The Werewolf and the Wormlord

by Hugh Cook

  ‘I see,’ said Alfric.

  His tone made his displeasure plain. ‘Izdarbolskobidarbix, my friend, this is something you will have to endure. We none of us find ourselves living in a perfect world. We all have our little peeves and crotchets, our lists of things we would change were we given godly powers. But we none of us are gods, and so...’

  ‘It seems,’ said Alfric, ‘that we are giving in to the Izdimir Empire with remarkably little struggle.’

  ‘That is the nature of empires, is it not?’ said Xzu. ‘That they can terrorize minor powers by the most shadowy of threats? We know it would be difficult for the empire to make war upon Wen Endex. Nevertheless, it is by no means impossible. It might not be reasonable, but nobody has ever claimed Aldarch the Third to be a slave to reason. Alfric, we cannot afford to risk having our world plunged into war.’

  For a moment, Alfric was almost convinced.

  Then he wondered:

  Was it true?

  Was any of what Xzu was telling him actually true? Furthermore:

  Could it be true?

  Communications between Galsh Ebrek and Obooloo were slow and tortuous, for the Izdimir Empire had no use of the Door which was located in Obooloo. That Secret was guarded by the Bondsman’s Guild of Obooloo, which was at particular pains to protect its Secret now that Aldarch the Third ruled the Empire. Had Al’three known of the Circle of the Partnership Banks, those Doors which linked places as far apart as Stokos and Chi’ash-lan, he would doubtless have sought to launch himself upon a conquest of the world.

  ‘I find it hard,’ said Alfric, ‘to know how we can be in communication with Aldarch the Third, unless one is to presume that he has mastered the Secret of the Partnership Banks.’

  Xzu looked at him intently.

  Then:

  ‘Izdarbolskobidarbix, my friend,’ said Xzu, ‘I am going to tell you a great secret. The Partnership Banks have given Aldarch the Third limited use of communication facilities routed through the Doors of the Circle.’

  ‘What!?’

  Thus Alfric.

  Shocked.

  Appalled.

  This was the one thing which must never happen! No ruler of empire must ever learn of the existence of the Doors. Otherwise the world would be plunged into a terrifying war as imperial ambition strove to master the Circle.

  Xzu smiled.

  ‘Relax, Iz’bix. It’s not as bad as it sounds. Are you familiar with mediums? I mean, with those charlatans who pretend to communicate with the unborn and the dead at seances?’

  ‘I have never dabbled in such rubbish,’ said Alfric stiffly.

  ‘But Aldarch the Third does,’ said Xzu. ‘Through one of his most trusted mediums, he receives intelligence from spies in the World Beyond. He trusts this intelligence, because it regularly proves accurate, at least as far as events in Wen Endex are concerned.’

  Alfric frowned.

  ‘It seems,’ said Alfric, ‘that you are playing a very dangerous game.’

  ‘Dangerous, yes,’ said Xzu. ‘But very profitable. Aldarch the Third pays highly for the intelligence he receives. Furthermore, even if we wished to avoid the danger, we could not. The Bank in Obooloo came up with this idea, and that Bank has forced this idea upon us. We must co-operate. You know how things are.’

  The two men looked at each other.

  For a moment, Alfric was almost convinced.

  Then:

  ‘No,’ said Alfric. ‘I don’t believe what you’re telling me.’

  ‘You don’t? Believe me! It’s all true! Aldarch the Third really does have a medium. He really does believe!’ ‘Perhaps,’ said Alfric. ‘But basic logic tells me it makes no difference to Aldarch the Third whether I sit upon the throne of Wen Endex or whether Ursula Major rules. I am the Wormlord’s grandson. She is the Wormlord’s daughter. We are of the same blood, the same line. If Al’three thinks of us at all, he thinks of us equally as enemies. Surely. Therefore I deduce this to be no decision of the Izdimir Empire. Rather, it is the Bank’s decision. It is not Aldarch the Third who wants to deny me the throne. It is you!’

  Alfric had grown heated while making this accusation. But Xzu did not respond with any anger of his own. Instead, he smiled, somewhat sadly.

  Then:

  ‘Izdarbolskobidarbix,’ said Comptroller Xzu, ‘I’m disappointed with you. You are right, of course. Nevertheless, it would have been more diplomatic for you to have gone along with our little fiction. That would have preserved our good relationships, would it not?’

  ‘So you admit it,’ said Alfric. ‘It is the Bank which wants to deny me the throne.’

  ‘Is that not our privilege?’ said Xzu. ‘Are you not our creature? Did we not make you? Was it not the Bank which first urged you to quest for the three saga swords? Was it not the Bank which showed you how these swords might be won? Naturally you’re angry. But don’t fool yourself, friend Iz’bix. You didn’t make yourself into a contender for the throne. It was the Bank which made you that.’

  ‘Indubitably,’ said Alfric coldly. ‘But why the change of heart? Or was the whole thing an empty exercise right from the very beginning? Did you expect me to die on the quests?’

  ‘No, no, not at all. We did seriously consider making you king. We wanted you to succeed on those quests. But. . .’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But, before allowing you to claim the throne itself, we had to be sure of you. Our decision was that we wanted to test your ability to manipulate the Knights, for such a skill is essential to a king. So we set you a two-fold task. You were first to rouse the Yudonic Knights to action and second to stop them carrying out the very action to which you had roused them.’

  ‘That put me in a very difficult position,’ said Alfric, struggling to control his temper.

  ‘Agreed,’ said Xzu. ‘A position which was almost impossible. That was part of the test. We wanted to measure your true loyalties. To the Bank? Or to your family? Unfortunately, you betrayed the Bank. We told you we needed a seven day delay. You denied it to us.’

  ‘But I killed Herself.’

  ‘That is neither here nor there,’ said Xzu. ‘The Bank never cared whether She lived or died. What mattered to the Bank was whether you would obey us when we commanded you. That was what the test was all about. As far as the Bank is concerned, you failed the test, for you proved disloyal and disobedient. Therefore we will not have you as king. That is our decision.’

  ‘The decision is not yours to make,’ said Alfric.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ said Comptroller Xzu.

  ‘The Bank does not make or break the kings of Wen Endex,’ said Alfric coldly.

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ said Xzu. ‘Is that what you really think?’

  ‘I think,’ said Alfric, ‘that I’m going to find out. One way or another.’

  Then he got to his feet and went to the door.

  ‘Iz’bix.’

  Alfric turned.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Iz’bix, are you formally resigning from the Bank?’ ‘Are you asking me to?’ said Alfric.

  ‘Iz’bix, we’re happy to have you stay. We are disappointed with you. But, as I said before, the Bank is not given to childish vengeance. You do have talent. You can be of great use to us. Your promotion to Banker Second Class is good and valid. In time, you can rise further. But. . . Alfric ... if you strive for the throne then... then we will have to reconsider our position.’

  Alfric paused.

  ‘May I... may I have time to think about it?’ ‘Certainly,’ said Xzu. ‘You’ve been mauled in battle, and you’ve been very ill. Go home, Iz’bix. Rest. Sleep. Think it over. Then come back and tell us what you’ve decided.’

  ‘I will,’ said Alfric.

  But he was lying.

  He had already decided that he would strive for the throne, regardless of the consequences.

  The only question was:

  How?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  She was dead.

  She
would never again haunt the nights of Wen Endex.

  With Her death, the Yudonic Knights were no longer governed by their duty to command the night against Her depredations. They were free to reclaim the day.

  Butin honour of the fallen king, Ursula Major decreed that the Knights should continue to live by night until she commanded otherwise. Ursula Major further ruled that, as a token of respect to her dead father, no official business would be conducted in Galsh Ebrek until thee nights after the Wormlord’s funeral.

  Ursula Major issued these decrees as regent.

  A subtle move, this.

  No Knight could rightly disobey such commands, for Tromso Stavenger was surely due such honours. Since Ursula Major’s commands were meant to honour the dead, to abandon night for day would be to insult the fallen king; and, likewise, to insist upon certain outstanding administrative matters being settled immediately would also be an insult. No Knight could bring himself to thus profane the dead. Thus the Knights continued to live by night, out of fealty to the deceased Wormlord if for no other reason. And, for like reason, the question of the succession to the throne was left in abeyance for the moment.

  Ursula Major, having very carefully chosen her ground, was obeyed without protest.

  There was no way Alfric Danbrog could persuade people to rebel against his aunt’s commands. Such rebellion was nearly unthinkable. If he had tried to stir the Knights into revolt, if he had pleaded that Ursula’s rule as regent was unlawful and that she must be replaced immediately, then he would have shocked one and all by his impious attitude to the dead.

  The dead were due the honours which were being paid to them; and, whether Ursula Major was strictly entitled to command those honours or not, nevertheless all must obey Ursula’s orders lest they scandalize their peers.

  Alfric was frustrated.

  He wanted to bring Ursula Major to battle, and soon. He wanted to stage a confrontation. He wanted to march up to Saxo Pall and say:

  ‘Get off my throne!’

  But he could not move, not until the funeral had taken place, and not until another three nights had passed.

  This meant that Ursula Major had days in which to consolidate her position. Alfric knew that questions of power are largely settled by public perception. He had learnt from the Bank that power is an intellectual conjuring trick. While people believe it exists, it does exist. When belief falters, then power melts faster than ice in a blazing furnace.

  By ruling from Saxo Pall as regent, Ursula Major was consolidating her position. She was teaching Galsh Ebrek to think of her as its customary ruler.

  Alfric sat at home, wondering what he should do.

  He was still sitting at home when the news reached him. Guignol Grangalet came personally to Varnvelten Street to bring Alfric the news.

  The earthly remains of Tromso Stavenger and Grendel Danbrog had been recovered from the place of slaughter, and had been conveyed to the seashore, there to be cremated.

  ‘The seashore?’ said Alfric, startled. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because,’ said Grangalet, ‘Ursula Major has commanded that it be done so.’

  ‘But,’ protested Alfric, ‘the bodies of the kings of Wen Endex are burnt in the marketplace in the presence of the people. That is the custom.’

  ‘It has been the recent custom,’ acknowledged the Chief of Protocol, ‘but that does not mean that it is a good custom. Ursula Major thinks it to be a lazy, slothful thing to do. She says it constitutes a discourtesy to the dead. She says the Knights should prove their honour by making the march to the seashore.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Furthermore,’ said Guignol Grangalet, ‘the practice of seaside cremation has an honourable place in our tradition. It is the older custom, is it not? Long before bodies were ever burnt in the marketplace, our kings were consumed by fire by the shores of the Winter Sea. ’ Alfric protested, but Guignol Grangalet told him there was nothing he could do. The bodies had already been taken to the seashore, and were being held there under guard in preparation for the funeral on the following night.

  Once the Chief of Protocol had departed, Alfric raged around his house, kicking at the furniture in incoherent fury.

  Now he realized his mistake!

  Instead of sitting at home, he should have been taking active steps to seize control of any instruments which might have helped him win power. And, without a doubt, the corpses of his father and grandfather were such instruments.

  Alfric should have gone personally to the mere to recover those battle-battered bodies. Nobody could rightly have denied him that privilege. He should have brought the corpses back to his house. Had he done that, Ursula Major could scarcely have wrested them away from him by brute force, for such an action would have scandalized Galsh Ebrek and would have turned the Knights against her.

  Then Alfric should have personally made arrangements for the funerals of the fallen, and should have made sure - very, very sure - that the bodies were burnt in the marketplace.

  Because the marketplace was in the middle of Galsh Ebrek, so any crowd which gathered for the funeral could then be marched to Saxo Pall by any orator who had the wit to rouse the mob.

  Only now did Alfric begin to imagine the speeches he could have made.

  It was obvious, wasn’t it?

  This is what he should have said:

  ‘Here lies my grandfather in company with his son. In death, father and son are united, as they were in the last days of their life. When great peril threatened the nation...’

  Oh yes, Alfric could see precisely how such a speech should be phrased. First, emphasize the unity of father and son, a unity which made a nullity of the banishment Tromso Stavenger had imposed upon Grendel Danbrog. Then praise the courage of the dead. Then speak frankly of his own part in the slaughter of Herself.

  Thus:

  ‘Much have I dared already. I killed the dragon which long denied Island Thodrun to our race. I dared the wrath of the swamp giant Kralch to rescue the saga sword Sulamith’s Grief from the Spiderweb Castle. I wrested the brave sword Kinskom from the grip of the vampires. But, not content with this, I joined my father and my grandfather for the greatest test of all, that test being open combat with Herself. ’

  Yes, yes.

  Alfric should have made such speeches in the marketplace, and then he should have proclaimed himself king, and then he should have marched the mob to Saxo Pall, and he should have used the mob as an army to overthrow Ursula Major’s guards and put him on the throne.

  ‘Well,’ said Alfric at last. ‘What is, is. I’ll have to work with what I’ve got.’

  Unfortunately, it was unlikely that any of the commoners of Galsh Ebrek were likely to make the trek to the seaside merely to see a couple of corpses burnt by night. The Yudonic Knights would be there in force -none would dare to stay away unless mortally ill - but the Knights would not be easily moved to precipitate action.

  ‘But I must try,’ said Alfric. ‘With every day that woman sits on the throne, it gets harder for me to displace her.’

  So Alfric sat down and began to work on a speech which he could give at the funeral on the following night.

  How should he phrase his claim to the throne?

  Why, there were all kinds of approaches he should take.

  For a start, it was the Wormlord’s will. Tromso Stavenger had explicitly stated that he would give the throne to Alfric as soon as the three quests had been completed. Well, the quests were well and truly completed, nobody doubted it. So it was time for the king’s will to be fulfilled. Yes, in constitutional terms, there was no doubt about it at all: Alfric Danbrog was the rightful king of Wen Endex as of now.

  Furthermore, he was a hero, a genuine legitimate hero, for he had personally killed Herself, and that was a fact. Moreover, Galsh Ebrek acknowledged that fact.

  Also in his favour was the fact that Ursula Major was a woman; for the Yudonic Knights of Wen Endex had certain fundamental objections to the rule of women over men.r />
  ‘Prejudice,’ muttered Alfric. ‘Yes, prejudice, that’s the way.’

  The validity of his claim in constitutional terms... his personal heroism ... the fact that his aunt was a woman...

  ‘Yes,’ said Alfric. ‘I’ll talk them over to my side with no trouble at all.’

  And he worked long and hard on his speech, until at last he was disturbed by a brick which came crashing through his window.

  ‘Stroth!’ said Alfric.

  He almost rushed out into the street, but restrained himself. This might be an ambush of sorts.

  Instead, Alfric went upstairs, opened the shutters of a second-storey window and looked out. Below, he saw a couple of drunken yokel-louts.

  ‘What the hell do you want?’ said Alfric.

  ‘To bugger your arse with a hatchet,’ said one.

  ‘For what and for why?’ said Alfric.

  ‘Because you cursed your father and mock him now,’ said one.

  ‘Because you dishonoured the Wormlord in death,’ said the other.

  ‘Get away with you,’ said Alfric. ‘Or I’ll come down and thrash you thoroughly.’

  ‘Oh, it’s you who’ll be thrashed,’ said one of the drunks. ‘The Knights themselves will do it when they get back from the funeral.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ said Alfric steadily. Then, unable to keep from boasting: ‘I’ve a speech to make at that funeral. It may change their minds.’

  ‘Change their minds?’ said one drunk.

  ‘A speech?’ said the other.

  ‘They won’t hear it from here, you know,’ said the other.

  Then both fell about laughing.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Alfric.

  Then he guessed.

  And was shocked by fear.

  He shuddered, as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped all over him.

  He left the window and pounded downstairs. He threw open the door and stalked forth to interrogate the drunken yokels. And when he had finished with them he went to the Green Cricket to hire himself a horse. And on the way out of Galsh Ebrek, he stopped at the Stanch Gates to interrogate the guards.

  It was true.