The Werewolf and the Wormlord (29 page)

‘I always knew that,’ said Tromso Stavenger. ‘I knew all the evidence was forged. I knew, too, that, in time, I could have proved your innocence to the people of Wen Endex. But, had the Bank moved against you, I would not have had time. The mob would have believed you a shape-changer. Worse, they might have believed me to be a werewolf myself. Urged by the Bank, the mob would doubtless have killed you. Equally, the mob might have overwhelmed myself. We might all have died.’

‘So the Bank had you by the oysters,’ said Grendel.

‘So thought the Bank,’ said Tromso Stavenger. ‘But I did what the Bank did not expect. I moved against you myself. I myself named you as a werewolf, thus proving my own innocence of any such charge. For, as is well known, all shape-changers cling together; so it follows that a father who casts out a shape-changing son cannot be a shape-changer himself.’

‘That was a cruel thing to do, even so,’ said Grendel sofdy.

‘Cruel, yes,’ said Tromso Stavenger. ‘But it preserved the freedoms of the state. Oh, and I took revenge, believe me. The Bank had grown bold. They were expecting my collapse, my surrender. They were not expecting me to strike. But I did. Immediately. Two dozen bankers died. Private murders, streetcomer butchery. You know how it’s done. In like manner, I disposed of agents from the Izdimir Empire who had exposed themselves through carelessness.’

‘That won you the moment,’ said Grendel.

‘The moment, yes,’ said Tromso Stavenger. ‘But what of the future? The Bank is strong. How could my line be protected against the Bank? I chose to let the Bank think I really did believe you to be a werewolf. I chose to foster difference and disagreement between us. I made you my enemy. Because you were my enemy, your son was likewise my natural enemy.’

‘I never thought thus,’ said Alfric.

‘Didn’t you?’ said Tromso Stavenger. ‘Whatever you thought, the Bank thought of you as a weapon which could be used against me. The Bank took hold of you. Sought to train you to be a weapon which could one day be used to win power for the Bank. Ah, what a risk I ran! For the danger was that you would ultimately prove true to the Bank.’

‘And?’ said Alfric. ‘Have I? Or haven’t I?’

‘That... that I don’t know,’ said his grandfather. ‘Not for certain. But... I have measured you over these years. I have seen you grow, and I have seen the potential for kingship grow with you. I believe you will rule Wen Endex for the benefit of the nation, not for the benefit of the Bank. When you sit on the throne, then Galsh Ebrek will have a king who understands the Bank, who can control its power, and who can break the Bank, and make it a mere tool of the state. That is what I hope for. When you are wormlord, Alfric, my long revenge against the Bank will be complete.’

‘This... this is much to learn at once,’ said Grendel in a wondering voice.

‘Much indeed,’ acknowledged Tromso Stavenger. ‘I... I only hope you can forgive me for following the necessities which were placed upon me.’

Then Tromso Stavenger embraced Grendel, and father and son clung to each other, and then both began to weep.

And Alfric for his own part wondered.

Was this true?

Could it possibly be true?

Was his father really not a werewolf?

And—

Wah!

What an amazing old man was Tromso Stavenger! A wicked enemy, a wily foe, one of the few men to out-think and out-smart the Bank. How had he done it? Why, by thinking of the long result, and hatching a plan which would only be brought to fruition by the work of generations.

Once again, Alfric had a glimpse of the burdens of kingship. To think not just for the moment and not just for the day, but to plan for the generations. Tromso Stavenger had done just that; had out-thought and outmanoeuvred the Bank; and had tricked the Bank itself into shaping the weapon he needed to fulfil his purposes.

Right then, Alfric Danbrog knew that he was that weapon indeed.

Tromso Stavenger had won his great gamble.

For Alfric was filled with rage at the thought of what the Bank had done to his family. When he became king, he would exact vengeance. The Bank would be brought to heel and made an instrument of the state. Then Alfric would use the power of the Banking Circle to bring the Izdimir Empire itself to heel, and end for ever the threat which that empire posed to the liberties of Galsh Ebrek and the nation of Wen Endex.

Alfric wished he was in the Bank already, cleaving heads and opening bellies with the deathblade Bloodbane. His fingers lingered over the hilt of that weapon, and he longed to draw it in earnest against his foes, to hold that living fury in his hands and run beserk, giving himself to the possession of a beserker rage.

These imaginings were so engrossing that Alfric did not notice something stirring in the water. Then his father swore, and Alfric looked up abruptly, and saw Herself rising from the mere.

‘Stroth!’ screamed Alfric, leaping to his feet.

He slipped in the mud, his feet went from under him, and down he went. And She was already striding toward them, water slathering from Her loins, the burning light of Her eyes blazing from the shapeless shadows of Her face.

Alfric scrabbled for balance, slipped again, went down, and he was going to die, to die, but—

But Grendel was there.

Grendel Danbrog stood between Herself and Her victims. Old iron was in the warrior’s hands. With his sword he struck. But the hag dismissed the warrior’s weapon with a swipe of one of her mighty paws. Then Grendel was down, and She was upon him. There was a scream of tortured metal as Her talons clawed iron, tore through Grendel’s armour and ripped into his bowels.

‘No!’ cried Tromso Stavenger.

Thus cried the old man.

And made as if to advance.

‘Stand back,’ said Alfric to his grandfather. And then, loudly, to Herself: ‘Stand back from my father!’

His words were savage, for Bloodbane was in his hands, and Alfric was buoyed up by his own rage and the bloodlust of the weapon.

Certainly his challenge made Her pause.

She turned Her face from Grendel’s bleeding body. She looked upon Alfric with Her burning eyes. Then She made a sound in her throat, a hideous noise like mud slithering down a monstrous swampland suckhole. Alfric realized she was laughing. At him!

‘Laugh, bitch,’ said Alfric coldly. ‘Laugh while you can. For your end is upon you. For this is the deathblade Bloodbane.’

But She knew that weapon not, and, in any case, She feared no sword, regardless of its reputation.

She smashed Grendel with her monstrous fist, killing him, then She gathered Her shadows and advanced upon Alfric. Hot with murderlust stood that warrior, braving himself against Herself like a hero from out of the sage songs.

She leapt.

Alfric struck.

The deathblade Bloodbane sang through the air, joyful its slaughtersong.

‘Die!’ screamed Alfric.

Hacking Her flesh.

She screamed.

The blade slashed Her flesh wide open.

But even as it did so, the blade bucked and buckled. And, as She flailed at the air in frenzied agony, the metal bubbled and boiled, melted and vaporized.

And Alfric—

Astonished—

Disbelieving—

Found himself holding nothing more than the hilt of his weapon.

Then she smashed him.

It was like being hit by a charging bull.

Down in the mud went Alfric Danbrog.

He did not scream, he had no breath to scream, but he fought as best he could. She tore him, ripped him, scragged away his clothes, then picked him up. He swooned as she lifted him. Then She hurled him into the mud.

He lay there, alive.

Just.

He had wit enough to grope for a weapon, any weapon. All he found was a branch, and that was rotten. But it would have to serve.

‘Mork,’ muttered Alfric.

And what he was saying, what he meant to say, why, that was a mystery even to him.

He struggled to his feet.

‘Yoth,’ he said.

Faintly.

But, though his voice was not working properly, his legs were. And he was walking toward Her, walking knee-deep through what felt like glue. She screamed in defiance. Standing. Waiting. A shadow amidst shadows. Alfric could not see Her properly, for his spectacles were gone, and his world was little more than a blurred mist of darkness.

Then She attacked.

Alfric’s stick was knocked aside in a moment.

Screaming, she clutched Alfric to Her hairy chest and started to crush the life from his body. The hard tips of Her paps were grinding into his cheek. Desperately, he turned his head and bit into one of those paps, bit as hard as he could, and broke one of his teeth on the hideous thing.

She laughed.

‘Shon,’ she said. ‘Mona shon.’

Alfric sensed that this was a threat.

But what did it mean?

Moments later, he thought he knew.

For She pushed the hapless Alfric down to the heat between Her thighs. The hot breath of Her lower lips billowed out around him. And he saw the teeth which worked in Her privacy, teeth burning with the same fire which possessed Her eyes. The rancid stench of Her desire belched out from Her wound.

And She was forcing him inwards.

Alfric twisted, struggled, fought, but it was no use. He was being forced toward those teeth. Slowly. Remorselessly. She was taking Her time, for She was enjoying this.

In desperation, Alfric tried to Change. But that was impossible in the heat of combat. In moments he would be mutilated, would be—

She dropped him.

Just like that.

Alfric lay still.

Did She think him dead?

She was standing up.

Looking around.

At what?

For what?

Then Alfric heard some creature howl.

That sound was hideous, the bloodlust slaughtervoice of some blood-crazed animal, the sound of a thing which gave itself entirely to appetite. It was the sound of a tongue being uprooted, of a leg being wrenched free from a man’s buttock, of a horse screaming as it was slaughtered. And, in a sudden thoughtflash, Alfric realized that She might have a mate, and that this might be the cry of Her mate.

Then—

Then he saw it.

Something white, charging out of the night.

It leapt upon Her, and She was overthrown.

Down She went, with the white thing on top of her.

And Alfric, scarcely a skin away from the combatants, was close enough to see that the white thing was a wolf.

This was the thing which had howled, which had saved him.

Saved him?

Whoever won this mortal combat would surely fall upon Alfric Danbrog and eat him.

So—

Slowly, painfully, Alfric began to crawl away from the struggling combatants.

He moved.

Paused.

Moved.

Rested.

Moved.

It hurt to move, but he must.

He—

The pain was too much.

He could not move.

Could not even crawl.

He lay in the mud, shuddering.

Then—

Then the moon emerged as the clouds cleared.

And—

And Alfric knew what last chance was left to him.

Alfric gazed upon the moon, upon the blurred white disk of the moon, and, as he did so, that disk sharpened as it came into focus. And he smelt the moonlight shining upon the waters of the mere, and the smell was a high thin smell vaguely reminiscent of onions. And he smelt the blood of combat, the blood of a dead human and the blood of a wounded wolf and the foul clotted blood of Herself, and—

And his teeth were sharpening for the blood, his jaw was lengthening, his belly becoming lean, his muscles strengthening, girthing, lengthening.

And the sounds were changing, and he heard much more, now, as he stood up on his four feet, and—

And She had won against the white wolf, and the creature was mortally wounded, and She looked up from her prey to see a black wolf of monstrous size bruting toward Her.

Alfric leapt.

She was thrown backwards as Alfric took Her with his monstrous strength. His throat rending at Her throat. One of Her hands scrabbled for his eyes, sought, almost found, but—

His teeth tore, crunching, munching—

And black blood ran from Her throat, blood black by the light of the moon, and spasms shook Her body, and She died.

And Alfric threw back his head and howled.

Then—

He could not help himself.

He ate.

He fed.

He was animal, he was appetite, he was a brute ravening, shameless, shameless, giving himself to his greed, to the gluttony of the blood. And She was tom open before he could stop himself, She was tom from throat to crotch, Her intestines spilt to the night, and much of Her gut in Alfric’s belly.