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

by GJ Kelly

  “My lord…” Byrne’s eyes welled, and those of his comrades.

  And then they too stiffened in the saddle, and slammed their fists to their hearts in familiar salutes, and as one, loudly and proudly cried “Vex!”

  And when not one but four salutes were returned in reply and held, they turned their horses towards the northwest, and galloped away down the hill, Gawain watching them go.

  “Eighteen,” Ognorm sniffed. “And one of ‘em a wizard. And forty more of ‘em besides further on down the road a bit.”

  “Fifty eight, my friend,” Venderrian said softly.

  “I know, Ven mate, coof! I ain’t so thick as I am broad, y’know!”

  Gawain smiled, and noted from the corner of his left eye Allazar doing likewise.

  “Dwarfspit,” he sighed. “Fifty eight, and wizards in their number. How did they know where we are, and that we have the sceptre? Allazar?”

  The wizard shrugged. “Spies, no doubt. Their reach is long, and long has it been so. Perhaps the same spies who informed Morloch of our departing Juria on the quest for the Orb also informed the Toorseneth of our departure from Hellin’s Keep when we left for Tarn.”

  “And perhaps they are the same spies who arranged for assassins to strike in our absence at Tarn, against my lady. We really need some spies of our own. When we get back, we’ll have to find someone sneaky and discover from them how to go about hiring spies and cut-throats. Do you know anyone of such ilk, Allazar?”

  “Me? Why would I know such sneaky types?”

  Gawain shrugged, eyeing the terrain with all the experience passed to him by Captain Hass. “You served in Brock’s Court for a long time, and mingled with all sorts of wizards and schemers. Surely you must have met one or two politicians used to dealing with the likes of spies and gutter-blades?”

  Allazar sniffed. “Now that you come to mention it, I do recall one or two. Alas, they are a long way to the south of where we now sit shivering in the rain.”

  “While the enemy do likewise. Have those dim lights moved at all, Ven?”

  “No, miThal.”

  “I suppose they could have tracked us all the way from Tarn. A single hunter in one of those crystal coats of theirs might have been so faint to Ven’s eldeneyes as to remain unnoticed, and yet still keep us in sight. And us none the wiser.”

  “Beg pardon, melord?”

  “Ognorm.”

  “We just going to sit ‘ere in the rain, like? Only I got a dry hanky in me packs I’d like to fetch, unless we’re going to be leggin’ it quick sometime soon?”

  “I thought your cold had passed?”

  “Arr an’ so it has melord, but it’s the cold and the damp givin’ me the sniffles, and me sleeve’s soaked from the rain and makin’ me poor shonk redder’n a virgin’s blush.”

  “Well hop to and fetch your hanky, Serre Ognorm of Jurian Warrant and the Ruttmark. I intend to sit here and wait for the enemy to make their move.”

  “Arr, ta melord,” and Ognorm slid from the saddle and rummaged in his packs for his handkerchief.

  “We could retreat,” Allazar said softly, “And make a run for Princetown on the coast. I doubt they would follow us there.”

  “We’d be caught with the West Shasstin at our backs and fifty eight elves with wizards at our fronts. No. This first engagement shall be a cavalry skirmish. All being well, we’ll smash a broad hole clear through the middle of them and continue south a ways before wheeling around.”

  Behind him, Gawain hear Ognorm blow his nose delightedly, and the creaking of the dwarf’s saddle as he mounted again.

  “Got your hanky?”

  “Arr, melord, ta muchly.”

  “Do you all see the far hill yonder, slightly east of due south? The one with the three blisters of gorse facing us and the copse on its summit?”

  They did.

  “Well then, if or when the enemy finally understand that we’re waiting for them and they charge to claim their prize, we’ll wait until they’re at the foot of the slope here and charge them head on. Allazar to my left, Ven and Oggy behind us. Allazar will shield us from the enemy’s salvos should they loose any, and the three of us will send back arrows of our own before we hit them hard. Allazar, it’ll be for you to unleash a Surge of Borogrove smack into the centre of them, and make a hole for us to ride through.”

  “Baramenn. Surge of Baramenn.”

  “Indeed. Once the path has been cleared we blast through it and keep riding for that three-blister hill. Atop it, we’ll pause, and turn, and if the survivors of this lot are pursuing, repeat the action, ending up right back here where we started from.”

  “And then?”

  Gawain shrugged. “If they’re stupid they’ll try a third time and suffer the same fate. If they’re not stupid, they’ll withdraw, likely to rejoin the other party waiting further south. We stay tight together, four-square, Allazar and I to the fore. Is that clear?”

  It was. Gawain eyed them all to be certain.

  “And finally, there is but one task above all others before us now, and that task remains our primary concern until the threat of these crystal elves is destroyed or well behind us. The sceptre of Dymendin Allazar carries must reach Elayeen in Last Ridings. Nothing else matters. She has told me, it is with the sceptre that the will of the Toorseneth is enforced. If it falls back into their hands, all hope for Elvendere is likely lost. That much seems to have been confirmed by the message passed to us from the old chamberlain in Hellin’s former court. If I fall, if any of us falls, the sceptre must be got to Elayeen, or we all die in the attempt. Clear?”

  “Clear as crystal,” Allazar muttered.

  “Melord?”

  “Ognorm.”

  “Where is it, exactly? This sceptre?”

  “It’s in the case on the wizard’s back.”

  “Arr. Well bugger me. Thought that was maps in case we got lost.”

  oOo

  28. Pork Pies

  Gawain pared a slice of frak, popped it into his mouth, and started chewing. Then he noticed Allazar gazing at him.

  “Wot?” he managed.

  “Here we stand braced for the enemy to burst upon us, and you are eating.”

  “’Ere we ffit,” Gawain mumbled through a mouthful, “’Ere we ffit bwafed.”

  For the umpteenth time, Ognorm tested the string on his arrow and confirmed that Nadcracker was loose in his belt-loop. Venderrian flexed his shoulders, and repositioned his quiver of arrows, and tested the tension on his bowstring.

  At length, Gawain swallowed. “They’ll come when it finally dawns on them that we’re not moving. They’re probably arguing with their wizard about how best to proceed.”

  “And if they don’t oblige by charging straight at us?”

  “Why then we’ll be creative. But, if we do get separated, that three-blister hill is our mustering point. Is the packhorse secure in the trees, Oggy?”

  “Arr melord. It won’t be lurching along behind us into battle.”

  “Good. You know, this reminds me of the times I sat outside Ramoth towers. It drove the bastards inside mad seeing me sitting there, just out of range.”

  “Of course,” Allazar opined, “You do know they could have sent for their forty reinforcements?”

  “Good point and well made,” Gawain conceded. “Though that just means your Surge of Boromin will need to be bigger.”

  “I refuse to be drawn. You know it’s really rather disrespectful deliberately to mispronounce a wizard’s name, especially one who devised and perfected a useful tool which has served you well.”

  “I know. But you know me and wizards.”

  “I do.”

  “What was the name of that thing you used to bring down the Graken the other day?”

  Allazar mumbled something.

  “Didn’t catch that,” Gawain declared, slipping his boot knife back into its sheath and stuffing the rain-soggy lump of frak into a pocket.

  “Arzenn’s Quench.”


  Gawain snorted and almost choked on the water he was swigging from a canteen. Even Ognorm failed to stifle a chuckle.

  “Whose what?” Gawain gaped.

  “Arzenn’s Quench. I see nothing humorous either in the wizard’s name nor the tool he created.”

  “Sounds like something a fellow might do if caught short and running for the ablutions while screaming ‘make way!’ Arse-ends Clench! Buttocks don’t fail me now!”

  At this Ognorm did laugh out loud, until a stern glance from the wizard silenced him.

  “Arzenn’s Quench,” Allazar declared haughtily, “Is an immensely powerful tool for extinguishing fire, if you must know. It is a great bubble of nothing, which if cast over flames robs them of air in the manner of a wet blanket, and thus, douses them.”

  “Or,” a grinning Gawain added, “If cast under a Graken robs it of air in which to fly.”

  “Quite so.”

  “Causing it and its rider to clench violently on the way down, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  Allazar sighed, and made a meal of adjusting the Sardorian key about his neck before tucking it away beneath his cloak and tunic. He carried the staff, still black-wrapped, the cloth sopping wet, under his right arm, holding the reins, the Dymendin resting in the crook of his elbow. Gawain noticed the gesture, a reminder that Allazar was in fact the Last Sardor of the D’ith.

  “How did you think of using it?” Gawain asked, still grinning. “A tool to fight fire, used to bring down a Graken?”

  Allazar eyed Gawain suspiciously, suspecting some kind of trap, before answering.

  “I knew Baramenn’s Surge could not possibly have the range, nor white fire. I was being creative.”

  “Well done you! Captain Hass would be proud!”

  “Thank you.”

  “Proud of me for teaching you his lessons, you goit, not of you for learning them.”

  “Ah.”

  “Movement, miThal,” Venderrian advised.

  “Someone obviously didn’t clench hard enough then,” Gawain beamed, and then became serious. “Thank you, Ven,” he announced, and shifted his saddle, strung an arrow, and flexed his neck.

  Their enemy emerged from the trees on the widow’s peak hill in two groups, six of them three abreast to the fore, and eight four abreast some ten yards or more to the rear, and that gap growing slightly as the horses picked up speed down the far hill.

  “The crystal armour is indeed effective, miThal, even in plain sight they remain dim to eldeneyes.”

  “And theirs is a two-block strategy. Clever. Someone must have read a copy of Tellemek from the library of Callodon. They’ve been isolated so long they don’t know tactics have advanced somewhat since his day.”

  “Is that bad?” Allazar asked, though his voice was firm, and charged with anger on seeing the enemy.

  “For them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Does our strategy change, Longsword?”

  “Nope. Tellemek devised the strategy a very long time ago for Callodon’s cavalry to employ against static emplacements or infantry in square formation. The front block will split after loosing arrows to wheel around our flanks, leaving us facing the second block while the first hopes to harry our flanks and rear. But we are not infantry nor are we going to remain static with the woods behind us, as they must think we will…”

  Gawain eyed the advancing horsemen, and smiled his grim smile.

  “Instead, while their smaller front block splits to outflank the trees, we’ll be blasting through that second block and will continue south and slightly east to the three-blisters hill. Ven, feel free to shoot over your shoulder should any survivors come within range of your bow before we reach the summit of the hill.”

  “MiThal.”

  “Don’t waste arrows on the front block, they’ll loose and peel away after a salvo which Allazar can shield us from. The rear block is our target. Stand ready. They come now at the gallop.”

  And galloping they were. The black gems studding their armour and horse-blankets lent a dark and evil cast to their appearance, and Gawain could almost feel Allazar bristling with mystic energies in the face of those who had wrought destruction upon the Hallencloister, and for that he was glad. Having a wizard in the front rank ready willing and able to loose effective fire upon the enemy instead of fretting about Zaine’s Codex had its distinct advantages.

  On they came, racing across the valley floor, gathering as much speed as they could for the charge up the hundred-yard rise of the slopes at the summit of which their targets sat watching.

  “Brace to ride!” Gawain commanded as the thundering of hooves drew nearer. The hairs on the back of his neck began to rise, the unmistakeable thrill of charging horses tingling the length of his spine. “Brace to ride!”

  It was impossible, of course, for Gawain and his companions to tell whether or not their quiet immobility was confusing to their enemy. But for reasons known only to the crystal warriors of the Tau, they loosed their salvos together, early, both blocks shooting as one at the very foot of the slope. Fourteen arrows flashed in the dull grey light of the drizzly afternoon, and Allazar raised his shield.

  He needn’t have bothered. In loosing as they did at the foot of the rise, the Tau overcompensated for the slope and their speed, and fourteen arrows in two distinct blocks hissed harmlessly high over their heads.

  Tellemek, a distant part of Gawain’s mind noted, would not have been pleased; the whole point of the first block loosing alone before peeling away was to distract the enemy while peeling away and around to the flanks, and the second salvo from the rear block was to keep heads down even further during the outflanking manoeuvre. Loosing together was a waste. The rear block was now well in effective range and still trying to control charging horses while nocking arrows to strings at the same time…

  “Ride! Ride! Ride!” Gawain screamed, and Gwyn charged forward towards the advancing enemy.

  He hurled an arrow, and saw two more fizz past him from behind him as the front block peeled away in two groups of three precisely as Tellemek’s ancient strategy demanded they should. The small block of eight elves in two ragged lines of four were hurtling up the slope and saw an even smaller block of riders hurtling down towards them. Galloping horses charging towards each other make short work of a hundred yards, and though three arrows struck horse and rider they had no time to exclaim or otherwise express their shock before an immense shimmering wave slammed into them, bowling them over as if they’d charged into a glass wall.

  Gwyn leapt clear of the tumbling ruin of the enemy’s rear cadre, and turned towards the three-blister hill. Allazar was still there, just behind and to Gawain’s left flank, and a quick glance to the rear showed Ognorm grinning like an idiot, beard and eyebrows plastered flat across his face in the wind of the charge, and Venderrian twisted in his saddle loosing an arrow into the mess they had left behind them.

  Away to the right, Gawain saw the four remaining elves, one of them doubtless the staff-bearing Ahk-Viell of the Tau, ambling down the widow’s peak hill, suddenly turn away to begin riding back up towards the trees.

  “Wheel right! Wheel right!” Gawain screamed into the wind, “Wheel right!”

  And Gwyn turned, and Allazar’s horse turned, and behind him, Ognorm and Venderrian followed without question or hesitation. Up the slope of the widow’s peak hill they thundered, the four elves gaping in their direction, entirely surprised by this unexpected assault.

  Gawain hurled an arrow, a second flashed from Venderrian’s bow behind him, and a horse reared on the summit while another rider fell. The elfwizard and his companion kicked their heels and drove their steeds into the cover of the trees, leaving one wounded rider supine and one downed rider fumbling for his bow while his wounded horse fled the scene in pain.

  Gawain slowed, they all slowed, and another arrow fizzed from behind to burst through the standing survivor’s chest before he had a chance to draw string. A glance
back north, six riders of the Tau thundering again across the valley floor towards them. A crackle of white fire, and the supine crystal warrior lifted clear into the air a few inches before being burst asunder by Allazar’s fire, proof that the dark glassy gems were no defence against a wizard’s rage.

  “Wheel right! Wheel right and hold steady!” Gawain commanded, completely forgetting that his three companions had no experience or training in cavalry manoeuvres or commands.

  But so closely did they follow his lead, it mattered not. They turned, ignoring the two elves fleeing through the woods as though Morloch himself were pursuing, and faced the six charging horsemen.

  “Ride on! Ride on!” Gawain cried, and Gwyn launched herself down the slope towards the oncoming enemy.

  To their credit, or perhaps testifying to their stupidity, the elves continued their charge, loosing a volley which Allazar’s shield easily deflected up and over the heads of the tight-knit group. The riders of the Tau must not have seen the fate suffered by their companions, only two of whom were even now lurching broken-limbed and dazed where they had been downed.

  Venderrian loosed a shot, an elf fell from his horse and his body tumbled like a rag doll, and then Allazar unleashed another mighty Surge from the extent of his range. It was enough to tumble some of the horses, frighten others, and discomfit their riders so much that they did not see Gawain drawing his sword, nor Ognorm his mace, and then the four of Last Ridings smashed through them…

  It was Venderrian who despatched the survivors, and there were few of those, and he did so with such grim determination and with such obvious cold vengeance in his heart that Gawain wondered if he himself had cut so dreadful a figure during his assaults upon the Ramoth. He had, of course. Horses badly hurt too were despatched, though with swift kindness, and Gawain and Allazar attended to that task. Arrows were collected from the dead Tau, quivers replenished and the excess loaded in elven quivers and hung on saddles and the packhorse.

  After tending to their own horses and needs, an examination of the black gemstones was made, and some gathered and placed in the packs for the wizard Corax to scrutinise later, if they survived the journey to Last Ridings. Finally, they took to the saddle once more, waiting for Gawain’s orders.