Worms' Ending: Book Eight (The Longsword Chronicles 8) (39 page)

The other horses followed Gwyn’s movements, ears swivelling,
heads swinging, and then, without a word of command Gwyn began to move, gently
nudging the other horses, forming an equine wall between the three of the kindred
and whatever it was advancing from the more westerly direction. The movement
wasn’t lost on any of them, for the horses’ eyes were wide, they were afraid,
yet drawing strength from Gwyn and placing themselves in harm’s way to protect
their riders.

For a fleeting moment, Gawain thought he glimpsed a shadow in
the southeast a hundred yards or more away, flitting from low shrub to low
shrub, moving not towards the camp as might be expected, but towards the west
and the unseen threat advancing from that direction. For a moment, he
considered turning his head to the left to ask Venderrian what his eldeneyes
revealed, but then he remembered that the ranger was no longer with them. Gwyn
served now as their eyes and ears, and though her sight was a far cry from a
ranger’s her hearing was wondrous.

Noise, then, a distant padding from the southwest, which
began to accelerate and then became a rapid but light drumming, something large
and powerful was racing towards them, a large dog perhaps, or a wolf. Instinctively,
Gawain and Ognorm turned slightly to their right to face the threat with
Allazar as the noise grew louder and a dark shape sped towards them.

Allazar snapped on a brilliant cone of Aemon’s Light, and
for half a heartbeat they saw a grotesque, jewel-studded and immense wolf-creature
almost half the size of a horse sprinting towards them around the wall of
squealing horses before the white flash of an arrow took it in the neck, and
then Allazar was rushing forward and the horses rushing out of his way, and
Aemon’s Light became Fire with a scream of ‘Vex!’ and great streams of
lightning rent air and ground alike.

The creature burst asunder, and its remains billowed purple
smoke before the lightning extinguished. Gawain fumed, entirely robbed of his
night-vision, and with another unseen stalker to the south of their camp.

“Vex!” came a call from the dark.

Allazar raised a Shield of Baramenn, and eased back to the
campsite to stand before his two blinking companions. “Who calls the battle-cry
of the Kindred!” he shouted, his voice mystic hard.

“I, Ranger Kiran! Is that you, Serre wizard, and miThal and
Serre Ognorm the dwarf with you?”

“It is,” the wizard called, “Advance, Ranger Kiran, and be
seen!”

From behind a distant bush they saw a figure stand, and walk
slowly, arms held wide, towards them. Again the wizard shone a Light, and they
saw the familiar figure of the elf striding towards them, bow held easy in his
left hand, right hand empty. The light promptly winked out, and the ranger
advanced to the camp using the Sight, his ordinary eyes robbed of night vision
now too.

“Dwarfspit, Allazar, now none of us can see a vakin thing!”
Gawain protested.

“Apologies, Longsword, but I thought it wisest to despatch
the Seekmaw of Tansee and illuminate the newcomer rather than allow the beast
to gnaw on my leg and a stranger to advance upon us.”

“My Sight is unaffected, miThal,” Kiran announced softly,
his lilting voice quiet and respectful.

“Let’s hope so, Kiran. Your eldeneyes are probably the only
ones left working. How came you here?”

“I have been stalking the beast for some time, miThal. It
took a station to the north of West Forkings, and has been roaming a wide
circle since. Wizard Corax says they are sent to hunt wizards in the wilds of
Arrun.”

“And stone-studded as they are cannot be easy even for a
Kindred Ranger to see,” Allazar sighed.

“Yes, Serre wizard, that is true. Your lights shine
brightly, though, and attracted my eyes as well as those of the Seekmaw
creature.”

“Then you used us as bait?” Gawain asked, replacing his
arrow in its quiver.

Kiran gave the slightest of shrugs.

“Never mind,” Gawain smiled, “It was well done. Your shot
found the mark before the wizard incinerated the creature.”

“And alas,” Allazar declared, “Unless the shafts of Ranger
Kiran’s arrows be of Dogwood, it would take many arrows to bring the beast
down.”

“Are they so made?” Gawain asked.

Kiran drew an arrow from his quiver. It was in two parts; the
main shaft was cedar, but this was fitted to a socket of Dogwood in which the steel
of the arrowhead was set.

“Serre wizard Corax has all mid- and short-range patrols so
equipped, miThal, ever since reports of these creatures first arrived. I have
two such arrows with me now, and six more of the Dogwood heads in my pack.”

“Excellent.”

“MiThal… where is Ranger Venderrian? His light is not within
range of my Sight.”

“He fell, Kiran. He fell in battle near the Hallencloister.”

The ranger nodded, sadly, and replaced the arrow in his
quiver.

“What news is there from Last Ridings, Kiran? Is my lady
well? Is all well there?”

“All are well, miThal. Though there is grave concern for
your well-being, there being little news of you since two Jurian riders
delivered dread word of the Hallencloister’s fate. Since then, rangers have
arrived from Juria to swell our ranks, and our patrols are increased. I am
certain miThalin will explain all when you are returned to the hall, miThal. If
you wish to sleep, I shall stand watch. The creature was nocturnal for the most
part, and so I am accustomed to ranging in the dark and am not tired.”

“Thank you, Kiran,” Gawain acknowledged, “Your Sighted eyes
will be welcome on watch this night, especially with such creatures as those
loose in these friendly lands. What are your orders?”

“Simply to roam the north side of the Sudenstem mid-range,
and seek out and destroy any darkness which might venture this way. I shall
gladly escort you to Last Ridings if you so wish, miThal.”

“I intend to avoid West Forkings, and swing around the end
of the northern branch of the river, and enter Last Ridings from the east.”

“Then you will require escort only as far as the wetlands.
The eastern approaches now are well-patrolled and guarded. MiThal, Last Ridings
has drawn to it many newcomers, and miThalin has ordered the eastern reaches
well watched.”

“Good. Very good.”

“I shall patrol wide around your camp so as not to disturb
you, miThal. By your leave?”

Gawain nodded, and returned the ranger’s salute. Then he
asked again, hurriedly:

“You’re sure all is well?”

“Isst, miThal. All is well.”

But there was a sadness and great concern in the ranger’s
eyes when he turned away and strode into the darkness to his unseen horse and
to begin his patrol, and Gawain had seen it.

“What in sight o’ the moon was that thing charging at us,
melord?”

“That, master dwarf,” Allazar interjected, “Was a Seekmaw of
Tansee. A foul creature dark-made, part wolf, part hound, part jackal, all
relentless hunter. Its aquamire senses guide it to its prey, and its prey is
whatever its foul masters intend to be hunted and destroyed. A creature of the
Tansee, it mocks nature. Morloch’s minions in elder days loosed them in wild
spaces, to seek out and destroy kindred scouts or spies, leaving an advancing
army blind to what might lie ahead of them. Once it has its prey in range of
sight and senses, it hunts it to destruction. The jaws when clamped upon an
enemy do not let go, and its saliva aquamire-made is a poison.”

“That one was made by the Viell, and wore a coat of black
crystals intended to the defeat the eyes of our Kindred Rangers,” Gawain
grimaced, reluctantly settling on his blankets as the horses went about the
business of sleeping.

“It was,” Allazar agreed, taking to his own hastily-vacated
bedding. “I doubt the Viell were able to manufacture a means of adhering the
crystals to the creature’s fur, much good it would do them if they did. The
Seekmaw will shed their heavy winter coats come spring.”

“Friend Kiran reckoned wizard Corax reckons them things were
sent for wizards.”

“It would seem so, Oggy,” Gawain agreed. “And the Seekmaw
beast made a bee-line arrow-straight for Allazar.”

“Aye, that it did melord, that it did.”

“The significance of that is alarming, Longsword. It would
seem to indicate that the Toorseneth believes Last Ridings a place to which
wizards might congregate.”

“Or set out from, bound for other places. It’s late, and my
mind is slow. We’ll consider the deeper implications of the Seekmaw later. But
it seems to me, if those grotesque and really rather huge creatures are fixed
upon the devouring of wizards in the wilds of Arrun, it would explain why the
Toorseneth would not wish their mystic forces to cross the border. I expect
that to a Seekmaw’s aquamire eyes, all wizards look alike.”

“Indeed, Longsword, they would doubtless be fixed upon
staff, rod, or wand, and the energies of the wizard holding them. We at least
now have something of a definitive answer for the reason why the Toorseneth
wished to claim the sceptre before we left Mornland.”

And so they settled, the camp falling silent, a faint odour
of aquamire liberated lingering in the air about them. Gawain struggled to
cling on to his train of thought, knowing Allazar was correct in assuming a
profound significance in the presence of a foul-made hunter in the wilds around
Last Ridings, but without strange aquamire to feed a worm and keep it
wriggling, he promptly fell asleep.

oOo

40. Stories

Two days after their encounter with Kiran and the Seekmaw of
Tansee, they swung around the wetlands marking the end of the first northern
branch of the River Sudenstem. It was here the branch disappeared below ground,
Corax of the opinion that the waters rejoined the main southern flow much
further to the east.

Kiran’s Sight proved a great comfort in the aftermath of the
Seekmaw’s attack, and so it was a little discomfiting when the ranger announced
that he would leave them to continue his northerly mid-range patrol that second
night following their meeting. However, the ranger declared the region south
and east of the wetlands to be firmly held by Last Ridings, and that a
short-range patrol would doubtless oversee their progress towards the forest
which marked Last Riding’s eastern border.

In discussions with Allazar and Ognorm during pauses and
rest breaks for the horses, it was generally decided that the wolf-like
creature of the Viell’s making had been sent long after the failure of their
crystal-coated Grimmand to attain Last Ridings and wreak havoc therein. Since the
Toorseneth could not possibly know what had happened to their poorly-named
Retribution in the north, and had likely sent many such creatures into the
wilds as a bane against travelling wizards, there seemed very little likelihood
of the Seekmaw having been despatched specifically to waylay Allazar.

Doubtless, assassins would be used against those wizards yet
living in towns and villages east of Elvendere and Juria, and to the south in
Callodon, too. And should any think of fleeing to the wilds, or of running to
the sanctuary of the Hallencloister, the Seekmaws of Tansee would be waiting,
aquamire eyes thirsty for the light of wizardkind, and jaws hungry for the
blood of the D’ith, or any other wizard their senses detected, including the
Viell of the forest realm.

On the night of January 10
^th
their camp was
approached by Ranger Yago, who signalled his presence long before he approached
through the miserably incessant drizzle which had plagued them all day. Yago
confirmed Kiran’s earlier assessment that ‘all was well’ at the New Hall of
Raheen, and also that there was much concern there too. Yago seemed delighted
at finding himself watching over his Thal, but that delight was instantly tempered
by the news of Venderrian’s loss.

When the ranger took his leave to patrol out to the edge of
his short-range domain, the three companions sat drenched upon their saddles, wrapped
in cloaks and eschewing sopping blankets, and sipped hot loofeen together for
what might be the last time on their journey. Allazar had become quite the dab
hand at heating a pan of water, a task any Master of Sek would of course have learned
while still a D’ith Met, a rank Allazar had not attained, nor would now.

There was little to be said, in truth, which hadn’t already
been spoken along the way. They were wet, cold, and too excited this close to
the hall to have any thought of sleeping, and so they sat, in close companionship,
quietly mourning the loss of Venderrian and the ending of the quest for answers
to the vexed question that had been the Hallencloister.

“Glad it’s done, sorry it’s over,” Gawain sighed.

“Arr. Know the feeling.”

“I suspect a hot bath will wash away any melancholy we might
all be feeling on this, the eve of our journey’s ending.”

“Arr. ‘Ot bath, ‘ot food, and a warm pint in The Orb’s
Ending.”

“Alas. I expect my lady will have other ideas in mind to
occupy me tomorrow, Oggy. You’ll have to have a pint for me.”

“I shall, melord. Two, you having a kingly thirst an’ all.”

Gawain snorted. “Aye. But I doubt Reef’ll be buying them. I
don’t think I can give his free beers to a proxy.”

“
A
free beer, wasn’t it, Longsword?”

“No, it bloody wasn’t. It was
free beer
. I know, I
was there when it was said y’know.”

“I believe I shall defer to our lady’s judgement, in this as
in other matters.”

“Beardy goit. I’ve a good mind to command you not to shave
your beard or cut your hair. People will have expectations of what a Sardor
should look like.”

“Expectations which I fear must be somewhat moderated.”

“And speaking of expectations, April fast approaches. After
that there’ll be no sleep for me for months unless it’s alone and in the down-below.
And that’s assuming E’s still talking to me after my being away for so long.”

“Glad I ain’t in your boots, melord,” Ognorm snorted, “If’n
you don’t mind me sayin’ so, that is.”

“No, I don’t. And in spite of all my practicing of Lord
Rak’s expression of delight and surprise while on lonely watches of a night, I
suspect no amount will spare me the lash for the delay in our homecoming.”

“Arr. Well, melord, should you find yerself evicted from
your hall and in need of company me an’ the lads will be in the warm o’ the
snug at the Ending, and a bucket o’ the good stuff ready for you.”

But Gawain noticed the shadow which seemed to have wiped all
expression from Allazar’s face as soon as the subject had turned to
expectations, and the anticipation of the new arrival come the spring.

“Are you all right, Allazar? You’ve been increasingly morose
the nearer we’ve drawn to my hall.”

“I am not aware of such a decline in my mood, Longsword.”

“I am. Apart from our discussions concerning the Viell’s enormous
wolf-creature you’ve been silent and withdrawn.”

“I am tired, I think. We all are. And the ending of an
adventure such as we have endured together these past months is a drain on all
our emotions I think.”

“Orsey-kek,” Gawain declared. “And there’s no Jurian brandy
in our cups this night.”

Allazar sighed, and blinked, and stared into his battered
tin cup, swirling the dregs of the steaming liquid therein.

“Want me to bugger off for a bit, melord? In truth there’s a
big bunch o’ convenient bushes back aways and this loofeen seems to be having
an effect.”

Gawain stared at the wizard, whose eyes now seemed filled
with dread as well as profound sorrow.

“Thank you, Oggy. Perhaps Allazar will feel at greater
liberty to speak to his king while you’re busy with nature’s calling.”

“Arr melord. I’ll wander off then, and be back once
matters’ve taken their course.”

Ognorm stood and drained his cup, putting it carefully back
on his saddle before adjusting his hood against the rain and disappearing into
the bushes a hundred yards or so to the east of the camp.

“What is it, Allazar?” Gawain asked, beginning now to fear
the answer. “You’ve been looking at me as though Gwyn had died in the night but
no-one’s had the courage to tell me. And it’s not just you, either. I saw the
same expression in Ranger Kiran’s eyes the other night. And I’ve seen it often
in Valin’s and Meeya’s. Now there it is, in the one place I least expected to
see anything of the kind.”

“It is just journey’s ending, Gawain. So much has happened
along the way since we left your hall in the autumn.”

“Again I say, Orsey-kek. Come now, wizard. This is not some
sadness born of the ending of our quest. We’ve endured enough sorrow and misery
on this venture as it is, without adding another to the list. Tomorrow we ride
through the forest path and up to the doors of the hall; if there’s to be any sorrow
of disbanding at journey’s end that’s the place to feel it, not sitting on our
saddles at the edge of the eastern wetlands miles from the forest and Oggy
squatting in the rain behind a bush.”

“Will you permit me not to answer? Will you allow the
remainder of our journey to pass without my adding to the burdens you already
carry on your kingly shoulders?”

“Burdens I carry?” Gawain snorted, “So says the Last Sardor
of the D’ith! You, who’ve suffered the rising of Eldenbeard and the ending of
the Hallencloister, the heart of all wizardkind left without a pulse and nothing
now but a ruin wrought by Orb and Shadow? You who bear upon your back the
Sceptre of Raheen, sought by our enemies since Elayeen claimed it from the bony
claw of their dead and despicable elfbeard bastard A’knox? You say I have
burdens?”

Allazar sighed, and Gawain’s eyes narrowed, remembering what
once was a humorous and passing thought but which now took on much more serious
undertones.

“You
do
still have the sceptre, Allazar? You didn’t
lose it along the way or hide it somewhere fearing the enemy?”

“I still have the sceptre in its case upon my back, Gawain,
I too am not as dense as Ognorm is heavy.”

“Then speak! Dwarfspit! We’ve travelled a great distance
together you and I, as you yourself have so often said. Even when strange
aquamire sharpened my senses and provided incisive insight and clarity, the
reason for such profound sorrow as I’ve witnessed in my lady and my friends eluded
me. I have no chance of understanding it now that the strange aquamire is
discharged. And for that I blame you, you beardy goit. If I hadn’t needed to
liberate the strange aquamire within me to release you and Eldenbeard from
Kanosenn’s binding, I’d still be able to think as clearly as I did before.”

“I marvel, my friend, so simple a truth has evaded you for
so long, ever since that fateful day when the three of us stood together in the
circles of your father’s hall. You are my king, and though you likely will
never declare it, you are, at least for my part, my friend,” and again Allazar
sighed. “Can you wonder why I would not wish to speak of something I know will
break your proud and noble heart?”

“Oh now my curiosity is become all dread, and as the
Hallencloister plagued my dreams and waking hours with its vexatious insistence
upon answers, now I
must
know. Tell me, Allazar. Nobody else will. Not
even my lady. What terror approaches? And I know it must be terrible, and some
horror made in elder days, linked to that vakin Morgmetal casket in the
down-below of Crown Peak, and Elayeen’s bracelet, and hooked to all we’ve
endured together. Please, Allazar, rid me of this last question-mark which
hovers like a wizened and back-bent harbinger of doom over my head.”

“You already know the answer, Gawain, yet you refuse to see
it. Have I and our lady not said it often enough? Did I not say so, in the
down-below of Crown Peak before we left for the Hallencloister? Did I not say,
we
were all of us rewritten?
”

“You did.”

Allazar’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Did I not also say
our
own separate qualities turned each of the three rune-rings, and all three
aligned unlocked the great power of the circles which smote the Teeth and
smacked Morloch back behind the wall of his binding. And then those qualities
in us were rewritten to achieve a single end
.”

“You did. You have, and so too Elayeen. We know this, we’ve
always known this. And we’ve always known that the single end to be achieved is
found in the three words which girdled the home-stone in my father’s hall.
Friyenheth, Ceartus, Omniumde.”

“And still you will not see what lies so plain for the elves
of Minyorn to see, even with unSighted eyes? Don’t you understand, Gawain? All
of us were rewritten. So too your seed,” Allazar’s voice dropped so low that
Gawain had to lean forward, aghast, to hear his words. “The life unborn yet
carried by your lady bears the qualities of all of us who stood together. He
shall be the Shimaneth Issilene Merionell. The Wolf of Issilene Reborn…”

Gawain’s heart began to pound, remembering the words
Eldenbeard had spoken to Kanosenn before the elfwizard’s destruction.

Soon shall come the days of the Shimaneth Issilene
Merionell. You have loosed the wolves. You shall be devoured.

“What do you mean?” Gawain whispered, the sound of his heart
thumping in his breath.

“Do you not recall the elven dawntime tale our lady told by
Lord Rak’s fireside, after the battle of Far-gor? The tale of Yargo, finest of
all hunters, who admired Issilene when she took the form of elfkind?”

“Yes, I remember,” heart pounding so loud now that surely
Allazar must hear it.

“Do you not recall that Issilene bore seven sons, and took
from them all pride, and fear, and anger, and pity, and love, and made of them
the Shimaneth Issilene.

“I remember...” breath shortening, as if in expectation of
imminent battle.

“To them was given the duty of seeking out all things
unnatural, and destroying them, for there can be no light without shadow, and
even in those dawntime days, dark powers and demons lurked. Thus were born the
hunter-warriors of Issilene, wolves of elves loosed upon the darkness.”

“Yes, I remember the story…” But Gawain’s mind was reeling.
He did remember the story. How could he forget it? The creatures Elayeen had
described had seemed to him remarkable, a wonderful addition to any army bent
upon the destruction of all things dark wizard-made…

“They were cold, Gawain. Cold, our lady said, bereft of
compassion, merciless and single-minded. In pursuit of some foul creature, they
would pass all others by, the needy or wounded abandoned to their fate in the
name of duty.

“So cold were they that when they encountered others of the
kindred, those others would shiver, and bar their doors. But the Shimaneth cared
not, for they lived for their duty and knew neither compassion, nor love, nor
pride, nor anger. Pain they knew, for it warned of injury and allowed them to
rest and to heal, the better to hunt again.”

“Allazar…” Gawain whispered, eyes damp. “It was surely just
a story…”

“Perhaps it was, my friend, and I wish I could speak words
that might comfort you. But the circles in your father’s hall were not a story,
nor a dawntime tale of creation. The myths and legends of Minyorn might be
dismissed as tales of elder days too, but for a Morgmetal casket sealed and
hidden more than two thousand years ago, awaiting
she who wears the horse
yet she be born of tree.
She who bears a key which passed through sixty-two
generations of elfkind against the coming of the Shimaneth Issilene Merionell.”