Worms' Ending: Book Eight (The Longsword Chronicles 8) (6 page)

Allazar blinked.

“Besides, I’ve seen you chew holes in rock walls with the
white stick. For now, though, we’ll worry about the Hallencloister when we get
there. I’m much more concerned that the Toorseneth possessed a Grimmand, and
likely has the ability to make more.”

“The Viell Obin warned us they had spore, Longsword. And
there were three cages in the cavern below the dark tower in the east.”

“I know, Allazar. And there is nothing we can do about it.
Not yet, anyway. We are driven, both of us, to the Hallencloister. Who knows,
perhaps once there we might be able to enlist a little mystic aid against the
Viell and the other enemies ranged against us.”

“Do you believe so, miThal?”

“No, Ven. Not for a moment do I think the Sardor will aid us,
else he and his D’ith minions would have done so long before now. I go there to
demand a reason for their treachery and for their abandonment of the kindred
races. And I will have that reason if I have to whittle a hole through the
gates with my boot knife, and through anything else that stands in my way.”

“The ferry is leaving,” Allazar announced. “Do we tarry on
the north side, or proceed at once? That part of the town is new, it was not
there when last I passed this way.”

“Sightseeing will have to wait for our return, Allazar. Our
way lies a shade west of north, though we’ll stay on Arrun’s side of the border
until we reach the line Elayeen spoke of that runs from the Hallencloister to
Nordshear.”

“Our lady spoke of strange weather there, Longsword.”

“She did. Some power of the D’ith, do you think?”

“No,” Allazar declared emphatically. “There is nothing in
the realm of the kindred or of mystic kind which can alter or control so vast and
powerful a thing as weather or climate. Such power is nature’s alone, and no
amount of tinkering can alter a course set by her when the stars were young.”

“Pity. It looks like rain.”

“Aye,” Allazar agreed, casting a glance up at the heavy dull
overcast, “But not before we reach the north bank.”

oOo

6. Oy!

Nearly three weeks of hard, hasty and utterly uneventful
travelling had Gawain almost believing that some benevolent force was gently
nudging them along and clearing all obstacles from their path, until they found
themselves riding straight into the teeth of a gale. Winds were fierce, cloaks
and hoods whipping and lashing about them, and they had no choice but to find
what shelter they could while waiting for the storm to abate.

When the wind and rains finally died in the early hours of
the morning, they were all exhausted, including the horses, and Gawain
succumbed to the need for rest. Sunrise found them all asleep, and they
remained that way almost until noon when Gwyn gave Gawain a nudge and he awoke
with a start.

They were, he judged, well in the west of Arrun’s Midshearings,
and a week or so of swift riding due east would probably find them in
Fallowmead, where Elayeen had so courageously and effectively faced Pelliman
Goth and annihilated the dark wizard’s forces. And that meant they were
probably a week or thereabouts from the Hallencloister. It couldn’t be far from
here where his queen had discovered the remains of Kistin Fallowmead, and the
plea for help poor girl had been carrying to the D’ith Sardor.

Allazar and Venderrian were still asleep, and Gawain left
them in peace. He was too cold and too tired himself to consider chiding anyone
for failing to keep a watch, and besides, some of Gwyn’s senses were a lot
keener than theirs. He stood quietly, and gave his horse-friend a gentle pat on
the neck before shouldering the sword and moving away to relieve himself behind
a wind-blown blister of gorse.

It might have been his imagination, but it seemed to him
that the land hereabouts sloped gently upwards to the north. On the map, Arrun
had something of an hour-glass shape, narrow-waisted, and they were roughly on
the line of the waistband. They’d crossed boggier ground a week earlier, the
land soft and waterlogged in places, but here it was hillier, scrub and long
grasses, woody shrubs and occasional rocky outcrops and springs. Thinking of
Elayeen out here with Meeya and Valin made his heart ache for her. The thought
of her relentlessly pursuing Pelliman Goth across this wilderness made his
chest almost burst with pride.

Frak for breakfast, standing with Gwyn, though a glance at
the sun shining dim behind high and drifting clouds showed it was nearer
lunchtime, and a smile spread slowly like the warmth of Jurian brandy. It had
been a long time since horse and rider had stood together as they had at West
Forkings, and here they were, out in the wild again, horse and rider, both of
Raheen. Gwyn bobbed her head, and gently nudged him as she turned away in
search of choice grazing, the other horses following.

Gawain watched them, noting a few signs of stress beginning
to show in his companion’s horses. They’d pushed hard, and Gawain acknowledged
that perhaps he had pushed them a little
too
hard. He cast another
glance skyward, and decided that today they would walk instead of riding. The
Hallencloister wasn’t going anywhere.

Finally, with his cloak still flapping in stiffer breezes yet
chasing the tail of the autumn storm, he woke his companions, and when their
hasty camp was broken and the horses saddled, they resumed their journey,
trudging north with the horses grateful for the rest and ambling along behind
them.

“The nights are drawing in, Longsword,” Allazar sighed,
traipsing along in the mid-afternoon. “We have perhaps three hours of daylight
left this day.”

“Aye, and less than twelve hours daylight from sunrise to
sunset. Brock’s hopes for the liberation of Pellarn might better have been
attempted in summer. More hours, and better weather.”

“I wonder how General Igorn and his plans are faring there
in the Old Kingdom.”

“I don’t. I’m trying my best not to think of the dozens,
perhaps hundreds of things which might have gone wrong. Igorn has far fewer men
at arms than we did at Far-gor, and we had few enough of those.”

“He had the entire South-halt contingent,” Allazar looked
hopeful, “And that is not a trivial mounted force. And all the Black and Gold
at his disposal which Brock retained for defence of his realm should the line
have failed at the farak gorin.”

“True, but those men left guarding towns and villages when
the rest stood at Far-gor were most of them well past their prime or too young
to shave.”

“Yes, and it is true that there is nothing we can do in the
here and the now to make a difference in the southwest. Yet I cannot help but
worry.”

Gwyn snorted, and Gawain turned to see her standing sideways
on, head and ears pricked towards the south.

“Did you hear anything?” Gawain whispered.

“No.”

“Ven?”

“No, miThal. And I saw no… wait… There is a light, it has
dipped below a rise in the land to the south of us, perhaps a mile behind us.”

“Longsword?”

Gawain shrugged, peering in the direction from which they’d
come, but seeing nothing other than gorse and grass and the gently undulating
wilderness.

“How many lights, Ven?”

“I would say one, miThal. Moving quickly. A rider and horse
perhaps.”

“Dwarfspit, if it’s Reef or one of the others from Last
Ridings, I’ll kick his arse.”

“If it is, Longsword, he will have good reason for
disobeying your orders.”

Gawain grimaced. “Well, whoever it is, he isn’t moving at
the gallop. Ven?”

“At the trot, perhaps, miThal.”

“Come then, we’ll move on a ways, whoever it is will catch
up to us soon enough. There’s another rise ahead which’ll give us a better view
of him and clearer ground for a shot if it turns out to be someone less than
friendly.”

Ten minutes later, and Gawain and his companions turned
again to face the oncoming rider, loosening shoulders and necks, moving the
horses behind them out of the way while they faced the stranger.

“Was that a call?” Gawain asked.

“I think so,” Allazar replied. “Whoever it is has some
lungs.”

“Whoever it is is small, miThal.”

Snatches of another hollering call were caught between gusts
which whipped the cry away.

“Is he shouting oowee at us?” Allazar frowned, cocking his
head and cupping his ear.

“Ooooooy!” came the call again.

“No,” Gawain sighed and shook his head sadly. “It’s oy, and
from the sound and the looks of it, it’s Ognorm of the Ruttmark.”

“Oy!” came the call from the dwarf, clearer now and louder,
and over the tops of gorse and hawthorn they saw the diminutive figure waving
frantically while clinging to the pommel of his horse’s saddle. “Oy!”

The horse, when finally it arrived, was in better condition
than the grinning and sweat-soaked dwarf upon its back, and that dwarf,
breathless, practically fell from the saddle and stood, bent double, hands on
his knees, gasping.

“By them thrukken Teeth, melord, be you all cloth-eared since
leavin’? I bin shoutin’ for ye to stop fer thrukken miles! Ooh I are knackered
an’ no mistake.”

Gawain blinked, and eyed first the exhausted dwarf, and then
the happy-looking horse that had once been so cruelly treated by elves bearing
the mark of the Tau at Urgenenn’s Tower. The animal, though breathing as
expected after a lengthy trot, seemed well enough, which surprised Gawain, and
doused the anger which had begun to glow in fear of the beast’s mistreatment.

“You look worse than your horse, Ognorm,” Gawain remarked
sternly, arms folded.

“Arr, ain’t surprised, me bein’ the one done most o’ the
running, ‘specially at night.”

“Here, master dwarf,” Allazar handed Ognorm a water skin.

“Ooh ta!” the dwarf took the skin, straightened his back,
and drank a long draught, spilling a goodly amount down his bearded chin.

“What are doing here, Oggy? Who sent you?” Gawain demanded,
caught between admiration for the dwarf who had shared the quest for the Orb,
and frustration that the strength at Last Ridings had been diminished for his
presence here.

“Me king sent me, melord, that’s who,” Ognorm blurted,
taking a gulp of air before another long pull on the water skin. “And who am I
to disobey me king? No-one, that’s who!”

“Eryk is at Last Ridings?” Allazar gasped.

“Narr,” Ognorm handed the water skin back to the wizard and
drew his sleeve across his chin. “Told me back in his own hall,
Oggy, you
take Nadcracker down there to where Raheen now dwells and if anyone or anything
so much as squints at ‘im sideways, you shove that Nadcracker up their arse and
tell ‘em hello from Eryk!
And Arr said I! So here I be!”

Ognorm drew in another breath, and glared fiercely up into
Gawain’s eyes. “I told you melord! Told you with a pint in yer ‘and at The
Orb’s Ending in front of all me mates and yours what me king ordered me to do,
and yet you ride out without me! You knowing me orders from me king you left me
behind!”

Gawain was astonished. “I meant no offence, Ognorm, nor
dishonour to Threlland…”

“Narr well! How did I look! How did I look before ‘em all when
I walked in to the Endin’ for me lunch and them all gaping at me like I was
some Morloch-made monster! What be you doin’ ‘ere Oggy, cries they! What be you
doin’ ‘ere when ‘im you were sent to watch over’s gone north into danger!”

The dwarf who’d proudly carried the Orb of Arristanas on his
back so many long miles, who’d answered the call and been elevated like the
pebbles from the stream they all carried for memory of the quest and good
companionship, looked to be on the verge of tears.

“How did I look to ‘em, melord! How did I look to ‘em, me
there and you gone!”

“Ognorm of Ruttmark!” Allazar announced, his voice mystic
hard, snapping the dwarf’s attention away from Gawain immediately. “His Majesty
is not accustomed to being addressed in such a manner, no matter what hardships
we may have endured together in the past!”

Ognorm’s anger withered, and he seemed to shrink before
their very eyes. “Don’t send me away, melord,” he whispered. “Don’t send me
back to me king in shame.”

“Dwarfspit, Ognorm,” Gawain sighed, “I had no intention of
shaming you, either before Eryk in his hall or before all our friends at the
Ending. I didn’t think. We travel in haste on a simple quest to knock on the
doors of the Hallencloister and demand an answer. I didn’t think we’d need the
strength of Threlland for such a task, and I didn’t think about the duty Eryk
had imposed upon you. Forgive me, my friend. My only excuse is that I had much
upon my mind. Forgive me.”

Ognorm, eyes downcast, shuffled his foot, and sniffed. “Arr
well, if ye put it like that, melord…” and then he suddenly seemed to remember
something, and looked up. “Got a letter, melord, steward Arbo brung it to me at
the dock while I waited for Morkel’s ferry.”

The dwarf fished inside a satchel slung over his back, and
drew out a waxed leather packet.

“’Tis from her Majesty, says Arbo, for your hand…” and he
held it out, arm outstretched as if not daring to approach any closer.

Gawain, remembering all that Rak had told him about the
honour of Threllanders, stepped forward, grasped Ognorm’s arm tightly, taking
the packet with his left hand.

“Thank you, Oggy, you daft bugger. All you Threllanders are
mad.”

“Arr well,” the dwarf smiled sheepishly, “Maybe we are at
that.”

Gawain grinned, and released Ognorm’s arm. In truth, they
had indeed endured much together along the way.

“At least you didn’t kill your poor horse catching up with
us.”

“Arr. Know you like ‘em. It’s why I done most o’ the
running.”

Gawain shook his head in astonishment, then peeled open the
packet, turned, and began walking north again, the others following discreetly
behind. The letter was from Elayeen, and dated the day they had left Last
Ridings.

MiThal Gawain heth am min,

Your letter and your instructions arrived with the mayor
of West Forkings before noon, together with the fresh news which you yourself
learned from him before you crossed to Northside. Your instructions have of
course been followed; Ranger Nuriyan left immediately to his duties in West Forkings, and further precautions are being taken here. All is still well in Last
Ridings, though you are now missed by all, word of your departure spreading
quickly soon after your departure as we knew it would.

Other news arrived by boat from East Forkings shortly
after you left and there is more to tell in addition to this; the three birds
given by Harribek Anhelo to Lord Rak as a test of their training were released
in Sudshear, in mid voyage, and Nordshear, and the one released from the
harbour at Nordshear succeeded in finding its way back to the roost. It bore a
brief message from Lord Rak announcing that elves had been sighted riding under
Juria’s banner on long range patrol in the vicinity of the Hallencloister. Be
careful miheth, they were not elves of the Kindred Rangers.

This news was confirmed after the arrival of a messenger
despatched from Sudshear by Serre Mawgan of Chancery under guard and escort
together with two heavy chests containing many inchbars of silver bearing
guildmarks of assay from Arrun, Mornland, and Threlland. This has been
deposited in the down-below, though some I have distributed for the purchase of
winter stores. Do not be concerned with such mundane matters miheth, rather be
concerned with the news brought by Serre Mawgan’s messenger.

In addition to the news from the mayor concerning the
fortification of the village of Doosen, we have now learned from Serre Mawgan’s
trusted sources, merchants of repute mostly, with whom he has many dealings on
the Crown’s behalf, that Ferdan’s fortifications have been strengthened and
elves stationed there once more, this time under Juria’s banner rather than
that of the Kindred Army. The town of Bardin in the southwest of Juria some
four days north of the border with Callodon likewise is now home to a force of
elfguard. Vardon, too, close to Hellin’s Castletown, is home to others of the
elfguard who use it as a hub for their patrols rather than the castletown
itself.