The Whispers of War [Wells End Chronicles Book 2]

by Robert Beers

  While the others rested their mounts Neely left the group for a while and scouted around until he found a source of water; a small spring fed creek cutting its way through the rocky soil. A few scrub Oak and Alders grew nearby for both firewood and a place to picket the horses.

  Once camp was set they got a fire going. Flynn did the work, because for reasons he kept to himself, Circumstance would not use his magik to do it. The big man did not feel put out, “The boy's got his own mind, it don't bother me none. ‘Sides, he's fetchin’ the water, ain't he?”

  Neely's old mare whickered as Circumstance came into the firelight carrying a leather bucket, “There's fish in the creek, Trout, I think.”

  “Fish?” The tracker's eyes brightened, “Them Alder branches'd make a passable pole wouldn't they Flynn?”

  “Hafta find some bait. Trout like worms'n bugs best,” Flynn worked his beard with his right hand, “Y'see any downed logs in them trees?”

  Charity frowned, “It's late for fishing, but if you two think you can catch anything go ahead. I'll get some tisane brewing and Circumstance can see after the horses.”

  “Can I help them fish when I'm done?” The boy asked.

  “I'll cut an’ string another pole.” Neely stood and stretched, his joints popping and crackling, “C'mon Flynn, let's catch us some supper.”

  “I can taste it already.”

  Circumstance ran to tend the horses while Flynn and Neely ambled over to the Alder stand. Charity's tisane was just beginning to give off its familiar fruity aroma when she heard the first whoop of excitement from the creek side. Smiling to herself she began arranging the fire in preparation for the feast to come. An hour later the three of them came back, triumphant, bearing enough of the speckled brown trout to feed them all, including Flynn.

  Come dawn they were already several miles east of the creek and into the downs west of Labad's Highway. Overhead the sky had become a lowering gray with the promise of rain heavy in its clouds. A fine mist permeated the air and dampened everything. Charity pulled her cloak tighter about her and urged the mare forward up the next rise. The cat, choosing a more protected spot than the back of the saddle, poked her head out from behind the cloak and complained loudly about the weather.

  “I know how you feel,” Charity murmured and then she stopped short, “Sweet Bardoc, no.”

  Spread out across the plain below was a seething mass of black specks. From her vantage Point it looked like ants boiling out of a disturbed nest. Faint echoes reached her ears; the mix of sounds was the stuff of nightmare.

  Flynn pulled up alongside of her left and Neely took the right, Circumstance sat astride behind him.

  The big redhead took off his floppy cloth cap and scratched the back of his head, “Well, looks like we found us the war.”

  * * * *

  Thaylli ducked the wet towel as she snatched it out of the air, laughing, “You'll have to do better than that Ionae. You throw like a girl.”

  “That because I am a girl,” Ionae hunched her shoulders and wiggled the appropriate bits.

  “So, that's how you got your man is it?” Fainnelle, head of the pub's kitchen grinned broadly revealing a wide gap in her smile as she dried her hands from the washing, “Bardoc knows you'd never catch one with your cooking.”

  “Cooking isn't everything,” Ionae sniffed, “There're more ways to warm up a man ‘sides filling his belly.”

  A tittering laugh followed Ionea's opinion and Jeini, Fainnelle's daughter, crossed the kitchen to poke the girl's developing tummy, “Seems you're the one what's got her belly filled. Is that your man's work or have you been sneakin’ some of his nib's sausage an’ mash?”

  “Jeini! You mind your tongue girl. You've got a couple o’ years yet afore such things need to be in your head,” Fainnelle's face showed more tolerance than her words as she flicked her towel at the girl.

  “What are you...?” Thaylli looked from Fainnelle to Ionea's belly and realization washed across her face, “Is that a baby in there? You're pregnant? How did it happen?”

  Ionea giggled, pink coloring her cheeks, “What do you mean how did it happen? Same way all baby's happen...” She caught Jeini's eager look. “You know,” She said in a stage whisper.

  Fainnelle noticed Thaylli looked a combination of confused and disturbed as the girl's eyes traveled to each of them before she dropped them to the floor. Being the oldest in the room, Fainnelle gathered up her daughter and Ionea and pushed through the swinging door into the pubs gathering room, “You two've caused enough trouble for one day, get out there and see to the cleanin'. There's nobbut an hour or so before openin's here an’ the Gaffer don't like a messy place, come on get to it.”

  Jeini and Ionea moved into the room whispering excitedly with their heads together.

  Fainnelle watched until she was sure the two girls were well away from the door and then turned back to Thaylli. She leaned back against the sink and crossed her arms below her breasts, “Ok girl, tell me about it.”

  “I ... I don't know what you mean,” Thaylli stammered.

  “Oh you know girl, you're just ashamed to say, and that's all. Well don't you worry ‘bout that. I raised three of your kind, Jeini bein’ the last an’ all of ‘em grew up knowin’ their way about a home an’ a bed.”

  “That's just it,” A tear started at Thaylli's eye, “I'm grown, and I don't know. My mother had both my older brothers by the time she was my age and I don't even know what caused it. She never told me.”

  Fainnelle took the sobbing girl to her bosom and rubbed the back of Thaylli's head. “There, there child, I suppose your momma was just waitin’ for the proper time to tell you that's all.”

  “I didn't give her a chance, I ran off in the middle of the night going after Adam,” Thaylli sniffed.

  “Adam?” Fainnelle looked down at the girl as she comforted her, “Isn't that the name of that handsome young Lieutenant, the one who comes in here now and then, the friend of the Duke's son?”

  Thaylli nodded, her face buried into the folds of Fainnelle's top, “Yes, that's the one.”

  “He looks a lusty one. Surely he's...”

  “No, he hasn't, we've snuggled and kissed, but when I try to let him know I want to do more,” Thaylli paused, “I don't think either of us really knows.”

  “Well I'll be...” Fainnelle pushed Thaylli out to arms’ length and held the girl's eyes with her own, “Listen here, girl, men come in all shapes, sizes and colors just like any other animal. They just happen to be a bit more useful than the others, that's all. Your man looks to one of those who needs a touch of coaxin’ in the right direction. How long you two been together? You jump the swords yet?”

  Thaylli sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve, “Sirena Culperti wants us to have the ceremony on the next full moon. She says it means a large family. We've been together for nearly three seasons, a year this coming winter.”

  Fainnelle released Thaylli's arms and nodded. Then she walked over to a cupboard next to the pantry door and pulled out a bottle. She placed the bottle into Thaylli's hands, “Sirena Culperti would have us all wearin’ churchman's robes if she had her way. You put a drop or two of this in the lad's drink next time you get a chance. Just be sure you tell me how things went afterwards, ok?” She chuckled and patted Thaylli's cheek. “You an’ he been together long enough to already be considered tied in most places I know of. I expect to see that belly near to burstin’ come next spring.”

  Thaylli looked down where Fainnelle pointed and felt the heat of her blush spread across her face.

  The older woman chuckled again, but what she may have said was lost when Jeini burst into the kitchen with, “There's fighting right outside the gates! The war's here, now!”

  * * * *

  Men surged against each other with the clash of weapons echoing beneath the leaden sky. The screams of agony and yells of rage broke against the city wall like angry ocean waves.

  A space equaling that of two bowshots, a
bout two thirds of a mile, separated the battle from the city wall. Two men watched from the Siegewalk, a protected track running along the entire length of Grisham's outer wall, shored up from below to allow it to bear the weight of both men and armaments.

  “They seem to be pushing them back,” Adam remarked to Bilardi upon witnessing a concerted surge of the Grisham army.

  “Only temporarily I'm afraid, see those gray humps on the far backside of the Southern forces?” The Captain pointed over the seething battle to a line of what appeared to be grayish hills on the horizon. His voice held a noticeable tone of concern.

  Adam squinted and looked to where Bilardi pointed, “I see them.”

  “Those are elfonts, great plodding beasts with hides like armor and teeth as long as a hay wagon. They'll be moved to the front soon and then we'll have to sound the recall before all our men are trampled.” Bilardi shook his head, “What was my father thinking?”

  Adam turned away from watching the battle to face Bilardi. “What was that?”

  “This damned war is my father's idea. I have no love for the Southerners, but this,” He indicated the massed armies with a sweep of his hand, “Look at that, the bastards must have been breeding like rabbits for centuries. If they get inside the city...”

  “I remember what you told me back in the inn.” Adam leaned his back against the wall of the Siegewalk, “Some of it I still find a bit hard to believe—sacrificing their babies? Grant me a little common sense.”

  Bilardi sighed and sank back against the other wall, “I suppose that part was slightly exaggerated, but I still have good reason for distrusting the Southerners.”

  “Go on, tell me about it,” Adam crossed his arms and waited.

  “Ok, more than slightly exaggerated. I really know very little about them, nobody does, but I do know one thing. They're the cause of my father's madness and it's because of what they did to him that we're facing that out there.”

  “What did they do?” Adam's curiosity was peaked.

  The Captain grimaced. “I was little more than a toddler at the time, but I remember the shouting and I remember the rants that came afterwards for years. It took more than a decade to where just the mention of it wouldn't send father into a rage. It had something to do with a gold shipment sent to Ort as part of the beginning of setting up a common market between the North and the South.”

  “Sounds like a good idea. What happened?”

  “The fellow leading the merchant train happened. He claimed the gold was nothing more than lead counterfeits dipped in gold and the Southerners took that opportunity to confiscate the entire shipment, over forty million golds worth. Grisham nearly went bankrupt, the merchants threatened to withhold their tax payments, and there was nothing my father could do about it but plead for patience. The humiliation is what did it. It pushed him over the edge. All he's desired since then is revenge against that thief of an Emperor. Well, he's got his revenge, and now we've got his war.”

  Adam was about to ask another question when Corporal McKenit rushed onto the siegewalk from below, “Sappers m'lord. The enemy's got ‘em diggin’ tunnels, tryin’ to get under our walls.”

  Bilardi snorted. “I thought as much. The attempt will do them little good. Unless they've a way to tunnel through solid rock that's faster than picks and shovels Corporal I wouldn't worry about it.”

  “That's the trouble m'lord, they do.”

  “What?” Bilardi straightened from his slouch, “Give me details McKenit and be quick about it!”

  The old Corporal swallowed, “S'gotta be magik m'lord cap'n. Ain't no other way fer ‘em t'do what they been doin'. Yer da's been right all along, them Southerners got to be in league with the pit,” McKenit made a warding sign as if the mere mention of the place of evil was enough to bring its attention toward him.

  “What have they been doing McKenit? That's what I want to know,” Bilardi took the old Corporal by his lapels and shook him.

  “I dunno m'lord. They say the Southerners got a feller what points at the ground and makes a hole. Not a real big one, but big enough for a coupla soldiers to crawl through for a few feet. The fellow what told me said he saw it, afore he died,” McKenit's voice bobbled through the shaking.

  “An Earth Shaper.”

  “What?” Bilardi turned at Adam's mutter.

  “Something Milward the Wizard taught me,” Adam's eyes took on an unfocused look as he spoke, “Below the levels of Wizard and Sorcerer are those who can use just one aspect of what makes up magik. An Earth Shaper is one of them, but this one doesn't sound very powerful.”

  Bilardi tugged at his lower lip, “I'd forgotten about that old Wizard you came into town with, this may be useful. Can you duplicate any of his tricks?”

  “I'm not a Wizard Captain, just a humble swordsman,” Adam did not look at Bilardi as he answered. The lie burned in his gut even as he felt relief at Bilardi missing the clues Milward had dropped during their argument in front of the Captain.

  He received a solid clap on the shoulder, “Well, you may not wear a robe and carry a staff, but by Bardoc what you do with that sword should be called magik. Come on, let's go see what can be done about these Earth Shapers of McKenit's. Corporal?”

  “This way Cap'n,” McKenit pivoted sharply on his heel and headed to the ladder.

  Adam and Bilardi followed the Corporal past the levels hidden inside Grisham's wall and through one of the specially reinforced doors leading to the outside. This one opened onto an area partially shielded from the fighting by a series of low downs to the west of Labad's highway.A dozen men followed them. Even with the buffer of the downs they could hear that the fighting was nearer. Ort's army outnumbered Grisham's by more than ten to one. In addition, they had the elfonts.

  McKenit pointed to the right, away from the city's main gates, “It were over there m'lord Cap'n, ‘bout a good quarter mile from the wall. See that rise what hides Willer Creek? Our men run into a patrol by the creek. The Southerners was duckin’ into the hole their magik man done made.”

  “Shaper,” Adam corrected the Corporal.

  “What their Shaper made,” McKenit lowered his arm, “How're we gonna stop ‘em Cap'n? They gotta be half way or more to the wall by now.”

  “By hitting them when they're not looking Corporal.” Bilardi turned to face the men and divided them in two parties, sending six with Adam to circle the rise from the north and taking the other six along with the ever loyal McKenit around the south side. This move put greater space between them and the main battle, pushing its sound into the background to where it sounded like some angry beast growling and gnashing its teeth in the distance.

  Adam and his party encountered bog land part of the way around and had to move to higher ground in order to prevent themselves from becoming mired in the stuff. As they neared the place where Willow Creek cut through the downs he could hear the whispered conversation of the Ortian Soldiers.

  “How much further?”

  “A quarter mile at least, The magik worker complains the ground here is tough, too tough to move quickly, says he's getting tired.”

  “Tired is better than dead, tell him that. I'm not sure we got all of that scouting party. The enemy could be sending men out to see what we're doing at any time. Tell him that too.”

  The voices faded to incomprehensible mumbles and Adam waved his men to a halt as he inched forward through the long grass. He could use the power to spy on the Ortians but there was a possibility he'd be sensed by their shaper and lose the advantage of surprise.

  Parting the grass he saw six men standing around a ditch leading down into the hillock on the backside of the rise he had just circled. The ditch looked like it had been dug haphazardly. Adam snorted to himself. Milward would have been scandalized at such slipshod work. The Ortians must have been pushing their shaper from the beginning to do his job as quickly as possible. They probably didn't know about the price of shaping. The poor wretch must be completely exhausted by now, he tho
ught.

  A movement beyond the southern soldiers caught Adam's eye. Bilardi was waving at him. Using crude hand signals the Captain indicated they were to attack together, putting the Ortians between the two jaws of a pincer movement. Adam relayed the orders to his men and then drew his sword as quietly as possible. Looking back across to where Captain Bilardi crouched, he waited until the Captain caught his eye and nodded.

  Bilardi raised his hand, dropped it in a chopping motion and then charged down the slope towards the thoroughly startled southern soldiers. Adam and his men rushed down the other slope a mere heartbeat behind. The Ortian officer barely managed to raise his own weapon before Bilardi reached him. Their swords met with a ring of tempered steel. Adam cut through his first opponent without breaking stride and had engaged the second by the time the rest of his men spread out to join the battle.

  Three more southerners came out of the shaper's tunnel but in spite of their added swords they were still outnumbered two to one. By the time the last of them had thrown down his weapon half their number lay dead or dying. The officer stood off to the side glowering and cradling his now useless sword arm. The rest huddled together, two of them nursing minor wounds under the watchful eyes of the Grisham guardsmen.

  Bilardi nodded to himself, satisfied with the results of his stratagem. He tapped Corporal McKenit on the hip with the flat of his sword, “See to that cut McKenit and then help Doward there.” The surprise had been so complete only the aging Corporal and Doward, a green recruit, suffered any damage at all; the Corporal, a slash across the back of his left hand and Doward, a pink under his right ear.

  “Adam, do you think we're in any danger from that Shaper of theirs?” Bilardi finished wiping his sword and placed it back into its scabbard.

  “No,” Adam walked over to the groove and peered into the dark mouth of the tunnel. It was roughly three feet across in both directions. The walls showed the partial gloss of how they were formed. “By now he's got to be drained. Milward said shaping can take a lot out of you and from the looks of his work, this one wasn't too strong to begin with.”