Free The Werewolf and the Wormlord by Hugh Cook

is my rule. To be precise, the champion must recover the three saga swords and bring them here to me in Saxo Pall. Once this has been done, I will yield my throne to the champion, then march forth to do battle with Herself.
    ‘You all know what the saga swords are. Likewise, you all know where these weapons are to be found, and what dread dangers will confront the questing hero who dares to seek their possession^ I trust that I have no need to remind you of the special conditions attached to any quest against the dragon Qa.
    ‘Well then. Do I have a volunteer?’
    Did he?
    No.
    A great silence prevailed in the throneroom.
    As Tromso Stavenger had rightly stated, all present were familiar with the difficulties of questing for the three saga swords. Alfric, who had attended memorial services for some of the would-be heroes who had dared such quests, was far too sane even to think of volunteering his flesh for such lunacy.
    But others must have been thinking on his behalf, for Grendel Danbrog spoke into the silence, saying:
    ‘My son chooses to dare himself upon this quest.’
    The strongspoken words echoed about the throneroom.
    ‘Bravo,’ murmured Nappy.
    Alfric was about to protest, but Ciranoush Zaxilian Norn spoke first, saying:
    ‘No minion of the moon can sit upon the Wormlord’s throne.’
    ‘I will vacate the throne in favour of the victor,’ said Tromso Stavenger. ‘Regardless of who the victor might be.’
    By now, Alfric understood all. Tromso Stavenger had repented of the rage with which he had driven his son from his house. Now the Wormlord was going to make amends by allowing his grandson to claim the throne. Alfric looked from Grendel to Stavenger. Both were smiling upon him.
    But—
    The three quests were suicidal, and Alfric knew it. He knew too that the life of a Yudonic Knight was not for him. He had no taste for drinking, brawling and debauchery; and was reluctant to admit to any desire to rule over people addicted to such activities. So he spoke up strongly, saying:
    ‘My father has nominated me as a questing hero, but I do not accept this nomination. I will have nothing to do with any such quest.’
    Then Alfric turned on his heel and departed from the throneroom. Some of the Yudonic Knights spat on him as he passed, but he escaped from Saxo Pall with his life and liberty unimpaired.
    At least for the moment.
     

CHAPTER SIX
     
    When at last Alfric left the fastness of Saxo Pall and began the descent of Mobius Kolb, he expected to make his way back to Vamvelten Street, there to join his wife in a meal and, later, in sexual congress.
    But this was not to be.
    For Alfric was still descending the slopes of Mobius Kolb when he was intercepted by a messenger who directed him to report to the Bank. This he did, though it meant a weary trek up to the heights.
    The light of the Oracle of Ob shone strange and strong from the utmost peak of Mobius Kolb. Once again, Alfric felt the lure of that light. He was glad to escape inside, into the vestibule of the Bank, where once again he made the change from boots and leathers to robes and slippers.
    To his surprise, Alfric was then directed to the office of Comptroller Xzu, a Banker Second Class who was responsible for Alfric’s supervision. Many feared Xzu, but Alfric did not. For he had something on Xzu; he knew Xzu had accepted bribes in the past, and, what’s more, he could prove it. If the need arose.
    On arrival at Xzu’s office, Alfric received another surprise; for the office sent him on to the Survey Room, a hallowed chamber high in the Rock of Rocks, the gaunt donjon which served the Flesh Traders’ Financial Association as its ultimate stronghold. Only the mightiest managers of the Bank worked out of the Survey Room; and Alfric had never visited it before except to deliver messages.
    To the Keeper of Secrets went Alfric Danbrog, ascending many weary stairs to reach the Survey Room. The habit of housing the high and the mighty in upper-storey