Worms' Ending: Book Eight (The Longsword Chronicles 8) (15 page)

15. Worm’s Ending

The silence that followed lasted for hours. Some wept. Some
occasionally shook their heads in shock and disbelief. One or two took a breath
as if to speak, but thought better of it.

Gawain’s mood swung like a pendulum. Rage at the treachery
of Toorsen. Calm, the worms of his disquiet and the strange compulsion to come
here dissipated. Sorrow, for Allazar, and perhaps even for the world. And in
the calmer moments came the dreadful certainty of strange aquamire and an
understanding of Benithet’s dream-visions concerning Toorsen’s madness and the
actions of his acolytes since the building of the Toorseneth, the stones of
that tower imbued, it was said, with the force of the wizard’s will.

He at last understood the reason for the sending out of
wizards of the D’ith to all lands, and understood the reasons why some turned
traitor. Allazar had spoken himself at Urgenenn’s Tower of that ‘perfect
freedom’ which was evil’s gift alone to give. He understood too Morloch’s
cunning, and the temptation of his dreaming tower, and he understood at last
Allazar’s strength in resisting that temptation.

In truth, he knew now, Allazar had been vexing Morloch far
longer than he. Allazar had vexed Morloch as a child, a child who had once
stood in shame before the gold-inlaid and imposing table behind which had sat
the D’ith Sardor and two Masters and Councillors of Sek, and had frightened
those imposing old wizards all three with his strength.

Strength which now seemed to have deserted the wizard, sat
with the staff still resting on his shoulder, its light dimmed now, holding the
heavy Book of Sardor in his hands, the key that marked him as Sardor about his
neck. Sardor of what? Sardor of whom? How many wizards of the D’ith yet
remained in the lands east of Elvendere? How many would be permitted now to
remain by a Toorseneth bent on their destruction?

Gawain sighed, and bowed his head as another worm died. He
knew now with certainty why Maraciss had risked Pelliman Goth and his ship to
recall Kallaman Goth from Urgenenn’s Tower and take him back to the west.

Another worm died, and Gawain recognised why the elves of
the Toorsengard riding with Cherris and Dirs had loosed, all of them, upon
Allazar.

Another worm died, and in its passing, its ghost revealed to
Gawain the reason for the fortification by elves of Doosen, Bardin, Vardon, and
Ferdan, and by now, other towns and villages in Juria. He blinked, the world
fading into a grey mist as other worms wriggled through his strange
consciousness, as if eager to end themselves as Sardor Eljon had, in a bright
flash of release and understanding.

Another died, the reason for the bands of Flagellweed sown
in a wide arc miles from the Hallencloister, to deter the curious from
discovering the truth. And then another, and another, and he groaned aloud, and
his head fell forward into his hands as all the pieces at last tumbled into
place. “Va takan thul” he whispered, more to himself than to his comrades.

“Melord?” Ognorm whispered, all eyes drawn to Gawain’s
despondency.

“Morloch,” Gawain replied.

Hands inched towards weapons, and even Allazar blinked and
slipped one hand up onto the white staff, stuffing the goldpaper book into a
pocket of his robes.

“That bastard’s ‘ere?” Ognorm grunted, peering out into the
gloom.

“He’s been here all along, Oggy,” Gawain sighed, and lifted
his head from his hands to stare at Allazar, and then at the others, in turn.

“Gawain?” Allazar asked, his voice wracked.

Gawain nodded, and drew in another breath before speaking,
softly.

“Elayeen told me, Morloch would never forgive my vexing him.
Never forgive the destruction of his army at Far-gor. I should have seen the
deeper truth in her words, though she herself did not. All this, all this fresh
misery, and all the stale, all has been of Morloch’s making. It’s not just I he
would never forgive for his defeat. It is all of us. They even warned us
themselves, those traitors of the D’ith who struck at us. Joyen at Tarn. The Meggen prisoner at Ferdan. Morloch himself said it often. Doryenn at Far-gor.
Kallaman Goth at Urgenenn’s Tower. Va takan thul. He will consume you all.”

“I don’t understand.”

Gawain gazed at the wizard.

“I know. But you should. You, of all people yet living, you
should understand. You have been vexing Morloch far longer than I. He summoned
you, as a boy, to his dreaming tower. You flew over the Dragon’s Teeth,
remember? You told me, at Far-gor, of your dreams, of your nightmares.”

“I did.”

“You said, each time you dreamed the dream you would see
more details in the wilderness beyond the mountains, and draw closer to that
dark tower, close enough to know that there, in that tower, was something,
someone, dread beyond anything the word has ever been able adequately to
describe. And you knew that the something, the someone, was waiting for you.”

“I did.”

“He was. Yet you succeeded, where Toorsen failed. You fled,
each time eluding Morloch’s grasp, evading his power, refusing the temptation. But
Toorsen peered in, and saw who it was waiting for him. That old wizard Benithet,
the seer, described seeing it. He said he saw Toorsen flying over the Teeth,
saw him look in, and saw the madness Morloch planted in him like a seed.
Toorsen was old, Morloch fresh-bound and yet powerful enough to tempt even the
elfwizard who’d helped bind him beyond the Teeth. Perhaps Toorsen, in his
arrogance at helping to bind Morloch, thought himself powerful enough to look
in and resist whatever dread he saw there. He was a fool. And he was wrong.”

Gawain shook his head, and there was such dread in his
aspect that all of them leaned forward, fearing whatever might come next.

“Morloch could never allow these lands to enjoy a lasting
victory over him. Benithet said as much when he declared that Morloch was bound
but not his will. Do you think Morloch would simply give up his desire to
consume us all? Do you think in his own evil madness he could stomach a total
defeat? It was Morloch planted the madness in Toorsen’s mind. Toorsen Grey-elf,
neither light nor shadow, his mad belief and the bizarre seeking for ‘balance’
he bequeathed to his creed’s followers; they are the seeds of our destruction,
sown by Morloch long ago.

“With his army of the north destroyed, the Avongard Canyon gaping, Goth-lords risen, all his hopes for invasion crushed... What hope would
Morloch have left to sustain him in the aftermath of such a defeat?”

“Bugger-all,” Ognorm whispered again, startling himself when
the words actually came out of his mouth.

“And that is why he planted the seed in Toorsen’s mind.
Armies of old fleeing a stronger force pursuing would burn crops and villages
behind them, scorching and salting the earth to deny their enemy succour. Thus
did Morloch create Toorsencreed. To wreak his vengeance upon us should invasion
fail. And fail it did. All the years of his labouring to cross the Teeth, from
over their heights and through their depths, centuries of work, wasted in an
instant.

“Toorsen’s creed demands they obtain ‘balance’ between light
and shadow. Benithet has given us the truth of it by naming Toorsen as
Grey-elf. They’ve never struck back against Morloch for his darkness, because
they could never cross the Teeth so to do. But they have struck at him now, and
at us all. They are making a grey world, with neither light nor dark to disturb
the balance they seek. They destroyed the Hallencloister to achieve that end.
The destruction of all wizards. The ending of the D’ith. The final dimming of
the Light of Aemon. And with no wizards of the D’ith left alive, who then could
Morloch call to his dreaming tower to corrupt the light into the darkness and
make black fire from white? Dark wizards are not born. They are made from those
born white-haired and turned to the path of perfect freedom offered them by
Morloch and his minions.”

Gawain paused again, eyeing his enthralled and gaping
companions.

“That’s why,” he continued, “That’s why Maraciss sent
Pelliman Goth to return Kallaman Goth to the west. What wizards there are now
serving in the Empire can expect no reinforcements from beyond the Teeth and no
fresh allies fresh-corrupted here behind the lines. Maraciss must have learned
the truth of the Viell’s intentions. What wizards now remain here east of
Elvendere can expect no fresh sticks to learn the craft and lore of the D’ith,
either. Who would teach them? Where would they learn?

“That’s why the Toorseneth arranged for the alliance with
Juria and the marriage of Hellin to Insinnian. That’s why Jurian towns and
villages are being fortified by elfguards loyal to the creed. That’s why they
patrol now with Riders of the Grey. That’s why they aimed as one for Allazar
and not for me on the Hallencloister Road. Not for politics. Not for gain. But
to seek out and destroy all wizardkind save their own, whose powers are, for
the most part anyway, limited to the borders of their own domain.”

“Oh thruk…” Ognorm gasped.

“The Viell served long on the Council of Sek,” Gawain added.
“Those traitors not directly turned by Morloch likely served the Toorseneth’s
will. And the will of the Toorseneth is the will of Morloch, his last spite,
his final lash, his last word. To consume you all, Allazar. To destroy all
wizardkind and leave nothing but a grey world bereft of all mystic power save
those who serve his spite in Elvendere. And who knows, perhaps one day, he
might succeed in breaching his bonds, and perhaps one day return for the rest
of us, and none of us able to raise a shield against his power.”

“By the Teeth,” Allazar managed, blinking back the tears of
his understanding. “By the Teeth.”

“Cherris. Dirs. I must ask of you a boon.”

“M’lord?”

“You said you have a duty. To arrest me, and take me to
Hellin’s Hall.”

“We do.”

“You have heard all, and witnessed all. Yet you are both
honourable. To your oaths you must remain true. I must be presented to Hellin,
must I not?”

Dirs squirmed under the urgency and intensity of Gawain’s
fixed gaze. “Yes, m’lord, but…”

“But then hear my boon. I will give you my word and my arm
here and now that if you accept my instructions, I shall honour your duty and
present myself in Hellin’s Hall.”

“And what would you ask of us, my lord?” Cherris gasped, her
tear-stained features a picture of dread and concern.

“I would have you both ride hard for Arrun and Last Ridings,
there to tell my queen all that you have heard and witnessed here.”

“And you would give yourself into custody, when you could
bear such word yourself m’lord?”

“I now have business in Juria. So too does the White Staff.
There are forces of the Toorseneth there which require our attention.”

“We accept!” Dirs declared, brooking no further argument, requiring
no further explanation, and thrusting out his hand. “Whatever your business is,
we accept your word, and I shall take your arm m’lord, and swear to you in sight
of the moon and all here that we shall bear warning to your lady or die in the
attempt of it!”

Gawain clasped the offered arm, gripping it firmly.

“So it has been said, so it shall be done,” he announced,
and released his grip. “You must tell Elayeen to recall all Rangers from Juria
immediately. You must tell her to send warnings to all lands. Allazar, do you
have your notebook still? I would write a letter of instructions for Elayeen.”

“I do, Longsword, but…”

“Don’t you see, Allazar? That sparkling crystal-encrusted
Grimmand was not sent for her. It was sent for one who might raise white fire
against it. It was sent for Corax. Or perhaps even for you. The Toorseneth
means to end all wizards.”

oOo

16. Turmoil

Dirs and Cherris had left with the first lightening of the
sky, bearing with them the letter of instructions Gawain had written for
Elayeen and, for safe-keeping in the down-below of Crown Peak, the Book of
Sardor and its appendix. Allazar would not risk the carrying of it deep into
Juria where it might fall into the hands of those named in it. The departure of
the two Riders of the Grey had been urgent and charged with emotion, the
Jurians snapping their fists to the vacant patches of their tunics where
Gawain’s emblem once held pride of place. And then they had mounted, and
galloped southeast for the Arrun border and the journey to Last Ridings.

There was little else to be said between the four companions
left behind. They’d simply saddled horses, broken their fasts, and turned
north, knowing that while the journey to Juria Castletown would ordinarily take
approximately eighteen days, their need for stealth might make it a little
longer.

They saw no-one that first day, and when they made camp that
night it was closer to the scrubbier ground northeast of the Hallencloister,
Gawain electing to remain in the vicinity of the borders of Arrun and later,
Mornland, should they encounter a larger patrol on Jurian soil and choose to
flee into safer lands. Hellin’s Hall was Gawain’s destination, but on his own terms.
It began to drizzle again, and they had again entered the strange still air of
the region around the ancient citadel. An hour after they settled in cloaks
wrapped tight against the damp and the chill, it was Ognorm of Ruttmark who
spoke first.

“Beg pardon, melord… but what’s the job at Juria? When we
get there, I mean?”

Gawain smiled sadly in the gloom. “Trust you, Oggy. Trust a
Threllander to be practical, when so many other questions could you have
asked.”

“Arr, well,” Ognorm announced softly and with sorrow, “Me ‘eart’s
too full o’ sorrow for ought else, melord.”

“Yes. Mine too. I have had much time to think in the silence
of the ride this day, and so much now is clearer to me. There are questions
though I would ask the ‘spitsucking traitor of Toorsen’s creed at Hellin’s
Hall, Serat of the Ahk-Viell. I would know where now rests the foul orb and
shadow which they used to lay waste to the Hallencloister and end all those within
its walls. I would know their intentions for that device and for these lands.
That they mean to end all wizardkind except for themselves is clear; other
aspects of their madness are not.

“And there is one more task we are sworn to undertake, an
oath to a friend to be fulfilled. There is a wall of stone there in Juria, and
if his name be on it, it falls to us to strike it off.”

“Aye,” Ognorm sighed. “Aye, friend Jerryn’s last wish to be
honoured. And beggin’ yer pardon again, melord, if that noble name be there,
and the wall be of stone as you say? Then beggin’ yer pardon, it’ll be a
dwarf’s hand as wields the hammer does the striking of it. Please, melord.”

Gawain nodded. “Then you’ll need this, Oggy. You being once a
lifter and shifter, I doubt you carry your own…” And he fished in the packs to
find the chisel borrowed from the good old boys at The Orb’s Ending, and handed
it to his mournful companion.

Allazar noted the object, and shot a telling and accusing
glance at Gawain, but said nothing, sinking back into the shadows of his cloak
and cowl.

“Arr, ta melord, and no, us lifters an’ shifters don’t carry
the badge of them that cuts the stone below. But that don’t mean I don’t know
how! It’ll be a fine job I do for me old mate Jerryn. A fine job.”

Ognorm sniffed, and wiped his nose on the back of a sleeve already
damp from the night’s misty rain, and then fell silent. Gawain glanced again at
Allazar, and saw only the outline of a rumpled cloak and staff, the wizard’s
face remaining hidden deep within the shadows of the cloak’s cowl. Venderrian
next, the elf wrapped against the weather but still occasionally casting his
Sight around them; he held his gaze for a moment, but then the elf looked away,
his expression haunted.

“It wasn’t you or the folk of Minyorn did this evil,” Gawain
announced gently. “Don’t let the burden of another’s crime weigh upon your own
shoulders, Ven.”

“It was my people who did this thing, miThal, my countrymen.
Small wonder you have ordered the recall of rangers from Juria.”

“That decision was made for their safety, Ven. The
ninety-five are too few and too far between, and now that Juria is allied with
the Toorseneth, wittingly or otherwise, there is precious little risk of their
Sight being needed here. Now that the creed has a foothold in the midlands,
they’ll not be sending seed or spore this way. They have no need.”

“And Morloch, melord?”

“Bound again beyond the Teeth, denuded, his forces either spent
or now about their own business and deaf to his commands. He has no darkness to
send against these lands. No, it’s the Toorseneth deployed seed, spore, and now
spawn against us. Distractions in the south to slow Brock’s plans, tools to
entrap Juria, weapons to seek out and destroy the scattered remnants of the
D’ith; two out of three of their tasks are now complete.”

Ognorm blinked, and sighed.

“Besides,” Gawain continued, drawing his cloak tighter,
“When word reaches the good people of Juria that it was elves destroyed the
Hallencloister and with it, almost the whole world at Far-gor, elves bearing
the same tau-mark as worn by those now occupying their towns and villages, how
safe d’you think those elves will be?”

“You mean to spread the word so soon, Gawain?” Allazar asked,
his voice surprisingly firm given the near totality of his loss.

“I’m hardly going to hide the truth from friends and allies,
Allazar. Why would you think I would? What purpose would it serve?”

“Our lady is of elfkind, so too our Sighted friends.”

“And everyone knows this. By recalling the rangers from
Juria I’m merely removing any possibility that Jurians angry at this fresh
betrayal by elves of the Tau might mistake friend for foe in the dark or at a
distance.”

“You will make enemies of all elves with this revelation.”

“No, I don’t think so. You yourself said that Elayeen had
done more to cement the honour and reputation of the Kindred Rangers in the
eyes of the world than anything we ourselves could have done or imagined. When
you’re able to think a little clearer, Allazar, I suspect you’ll agree. I know
the rage you feel, and how its restless billowing clouds judgement and makes a
pauper of reason.”

The wizard didn’t answer, but Gawain caught the slight dip
of the cowl and Allazar’s brief nod of acknowledgement.

“Good job they closed the forest again, I reckon,” Ognorm
declared. “Dunno how folk back ‘ome would feel about all this. Will Serre
wizard Arramin be safe there, d’you reckon? Back at home?”

Gawain nodded. “Elayeen will send warnings, and a message
specifically for Arramin. He’s probably the safest wizard of the D’ith alive,
not including vakin Morloch. Morloch’s behind the Teeth. Arramin’s in the
vaults of Crownmount. At least we now know what was behind all those doors
Allazar, on each landing of that endless staircase there in the depths of
Crownmount, and I can think of no better curator for that particular collection
than Arramin.”

“My people are doomed,” Venderrian suddenly announced. “Dark
days old are come, dark days new are born, in war and strife and rising dread,
dark days new are born, and shadows, ‘til arrives the reaper.”

“Well there’s a cheery poem, Ven mate. What’s that from?”

“It is a verse from the Arathalaneer. The song for the
fallen Thalangard.”

“Arr. That’ll be the one me mate Reesen dint want any of us to
sing if he’d… if anything’d happened to ‘im. Is there nothing we can do about
Elvendere, melord? Can’t we get word in to ‘em about these Toorsenspits?”

Gawain shook his head.

“No. At Kings’ Council in Ferdan I spoke of my seeing an
entertainment, a fellow clad in garish and wizardly clothing whispering in the
ear of a farmer who, at length, leapt from his chair flapping his arms and walking
high-kneed like a chicken. I spoke before Council and told of wizards likewise
whispering into the ears of kings. It made them all rather angry, especially
the wizards. But in Elvendere, the ToorsenViell have been whispering into
people’s ears since the building of their tower at Ostinath. Children are
taught the lies in schools and believe them, and grow up to repeat those lies
to their children, and on and on… so Elayeen told me.

“How do you tell a people that they have been deceived for
thousands of years? How do you tell them that those they’ve respected and
entrusted with the safeguarding of their culture have been working secretly
against them, and all this time have been waiting for the day when they would
be called upon to enact Morloch’s final spite? How do you end beliefs which
have been taught for so long and are now so deeply ingrained they have come
almost to define a people? History records there is only one way, and it seldom
succeeds entirely.”

“What way?” Ognorm whispered, fearing the answer as he wiped
away drops of rainwater which had gathered on his eyebrows.

“War, and annihilation.”

“Arr.”

“It didn’t work for Morloch at Raheen. Not yet, anyway. And
it hasn’t worked for the Toorseneth at the Hallencloister. Not yet, anyway. Nor
has it worked entirely in Elvendere, where dwell elves of Minyorn, who like our
friend Ven here, and most of the ninety-five, kept alive the ways and
traditions of elder times. The Sight will spread in that land and with it, we
can only hope, understanding. Perhaps even now Thal-Hak works to undermine the
tower and its servants. Ven?”

“MiThal?”

“You looked to be on the verge of speaking.”

The elf looked suddenly pained, as if caught on the brink of
hurling a rock through a window. Gawain waited, determined for the elf to utter
whatever it was he’d been about to say. There’d been altogether too many times
when elves had left words unspoken in Gawain’s presence of late.

Venderrian, under pressure from Gawain’s impassive gaze and
still reeling from the shock of the Hallencloister, relented.

“There was much turmoil in Elvendere when you took
Thalin-Elayeen from faranthroth. There was even more when dwarves returned with
mifrith Valin and Meeya, bearing news of her new life in Threlland. They will
know now, all of them, of Far-gor. Such a thing cannot be hidden long, miThal.
There will be even more turmoil in Elvendere now. Dark days new are born, in
war and strife and rising dread.”

“There will be much turmoil in Juria when we get there, too.
Elvendere must fend for itself, for now. Our task is the taking of Serat from
Juria Castletown. Alive, Allazar. We need to know about the orb. Serat must be
taken alive.”

Again, a slight dip of the wizard’s cowl acknowledged
Gawain’s command. It was disconcerting, and Gawain wondered whether he too had
seemed so utterly cold and distant in the aftermath of Raheen. He conceded that
he probably had.

“How come they dint use the one at Calhaneth, melord? The
orb, I mean.”

Gawain shrugged. “It seems they didn’t need to. They
couldn’t operate the great wheels on the canal, and seemed entirely reluctant
to journey so far south. The taboo on venturing anywhere near that dead city
was one of long standing, and perhaps over time even those wearing the tau
accepted it without question. Theo of Smeltmount told of other tests and trials
of other orbs taking place even before his services were obtained. Doubtless it
was one of those, and the shadow-creatures it created, that they used against
the D’ith.”

“Arr.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Gawain announced. “You’ll take
second, Oggy. I’ll wake you when it’s time. We’ll spare Ven’s eyes this night.”

He watched them settle down on damp blankets, wrapped warm
against the miserable night. Allazar, he knew, was feigning sleep, as the
wizard had done the night before. Just as Gawain himself had done in the
aftermath of Raheen’s destruction, eyes closed in the dark, hoping for the
peace of sleep, but seeing only images of his shattered world flashing and
wheeling through his tortured mind. Back then, he had the sword, Gwyn, and
little else but steely-eyed and cold-hearted vengeance with which to wreak
havoc upon Morloch’s plans. Allazar had the White Staff and the power given him
by ancient circles and the eldenbeards who’d made them.

Allazar was thus far more dangerous than Gawain had been.
Much would depend on whether or not the wizard could contain the rage burning
within him, a rage Gawain knew all too well. And then there was the light in
his eyes, the dangerous glow seen at Urgenenn’s Tower, and the voice only
Allazar and Kallaman Goth had heard. Eldenbeard.

They had been driven here, Gawain knew, by ancient
compulsions, just as Elayeen had been driven far from the Dragon’s Teeth, far
from Morloch’s influence or so she had said. For all the talk of omens and
portents and prophecies, and all the gentle white lies Gawain had used to try
to reassure and assuage Elayeen’s dread of the Morgmetal box waiting these past
two thousand years for their unborn son to open it, there was no denying they
had been driven to the Hallencloister to learn the truth of its destruction.

He should be happy, he knew. Long had he railed against
wizards and their mumbling, despising their easy use of mystic power to
influence and alter the lives of those they had called ‘commonkind’. He should
be rejoicing at the destruction of the Hallencloister and the whitebeards both.
But instead, he felt a new and alarming kinship with Allazar, and through it,
the loss and grief the wizard was suffering. They had travelled far together,
and now, after all their journeys and the perils they had faced and overcome,
now they shared a common agony. Gawain’s world had ended in fire; now too
Allazar’s. And Morloch was responsible for both cataclysms.