Worms' Ending: Book Eight (The Longsword Chronicles 8) (21 page)

“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.”

With 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.”

“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.”