The Werewolf and the Wormlord coaaod-8 Read online

  The Werewolf and the Wormlord

  ( Chronicles of an Age of Darkness - 8 )

  Hugh Cook

  Hugh Cook

  The Werewolf and the Wormlord

  CHAPTER ONE

  Touching that monstrous bulk of the whale or ork we have received nothing certain. They grow exceedingly fat, insomuch that an incredible quantity of oil will be extracted out of one whale.

  Lord Baakan, History of Life and Death

  It is an undisputed truth that a man with weak sight must be in need of an ogre; for, as all the world knows, ogres are by far the best oculists. Therefore it is not surprising that, on each of his annual visits to the Qinjoks, Alfric Danbrog took the opportunity to have his eyes retested and to get a new pair of spectacles ground to his prescription.

  Shortly after his thirty-third birthday, Alfric made his fifth such venture into the mountains. On this occasion, the bespectacled banker took with him a large carven box. This was a gift for the ogre king; and inside there were twenty pink mice, five thousand dead fleas, thirty chunks of cheese and seven dragons.

  Alfric’s journey to the Qinjoks was made exclusively by night, which multiplied its many difficulties. However, young Danbrog was not just a banker but the son of a Yudonic Knight, and he pressed on regardless of danger. Once the many difficulties of the journey had been overcome, Alfric’s first duty was to present himself to the ogre king. The audience took place in a deep delved mountain cave in one of the shallower portions of that underground redoubt known as the Qinjok Sko.

  Before the meeting, the king’s chamberlain cautioned Alfric thus:

  ‘You will not address the king by his given name.’

  The chamberlain, a small and nervous troll, had given Alfric exactly the same warning on each of the four previous visits the young banker had made to these mountains. But Alfric did not remind him of this.

  ‘My lord,’ said Alfric, ‘I do not even know the king’s name, therefore am in no danger of addressing him thereby.’

  This was a diplomatic mistruth. Alfric Danbrog knew full well that the ogre king had been named Sweet Sugar-Delicious Dimple-Dumpling.

  Among ogres, the naming of children is traditionally a mother’s privilege; and female ogres are apt to lapse into a disgustingly mawkish sentimentality shortly after giving birth. Those who cleave to the evolutionary heresy hold that such a lapse is necessary to the survival of the species, for baby ogres (and the full-grown adults, come to that) are so hideously ugly that it is surely only the onset of such sentimentality which keeps their mothers from strangling them at birth.

  Once the chamberlain had been assured on this point of protocol, Alfric was admitted to the presence of the above-mentioned Sweet Sugar-Delicious Dimple-Dumpling, king of the Qinjoks. The king, let it be noted, was nothing like his name. Rather, he would have better fitted the name his father would have liked to bestow on him: Bloodgut the Skullsmasher.

  While the ogre and the banker met on cordial terms, there stood between them a line of granitic cubes, each standing taller than a cat but shorter than a hunting hound. These were stumbling blocks, placed there in case Alfric should take it into his head to draw his sword and charge the throne.

  Technically, there was peace between Galsh Ebrek and the Qinjoks. Furthermore, every expert in combat will tell you that it is theoretically impossible for a lone swordsman to overcome a full-grown ogre. However, the Yudonic Knights are what they are; and the king did well to be cautious.

  ‘We trust your journey was pleasant,’ said King Dimple-Dumpling.

  ‘It was not,’ said Alfric. ‘The roads between Galsh Ebrek and the Qinjoks owe more to fantasy than to fact. The dark was dark, the rain was wet, and the mud was excessive in the extreme, quantity in this case quite failing to make up for lack of quality.’

  So he spoke because his ethnology texts had taught him that ogres value honesty in speech above all other things.

  Such scholarly claims are in fact exaggerated. There are many things an orgre values far more, some of them being mulberry wine, gluttonous indulgence in live frogs, and the possession of vast quantities of gold.

  ‘So,’ said the ogre king. ‘You travelled by night.’

  ‘I did, my liege,’ said Alfric.

  ‘Hmmm,’ said the ogre king.

  While the king puzzled over this strange behaviour, Alfric had ample time to study his majesty’s surrounds. Ranged behind the king were racks of skulls; interlaced washing lines strung with scalps; and two vultures, each a triumph of the taxidermist’s art. Carven draconites served these beasts as eyes, and an evil light swashed from these gems as they caught the buckling flaze of torches. Flanking these beasts were skeletons in duplicate; while at the king’s head was the mouldering head of a dragon. And, in pride of place at his right hand, a low bookcase crammed with philosophy books.

  Alfric started to sweat.

  Not because he was frightened, but because the cave was grossly overheated.

  ‘So,’ said the king. ‘You travelled by night. Which means, does it not, that She walks again?’

  ‘So it has been said,’ acknowledged Alfric.

  ‘It has been said, has it? And what do you believe?’ ‘That custom commands me,’ said Alfric. ‘Hence I walk by night. I can do no less. I am of a Family.’

  ‘You belong to the Bank,’ said the king, ‘yet declare allegiance to a Family.’

  ‘The Bank, my liege, lives within the bounds of law and custom; nor does the Bank seek to sever its servants from their rightful bondage to either.’

  ‘I have heard otherwise,’ said the king, almost as if he were accusing Alfric of mistruthing.

  ‘My liege,’ said Alfric, ‘I cannot answer Rumour, for Rumour has ten thousand tongues and I have but one.’ ‘Hmmm,’ said the king.

  Thinking.

  Then:

  ‘You travelled by night.’

  Alfric kept his face blank. This was no time to show impatience. But Alfric liked to do business in an efficient manner; and not for nothing was the king known as He Who Talks In Circles.

  ‘Night is a strange time to travel,’ continued King Dimple-Dumpling. ‘Particularly when night is Her chosen time.’

  ‘My duty bids me to rule the night,’ said Alfric. ‘I cannot permit Her forays to keep me from the dark. I am a Yudonic Knight.’

  ‘Who fears nothing,’ said the king.

  When one hears dry irony from the lips of an orgre, it is hard to credit ones ears. But Alfric, who knew ogres better than most of his kind, did not underestimate them. He answered deadpan:

  ‘My liege is generous in his praises. I fear myself unworthy of such praise.’

  ‘Why unworthy?’ said the king. ‘Do you think yourself a coward?’

  A dangerous question, and one not easy to answer. In the halls of an ogre king, one does not confess to cowardice, for the ogres think pusillanimity to be a crime meriting death. Equally, in such a place one boasts not of courage, for ogres delight in supervising tests of the same.

  ‘Well,’ said the king. ‘Are you a coward or are you not?’

  ‘So far,’ said Alfric, answering carefully, ‘fear has not chosen to be my companion. But, in keeping with the teachings of the philosophers, I do not hold such companionship to be merely because it lies outside my own experience.’

  An adroit answer, displaying the mental agility which had seen Alfric rise so far and so fast in the ranks of the Bank. It pleased the king.

  ‘Well,’ said the king, ‘enough small talk. Now to business. Have you brought me my dragons?’

  ‘I have,’ said Alfric, and opened the carven box which had originally held pink mice, chunks of cheese, dead
fleas and seven dragons. The mice were meant to keep the dragons warm, the cheese to feed the mice and the fleas to feed the dragons. A cunning arrangement, which had worked up to a point. Two of the dragons had survived the journey, and King Dimple-Dumpling was delighted.

  The dragons were tiny, for they belonged to a breed which grew no longer than a fingerlength. Nevertheless, they were true dragons which could fly and breathe fire. Or, more exactly, spark fire; for the incendiary output from these untunchilamons was scarcely sufficient to threaten the life of a bedbug.

  Untunchilamons they were called because they hailed from an oceanic island of that name. (Here let it be recorded that the untunchilamons were referred to by a small group of linguistic dissidents as the injiltaprajuras. However, the correct name is untunchilamon, for Galsh Ebrek’s School of Heraldry so entered this new breed of dragon into the Registry of Pageantry.)

  It was said by some that Justina Thrug had discovered the species on the abovementioned island; by others, that she had proved her powers as a witch by creating the genus ex nihilo. Here the term ‘genus’ is controversial, with many categorizers preferring to conglomerate the untunchilamons with more conventional dragons.

  Yet surely the untunchilamons are not just a distinct species but a unique genus with claims, indeed, to being a separate one-species family. To mention no other matter, their method of reproduction strongly supports their pretensions to unique generic status; for, unlike other dragons, they eschew copulation in favour of parthenogenesis. All untunchilamons are female, and their opalescent eggs require no fertilization from any agency outside their own bodies.

  Such a method of propagation has many advantages. However, sexual congress is a sovereign method for securing genetic diversity; and hence is most marvellously effective in allowing populations of both plants and animals to adapt to abruptions, dislocations and disease. In contrast, diversification among the untunchilamons was necessarily very slow, consisting as it did of occasional accidents in the parthenogenetic process.

  As the island of their origin was tropical, the untunchilamons were woefully ill equipped to withstand the inclemency of the winters of Galsh Ebrek. Lacking the ability to diversify and adapt, their populations were constrained to dwell in or around fireplaces, chimneys and kitchen stoves, where constant combustion afforded them a climate somewhat like that of their ancestral homeland.

  Alfric explained the environmental limitations of the beasts with great care.

  ‘But they fly forth from their chimneys, do they not?’ said King Dimple-Dumpling.

  ‘Oh indeed, my liege. To a range of fifty paces or more, sometimes even a hundred.’

  ‘And they ravage their enemies, do they not? Fleas, lice and bedbugs?’

  ‘As advertised, my liege.’

  ‘What about crab-lice?’ said King Dimple-Dumpling.

  Alfric did not even blink.

  ‘That I do not know,’ said he. ‘I suggest that any experiment in that direction be made with care. In our experience, these dragons do not bite without extreme provocation. Nevertheless, they do on occasion assail their prey with fire, a potential problem should such prey be in, ah, a sensitive location.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the king. ‘We will meet again in eight days. Then the ransom will be delivered into your care.’

  ‘My liege is gracious,’ said Alfric, and bowed, and withdrew.

  Alfric Danbrog made good use of the eight days thus granted to him, using the time to see his ogre oculist, to do some private research in King Dimple-Dumpling’s library, and to indulge in some casual tourism. Of these activities, the ocular consultation was the most important. Alfric suffered from pronounced myopia combined with a degree of astigmatism; his handicap being such that his ogre proclaimed him to be deficient by a full ten diopters. A cruel fate, this; for it meant his chances of attaining supremacy with the sword were not of the best.

  However, such genetic disadvantage is often accompanied by a collateral benefit; inasmuch as the type of ocular defect which Alfric suffered is positively correlated with high intelligence. In Alfric’s case, an inexactitude of vision was accompanied by mental acuity of the highest order; his acumen and cleverness had allowed him to qualify as a Certified Genius, and thus to join the Bank.

  And it was Bank business, rather than any concern for his organs of vision, which had ultimately impelled Alfric to dare the dangers of the journey to the Qinjoks. The delivery of a kindle of dragons to King Dimple-Dumpling had been but a minor courtesy. Alfric’s true duty was to check the Annual Tribute of jade which the ogre king consigned to Obooloo; to uplift that Tribute; to convey it safely to Galsh Ebrek; and there in the presence of witnesses to deliver it unto a certain ambassador.

  The eight days went swiftly, Alfric receiving his new spectacles on the last of them. Shortly after accepting delivery of these precision instruments, Alfric was summoned into the presence of King Dimple-Dumpling at midnight. The ogre king sat in state, drinking of blood-red wine. (Or was it actual blood? Alfric was diplomat enough not to ask.)

  ‘We have the treasure,’ said the king, indicating the six small barrels of jade balanced upon the stumbling blocks. ‘You have my permission to check the contents.’

  Alfric then laboriously checked each item against the standard inventory.

  ‘It is here, my liege,’ said he.

  ‘Good,’ said the king. Then, generously: ‘Choose something for yourself.’

  Alfric blinked, momentarily disconcerted.

  ‘My liege, ^ 5 said Alfric, ‘this belongs hot to me, nor can it. This trove entire is pledged to Aldarch the Third, Mutilator of Yestron.’

  Thus spoke Alfric Danbrog.

  But the king insisted.

  So, unwillingly, Alfric selected a single saladin ring for himself. He slipped it on to one of his fingers, held it to the torchlight, and smiled in mimickry of pleasure. Later he would take the thing from his finger and cram it into his pocket, not wanting to display such evidence of criminal activity in public. But one does not thus treat a king’s gift in that king’s presence.

  The casks of jade were then closed and sealed in Alfric’s presence. Then ogres took them away. He would not see them again until he left, which would be shortly. By then, the casks would have been loaded on to his pack horses.

  Of course the ogres had no absolute need to yield up such a ransom. Ogres have such a slow replacement rate that it is seldom wise for them to engage quick-breeding humans in outright war; however, the monsters of the Qinjoks did have the option of retiring to redoubts which could never have been stormed by human agency. But the ogres nevertheless thought it best to comply with human demands — up to a point. For the ogres were scientists; and, while the greater part of their number would have survived a war with Wen Endex, such a conflict might have had disastrous consequences for such unprotectable assets as their masterwork telescopes and their great tree breeding program (now already five thousand years old).

  Besides which, the orks would have suffered greatly in any war. Ogres, like trolls, are by nature a troglodytical breed, and could have survived in the underground fastness of the Qinjok Sko for many months, if not for years. Orks, on the other hand, would swiftly have perished in such conditions. For, since they are unable to live away from water for any great length of time (they need not just enough to drink, but a sufficiency in which to immerse themselves on a regular basis) orks soon perish in cavebound confinement.

  The ogres of the Qinjoks suffer from a surpassing sense of responsibility; an affliction which, as a rule, cannot be said to overly oppress the human race. Generations earlier, the ogres had placed the orks under their protection; and this protection they had since maintained, though at times it might have been politic for them to do otherwise.

  Therefore let it not be said that the ogres paid their Annual Tribute out of fear. Rather, they did so out of love for that Science of which they had such great hopes; and out of duty to the orks which dwelt in their care.

&n
bsp; Once the six barrels of jade were out of sight, the king addressed Alfric anew, saying:

  ‘You leave by night.’

  ‘As my liege knows,’ said Alfric carefully.

  ‘Because She walks,’ said the king.

  ‘So it is said.’

  ‘It is said! And you believe? Or don’t you?’

  ‘As custom commands me, I walk by night when such a duty is placed upon my people. ’

  ‘Of custom you have spoken, but not of belief,’ said the king. ‘What do you believe? Does She walk or does She not?’

  ‘I reserve judgement,’ said Alfric.

  ‘But others do not,’ said the king.

  ‘My liege knows that many see hunting of any kind as great sport in its own right,’ said Alfric. ‘Regardless of whether anything actually exists to be hunted. Thus the enthusiasm with which Rumour has been greeted.’ ‘Rumour!’ said the king. ‘I thought there were Signs!’ ‘It has been said,’ answered Alfric, now impatient to be gone.

  ‘So you admit it,’ said the king, as if they were in court and Alfric stood accused of a crime. ‘What Signs has Rumour spoken of?’

  ‘The carcase of an ox,’ said Alfric. ‘Its bones shattered by the clawed thing which gnawed its guts but left the meat untasted. Some claim also to have seen blood in the Riga Rimur.’

  ‘Near Galsh Ebrek?’ said the king.

  ‘She will not come near the High City,’ said Alfric flatly. ‘That would mean Her certain doom regardless of Her power.’ ‘Aha!’ said the king. ‘Just then you spoke as if you believed in Her!’

  ‘It would be foolish for me to do otherwise,’ said Alfric. ‘The Wormlord killed Her son. That was before the days of my generation, but it happened. It is a fact. Therefore I do not dispute claims of Her existence. Nevertheless, I am not necessarily convinced that She walks.’

  ‘But you travel armed for war,’ said the king.

  ‘I would not walk the night otherwise,’ said Alfric. ‘She is not the only denizen of the night. Not by any means.’