The Werewolf and the Wormlord coaaod-8

by Hugh Cook

  Time and time again the suthering seas rose from the drenching depths of the ocean, ran up the beach then retreated. And Alfric was almost minded to cast himself into the waters of the Winter Sea and to be swept away by that power which playthinged wrecked ships and rubbled the rocks of sunken cities.

  But:

  ‘I won’t surrender. Not so easily.’

  So said Alfric to himself.

  ‘I am king,’ whispered Alfric.

  Thinking that surely true, true, at least in terms of legal entitlement. For he had really and truly gone on the three quests, against dragon, giant and vampires. He had won the three saga swords, Edda, Sulamith’s Grief and Kinskom. He had dared his strength against Herself, and had slaughtered the monster who had for so long afflicted Wen Endex with terror.

  All this he had done.

  The throne should be his.

  So:

  ‘How dare the woman deny me mine!’

  So thought Alfric, then got to his feet. He had lingered here long enough. It was time to be going, whatever the dangers.

  ‘If she sends murderers, who will they be?’

  The most likely assassin was Ciranoush Zaxilian Nom. Alfric had never wished to have the blood of any of the Norn brothers on his hands. He certainly had not wished Pig Norn to die as he had at banquet, strangled by Nappy. But Pig was dead. And Alfric had killed Muscleman Wu himself, and all of Wen Endex knew it. Whether he liked it or not, he was locked into a feud with the surviving Norn brother, Ciranoush Zaxilian.

  Ursula Major knew as much, so, if she wanted Alfric dead, her most obvious step was to urge Ciranoush to seize his opportunity.

  ‘But Ciranoush,’ said Alfric, thinking what he knew of the man, ‘is a city person. I don’t think he’d hunt me through the woods. I think, rather, that he’d wait for my return. In my own house, maybe.’

  So thinking, Alfric started back for Galsh Ebrek. And, though he went cautiously indeed, he did not truly expect to be attacked, not in the wilderness.

  He only started to look for murderers in earnest when he came in through the Stanch Gates.

  The guards at the Gates had been changed, so Alfric asked no questions about apples and the poisoning of horses thereby. Nor did he ask after Ciranoush Nom, for he thought the guards might have been primed with lies. Alfric’s enemies hadn’t missed a trick so far, and he doubted that he had seen the last of their tricks.

  — Where now?

  — Home?

  It would be safer, surely, to go somewhere more populous. His home was dark and empty. It would be easy for Ciranoush to murder him there. More difficult, though, if he sheltered in the Green Cricket.

  — Besides, I have to tell Anna Blaume about her horse.

  Blaume was not going to be happy to know that another of her mounts was dead, even though Alfric could easily pay for the horseflesh.

  — Still, I don’t think I’ll have cause to hire another horse in a hurry.

  — Unless it’s to take me in flight from the city.

  So thinking, Alfric started out for the Green Cricket, cursing the heavy mud of the city streets. Those streets should by rights be paved with good stone. That would cost money, of course; but money there would be if the wealth of the Bank was properly taxed. The Bank itself taxed everything which moved through the Bank’s part of the Circle; but precious little of the wealth so won came into Galsh Ebrek. Rather, the Bankers invested their wealth in estates in foreign parts, and retired in their old age to Dalar ken Halvar or Chi’ash-lan, spending their fortunes on the cosmopolitan pleasures available in those places.

  Such behaviour was only natural when Wen Endex was nothing but a muddy province of swamp and ghosts, but, when Alfric became king, it would change. He would have the streets paved. Or he would move the city from the river, for the lowlands were unhealthy. Or he would at least see the city’s buildings put up on stilts, as was done in foreign places he had heard of, such as Bolfrigalaskaptiko, a famous city in the tropics.

  Bolfrigalaskaptiko.

  He would like to see that place one day. It lay by the River Ka, did it not? Just upstream from the great lagoon of Manamalargo. There were many worthy places a man could visit if once he…

  Alfric sternly counselled himself against thinking such thoughts. They were defeat-thoughts. He was already beginning to imagine defeat and exile.

  — Which will not happen!

  — The game is not yet played out!

  — I will fight.

  — I will!

  — And I will win!

  Thus thinking, Alfric gained the door of the Green Cricket, and was about to knock upon that door when he heard the sound of a boot sklurching out of the mud behind him. He turned, drawing his sword as he turned, and was just in time to meet a blade with his.

  Steel clashed with steel, then the door was thrown open and the orks Cod and Morgenstem came shouldering out into the night, with the dwarves Du Deiner and Mich Dir nimbling at their ankles. And Alfric’s assailant panicked, and fled.

  ‘Who was it?’ said Cod, staring into the dark.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Alfric, panting.

  He had seen the man clearly enough, but had not recognized him. Which was a bad sign. He had thought Ciranoush Zaxilian Nom to be the only assassin he would have to deal with, but another had been found.

  Either Ursula Major had recruited the fellow, or else the man had recruited himself. Either way ‘Come inside,’ said Morgenstem.

  And led Alfric inside, and sat him down.

  ‘Drink this,’ said Anna Blaume, materializing at Alfric’s side.

  She pressed a mug into his hands. Alfric thought it was ale, and drank deeply. Brandy flamed down his throat, and he gasped.

  ‘Brandy,’ said Blaume. ‘A drink for heroes.’

  ‘Tonight,’ said Alfric, carefully putting down the mug, ‘I’m not feeling quite that heroic.’

  A greeding untunchilamon settled upon the side of the mug and dipped its head into the fiery brew. Anna Blaume knocked the dragon away. It took to the air, circled thrice, then settled upon her head.

  ‘Some of those things are becoming positively alcoholic,’ said Blaume. ‘But never mind. Let’s talk of what’s really important. Who was it who tried to kill you? And how can we stop them?’

  ‘I don’t know who it was,’ said Alfric. ‘As for how you can stop them, why, the only way for me to save my life now is for me to make myself king. But I don’t know that I can hope to survive the next few days.’

  ‘Of course you can,’ said Anna Blaume.

  ‘Listen,’ said Cod, ‘we’re to present ourselves to Saxo Pall some four nights from now.’

  ‘So?’ said Alfric.

  ‘So, come with us,’ said Cod. ‘We’re ambassadors, aren’t we? Whoever’s out to kill you, they’re not likely to attack you while you’re with two ambassadors.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ said Alfric.

  But, on reflection, he saw that the ork’s plan had a lot to recommend it. Alfric’s main danger was from Ursula Major. She would move cautiously where the ogre king’s ambassadors were concerned, ‘It’s a good plan,’ said Anna Blaume. ‘You stay here, Alfric. We’ll keep you safe with the orks. Nobody will dare to move against you.’

  And so it was that, shortly, an exhausted Alfric Danbrog was asleep in Anna Blaume’s big bed, with an ork keeping watch over him. While Alfric slept, untunchilamons descended to his pillow, and ravaged the few lice that were to be found in his hair. Then settled there to sleep themselves, liking the warmth of his body.

  Thus the rightful king of Galsh Ebrek slept in the house of one of his loyal subjects, guarded by the minions of the lord of the Qinjoks and by the valour of the dragons of Wen Endex.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The rightful king of Wen Endex spent three nights sheltering in the Green Cricket with the ambassadors from the Qinjoks. Then, on the fourth night, he accompanied them to Saxo Pall, where the orks were to have an audience with Ursula
Major.

  There was some trouble when the three-strong party arrived at Saxo Pall, for Guignol Grangalet sought to separate Alfric from the orks. But Cod and Morgenstem stood firm, and insisted that Alfric be allowed to accompany them into the throneroom.

  Which, at last, he was allowed to do.

  Though Ursula Major had ruled Saxo Pall but briefly, she had made her mark on it in a mixed way. The throneroom had been massively renovated since Alfric had been there last. It blazed with light, for the number of lanterns in the place had been tripled. Everything had been washed, polished, scrubbed or refurbished; and, to his surprise, Alfric found he could see his reflection in the unstained floor. He had always thought it roughwork granite of some kind; but, now the muck of generations had been scoured away, he saw the floor was made of the smoothest white-veined black marble.

  Sitting on the throne was Ursula Major, as poised as ever. She was wearing silks; and her nipples flowered against her silks. Something in the way she sat suggested that she was fully conscious of the perfection of her breasts and the effect it had on the susceptible; and, little as Alfric wanted to admit it, in truth he was one of the susceptible.

  ‘Stand here,’ said Guignol Grangalet.

  ‘Where?’ said Alfric, taking his eyes off Ursula Major.

  ‘Never mind where he says,’ said Cod firmly. ‘You’re staying with us.’

  Again the orks stood firm; and Alfric stayed in the company of those ambassadors from the Qinjoks as they made between them an interminable and wearisome speech about the long friendship which had endured between that king and the lords of Galsh Ebrek.

  The witnesses to this speech were many; but Alfric felt very much alone and isolated, for the many were Yudonic Knights to a man, and fear of assassins had kept him from making any effort to repair his relationships with the breed.

  While listening to Cod and Morgenstem enlarge upon their theme, Alfric had ample time to watch Ursula Major, and to think, and to wonder. Was she still ruling as regent? Or had she declared herself to be the new king? Really, the question was immaterial. Obviously, she was now the ruling power in Wen Endex: and that was what really mattered. He observed the way she teased a strand of her hair through her fingers. She was bored with this, he could tell. Boredom betrays itself swiftly. So was she unhappy sitting on the throne? Perhaps. But perhaps it was her nature to be bored with life; and, in any case, since when did anyone surrender a throne out of mere ennui?

  As Alfric watched Ursula Major, admiring the elegance of the hair which flowed in ripples about her neck, he knew that he wanted her; but greater than lust was the desire to kill. But if anyone was going to do any killing in Saxo Pall, it was more likely to be Ursula than Alfric.

  At last, Ursula Major was finished with the orks.

  ‘We will deliberate,’ she said, thus sidelining the petition which the orks had just made, which was for them to be allowed to address a general assembly of the Yudonic Knights of Galsh Ebrek.

  Now Ursula was ready to deal with Alfric.

  ‘Alfric,’ she said.

  ‘Greetings, aunt,’ said Alfric.

  He chose to address her thus for two reasons. First, because he knew she hated to be thus addressed. Second, because he wanted to stress the family connection. Surely Ursula Major could not order the death of a family member without shaming herself beyond redemption.

  Or could she?

  In Obooloo, Aldarch the Third had celebrated his victory in a seven-year civil war by disembowelling his forty-seven brothers and feeding his twenty-nine sisters to the Favoured Rats; but nobody thought any the worse of him for that.

  ‘We hear,’ said Ursula Major coldly, ‘that you were the man who got my father killed.’

  Alfric had been ready for many accusations. He thought Ursula Major might have tried to accuse him, for example, of being a werewolf. But never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that she would blame him for Tromso Stavenger’s death; and he was so taken aback that he could hardly believe this charge was seriously intended.

  ‘We see,’ said Ursula, ‘that you make no effort to deny the charge.’

  Alfric recovered the use of his voice and said:

  ‘The man met his end as a hero should. Fighting against Herself.’

  ‘You got him killed,’ said Ursula.

  Her debating style was clumsy; but, for that very reason, it was going to be difficult to deal with. Alfric had honed his speaking abilities in moots conducted by the Bank; and, in such debates, a speaker dropped a line of argument once it had been decisively refuted. Alfric, believing that he had so refuted his aunt’s accusation, was more than irritated to find her staunchly repeating it.

  ‘We killed the Hag,’ said Alfric.

  ‘So?’ said Ursula. ‘A dozen men with crossbows could have done as much with less fuss and no deaths whatsoever.’

  ‘I believe She would not have fallen easily to any hunters,’ said Alfric. ‘Anyway, the matter is closed. She is dead, and there’s an end to it.’

  ‘The issue is not closed,’ said Ursula. ‘Her death is greatly regr etted, for She was an asset to the state.’ ‘That,’ said Alfric, is the most nonsense I’ve heard in one breath since the day I was bom.’

  ‘What you fail to understand,’ said Ursula, ‘is that our monsters are assets. Amongst other things, they discourage invasion. You have done much to wreck the reputation of Wen Endex. Lusting for personal gain, you slaughtered the dragon Qa. Poor Kralch you humiliated. You dared the lair of the very vampires themselves and returned unscathed, much to the diminishment of the stature of those valued allies of ours. Finally, you have participated in the murder of Herself. ’

  ‘She was a killer,’ said Alfric.

  ‘So She was,’ said Ursula. ‘That was Her purpose. To stalk the nig ht and kill. To be a thing of terror. A thing to make hideous all beyo nd our walls. You understand?’ ‘No,’ said Alfric.

  ‘Of course you don’t understand,’ said Ursula scornfully. ‘But it is true. She did us a great service. She bound all of Wen Endex in a great alliance. Thanks to Her, the commoners ever found the swords of the Yudonic Knights a welcome asset rather than an irksome imposition. By killing as She did, She made our people see the ruling hierarchy as a chivalrous and self-sacrifidng order, as an asset rather than a burdensome ruling class.’ ‘You seem to be accusing me,’ said Alfric, ‘of stirring up revolution.’

  ‘Your actions, witted or witless, present us with that possibility,’ said Ursula.

  ‘I do not believe for one moment that there will be a revolution.’

  ‘Of course there will be no revolution,’ said Ursula. ‘For we will do what we must to prevent it. She helped secure our ruling order, and could help us yet; therefore, we will reinvent Her. As for the dragon, why, no doubt we can get another one, somewhere. In due course, we can also assist the swamp giant and the vampires to recover their reputations.’

  ‘You’re mad,’ said Alfric, in disbelief.

  ‘No,’ said Ursula. ‘I am not mad. I am simply better educated than yourself. You think yourself a coldblooded banker, whereas in fact you see the world through a haze of romance. Your vision of power is blurred by the glamorous impracticalities of legend and myth. You still think that power exists as a service to the people. In this you are a child.’ ‘For what then does power exist?’ said Alfric.

  ‘To serve itself,’ answered Ursula Major.

  Alfric looked around at the silent assembly.

  ‘You dare say that?’ said he. ‘Here? In front of witnesses?’

  ‘All those here today are gathered together in an alliance of power,’ said Ursula Major. ‘In other times it may be politic to speak with greater circumspection. But today, this once, we can indulge ourselves in the truth.’

  So she spoke. Then studied Alfric with a cold calculation which made him suddenly afraid, terribly afraid. She had planned his doom; he was sure of it. Her speech was just a preface to his death, or — or to something worse.

&nb
sp; He had thought to come here to throw her off her throne, to dismiss her with a word. He must have been mad. Completely deluded. He should have fled from Wen Endex immediately after his father’s funeral. He would have been safer in Obooloo than here.

  Suddenly, Ursula Major smiled.

  Was Alfric reprieved?

  No!

  For Ursula said:

  ‘You are a criminal, for you have wilfully destroyed state assets to further your own ambition, and you have led an old and senile man to a hideous death. This amounts to treason. Therefore we pronounce your doom. You are guilty of treason. Therefore, you must die.’

  That proved what Alfric had already guessed: he had hopelessly misjudged the situation.

  Alfric had guessed that Ursula Major was prepared to destroy him, but not that she was ready to do so in public view. He had expected backstreet murder, knives in the dark, arson, poison, arrows fired from the shadows. He had feared death at the hands of Ciranoush Zaxilian Nom. But not this! Not a formal condemnation from the throne.

  ‘But,’ continued Ursula Major, ‘while you must die, we do give you the chance to die as a Yudonic Knight. If you wish, you can seek to prove your innocence by trial by combat. If you do not wish to be dragged away by the executioner, then you can seek to prove your innocence in challenge against this hall.’

  ‘Against the hall?’ said Alfric in astonishment.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ursula. ‘Do you need an explanation of what that means?’

  Alfric made no answer, for the question was purely rhetorical. Of course he knew what it meant.

  In trial by combat, one fights and kills to prove one’s innocence. The state puts forward one or more champions, and the accused criminal must murder all those champions to prove himself not guilty. On this occasion, Ursula Major had volunteered every single person in the hall to champion the state.

  Which meant that Alfric would have to kill off the entire hall, man by man, to prove his innocence.

  An impossible task.

  But he did have one advantage.

  It was his privilege to choose who he would fight first.