Free Worms' Ending: Book Eight (The Longsword Chronicles 8) by GJ Kelly

lot
keener than theirs. He stood quietly, and gave his horse-friend a gentle pat on
the neck before shouldering the sword and moving away to relieve himself behind
a wind-blown blister of gorse.
    It might have been his imagination, but it seemed to him
that the land hereabouts sloped gently upwards to the north. On the map, Arrun
had something of an hour-glass shape, narrow-waisted, and they were roughly on
the line of the waistband. They’d crossed boggier ground a week earlier, the
land soft and waterlogged in places, but here it was hillier, scrub and long
grasses, woody shrubs and occasional rocky outcrops and springs. Thinking of
Elayeen out here with Meeya and Valin made his heart ache for her. The thought
of her relentlessly pursuing Pelliman Goth across this wilderness made his
chest almost burst with pride.
    Frak for breakfast, standing with Gwyn, though a glance at
the sun shining dim behind high and drifting clouds showed it was nearer
lunchtime, and a smile spread slowly like the warmth of Jurian brandy. It had
been a long time since horse and rider had stood together as they had at West
Forkings, and here they were, out in the wild again, horse and rider, both of
Raheen. Gwyn bobbed her head, and gently nudged him as she turned away in
search of choice grazing, the other horses following.
    Gawain watched them, noting a few signs of stress beginning
to show in his companion’s horses. They’d pushed hard, and Gawain acknowledged
that perhaps he had pushed them a little too hard. He cast another
glance skyward, and decided that today they would walk instead of riding. The
Hallencloister wasn’t going anywhere.
    Finally, with his cloak still flapping in stiffer breezes yet
chasing the tail of the autumn storm, he woke his companions, and when their
hasty camp was broken and the horses saddled, they resumed their journey,
trudging north with the horses grateful for the rest and ambling along behind
them.
    “The nights are drawing in, Longsword,” Allazar sighed,
traipsing along in the mid-afternoon. “We have perhaps three hours of daylight
left this day.”
    “Aye, and less than twelve hours daylight from sunrise to
sunset. Brock’s hopes for the liberation of Pellarn might better have been
attempted in summer. More hours, and better weather.”
    “I wonder how General Igorn and his plans are faring there
in the Old Kingdom.”
    “I don’t. I’m trying my best not to think of the dozens,
perhaps hundreds of things which might have gone wrong. Igorn has far fewer men
at arms than we did at Far-gor, and we had few enough of those.”
    “He had the entire South-halt contingent,” Allazar looked
hopeful, “And that is not a trivial mounted force. And all the Black and Gold
at his disposal which Brock retained for defence of his realm should the line
have failed at the farak gorin.”
    “True, but those men left guarding towns and villages when
the rest stood at Far-gor were most of them well past their prime or too young
to shave.”
    “Yes, and it is true that there is nothing we can do in the
here and the now to make a difference in the southwest. Yet I cannot help but
worry.”
    Gwyn snorted, and Gawain turned to see her standing sideways
on, head and ears pricked towards the south.
    “Did you hear anything?” Gawain whispered.
    “No.”
    “Ven?”
    “No, miThal. And I saw no… wait… There is a light, it has
dipped below a rise in the land to the south of us, perhaps a mile behind us.”
    “Longsword?”
    Gawain shrugged, peering in the direction from which they’d
come, but seeing nothing other than gorse and grass and the gently undulating
wilderness.
    “How many lights, Ven?”
    “I would say one, miThal. Moving quickly. A rider and horse
perhaps.”
    “Dwarfspit, if it’s Reef or one of the others from Last
Ridings, I’ll kick his arse.”
    “If it is, Longsword, he will have good reason for
disobeying your orders.”
    Gawain grimaced. “Well, whoever it is, he isn’t moving