Hugh Cook - The Werewolf and the Wormlord

‘Many have fallen away,’ said Tromso Stavenger, ‘for their dread overcame their judgement. It is true that danger awaits us, for Her reputation was not built out of shadows. It is true that our task is no matter of whimsy but a deadly venture into the realms of fear. We all know of the brave men She has killed. We all know of the skilled warriors She has overcome, tearing their flesh to pieces. We all know that death awaits those who dare their flesh against Herself.’

Yes, Xzu should have been here to listen to this. But… maybe the king should have phrased his speech a little differently. For surely such emphasis on death and danger was no way to motivate men to battle. A little encouragement would not have gone astray, surely.

‘However,’ said Tromso Stavenger, continuing with his rhetoric, ‘she is not the only power in Wen Endex. The royal family can supply the courage and strength needed to accomplish her doom. Furthermore, such a deed is the duty of the royal family, whereas it is not the common duty of all the Knights.’

Alfric saw no logic in this at all. Rather, he thought the contrary was the case. Law and tradition surely meant that actually the Knights were doomed to strive beside their king until the common end of all descended upon them. And Tromso Stavenger must know this. Nevertheless, the king was pretending that things were quite otherwise:

‘Therefore,’ said Stavenger, ‘we ask none here to give us aid in this task. You have done your duty by accompanying us this far. By bodyguarding your king through the wilds, you have kept us safe from vampires and marauding shape-changers, from bog fiends and giant vogels, and from all those other things which haunt the night with teeth and talons.’

Belatedly, Alfric realized Tromso Stavenger did not intend to compel the craven to battle, but instead was giving them a chance to escape their duty. Giving them a chance? He was positively encouraging them to escape!

‘I have but one command,’ said the king. ‘And that is that, when you withdraw, you go to no great distance. Rather, I ask that you fortify yourselves in a position of battle-strength, and there hold your ground to wait until we return. For return we will, bearing Her head between us. It is meet that there should be witnesses to the deeds of the royal family. You are those witnesses.’

Silence.

The king was finished.

At length, one of the Knights cleared his throat and said:

‘Which position does our lord wish us to fortify?’ Tromso Stavenger nominated a small knoll they had passed some half a league distant from this hillside. Then, without further ado, the Knights departed. They moved off in a close-knit group. No sound of talk came from them, and no snatch of song; but for the jingle of their harness, they might have been ghosts. Their silence was that of men who were bitterly ashamed.

‘Was that wise?’ said Alfric, unable to restrain himself. ‘Was that even — even sensible? To send away the greater part of our numbers?’

‘Those cravens would have obeyed no other order,’ said Grendel wit h contempt. ‘Except one compelling them to quit this place at the grea test speed possible.’ ‘But,’ persisted Alfric, ‘we could have tried.’

‘Let’s waste no strength on argument,’ said Tromso Stavenger. ‘Let’s move on uphill. ’

Then the Wormlord set off, walking on foot and leading his horse uphill. Grendel and Alfric followed him in like manner, trudging uphill in silence; and the loudest sound in the night was the panting which came from their aged leader as he contended with the steepness of the slope.

To his surprise, Alfric found his fear had left him. Perhaps this was not so very strange. Alfric Danbrog had gone through life thinking himself as superior to other people. In truth, he was no more competent than anyone else at dealing with the routine demands of day-to-day life. But, in a crisis, his pride steadied him; for his monstrous ego would not allow him to freely confess to fear. Alfric Danbrog was a scion of a Family indeed, possessed of that lordly arrogance which is one of the greatest battle-assets of a warrior caste.

While the men showed no fear, the horses did; but, with a fair amount of persuasion, the beasts were brought to the top of the rise, and so to the place which was rumoured to be the scene of the doom of many men.

From the top of the rise, the king and his two companions looked down a grassy slope which led to the mere which was Her lair. The moon was still masked by cloud, but blue-burning fire above and below and the dark waters lit the scene with a ghastly light.

‘Mount up,’ said Tromso Stavenger.

‘What have you in mind?’ said Grendel.

‘To ride our horses to the edge of the water,’ said his father. ‘If She attacks, we flee before Her. If She follows, we lure Herself into the mass of our Knights.’

So saying, the king struggled on to his horse. Alfric and Grendel did likewise. Alfric could not help but admire the king for his mastery of minor tactics. The Wormlord was prepared to die, but was not going to throw away his life without cause. If he could, Tromso Stavenger would tire his enemy by making Her contend against the speed of a horse; then he would lead Herself into the midst of his retreating rune-warriors, so weight of numbers would be on the side of the Knights.

And Alfric remembered an occasion, years ago, when he had met with the Wormlord in private audience, and Tromso Stavenger had said:

‘Forget the feats of heroes. A professional soldier always seeks odds of three against one. At the minimum.’ At the time, Alfric’s mind had been all on Bank business. Nevertheless, he had remembered thosewords; their wisdom had stayed with him. Thinking back, he realized there was much he had been taught by the Wormlord. He had taken it all in, memorizing many lessons, the truth of which he would appreciate in the years ahead, when he ruled Wen Endex as king.

If he ruled.

If he survived this night.

If he lived through the encounter with Herself.

‘Are we ready?’ said Tromso Stavenger.

‘We’re ready,’ said Grendel, answering for himself and his son.

‘Then-let us ride!’

Alfric leant forward in the saddle as the three men rode their horses down to the edge of the water. He was breathing quickly. He clutched the reins tightly. He was nerved up. Ready for Her to burst forth from the water. Ready for his horse to rear, then gallop away in headlong panic.

But nothing happened.

Instead, the men sat there on horseback by the side of the waters, watching and waiting to no avail.

Slowly, Alfric straightened up. He still kept tight hold of the reins, just in case, but he began to suspect that nothing was going to happen. Not immediately.

He began to take stock of the pool.

A dark and hideous pool it was, much as the songs had pictured it to be. There was, as the sagas claimed, a tumbling stream pouring into the black waters. And, despite the everfall of the waterfall, the surface of the mere was still and silent. It was backed by towering bluffs, and from those cliffs there grew crag-rooted trees, the sightbare branches of which bore not a single leaf. From those trees, three corpses hung by their heels, victims of Her most recent depredations. Blue fire shimmered in the depths of the waters, in which swam the nicors, the ravaging waterworms.

The blue light from the water made their faces appear to be fleshed with the meat of corpses. That same light was reflected from their eyes, giving each of them a weird and inhuman aspect.

‘What now?’ said Alfric.

‘Someone must dive into the pool,’ said Tromso Stavenger. ‘That’s the only way. She must be brought to battle in the water if She will not come forth upon the land.’