Worms' Ending: Book Eight (The Longsword Chronicles 8) (22 page)

“Yet the alliance with Thallanhall would remain intact.”

“Any treaties would remain in force, yes. But consider this;
you are married to the daughter of Thal-Hak of Elvendere, but this cedes you no
rights in law in Thallanhall. Unless treaties are in place and ratified between
Juria and Elvendere, the same is true of Insinnian now that Hellin is unable to
rule.”

“There is no parallel. Elayeen was declared faranthroth, she
is dead to elves, and our marriage certainly not granted any license of
approval in Elvendere.”

“True, but the principle and the protocols are all. Only if
Insinnian acts quickly to state a case for stewardship could he hope to prevent
the council from acting in the interests of Juria and appointing Lord Eggers,
or another, as Steward until Tamsin is of age. Without ratified treaties, Juria
would remain well within their rights to evict, by force if necessary, all
elven forces currently on their soil.”

“And risk conflict or even war?”

“It won’t come to that. The Toorsen faction is powerful in
Thallanhall, this we know. But Elvendere will not go to war with their eastern
neighbours. Certainly not while a hostile force dwells on its western border
and certainly not to intervene where they are not welcome. The Toorseneth may
have persuaded Thallanhall to provide support to Hellin in order to prevent
civil strife in Juria, but persuading elves to war over stewardship until
Hellin’s daughter is of age is another matter entirely.”

“And if Hellin recovers her wits?”

“Then Juria’s fate will once more rest in her hands, unless
the crown is wrested by force from her head and Willam’s line ended, and I
cannot see such events occurring knowing as I do their history and protocols.”

Gawain frowned. “Perhaps you’re right, Rak. Perhaps the
destruction of wizardkind was the Toorseneth’s only interest in seeding Juria
with elves loyal to the creed. If, as I believe, Hellin has despatched all
surviving Jurian wizards to their doom at the creed’s hands, then Elvendere
would no longer have any business there. It seems a lot of trouble for them to
have gone to, though, with the Hallencloister already annihilated.”

“If Morloch planted such insanity in Toorsen’s mind, and Toorsen
bequeathed that madness to his followers, then they will not rest until wizards
of all stripes but their own are extinct. Not being interested in lands or
power, I feel certain they will not press Juria.”

“Well,” Gawain sighed, standing, taking his cloak from the
back of his chair and throwing it around his shoulders. “There is a wizard
whose stripe remains in doubt up at the Point needs attention. Forgive me, Rak,
I am a poor house-guest.”

The dwarf shrugged. “You are a man of many names, Gawain,
‘brother’ has always been a favourite of mine. You’re never a guest here, this
is as much your home as mine.”

“So you told me, my brother, a long time ago.”

“A lifetime ago, it seems. But go; if Allazar struggles with
some ancient curse as your lady did, he will need your strength as much as she.
Try to be kind to him.”

“There’s an interesting notion. In truth, Rak, I think the
shock if I did that might kill him.”

Rak smiled, though sadly, while Gawain picked up the sword,
pondered the wearing of it, and then elected simply to carry it.

“I do feel for Allazar, and I worry for him,” Gawain
admitted, heading for the back door. “I know something of his pain, after all.
I just hope it’s Allazar I find up there, and not some dread relic of elder
days.”

oOo

23. The Wizard’s Silence

“Haven’t flung yourself off the Point, then?” Gawain grunted
as he sat beside the wizard in Arramin’s Cabin.

“Not yet,” Allazar replied, his breath pluming in the chill
air.

The mountains of the Dragon’s Teeth were crisp and clear,
the afternoon bright and fresh and possessing that soft and southerly cast of
winter sunshine which used to make the farak gorin sparkle as if it were an
inland sea. Now it simply made an ominous shadow of the great and distant chasm
of Avongard Canyon.

“Every time I see those mountains,” Gawain announced
quietly, “I look for that dark shimmering in the air above them which once we
observed together, here. It seems strange not to see it now.”

“The absence of that darkness is as much your legacy to
these northern lands as is the Avongard Canyon below, Longsword.”

“Longsword? Are you yourself, then?”

“I am. Though a self far removed from any I knew before. Do
not fear for me, Gawain, I am still the White Staff. The rage which consumed me
in Juria yet burns, but deeper now, contained and constrained by duties new,
and duties old.”

“It’s the old ones I’m worried about, Allazar,” Gawain
sniffed and wiped his nose, a little surprised by the cold after the warmth of
Merrin’s kitchen and the stew. “And the new, now that you mention them, since
they’re probably old too. I half expected to find Eldenbeard sitting here,
building a spell to bring down the Teeth, that he might charge north and wreak
his vengeance upon Morloch. Actually, you know, the more I think about it…”

“Alas, it is but I, and I know not of such a spell. And I am
not about to desert my king and his lady to rebuild a Hallencloister lost now
forever. We wizards were always an uncommon lot, those born with the mark of
wizardkind becoming fewer and fewer it seemed, though when I left the
‘cloisters to take service in Brock’s court there were many boys yet in the
outer dormitories.”

“Perhaps when the lands know peace again?”

“Peace? No. The world has changed, the worlds we both knew are
ended. Change is all about us,” and Allazar waved a hand to encompass all
around them. “Here, from the absence of aquamire vapours shimmering beyond the
Teeth, to the absence of the farak gorin, the presence of this cabin and the new
watchtower nearby… perhaps nowhere is that change more visible than here, or at
the Hallencloister. There, the walls will crumble, pillars shall fall, paving
once trod by masters of craft and lore stained now with their shadows will
break and crumble, rough stone split asunder by blades of grass, nature’s power
indomitable.”

“And those born with white hair, Allazar, what is to be
their future, with no teachers to pass on that craft and lore, and no Sardor to
govern them? Why did Eljon name you Last Sardor, if there is to be no future
for wizardkind?”

Allazar drew in a breath, and let it out slowly. “So that
the Book of Sardor might be passed to my hand, and the key hung about my neck.
So that one wizard might live to bear witness to the destruction of the D’ith, and
perhaps to avenge them in some small way before his own passing.”

“Did he not also offer the hope that you would renew the
world and bring to it the enlightenment of Zaine?”

“Yes. And Hope, even when it’s of the futile variety, is
still Hope.”

“Very wise. One of Zaine’s?”

“One of yours, Longsword, and you know it. But Eljon’s hope
was indeed futile, and more of a desperate prayer I think. It was Benithet who
saw the end. He saw no new age of enlightenment. He saw no vengeance against
those who ended the world. He saw no Hallencloister renewed. He saw only death,
and fire, and shadow, and betrayal. The Sardorians were only ever governors,
like headmasters of schools. The Last Sardor is now a custodian, nothing more.
The role is better suited to Arramin than to me, for I have other duties.”

“So you’ve said. D’you know how hard it is for me not to
crane my head and peer into your eyes to see if it’s you or Eldenbeard
talking?”

“It is I.”

“Oh now that’s not very comforting, is it?”

“No, my apologies, Longsword. It is I, Allazar, First of
Raheen.”

“And that’s no comfort either. I remember when Eldengaze
rose to dominance, and I sat with Elayeen by the pools at the baths of
Calhaneth.
I am she
, came the reply when I demanded my lady back. I am
she, in a voice which would crack Dymendin. You were not yourself, in Juria.”

“No, I concede I was not.”

“There you are then.”

“And you, Gawain, were you yourself when first you took the Downland Pass with the sword, covered in the ashes of all you held dear?”

“No, I was not, I’ll grant you that. But you weren’t
yourself at Urgenenn’s Tower either.”

“No, again I concede I was not.”

Gawain sighed. “I want Allazar back. They way I wanted
Elayeen back, there at the baths of Calhaneth.”

“I am he.”

“Oh now you’re just deliberately being a beardy bastard, you
know that, don’t you?”

Allazar’s head bobbed, and the slightest of wry smiles
twitched for a moment at the corners of his mouth. But the wizard was broken inside,
Gawain knew, as he himself had been, and for such a wound there was no Eeelan
t’oth, no unguent, no bandage, no medicine would heal it but time. And they had
little enough of that.

“I’ve told Rak we’ll be leaving for Last Ridings in the
morning.”

“I shall be ready, Longsword.”

“Do you have the sceptre?”

“It is still where I left it, where it has remained
untouched. I believe you are wise to take it now to Elayeen, and to the vault
beneath Crown Peak.”

“Me too. I haven’t said so to Rak, but I fear it may be some
time before we pass this way again. I don’t know why. Just a feeling. All the
worms are gone, Allazar, nothing now swims from the grey mist within me when I
close my eyes. All the worms are gone.”

Allazar nodded. “Yet for me, one remains. I have written to
Master Arramin, and asked him to send to me a copy of the final panels of the
Book of Thangar, if he is able to find it. It might take some time.”

“Rak told me you also sent word to Dakar?”

“Yes. News of the Hallencloister, warnings, and instructions
to take every precaution for all wizards yet living as well as for the archives
in the vaults. There may yet be traitors loyal to Morloch or the Toorsencreed
who by deception might attempt to wreak havoc here and elsewhere.”

“Rak was up all night writing to Eryk. Warnings will also be
sent out to all other lands from here. How long they’ll take to arrive at their
destinations remains to be seen, though. Toorsen, like Morloch, had a long time
to prepare. I would have us in Last Ridings, Allazar, I would have Elayeen
safe, the sword and the stick to protect her.”

“I, too. Will you risk taking ship?”

“No. Rak warned me against that not an hour ago. It’s a
warning I’m more than happy to heed remembering as I do the misery aboard the
Melusine. I wish we knew more of events in Callodon and Pellarn, though. Rak
was unable to add much to the general summary given to us by Captain Ector in
Juria.”

“There is very little we can do about events unfolding
around us now. Juria’s fate lies now in its own hands. Elvendere’s, too. Pellarn’s,
likewise, though I too am disquieted by the lack of news from Brock.”

“Do you think the Deed is done, Allazar?” Gawain suddenly
blurted, the question one he’d asked several times before, but this fresh
repetition the result of the gaping void where once gnawing clues and portents
dwelled.

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“Because the Word is yet needed. I would not have been
compelled to the Hallencloister and to force entry there were it not. What
powers now drive us, Longsword, are not so cruel as to wish merely to reveal to
us the ending of our days.”

“You hope. So we are indeed pawns in some ancient game?”

“No, I do not believe so.”

Gawain was agog. “You can say that, even with Eldenbeard
arisen and driving you to slaughter where once you would never have considered
violence?”

Allazar nodded, though slowly and sadly. “Even so. You must
understand, we are sitting here now because the choices we made led us here.
Any one of us could have abandoned this path at any time. You may believe we were
forced along it as if at the point of some ancient spear, but that is not the
case. What we are now, and where we are now, are the consequences of decisions
we ourselves have made, and actions we ourselves took.”

“Pardon me for declaring this strange philosophy of yours a
bigger steaming pile than anything Gwyn has managed all the years I have known
her. Benithet saw the end of the Hallencloister, and every Sardor since
Durminenn simply sat back and waited for it to happen. There’s a key around
your neck now and a Morgmetal box under the hill in Last Ridings which have
nothing to do with decisions we ourselves took.”

“Yet, the name upon that dread casket is
She
, not
Elayeen. And Master Benithet spoke only of the Last Sardor, my name is not
inscribed in Durminenn’s book. It is why such prophecies always seem so vague,
Longsword. You have complained of the vagaries yourself often enough. It is why
such prophecies always take the form
it shall come to pass that a grey man
from the east shall travel to the west, and bring down the walls of the
oppressor,
rather than
Nijel the Elder from Nordshear will set fire to
the Keep of Maraciss in Simatheum at lunchtime on July the sixth in the reign
of Bendorrick the Third.
It gives people plenty of opportunities to escape,
though others would doubtless thereafter take paths which would still lead to the
events foreseen.

“Had I not rejected the temptation of Morloch’s dreaming
tower, had I not rebelled against the strictures of Hallencloister, some other
would have, in my stead. The result would be the same for the world, though not
for me.”

Gawain sniffed again. “That’s the kind of drivel I offered
Elayeen to put her mind at rest when Corax delivered the box and she revealed she
owned the key to it.”

“Of course. It is, after all, the kind of drivel I always
offer to you when you’re drinking in taverns and complaining about eldengoits.”

“Eldengoits? Have I ever called them that? I don’t
remember.”

“You were ‘tired and emotional’ at the time, as I recall.”

“Dwarfspit, I invent a wonderful word like that and then
forget it.”

“My apologies. I should have made a note, but I think I
might have been a little tired and emotional at the time myself.”

“Do you really believe the drivel?”

“I don’t know. Truly, I no longer know what to believe, now.
The only comfort I can find in the shards of my heart is that I know the Word
is still needed, and that can only mean the Deed is not yet done, and our
journey together not yet over. Else why would Eldenbeard be needed?”

Gawain nodded. He didn’t know, either. They had left Last
Ridings to find answers, and had found them. In the north, beyond the Teeth,
Morloch yet dwelled. Perhaps the black-eyed evil was laughing, his final spite
revealed, the last lash of his whip cracked, echoes yet sounding. Or perhaps he
too sat in his tower, gazing at the ruin of his plans and his own land, wondering
what now to do, now that he was bound beyond the mountains again.

“You do know, Allazar,” Gawain said softly, “That I would
never have wished for this. Not for any of it. Despite all my railing against
whitebeards and my despising of them, you do know I would never have wished
this upon the Hallencloister?”

“I know.”

They sat in silence then, the wizard glad of Gawain’s
company, as Gawain knew he would be. Before them and below them, the broad
expanse and its unbridgeable chasm stood now and forever between them and the
Teeth, and between them and the object of their common hatred. Gawain, holding
the sword propped against his right thigh. Allazar, holding the Dymendin
propped against his left shoulder. Two who had vexed Morloch, and two who knew
the ineffable agony of total loss.

Later, while birds sang nearby and could occasionally be
heard fluttering to a landing on the roof of the cabin before continuing about
their business, Gawain was struck by a sudden realisation.

“You didn’t answer my question earlier.”

“Oh I’m sorry, Longsword. What was the question?”

“What will become now of those born with white hair. What’s
to be their future, with no teachers to pass on that craft and lore, and no
Sardor to govern the teachers?”

“Ah.”

“There’s an expression which gives me comfort and dread at
the same time. Comfort for it being distinctly Allazar and not Eldenbeard, and
dread because it means you’d hoped I hadn’t noticed that you evaded the
question earlier. In truth I hadn’t, until now.”

“You are becoming wiser to my ways, after all.”

“We’ve come a long way together. Now answer the bloody
question, and stop trying to make me feel guilty for the asking of it.”

“It will be as it was in the days before Zaine.”

Gawain waited until the urge to squirm with impatience got
the better of him.

“And how was it in the days before Zaine?”

Allazar sighed and cast a damp-eyed gaze in Gawain’s
direction before facing the mountains once more, staring into the middle
distance.

“Awful. Chaos. Minds, untrained and untrammelled by
discipline and understanding, unleashing powers without wit or wisdom, in many
cases without awareness. Boys in their dreams setting fire to their beds or their
houses while sleeping, boys inflicting pain and misery knowing not how they did
so but repeating the act as others might pull the wings from flies or burn ants
with a lens. Jealous youths striking out at rivals or at their unrequited
loves, anger bursting brick, board, block and stone asunder. Fires erupting for
no reason, animals and people likewise.