Worms' Ending: Book Eight (The Longsword Chronicles 8) (18 page)

“I understand, Longsword.”

“Ven, if you suspect even for a moment that the wizard is
going to strike out on his own without my command, kill him.”

Ognorm gasped. Venderrian blinked. Allazar scowled.

“MiThal?”

“Never have I been more serious, Ranger Venderrian. Allazar
I trust with this task, but not the nameless rage within him. I will not risk
all Juria and the rest of these lands falling into chaos because the wizard
cannot contain himself! If he should strike out and the Crown be harmed, all
will be lost. This cannot be allowed to happen. Do you understand?”

“I do, miThal.”

“Allazar?”

“I understand, Longsword.”

“Good. Much will depend on cool heads, well-chosen words,
and thoughtful deeds, none of which may we expect from blind fury and
vengeance.”

“I do understand, Longsword,” Allazar repeated, his voice
flat and emotionless, which was even more worrying than the teeth-grinding
anger Gawain had expected.

“Very well. Ognorm and I will lead. Give us perhaps five yards
before following under your Cloak. Clear?”

“Melord?”

“Ognorm.”

“What do we do, when we get there? You and me, I mean?”

“We’ll honour our friend’s last wishes, and when that’s
done, and when we know Allazar and Ven are well-hid in Hellin’s apartments,
we’ll pay her and her dinner-guests a visit.”

Ognorm sniffed. “Arr. Well, just so I knows what’s what an’
all.”

Gawain stood up straight, and pulled the darkcloth from his
head and face, removed his gloves, dumped the rope and adjusted his clothing,
nodding at Ognorm to do the same. Thus revealed, and with a final glance at
Allazar and Venderrian, man and dwarf strode out from the shadows of the alley,
and quietly, but purposefully, walked across the courtyard and passed between
the new Embassy and the old Keep. Their own footfalls masked all other sounds,
and they simply had to hope that Allazar and Venderrian were where they should
be, striding quietly and unseen behind them.

oOo

19. Five Blows

The single honour-guard standing at ease to the side of the main
portal gasped and gaped in recognition, and after a frantic glance around,
hissed a warning. “By the Teeth! Lord Vex! You cannot be here!”

“Honour to you, and to the Crown,” Gawain announced softly,
noting the vacant circle of stitches on the fellow’s cloak. “You served with us
at Far-gor?”

“I did my lord! Under General Bek! Mahk is my name, my lord,
once Rider of the Greys, now Corporal of the Guards. You cannot be here, Lord
Vex! Orders have been given!”

“I know. I recently met with Riders Cherris and Dirs, and I
know well your orders. To them I gave my word that I would present myself to
the Crown, and so it was said, so it shall be done. But not before we honour
the final wishes of a noble, honoured, and fallen friend. Jerryn, Major of the
Guard, who fell with honour at Calhaneth.”

“Aye, we heard of the loss. But my lord! Elves are here, the
Crown will order you taken in chains to the forest realm!”

“Peace, Corporal Mahk of the Guards. I shall if you require
it give you my word and my arm, once I and Ognorm of the Ruttmark here have
done our duty to Major Jerryn, we shall go up to see the Crown, and whatever
fate awaits us there.”

The guardsman gaped at Ognorm, clearly recognising the name,
and then gazed back at Gawain. The fear and concern in the man’s eyes was not
for himself, but for the man and the dwarf before him now.

“What be your duty to the Major, my lord?”

“His last wish was that he not be named upon the wall.”

“Alas, my lord Vex, he is… but the entire cadre rests in the
hall now, and not all served in the north and know you, my lord, nor do they
know Ognorm o’ the ‘Mark, called to nail the flying bastard on the rocks of the
farak gorin!”

“You speak of that?” Ognorm gasped, astonished, “Here in
Juria?”

“We do, Serre Ognorm. My lord, you cannot be here!”

“Corporal Mahk,” Gawain spoke softly but urgently, “If you
served at Far-gor then you know honour. Ognorm and I must strike our friend’s
name from the wall. But we know the wall not, and if as you say there are those
within the Guards’ Hall who might not regard us as kindly as you and others,
perhaps it would serve your duty and ours both if you were to escort us in, and
tell the officer of the watch why we are here?”

“My lord, such would surely mean your doom! I cannot speak
for the fate of Serre Ognorm, but they’ll be duty bound within to arrest you!”

“As are you. Come, Corporal, take us in to the Guards’ Hall
and to your captain there. Then you may, I am sure, return to your post, and
with my respect for your duty and your honest warnings. Come.”

The corporal blinked, his face a picture of complete dismay.
But he nodded, and made as if to speak, but then changed his mind, and led the
way inside.

It was gloomy, the paved atrium outside the halls lit by
glowstone lamps struggling against the vaulted expanse. To their immediate
right stood the narrow archway which gave access to the spiral staircase
leading up to the Crown’s apartments and beyond. In an alcove beside that
slender arch stood another guardsman, and Mahk waved him forward.

“Corporal?” the fellow began, and then his eyes bulged. “By
the Teeth!”

“Quiet, Clem! We have a duty, and Lord Vex is about his!
Take my post at the gate while I report to Captain Ector.”

“Aye, Corp. But… my Lord Vex…”

“Never mind, Clem, go!” the corporal insisted, and as he
went, Gawain caught sight of the curtain hanging by the spiral stairs twitching
a little, as if someone had brushed it in passing.

There was a wicket door set into the left leaf of the
Guards’ Hall portals, closed now for the night as were the main doors to the
Great Hall. The corporal gave an apologetic nod and stepped forward in front of
Gawain to turn an iron handle and push the wicket open. It swung silently on
its well-greased and well-used hinges, and the guardsman stepped through.

Gawain took a breath, tipped a wink to Ognorm, and stooped
to pass through the low doorway, the wicket held open by the guardsman from the
other side. When both Gawain and Ognorm were within, Corporal Mahk quietly shut
the door, straightened his tunic, and strode to a desk where the Captain of the
Guard sat reading by a glowstone lamp, the officer turning his head at the
disturbance, frowning at the unexpected intrusion.

The corporal stooped, and whispered urgently, gesticulating
as he did so towards Gawain and Ognorm, and then to the long wall which had
stood perhaps since the Keep had been built, dividing the Great Hall from the
lesser where they now stood. Gawain’s heart sank a little. There were many,
many names engraved on that vast memorial.

Beyond the desk were rows of long tables, and then rows of
curtains behind which sleepers reposed. But it was still early, two hours yet
until midnight, and a goodly number of Hellin’s honour-guards sat the tables,
playing cards or board-games, reading, or simply quietly talking with one
another. All activity had ceased the moment Gawain and Ognorm had entered the
hall.

The captain stood, adjusted his uniform, and strode towards
them. Gawain did not recognise the fellow, who on drawing closer appeared to be
in his early fifties. Grey now tinted once-black hair, the man sharp of eye, and
his neatly trimmed beard looked almost silver in the gloomy light.

“My Lord Vex,” the officer saluted smartly, speaking quietly
for the benefit of the sleepers. “I am Captain Ector of Her Royal Majesty’s
Guards. Corporal Mahk has told me something of your intentions here. You are
sworn, he says, to strike off Major Jerryn’s name from the Wall of Honour, and
then to present yourself above to our Crown?”

“Honour to you Captain Ector, and yes, I am so sworn. Major
Jerryn was a good and noble friend, and we shared many hardships together. It
was his wish that his name never appear on the wall, and we, his friends, gave
our word to him that his wishes would be honoured.”

“Major Jerryn was a friend to many here, my lord, including
myself. He spoke of you often, and held you in high esteem. I am also familiar
with his concern that one day his name would be inscribed there, though he made
no formal request of me before he left upon the quest which saw his ending. I
do not think he expected to leave this world in such noble company as yours, my
lord, and so in his modesty never imagined his name might earn a place there.”

“His name ranks with Willam and Bek in my esteem, Captain,”
Gawain said softly. “If there be a yonderlife for honourable men as some say,
then our friend Jerryn shall know good company.”

Ector nodded, a double sadness in his dark eyes. “That I
should see a night as this,” he sighed. “Bringing as it does the honour of
meeting you, the observing of the sad duty you must perform, and the sorrow of
my own sworn duty to my Crown.”

“I shall gladly allow you perform your duty and escort me to
the Crown, Captain Ector, if you will allow Ognorm of the Ruttmark to perform
ours, and lead us to the place where our friend’s name is graven contrary to
his dying wish.”

The captain nodded, and took half a pace back before
saluting again. He dismissed the corporal back to his post, and turned to walk
quietly and with great dignity down the hall to the right of the immense
memorial wall. As they went, those awake and sitting at the long tables stood,
and a brief murmur of recognition preceded the trio as they made their way,
their stride respectful.

Curtains were drawn back as word was passed and shoulders shaken,
men half-dressed and bleary-eyed gaping with astonishment, many saluting a man
they recognised and thought never again to see. Many perhaps hoped that this
was but a dream, and that the King of Raheen was not here, walking the Wall and
solemnly regarding the names etched there, that famed longsword strapped across
his back. But he was, and in a flurry and with a great rustling of fabrics, men
began to dress, knowing this night would be like no other the Guards’ Hall had
witnessed.

Perhaps three quarters of the way along the Wall of Honour,
Ector stopped. He turned smartly to face Gawain, and still with sorrow in his
eyes, tilted his head to where Gawain read:

Jerryn, of
Westquarter, Major of the Guards, Defender of Juria, killed in service on a
quest for his Crown. Honour to him who served well his Queen.

There came the sound of quiet shuffling, and when Gawain turned
from facing the wall, he saw the Guards, standing quietly, astonished and in
some cases, confused. It was Ector who turned to address them.

“’Ten-shun!” he commanded softly, his voice sombre, and low.

The men responded at once to the familiar command from a
familiar officer.

“This is Lord Vex, His Royal Majesty Gawain, King of Raheen.
And with him Serre Ognorm of Ruttmark, a Threllander whose name we also know.
They are here in answer to a solemn oath, a sworn duty, and an honourable one.
They are here, in full knowledge of the peril which awaits them above, to
honour their friend, a friend we all knew, too. They are here to honour the last
wishes of Major Jerryn, Defender of Juria, who once stood with us, and stood
with them, and fell with honour.

“You will stand-to, men of the Guard. And you shall not
interfere. And when this duty is done, you shall stand down, and return to your
rest, in peace, and quietly.”

Blinking in the gloom, the men stood in total silence, one
or two moving only to do up buttons or smarten their tunics, and perhaps to
avail themselves of a better view of those named by their captain.

Gawain nodded at Ognorm, the dwarf’s eyes suddenly damp
beneath those bushy eyebrows. Ognorm sighed, and drew his hammer from the
belt-loop next to Nadcracker, and then pulled the borrowed chisel from inside
his tunic. He eyed the wall, and sniffed. And then turned to face the men of the
Guard.

“Jerryn was me mate,” he said, his deep dwarvish voice
filling the hall, “We rode many a mile together, we did. Walked a lot too, and
ran, sometimes away from things you wouldn’t dream were real, an’ sometimes
towards ‘em too. We drank ‘ot soup in the rain together, ‘ot soup he made for
us all, us on the quest for the Orb’s ending, and glad we was of it too. We
drank good beer and bad together an’ all, in the warm down there in Callodon,
and laughed and told tales.”

Ognorm paused, and regarded them all, standing there at
attention in their crisp and splendid Guards’ uniforms.

“I never imagined, when I were at home in the ‘Mark, I never
imagined one day I’d do all these things with a bloke who shone so bright in
such dark places as we went.
Get the Orb to the sea,
he said at the end,
brung down by a Morloch-made spike,
and take this, my friend, and when you
throw the Orb into the sea, cast this in with it, too, so I can be there with
you all at the end!
Gave me a pebble he’d took like all of us did, from a
stream in that dark forest. Gave ‘im my word I did, swore it on the Hall of the
Fathers, and I did it, when we ended the Orb, sent it into the deep with me
mate Jerryn’s pebble atop the casket… Now I’m ‘ere, to do one last thing for me
mate…”

Ognorm sniffed, and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“Now I’m ‘ere, to do as me mate asked of us all that were
there with ‘im when he fell. Do not let my name be carved upon that dread wall
in the Guards’ Hall, I beg you! That’s what he said. But there it be, and we’re
sorry, Jerryn mate, we’re sorry we couldn’t stop it, but we’re ‘ere now, to put
it right, and do what we promised.”

And with that, Ognorm let out a shuddering sigh, and watched
by Jerryn’s former command, some with tears in their eyes, all with lumps in
their throats, the dwarf turned to the Wall, and set the chisel, and raised the
hammer. Its five blows echoed through the hall, steel ringing on steel on
stone, chips flew and sparks with them, and then Ognorm stepped back to allow
the light from the hall to illuminate his solemn handiwork. The name, Jerryn,
had been neatly obliterated. Which was, all of them knew and silently agreed,
as it should be.

“So it was said,” Gawain announced, saluting. And with a
tremor in his voice which all of them who witnessed the deed heard, finished
the formula, “So it has been done.”

Then Gawain turned to Captain Ector, and saluted him. “Thank
you, Captain, for your forbearance, and for that of your men. I now have but
one duty left to perform, in honour of my oath to Riders of the Grey, and to
your corporal without. If you would be kind enough to escort me now to your
Crown?”

At that, the men of the Guard seemed to surge forward, and
gasps and mutterings of ‘no my lord!’ were heard in the sudden din.

“Stand still and stand to!” Ector commanded, “Remember who
you are, and show some respect to the memory of him whose last wishes have now been
honoured.” Then his voice dropped, his order obeyed instantly. “Don’t shame us
all by forgetting duty now before those who came to honour the Guards.”

Gawain stood quietly while Ognorm replaced his hammer and
the chisel, and then at an enquiring looked from Ector, nodded. The captain
saluted and led the way again, this time stepping slowly with his back ramrod
straight, delaying the inevitable and giving the Guards the opportunity to
witness the departure of the King of Raheen and his noble dwarf friend Ognorm
from their Hall, in honour, and with great dignity, and with the profound
respect of all who watched them go.

At the wicket door, the Captain paused, opened it, and
saluting, stepped back, allowing Gawain and Ognorm to pass out into the atrium
before him. The signal was clear, not just to Gawain but also to the men: the
King of Raheen was no prisoner of the Guard, and was, according to his word,
honouring an oath made to one of their number. If the gesture was intended to
have a desired effect, neither Gawain nor Ognorm witnessed what it was, for
they were through the door and into the atrium, and already noting that the
guardsman by the spiral staircase was back at his post.