Hugh Cook - The Werewolf and the Wormlord

Or He had another option, yes.

He was a shape-changer, yes, and so he could Change, and once he had Changed he could fight his way out of this place.

In a moment of bloody battle-lust, Alfric longed to do just that and have done with pretence. He would become wolf for real and forever. He would become what he truly was, and would savage any and all who stood in his way as he fought free from Saxo Pall. Nobody would be able to stand against his strength. And once he had fought his way out of Saxo Pall Why, then he would flee for the wilds, and live as an outcast ravager, a lawless marauder. He would have done with civilized restraint. He would put an end to his life of lies and deceits. For him, no more the life of studied smiles and careful diplomacy. He would make himself one with the appetites of his blood. He would be a haunter of shadows, a lurching fear which made nightmares come true beneath the moon.

Then, suddenly, Alfric realized that this was exactly what Ursula Major wanted. The Hag was dead, so the state desired a monster. Unless Alfric was badly mistaken, Ursula Major knew what he was and what he could do. She knew he could Change and fight his way free. Ursula Major had said she would reinvent Herself; and she was fast on the way to doing just that.

Alfric steadied himself.

— Whatever I do, it will not be what my aunt wants.

So what options did he have?

Three.

First, to submit to the executioner.

Second, to fight the Knights, one by one, seeking to prove his inn ocence in trial by combat.

Third, to Change, and fight his way out of Saxo Pall. The first tw o options would see him die, and the third was nearly as disastrous. S o.

What was it the Bank advised?

— When all else fails, seek delay.

Alfric smoothed a smile on to his face. The rage which had almost brought his Change upon him was over. In the aftermath of that rage, his limbs were weak and trembling. But his voice was steady.

‘My lady,’ said Alfric, smoothing honey into his voice. ‘Much is often spoken in haste which is regretted at leisure. You have given me the opportunity of proving my innocence in trial by combat. This I can do, and will do if I must. However… is it not the custom that I have the opportunity of asking someone to champion me in such combat?’

‘That has happened in the past,’ acknowledged Ursula Major.

‘Then,’ said Alfric, ‘I ask that these proceedings be delayed until tomorrow night, to give me the opportunity of seeking such a champion.’

‘The flower of chivalry is gathered together in this throneroom,’ said Ursula, indicating the Yudonic Knights. ‘If you wish to have a champion, then seek one here.’ Alfric turned to the Yudonic Knights. He knew there was no hope that any of the Knights would volunteer himself as Alfric’s champion, but the gesture at least gave him time in which to think.

But all he could think of was that single word:

— Think!

— Think!

Alfric had exhausted all his ideas, and was close to panic.

Then, as he surveyed the hard-faced Knights, he heard someone say:

‘I will champion him.’

Alfric turned in astonishment.

It was Morgenstem!

How absurd!

Already the Yudonic Knights were laughing. Alfric was furious. Morgenstem must be mad. What did the foolish creature think it was doing? A blubbery ork would not have a hope in the world against the least of the Knights.

But he kept his fury from his face.

Oh well.

That was it, then.

He had no option left to him but to Change.

He looked around the throneroom and saw a side-door which was ajar. That was the one he’d make for. When should he Change? Now? No! Wait! Wait for the ork to go into battle. Once combat began, all eyes would be on the fight. That would be the time to start to Change…

‘Peace!’ said Guignol Grangalet. ‘Hush down, all of you! We have a champion for Alfric Danbrog. The champion is an Ork. The name of the ork is Cod.’

‘No,’ said Cod.

‘That’s Cod,’ said Morgenstem, pointing. ‘I’m Morgenstem.’

‘My apologies,’ said Grangalet. Then, turning to Ursula Major: ‘My lady, Alfric’s champion is the ork Morgenstem.’

Ursula smiled.

‘This will be interesting,’ said she. ‘Very well, ork. Who do you want to fight first?’

‘You,’ said Morgenstem.

Ursula laughed, and so did the Knights. When the laughter had died away, Ursula spoke:

‘You want to fight me? I’m sorry, Mister Blubber, but I’m not for fighting.’

‘The challenge is against the hall,’ said Morgenstem, with surprising firmness of voice. ‘You said so. That means I can choose to fight against anyone in the hall.’ ‘Poor orky!’ said Ursula. ‘Weren’t you listening, little orky thing? We went through that earlier. I can’t fight you even if I wanted to. Only females can fight females. That’s our law.’

‘But the women of Wen Endex do fight,’ said Morgenstem stubbornly. ‘Both the laws and the traditions of the land say as much. Many are the shield maidens who have fallen in battle for the honour of the Families, and mighty are the legends which surround them.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Ursula, with a touch of impatience. ‘Doubtless such things have happened. However, we are not on a battlefield. ’

‘Nevertheless,’ said Morgenstem, ‘the law is what the law is, and tradition likewise.’

‘Orky thing,’ said Ursula, ‘you’re starting to annoy me. We’ve been through this once, we’ve been through this twice, now we’re going through it thrice. Here, only a woman can fight a woman. Please believe me, Mister Oil-for-brains. What I tell you three times is true. Were you female, I’d have to fight you. But you’re not, so I don’t and won’t. Choose someone else.’ ‘But-’

‘But me no buts,’ said Ursula. ‘Choose a man.’

‘But I’m a woman,’ said Morgenstem.

Ursula gaped. She really did. Her jaw fell. Then she closed it abmptly.

‘Don’t be absurd,’ said Ursula Major. ‘You cannot possibly be a female. The ethnology texts are very clear. Female orks are small and shy. You’re neither. You’re big and bulky. So you’re a male. The females run around in pleated skirts. I don’t see you in a skirt.’

‘The textbooks,’ said Morgenstem, ‘are wrong.’

Then, in support of this thesis, the ork began to strip. Off came the ork’s heavy woollen shirt. Revealing sluggardly low-slung breasts. Off came the ork’s woollen trousers, revealing ‘You — you must be a freak,’ said Ursula desperately. ‘Not so,’ said Cod, starting to strip in sympathy. ‘We’re not freaks. We’re females.’

‘That’s right,’ said Morgenstem. ‘We’re not freaks. We’re fact. Your ethnology texts lie. What is more, you know full well why they lie.’

That loud-voiced accusation rang through the hall. It was received by the Yudonic Knights in utter silence. For both orks were now bare-arse naked, and the proof of their anatomy could not be denied.

And this shocked the Knights to the core.

It was no secret that the wealth of the Families was based on the slaughter of orks. While the ork-killing days were long since over, it was acknowledged that it was wealth won from ork-oil which had made the Families great, and which also made the Flesh Traders’ Financial Association a power to be reckoned with.

Every Knight knew that his family had risen to greatness as a result of the murder of many orks.

But, in Wen Endex it was an article faith that the killers of orks had always, as a chivalrous gesture, spared the females. Now the horrors of the past were revealed in full force. The victims of the orking days had been exclusively female; and those who killed them for fun and profit must have been fully aware of the fact. It was the big, blubbery females who were full of oil, for the timid little males were too small to have commercial potential.