while a hostile force dwells on its western border and certainly not to intervene where they are not welcome. The Toorseneth may have persuaded Thallanhall to provide support to Hellin in order to prevent civil strife in Juria, but persuading elves to war over stewardship until Hellin’s daughter is of age is another matter entirely.”

  “And if Hellin recovers her wits?”

  “Then Juria’s fate will once more rest in her hands, unless the crown is wrested by force from her head and Willam’s line ended, and I cannot see such events occurring knowing as I do their history and protocols.”

  Gawain frowned. “Perhaps you’re right, Rak. Perhaps the destruction of wizardkind was the Toorseneth’s only interest in seeding Juria with elves loyal to the creed. If, as I believe, Hellin has despatched all surviving Jurian wizards to their doom at the creed’s hands, then Elvendere would no longer have any business there. It seems a lot of trouble for them to have gone to, though, with the Hallencloister already annihilated.”

  “If Morloch planted such insanity in Toorsen’s mind, and Toorsen bequeathed that madness to his followers, then they will not rest until wizards of all stripes but their own are extinct. Not being interested in lands or power, I feel certain they will not press Juria.”

  “Well,” Gawain sighed, standing, taking his cloak from the back of his chair and throwing it around his shoulders. “There is a wizard whose stripe remains in doubt up at the Point needs attention. Forgive me, Rak, I am a poor house-guest.”

  The dwarf shrugged. “You are a man of many names, Gawain, ‘brother’ has always been a favourite of mine. You’re never a guest here, this is as much your home as mine.”

  “So you told me, my brother, a long time ago.”

  “A lifetime ago, it seems. But go; if Allazar struggles with some ancient curse as your lady did, he will need your strength as much as she. Try to be kind to him.”

  “There’s an interesting notion. In truth, Rak, I think the shock if I did that might kill him.”

  Rak smiled, though sadly, while Gawain picked up the sword, pondered the wearing of it, and then elected simply to carry it.

  “I do feel for Allazar, and I worry for him,” Gawain admitted, heading for the back door. “I know something of his pain, after all. I just hope it’s Allazar I find up there, and not some dread relic of elder days.”

  oOo

  23. The Wizard’s Silence

  “Haven’t flung yourself off the Point, then?” Gawain grunted as he sat beside the wizard in Arramin’s Cabin.

  “Not yet,” Allazar replied, his breath pluming in the chill air.

  The mountains of the Dragon’s Teeth were crisp and clear, the afternoon bright and fresh and possessing that soft and southerly cast of winter sunshine which used to make the farak gorin sparkle as if it were an inland sea. Now it simply made an ominous shadow of the great and distant chasm of Avongard Canyon.

  “Every time I see those mountains,” Gawain announced quietly, “I look for that dark shimmering in the air above them which once we observed together, here. It seems strange not to see it now.”

  “The absence of that darkness is as much your legacy to these northern lands as is the Avongard Canyon below, Longsword.”

  “Longsword? Are you yourself, then?”

  “I am. Though a self far removed from any I knew before. Do not fear for me, Gawain, I am still the White Staff. The rage which consumed me in Juria yet burns, but deeper now, contained and constrained by duties new, and duties old.”

  “It’s the old ones I’m worried about, Allazar,” Gawain sniffed and wiped his nose, a little surprised by the cold after the warmth of Merrin’s kitchen and the stew. “And the new, now that you mention them, since they’re probably old too. I half expected to find Eldenbeard sitting here, building a spell to bring down the Teeth, that he might charge north and wreak his vengeance upon Morloch. Actually, you know, the more I think about it…”

  “Alas, it is but I, and I know not of such a spell. And I am not about to desert my king and his lady to rebuild a Hallencloister lost now forever. We wizards were always an uncommon lot, those born with the mark of wizardkind becoming fewer and fewer it seemed, though when I left the ‘cloisters to take service in Brock’s court there were many boys yet in the outer dormitories.”

  “Perhaps when the lands know peace again?”

  “Peace? No. The world has changed, the worlds we both knew are ended. Change is all about us,” and Allazar waved a hand to encompass all around them. “Here, from the absence of aquamire vapours shimmering beyond the Teeth, to the absence of the farak gorin, the presence of this cabin and the new watchtower nearby… perhaps nowhere is that change more visible than here, or at the Hallencloister. There, the walls will crumble, pillars shall fall, paving once trod by masters of craft and lore stained now with their shadows will break and crumble, rough stone split asunder by blades of grass, nature’s power indomitable.”

  “And those born with white hair, Allazar, what is to be their future, with no teachers to pass on that craft and lore, and no Sardor to govern them? Why did Eljon name you Last Sardor, if there is to be no future for wizardkind?”

  Allazar drew in a breath, and let it out slowly. “So that the Book of Sardor might be passed to my hand, and the key hung about my neck. So that one wizard might live to bear witness to the destruction of the D’ith, and perhaps to avenge them in some small way before his own passing.”

  “Did he not also offer the hope that you would renew the world and bring to it the enlightenment of Zaine?”

  “Yes. And Hope, even when it’s of the futile variety, is still Hope.”

  “Very wise. One of Zaine’s?”

  “One of yours, Longsword, and you know it. But Eljon’s hope was indeed futile, and more of a desperate prayer I think. It was Benithet who saw the end. He saw no new age of enlightenment. He saw no vengeance against those who ended the world. He saw no Hallencloister renewed. He saw only death, and fire, and shadow, and betrayal. The Sardorians were only ever governors, like headmasters of schools. The Last Sardor is now a custodian, nothing more. The role is better suited to Arramin than to me, for I have other duties.”

  “So you’ve said. D’you know how hard it is for me not to crane my head and peer into your eyes to see if it’s you or Eldenbeard talking?”

  “It is I.”

  “Oh now that’s not very comforting, is it?”

  “No, my apologies, Longsword. It is I, Allazar, First of Raheen.”

  “And that’s no comfort either. I remember when Eldengaze rose to dominance, and I sat with Elayeen by the pools at the baths of Calhaneth. I am she, came the reply when I demanded my lady back. I am she, in a voice which would crack Dymendin. You were not yourself, in Juria.”

  “No, I concede I was not.”

  “There you are then.”

  “And you, Gawain, were you yourself when first you took the Downland Pass with the sword, covered in the ashes of all you held dear?”

  “No, I was not, I’ll grant you that. But you weren’t yourself at Urgenenn’s Tower either.”

  “No, again I concede I was not.”

  Gawain sighed. “I want Allazar back. They way I wanted Elayeen back, there at the baths of Calhaneth.”

  “I am he.”

  “Oh now you’re just deliberately being a beardy bastard, you know that, don’t you?”

  Allazar’s head bobbed, and the slightest of wry smiles twitched for a moment at the corners of his mouth. But the wizard was broken inside, Gawain knew, as he himself had been, and for such a wound there was no Eeelan t’oth, no unguent, no bandage, no medicine would heal it but time. And they had little enough of that.

  “I’ve told Rak we’ll be leaving for Last Ridings in the morning.”

  “I shall be ready, Longsword.”

  “Do you have the sceptre?”

  “It is still where I left it, where it has remained untouched. I be
lieve you are wise to take it now to Elayeen, and to the vault beneath Crown Peak.”

  “Me too. I haven’t said so to Rak, but I fear it may be some time before we pass this way again. I don’t know why. Just a feeling. All the worms are gone, Allazar, nothing now swims from the grey mist within me when I close my eyes. All the worms are gone.”

  Allazar nodded. “Yet for me, one remains. I have written to Master Arramin, and asked him to send to me a copy of the final panels of the Book of Thangar, if he is able to find it. It might take some time.”

  “Rak told me you also sent word to Dakar?”

  “Yes. News of the Hallencloister, warnings, and instructions to take every precaution for all wizards yet living as well as for the archives in the vaults. There may yet be traitors loyal to Morloch or the Toorsencreed who by deception might attempt to wreak havoc here and elsewhere.”

  “Rak was up all night writing to Eryk. Warnings will also be sent out to all other lands from here. How long they’ll take to arrive at their destinations remains to be seen, though. Toorsen, like Morloch, had a long time to prepare. I would have us in Last Ridings, Allazar, I would have Elayeen safe, the sword and the stick to protect her.”

  “I, too. Will you risk taking ship?”

  “No. Rak warned me against that not an hour ago. It’s a warning I’m more than happy to heed remembering as I do the misery aboard the Melusine. I wish we knew more of events in Callodon and Pellarn, though. Rak was unable to add much to the general summary given to us by Captain Ector in Juria.”

  “There is very little we can do about events unfolding around us now. Juria’s fate lies now in its own hands. Elvendere’s, too. Pellarn’s, likewise, though I too am disquieted by the lack of news from Brock.”

  “Do you think the Deed is done, Allazar?” Gawain suddenly blurted, the question one he’d asked several times before, but this fresh repetition the result of the gaping void where once gnawing clues and portents dwelled.