Worms' Ending: Book Eight (The Longsword Chronicles 8) Read Free Page B

encounter the written language
of the Eldenelves. And there, in my notes, I read that which had eluded me in
your father’s hall.”
    “Adjectives?”
    “Adjectives. And more. Insights, you would call them.”
    And Allazar then turned his head, and gazed at Gawain with
such great sorrow it at once called to mind Valin, and how the elf had seemed
so often on the brink of revealing a dread secret. But, like the ranger,
Allazar simply sighed, and turned his gaze away, and back towards the gurgling
water.
    Gawain waited for the wizard to continue, well past the
point of patience.
    “Must I command you to speak of your discovery?”
    “I am sorry. I was gathering my thoughts.”
    “Liar. Now I know how Elayeen sees through me so easily, if
my attempts at delay or dissembling are as feeble as yours.”
    “It is simply that I dread my own insights, and would refuse
to admit their possibility if I could.”
    “The air in here is filled with sudden sorrow, Allazar. I
have seen in Valin’s eyes the same sadness I saw just now in yours. These
insights, they concern Elayeen, and our son.”
    “They concern us all three, Gawain.”
    “Oh now as Martan might say, there’s a cause for
trouser-bricks and no mistake.”
    “We were all of us rewritten,” Allazar whispered. “Our own separate
qualities turned each of the three rune-rings, and all three rings aligned unlocked
the great power of the circles which smote the Teeth and smacked Morloch back
behind the wall of his binding. And then… then those qualities in us were
rewritten to achieve a single end.”
    “Friyenheth, Ceartus, Omniumde.”
    Allazar paused before answering. “Yes.”
    “We’d already deduced as much along the way, Allazar, ever
since you scribbled your answers to our questions in your scribendana outside
the inn, there at the foot of the pass. Before Jaxon and Kahla marched into
view and Elayeen shot the Grimmand, and you were able once again to speak the
common tongue. We’ve known we were changed since then. How else do you explain
my surviving Elve’s Blood poison, or explain Eldengaze, the spreading of the
Sight and the vast outpourings of white fire you couldn’t possibly hope to
summon before the circles changed you? How else do you explain your knowledge
of the Pangoricon?”
    Still, Allazar cut a small and sorrowful figure sat on the
bare rock bench. Still he seemed crushed by the weight of some profound
understanding which remained beyond Gawain’s ability to grasp.
    For his part, Gawain’s mind reeled, searching through the
grey mist of strange aquamire in search of an answer to the unspoken conundrum
posed by the sad and silent wizard. But always through the wispy fog of
intuition swam unbidden the vision of the citadel which had troubled him since
he’d lain abed, Elayeen asleep beside him, in the early hours before dawn after
their homecoming feast.
    But then Allazar drew in a deep breath, and straightened his
back, clutching his staff tightly, as if the iron-heavy Dymendin would lend its
enormous and unbendable strength to the wizard’s spine. Which, Gawain thought,
it probably did.
    “But,” the wizard declared, “I returned to my initial
studies of Master Arramin’s materials, and unravelled the final, simple clue
contained in all the pieces of the puzzle which led him to the unearthing of
the casket. Or perhaps I should say, the penultimate clue, for it points the
way to the final piece of the puzzle.”
    “Do you have your scribendana with you, there in your bag?”
Gawain pointed to the battered leather satchel, which usually found repose
either over the wizard’s shoulder or in his saddle-bags.
    “I do.” Allazar looked surprised.
    “May I borrow it and a pencil for a moment?”
    “Of course, Longsword…”
    Allazar fished out the items and passed them Gawain. The
notebook was grubby but surprisingly intact given its age, and for a moment
Gawain thought the same might be said of its owner, but humour was a