The Whispers of War [Wells End Chronicles Book 2]

by Robert Beers

  “My goodness,” Thaylli held her hands to her cheeks.

  Ethan drizzled some of the dressing over a helping of salad. “So that's why we haven't seen southern warships sailing up to Grisham's dock.”

  “Indeed,” Adam brought another bite of potato and sausage to his mouth, “they most likely know Grisham's history better than we do, but they can still stand at anchor outside the strait and cut off shipping, which they've done. I'm very glad for these sausages now. I doubt we'll be seeing many more for a while.”

  “Or things like this salad,” Ethan held up a forkful for example, “Thaylli, let me say that this meal has been a masterpiece. You have worked wonders with humble fare and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.” He rose from his chair and favored her with a half-bow.

  Thaylli blushed scarlet and dimpled prettily.

  Adam looked proud and gestured with the bottle of Clarendy, “More wine?”

  Thaylli fingered the small bottle Fainnelle had given her in the pocket of her skirt.

  On the following morning, after a thorough lesson in what ‘later’ meant, Adam entered the Guard Administration office to find Ethan and Bilardi pouring over a pile of old maps. Some of them had the yellowing of extreme age.

  “What is all this about?”

  Both men looked up. Captain Bilardi greeted his newest Captain with a broad smile, Ethan with a searching look. Adam answered Bilardi's smile with one of his own and Ethan's look with an embarrassed flush.

  “I thought so,” Ethan murmured.

  “What?” Bilardi looked at both men.

  Adam coughed and worked at regaining some composure, “Nothing Captain, nothing at all. Can either of you tell me what all this is about?” He waved a hand over the maps.

  “Your Sergeant here is trying to prove a theory, Captain,” Bilardi's mouth twitched upward at the title. “He dragged me out of a warm bed before dawn to do so. It seems he remembers hearing somewhere about a rumor of old escape tunnels running beneath Grisham.”

  “Oh?”

  “Back when I was under Mogan's tutelage, I think.” Ethan slid the map before him aside, exposing another for scrutiny, “It had something to do with securing a fortress against siege and this city was used as an example. One of these maps should give me some clue as to where we begin looking.”

  “Looking for what?”

  “Why the entrances of course.” Bilardi pointed at a plotting of the dock area, “If these tunnels do exist there will be an indication ... somewhere.” His brows drew together as he peered more closely at the drawing before him. After a moment of studying he opened his fingers and allowed the parchment to fall back to the table, “It's no use, we're not finding a flicking thing!”

  Adam picked up the fallen sheet and ran his eyes over it. One of the older ones, he thought, some of these lines are so faded I can barely make them out. He used a shaping to pull the markings on the map into focus and looked at it again.

  “What would the indication look like?”

  Ethan spoke while tracing something on another map with a fingertip, “Since the tunnels run under the city they'd be dotted or dashed lines. Unlike the sewers they'd not run into the harbor but toward the city's northern and western walls.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because any other way would bring high tide or a storm right into the streets and I don't think those old planners were that foolish,” Ethan looked up with a smile.

  Adam nodded, “That sounds reasonable. You say they would show up as dotted or dashed lines?”

  Bilardi laughed cynically, “That's what he said, but I'll be damned if I can find any of the blasted things.”

  “How about lines that are dashed and dotted?”

  “What? Let me see that!” Bilardi snatched the map out of Adam's hand, but Adam kept an eye on his place and pointed over the Captain's arm at what he saw.

  “There, see? And there, there, and there. Aren't those what you're looking for?” He traced a finger along the now clearly visible lines.

  “I'll be a ... I must have looked at this map a half dozen times, it's the oldest, and this has to be it.” Bilardi placed the map back onto the table and smoothed it out. Adam and Ethan joined him at either side.

  “See here,” He placed a fingertip on one of the drawings, “this one has an entrance beneath what would now be our favorite pub, and over here, and here, two larger tunnels starting from what is now a less than desirable part of the city.”

  “Isn't that where The Lowers are?” Adam looked up at both Bilardi and Ethan.

  “I've heard of them,” Ethan looked grim, “every city has one, a gathering spot where desperation is the primary method of exchange and hope a cruel dream. If your Lowers is anything like what Shilling Street was in Berggren I wouldn't go in there with less than a full company.”

  Bilardi smiled at the memory of his first foray into Grisham's slum. “A full company at least. With shortages now beginning to show in nearly everything, those in The Lowers will be even more dangerous and I have a feeling we're going to need those tunnels. The harbor will be less than adequate if we have to evacuate the city.”

  “Why?” Adam asked.

  “I'll handle this one Captain,” Ethan smiled. “Try to picture, Adam, word of an evacuation reaching the good citizens of this city. Now you and I both know a few with level heads set firmly on their shoulders, unfortunately they don't represent the majority or even a small percentage of it. Most people have a herd mentality and react just like sheep catching the scent of a wolf when something like what we're talking about happens. Can you imagine what the docks would look like?”

  Adam tried and the only picture that would come to mind was that of crowds of people falling into the bay and drowning. He shook his head to clear the image, “Couldn't the guard keep things from becoming a mess?”

  “Possibly, if they'd be ruthless enough.”

  “Then the merchant ships could be used to move the population to a safe area. Like maybe up here, or here.” Adam pointed to a couple of areas along the shoreline of the huge bay north of Grisham.

  Bilardi shook his head. “There isn't that many ships left of a size to even begin to do the job. When the initial panic hit, the scabrous cowards spread their sails and moved on to safer waters. Besides that, I'm ashamed to admit that Grisham doesn't have a floating Navy, never has. To compound things, the closest safe landing on any of those shores is nearly a thousand miles away at Bern. Before that it's all impassable cliffs and sharp rocks.”

  “That leaves us with the tunnels,” Ethan said flatly. “Are there any on this map where it won't be necessary to fight through whole neighborhoods or dig up a pub's wine cellar?”

  “Well, there are a number of other tunnels indicated on this thing, at least one of them must have an easy access.” Bilardi rubbed his chin as he studied the map one more time. “The problem here is that this was drawn back when Grisham was considerably different than it is now. We're going to need some help, I think. McKenit!”

  “Yes milord Cap'n?” The old Sergeant stuck his head through the room's door.

  Bilardi gestured at the map, “Run your eyes over this and tell me if you recognize any landmarks.”

  McKenit came over to the table and spent a moment perusing the map. “Hmm ... not Harkon's reign no ... could be Belkimon ... naw, too large. The market square's wrong.” His voice trailed off and then he looked up, “It's from the time of the old Duke, back afore the Magik War. What was his name? Zacheral, that's it, Zacheral The Builder. Damn near bled the merchants dry with his taxes, he did, until they had ‘im kilt. Says he built a whole network o’ tunnels under the city. Says he had help from th’ Dragons too. Never believed that part of it.”

  Ethan nodded and crossed his arms. “That's very illuminating Corporal, but can you tell us where those tunnels are in relation to what the city looks like now?”

  McKenit looked to Bilardi who shrugged, “Answer the Sergeant, Corporal.”


  “Aye Cap'n,” McKenit bent back to the map. “I think so, Sarge. This here,” He traced an area on the map, “is the old Market Square. The new one's least twice as big. This curvy street's gotta be what we call Hill Run now, goes ‘round the hills where the rich merchants have their estates. An’ that makes this spot the Lowers. Wouldn't go there lessen I have to, iffn I was you.”

  “We discussed that Corporal,” Bilardi remarked dryly. “It is obvious you know your way around this map so can you tell us where the various tunnel mouths are? We know about the one beneath the pub and the one in the Lowers.”

  “You mean where they'd be today?” McKenit looked up. “Aye, Cap'n. Just give me a minute.”

  “Good man,” Bilardi clapped the Corporal's shoulder. He looked at Adam and Ethan. “McKenit's hobby, as you probably guessed is history. Spends nearly every spare copper on old texts and scrolls.”

  McKenit chuckled and nodded his head as he studied the map.

  As Bilardi, Ethan and Adam bent over the map with him, the old Corporal ran his eyes across the yellowed parchment slowly with just the occasional grunt to signify his progress. After a while he straightened and pointed at a spot directly in front of him, “You'll know this place Cap'n, remember that feller you had to slap down for stealin’ weapons a while back? He died right on top o’ one.”

  “You're telling me there's a tunnel mouth right beneath the floor of that warehouse?” Bilardi raised an eyebrow.

  “Aye Cap'n, that's what I'm saying.”

  “What about the others?” Adam tapped a finger against the three remaining tunnels.

  McKenit scratched an earlobe. “Well milord, this one here's smack dab in the middle of the Merchant Quarter. Don't know what the buildin's look like there now but I'll bet a month's pay it's a shop of some kind. This one's close by the Palace, down the hill opposite the side facin’ the Lowers. An’ this one's way up in the northwest near the park, maybe in it.”

  Ethan stepped back from the table. “Ok, who's floor do we dig up first?”

  Adam pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders as he made his way up the cobblestoned street to the house the Captain gave to him on his promotion, with the proviso he get his girl “out from under the nose of that old mother hen". Sirena Culperti protested, albeit mildly, about them living together untied, that is until Thaylli put her foot down. He smiled at the memory as he turned the corner and saw the front of the house. They were going to be consorted on the next full moon anyway.

  Like most of the smaller dwellings in Grisham, outside of those in the Lowers and the lesser slum areas, the house was built on a narrow beam, longer than it was wide. An alley, with barely enough room for a man to walk through, separated their house from its neighbors. None of the houses had lawns, though several, including Adam and Thaylli's had flower boxes nestled against the front stoops. A light shone in the front room window. The shadow against the drapery indicated Thaylli was back from the pub and probably busy with her stitchery.

  His boots clomping against the step brought her to the door and she threw both arms around his neck and clung to him, “Oh, I'm so glad you're home.” She pulled back but kept her hold on his neck, “I've been dying for ... you know.”

  Adam flushed, “Thaylli! We're on the stoop!”

  She tittered, “Oh, you, not here.” She stole a feral look at his loins, “That is unless you're feeling adventurous.”

  Adam's deepening flush brought forth more laughter, “I'm just teasing, silly. Come inside and let me get you some supper, you're going to need it.”

  After supper and an athletic dessert, Adam and Thaylli lay side by side in their bedroom. Adam's expression grew thoughtful and Thaylli noticed the change as she traced patterns in his chest hair.

  “What are you thinking about?” She looked up at him with a languid smile on her face.

  “The war, the siege. I'm sorry, but I can't help worrying about you and what they may do to you.” He reached over and stroked her jaw line and chin.

  She sighed, making it sound like a purr, “I'm not worried. If someone tried to harm me you'd make him go away like you did that man in black.” Thaylli pantomimed performing a shaping.

  “That's one of the things that worries me,” Adam folded his hands over his chest, “I'm not always near you. The duties of being an officer keep me away a lot longer than I want to be and as much as I like your friends at the pub or the Culperti's, I don't think they'd be much protection if the Ortians made it through the city wall.”

  Thaylli frowned, “What do you want me to do, tie a rope about my waist and follow you wherever you go?”

  “No. Besides looking ridiculous, it would be against regulations. Captain Bilardi would never agree to it. Anyway, you're my consort, not my slave; you have your own life to live. I'm just glad you choose to live it with me.”

  Her frown vanished and she snuggled up against him happily.

  “Actually, I was trying to think of a way of getting you to someplace safe, where I could join you once this mess is over.”

  Thaylli sat upright and stared down at him, “And just where would that be, Captain?” She tossed her hair. It swirled around her bare shoulders.

  Adam reached out a hand. “Could you lay back down? I'm just thinking and when you move like that it's awfully distracting.”

  She twitched again, “Oh? Is my Captain feeling a little tense?”

  “Thaylli, please.” Adam pulled her down, but she resisted and the whole thing developed into a wrestling match, which developed into some more dessert.

  When they were done Thaylli lay next to him and panted, “So where could I go?”

  “What?” Adam spoke with his face in the pillow.

  “Turn over and talk to me. You're not that exhausted,” She slapped his bottom. He turned over. “So where could I go?” Thaylli repeated her question.

  “I don't know,” Adam yawned, “The Library maybe?”

  “Oh that sounds like lots of fun,” Thaylli said dryly as she cradled a cheek in her hand and propped herself up with an elbow.

  “I said I didn't know.” Adam threw up his hands, “If only I could get you back to Access. That would solve everything. You'd be safe, there'd be your family and friends around you plus no shortage of food...”

  “And I could start on our cabin,” Thaylli finished for him.

  Adam smiled, “Only if you can get there safely. There's still a little manner of a besieging army to deal with.”

  Thaylli reached out with her free hand and wriggled her fingers. “Could you do your Wizard thingy and send me there?” She saw the expression on Adam's face, “No?”

  “No. I asked Milward about that when he started teaching me about magik. A Wizard can only carry himself in a traveling. He can't send or take anyone with him.” He turned on his side and faced Thaylli, “There's got to be another way.”

  “Maybe you could magik yourself to where Drinaugh lives and he could fly here and take me back to Access. No,” she frowned, “can you imagine what the sight of a Dragon would do to them?” Her impish smile vanished into a frown. “Too bad we can't just dig under the city wall.”

  “That's it!” Adam leaned over and kissed her. “Thaylli, you have it. We can use the tunnels to get you to safety.”

  “Tunnels?”

  Adam nodded, “Yes, tunnels. Back in the past they built these tunnels under Grisham. We just discovered the map that showed where they were placed. One of them has its mouth in the basement of the pub you work at.”

  “In Fainnele's basement?”

  “Actually, the Gaffer that owns the pub's basement. You know, the fellow who pays you at the end of each week?” Adam ran a finger up the middle of her chest.

  Thaylli looked down, “You keep doing that and we'll never get to sleep.”

  Adam reached out a hand, “Who needs sleep?”

  The following dawn Adam stood on the Grisham battlement next to Ethan and stifled a massive yawn.

  “Lon
g night?” Ethan watched as Adam yawned again.

  “No where near long enough. I think I may have slept for two hours, maybe three. Any more of that tisane left?”

  Ethan reached down and pulled up a crockery jar with a solid looking lid, it sloshed when he shook it. “Some—here, wake yourself up,” He chuckled.

  Adam poured the hot tisane into his mug. “What are you laughing at?”

  “Nothing,” Ethan snickered and then straightened from his slouch against the embrasure. “Here they come.”

  Indistinct shapes in the morning fog coalesced into a howling hoard of Ortian regulars and conscripts that rushed at the city wall. Many of them carried scaling ladders and long pikes to fend off the defenders atop the battlement.

  “Man your stations! Ready the pitch, ready the stones!” The shouted command echoed along the battlement as it was picked up and repeated by the noncoms overseeing their section of the siegewalk. The archers readied their bows, several quivers of shafts at hand next to the arrow loop. Others grasped the heavy axes and pushpoles that would be used to fend off the ladders as they slammed against the crenellated wall in the battlement.

  The front of the human wave reached the last twenty yards before the wall's batters and dropped from sight. Those directly behind them were unable to stop in time and they too dropped into the disguised pits. Screams of agony rose out of the ground and silenced the war cries of those within hearing. The pits had been dug over the previous week's evenings and lined with spikes.

  A brief pause slowed the advance of the hoard as the rest skirted the edges of the pits, and then continued on toward the curtain wall.

  “Stones! Now! Archers, let fly!”

  At the command, massive boulders, weighing upwards of a ton each were levered off the hoardings set outside the crenellations. Upon impacting against the wall's batters, the stones ricocheted directly into the advancing Ortian troops, some of them shattered, sending razor sharp shrapnel into their chosen victims. But even with that the attack barely faltered. Wave upon wave of snarling humanity smashed themselves against the rocks of Grisham's first line of defense. Men carrying the siege ladders were sheltered by others holding huge shields as they struggled to secure the ladders hooks against the base of a crenellation. Archers in the scrum sent flights of barbed death upwards to discourage those wielding push poles from knocking the ladders backward.