The Whispers of War [Wells End Chronicles Book 2]

by Robert Beers

  To his surprise Bilardi's father did not blow up at the revelation but merely grunted and nodded, “Tell me about his sword, I was told it looks like the blade of a Royal and a high one at that.”

  “I suppose it does,” The son looked down at his chest, “I said as much when we first met. Now that I think of it, it comes to me to wonder how he come to be in possession of such a sword.”

  The Duke picked up a small silver bell and rang it twice, “Before the wine arrives I want you to describe the hilt of this sword to me, leave no detail out, no matter how small.”

  “I'm not sure I can do so with any hope of accuracy father.”

  “Indulge an old man, Describe the hilt,” Duke Bilardi wiped his mouth with the corner of a lace napkin.

  “Very well.” The Captain closed his eyes in thought, “The hilt ends in the stylized head of a dragon with opal eyes. Extending from the back of the head and curving downward to the crosspiece are two elongated wings. The crosspiece curves forward on the bottom half and backwards on the top. Small rubies are set into each side of the crosspiece's ends and two large stones are set into the join of hilt and blade. The handle of the hilt itself coils into the crosspiece with a fluid line. Labad himself would have desired such workmanship.”

  The Duke smiled. “Your recollection seems clearer than you thought it would be. Describe it again. There was something familiar in what you said.”

  Captain Bilardi ran through the description one more time. The Duke stopped him halfway through, “Those large stones, were there just two, set onto either side of the crosspiece, and did they appear to be about the size of a silver coin?”

  A steward arrived with the wine service and set up for both the Duke and his son.

  The Captain waited for his portion to be poured and then answered his father before taking a sip, “Now that you mention it, yes. And the smaller stones would be about the size of a half copper; what the peasants call a mite.”

  “You may leave,” The Duke waved the steward away and looked back at his son.

  “Is there some significance to this particular blade?” Captain Bilardi sipped his wine. It was one of the better house wines, fruity in aroma, slightly dry and easy on the pallet.

  “I think so,” Duke Bilardi picked up his glass, “I remember reading a description of just such a sword.”

  “And where was this?” The Captain sipped some more wine.

  The Duke put his glass back down on the table and his expression became grim, “In my youth I was known to pay an occasional visit to the library across the strait. On one bright summers day I decided to cross over to study some of the old battles fought in the days of Labad's conquest. In one of them the hilt of Labad's blade was described as a golden basket adorned with rubies the size of a silver coin, the wings of a dragon sweeping back from the beast's head making up the sides of the basket.

  “Did you know the books also say that sword was a gift to Labad from the Dragons?”

  “No father, I was unaware of that. Do you think this Adam is of the line of Labad? Do we have the uncrowned Emperor as a junior lieutenant in our very own city guard?” The Captain put his own glass onto the table.

  Duke Bilardi shook his head, “I don't know. For all we know your new Lieutenant could be a country bumpkin who found the sword while robbing one of the barrows west of the Wolf Wood. Or he could actually be the living heir of Labad himself, or something in-between.

  “What I do know is, he's a clear and present danger to you and your ascension to my throne. That is the reason why I had you summoned.”

  “Him, a danger to my becoming Duke?” The Captain was dumbfounded, “Surely you have to be suffering still from the madness father. I may be smarting from the damage he did to my ego but from what I've seen of the man he'd rather work in the stables than sit on a throne. He's one of the few men in the guard I'd actually trust behind my back.” He paused for a moment, “Before I came to know him I was only interested in his ability with a sword and what that ability could do for Grisham's Defense, nothing more. I've since changed my mind. You didn't see what he did with Mundy, he actually tried to keep from the killing the poor bastard. He knew there was no chance of Mundy winning. In some ways I've even begun to like him.”

  “Don't question my judgement, Boy!” Duke Bilardi spat as he half rose from his chair, “I know of what I speak!” He sat back down and continued in a more moderate tone of voice, “If this Lieutenant is of the house of Labad he will eventually side with the Southern Empire over and above Grisham's interests or did you not know the Emperor's throne sits in Ort?” He carried on over his son's objection, “Pfah! No matter, it is there and you know it now even if you didn't before. Many of Grisham's great houses base their wealth on the labors of peasants and in some cases slaves. What do think would happen to those houses and the economy of Grisham as a whole if that supply of cheap labor were to be cut off?”

  He waited for his son's answer.

  The Captain remained silent. His eyes held a brooding look.

  “Well?” The Duke knew he'd scored a hit.

  “But ... there is an abundance of commoners, father, surely the great houses could find other workers. Grisham would survive,” The Captain's tone implied uncertainty.

  “At what cost, boy, at what cost?” The Duke stood and began to pace, “The new Emperor would want to placate his friends in the Ortian court. That means giving the peasants more than they need besides their day-to-day expenses. Bardoc knows why! They only need or want a crust of bread and some shelter for the night. Any more than that is ... is wasted. But don't try to tell that to those triple-damned Southerners! No, he'll listen to them and insist that the prevailing wage be raised. And the great houses will raise their rates accordingly. You can't expect them to reduce their profits for the good of commoners and peasants can you? Of course not! And that is where the trouble lays; they will raise their prices to make up for their increased labor cost. The shop owners will raise theirs to make up for the increased costs of goods and materials and the populace will buy less because of it.

  “With the shop owners selling less they will try to conserve by purchasing less themselves, which will cut into the profits of the great houses so they will raise their rates yet again to make up for it, and the whole cycle begins again. Eventually the entire economic structure of Grisham will collapse leaving our city unable to defend itself.”

  Captain Bilardi surged to his feet, “Father! Surely this can't happen!”

  The Duke spun around and took his son by the arms, “It can and it will. How safe to you think this city would be if the vast majority of the guard left to find work elsewhere because we had no gold to pay them?”

  Thunderstruck, the Captain shook his head, “I can't believe that. The vast majority of those men are loyal to Grisham, to you, to me. And even if they weren't I can't believe the city treasury could be depleted so easily.”

  His father turned and walked back to his chair. “Believe it. You know the heads of the great houses only by reputation and the occasional state dinner. I know each of them personally. They would react to such a situation as I laid out to you in just the way I described. Those men and women are as rapacious as adders and they guard each copper of profit like a jealous lover. Oh, you can trust them to deliver catastrophe as you can trust the moon to deliver the tide.”

  “Then I'll have them put to death as a clear and present danger to Grisham,” Captain Bilardi grated, echoing his father's indictment of Adam.

  “Have you been listening to any of what I've been saying boy?”

  “Of course I have,” The Captain spun back around to face his father.

  His answer was a grim smile, “Obviously you haven't. The great houses are the very lifeblood of Grisham, nay, the heart. It is through their taxes and the taxes we levy upon their customers, all the way down to the beggar in the gutter, that we have coins in that treasury.

  “No, my son, we can no more remove the great houses from Gri
sham than a man can remove his own liver.”

  Captain Bilardi threw himself back into his chair and sat there, brooding, for a long moment. After a while he looked up at his father, “How did we come to be ensnared like this, where our honor can be bought like a trollop for the evening? I killed a man not too long ago father, because he was stealing from the armory. Small amounts, but the lesson needed to be taught. I can't believe this man Adam would ever do such a thing.

  “There may be some gray areas in my soul, I am your son after all, but to me Grisham's honor comes first. I'm not going to kill a man simply because he may one day be Emperor. By Bardoc's Beard, father, I don't think he could be corrupted by any amount of gold, the man's simply too honest.”

  The Duke picked up his wineglass and sipped before answering, “That, my son is precisely why he must die.”

  * * * *

  Milward stood in the open door leading to the balcony outside his room. Alten, the Librarian, knowing his friend's love of the sea, had arranged for this room to be his during the Wizard's stay. The rising sun had turned the western sky into a sheet of living flame. Beneath the dawn sky, Grisham's rooftops glowed like a bed of coals across the strait.

  “Going to be fog later Milord.”

  He turned at the voice, “Good morning, Felsten, what brings you to my door at this hour? Has the Librarian turned you into his cock for the morning to crow us awake?”

  The Librarian's assistant tugged a forelock, “Aye, that he has Milord, but I be seein’ you been up afore me. There's hot tisane and scones down in the kitchens iffn you be wantin’ any breakfast. Cook's got a nice thimbleberry conserve an’ fresh butter out too.”

  Milward nodded in acknowledgement, “Thank you Felsten, I'll be down presently. Where is your employer?”

  “Prolly still sleepin’ Milord. Just you, me an’ the cook. Them scones is still warm Milord,” The boy turned and vanished into the hallway.

  Milward turned and looked once more as dawn progressed over the strait. The past days studies with Alten had led him to a decision. Labad's prophecy combined with those of the Dwarves indicated events would come to a head in the south, so south was where he would go.

  His decision made he collected what few belongings he brought with him, his clothes, pouch belt and staff, and hurried along the libraries hallways to the stairs leading down into the kitchens.

  Felsten and the cook were waiting for him as he entered.

  “Have a sit Milord an’ I'll set yer up right an’ proper,” The cook placed a steaming mug of tisane at a place on the long trestle table before bustling off to the ovens.

  Milward sat and picked up the mug, “Is he going to sleep the entire day away?”

  Felsten looked up from buttering a scone, “What? Oh, you mean him. No Milord, cook got him awake whilst I was seein’ to you Milord. He should be down presently.”

  The cook returned with a tray loaded down with scones, butter and a bowl filled with glistening red thimbleberry preserve, “Here ya go Milord, tuck into this lot. It'll fill yer up right proper, it will.”

  “Ahhh,” The old Wizard breathed in the aroma of the steaming scones. They smelled of sweet buttermilk and toast.

  “Leave a few of those for me, old friend. I may not eat much any more but I do need something to get my day started,” The Librarian came into the kitchens from a door opposite to the one Milward used.

  He stopped as he neared the table and blinked, “You're leaving today? But we're just beginning to get somewhere in unveiling the prophecies.”

  Milward smiled at his friend's plaintive tone, “It's because of those prophecies that I need to leave. Everything indicates all of this business is going to be finalized somewhere in the south. I've neglected that part of our world for long enough. It's time I went there to see for myself. And, if I don't miss my guess, Adam, Charity and whoever this third party is, will eventually wind up there as well.”

  “I wish I could be going with you. To see history unfolding rather than reading about it after it has happened...” The Librarian's voice trailed off and his eyes took on a dreamy look.

  “Not me, not on your bloomin’ life. I wouldn't leave the library for anything,” Felsten slathered some of the preserves onto a scone.

  The cook placed another bowl of the preserves onto the table, “You'll be goin’ next week lad. I'll be needin’ supplies or you an’ his nibs'll be havin’ to eat gulls eggs an’ drink sea water for washin’ ‘em down.”

  Felsten mumbled around a mouthful of scone, “Nah, shoppin's ain't like leavin', ‘s just runnin’ an errand. Goin’ alla way to the Southlands now, that's leavin',” He shivered. “I wouldn't do that for anything.”

  His employer grunted and reached for a scone.

  “Well,” Milward stood and drank off the last of his tisane, “I for one am looking forward to the trip. Sometimes the direct approach is the only way to solve a mystery. And make no mistake, this is a mystery which needs solving.”

  The Librarian waved away an attempt by the cook to place more breakfast before him, “And just how do you plan to go about solving it?”

  Milward placed a finger alongside his nose, “By observing and deducing, old friend, by observing and deducing. I'm sure I'll have it all worked out before the final curtain falls.”

  “What if the Emper ... uh, I mean Adam don't show down there?” Felsten asked while breaking open another scone, his sixth by Milward's count.

  “You be keepin’ yer mouth shut boy,” The cook gave the back of Felsten's head a good-natured whack.

  “The lad's all right Lisbeth, if I didn't want an assistant who asked questions I wouldn't have hired him, besides, it is pertinent to the subject,” The Librarian noted.

  Milward raised his eyebrows. “In what way?”

  “In the way of people being people Milward,” The Librarian said, leaning forward on his elbows. “They can be quite contrary on occasion. The question has been raised. What if your scions either singly or together, choose to act opposite the pull of the prophecy, what if Adam gets his fill of being pushed toward becoming the next Emperor, and decides to go back home?”

  The old Wizard's eyebrows came together in a glower, small sparks played around the crest on his staff, “They wouldn't dare!”

  Felsten and the cook watched this exchange with wide eyes.

  “Oh settle down Milward,” The Librarian temporized, “I didn't say they would, I just voiced the possibility. Remember, Bardoc did not create puppets, he created people, and that apprentice of yours looked like he had a fairly strong will, or am I mistaken?”

  “No, you're not mistaken,” Milward muttered.

  The Librarian stood and walked around the table, “Rest assured, master Wizard, besides being strong-willed your lad has a strong sense of duty. He'll do what is right, I'm sure of it.”

  “Hmmph,” Milward grunted, “I'm sure he will too.”

  He looked around the room and then nodded, “Well, if I'm going to make Ort by nightfall I'd best be off. Traveling by magik's faster than walking but it does take it out of you.”

  “I imagine it does,” The Librarian smiled, “Umm, would it be presumptuous to ask if ... we might watch?”

  “Watch, watch what?” Milward began walking toward the front of the Library. The Librarian and his staff followed.

  “Your leave-taking Milord,” Felsten spoke up from his place hard on the Librarian's heels.

  Milward stopped and looked at the boy over his shoulder, “My what?”

  The Librarian stepped in for his assistant, “We want to watch you ... take off, as it were, Milward. Other than our recent discovery and your gift of Labad's prophecy there really isn't all that much excitement around here. Watching a little magik being performed by a master would be a treat.”

  “Are you telling me that you and your staff want to watch me shape a teleportation vortex and vanish into it?” The Wizard spoke quietly.

  “If it's not to much to ask, Milord,” Felsten duc
ked his head in a bow.

  “No,” Milward turned and continued walking toward the Library's foyer.

  “No?” The Librarian hurried after him, “Do you mean no, it's not too much to ask or no, you won't let us?”

  Milward spoke without turning his head, “I mean no, I won't be treated like a carnival act.”

  “But you are the greatest Wizard in the world, old friend. Surely a small demonstration of your mastery of the shaping arts would not be amiss,” The Librarian wheedled.

  Milward remained silent but his pace slowed slightly.

  “Please, Milord Wizard,” The cook pleaded, “it'd be somethin’ to remember fer the rest ‘o me days, an’ they ain't that many left.”

  Milward's paced slowed a bit more.

  Felsten added his two coppers, “Do it for me master, Milord Wizard. There ain't much in his life for pleasure these days. Do it for him.”

  The cook echoed, “Yes, do it fer ‘im.”

  Milward stopped and then dropped his chin to his chest, “Ok, you can all watch.”

  The Librarian slapped him on the back, “Good show, Milward, good show. You see, it doesn't hurt at all to be a little magnanimous now and then, does it?”

  He got a glare for his trouble, “Don't push it Alten, you wouldn't look good wearing a rat's tail,” The old Wizard hissed under his breath.

  Milward straightened his robe and stalked off into the foyer and then towards the door. He called out over his shoulder in a louder voice, “You want a show? Very well, I'll give you a show. Come on then, but stay well back.”

  They followed him out into the courtyard facing the Library entrance and stopped just outside the door. Milward continued until he reached a flagstone dais set into the grass of the courtyard.

  “This should do it,” He rapped a stone in front of him twice firmly with the butt of his staff. “Now watch closely, I'm only going to do this once.”

  Milward held his staff out at arms’ length and closed his eyes. To his audience it looked as though nothing was going to happen, other than the slight rise and fall of the Wizard's chest. Then a small cloud appeared over Milward's head. It began to rotate, slowly at first and then faster and faster,expanding as it spun. Flashes of lightning crackled at its edges.