The Whispers of War [Wells End Chronicles Book 2]

by Robert Beers

Neely goggled at the General, “You want us to sneak in there,” he pointed in the direction of Grisham, “nab the Duke hisself, an’ then sneak back here with him, so's you can haul his ass downriver?”

  “If possible,” The General repeated.

  “What if he don't want to come quietly?” Flynn asked, scratching his cheek.

  “Oh, then just bring back something proving he's been punished properly; a finger with his signet ring on it, or his head will do.” Jarl-Tysyn said, with an evil grin.

  Neely spat a build up of saliva, and wiped his mouth. “Well, looks like we're movin’ up in the world. First it's an Earl, now it's a Duke. Wonder what'll come next?”

  Charity ignored Neely's reference to her past and leaned over to peer at the parchments spread out over the table. “How do we know these have any relation to what's there now?”

  “Grisham's rulers have been notoriously resistant to change. The sitting Duke is no different. You can bet very little is in that palace that wasn't there from the beginning, outside of a few window dressings and such.” Jarl-Tyson reached around Charity and began gathering up the parchments, “In anticipation of something like this being done, I've had a set of copies drawn up. They're a bit brighter than these, but I wanted you to see the originals first.”

  “Why?” Circumstance asked.

  “Why, what, lad?” The General continued to collect the parchments.

  “Why show us the originals, if the copies are just as good, or better?”

  “I kinda wondered that meself,” Neely murmured.

  Jarl-Tyson leaned forward and scowled. “Because I wouldn't trust any skrudding doodles unless they were based on something solid, and I didn't expect you to, that's why.”

  Neely folded his arms over his chest and nodded, “Good enough for me.”

  Flynn caressed the blade of his axe, “Same here.”

  “There's still the question of how we get in,” Charity said, as she turned away from the table. “Has anyone thought of a way to cross the chasm?”

  “Outside of magik, no,” Jarl-Tysyn growled.

  “I wanna see this bloody great ditch.” Neely spat once more, and stepped out from under the cover of the pavilion's canopy. “There anyone around here willin’ to show me?”

  “Deric-Hess.”

  “Yes, General!” The young officer snapped to rigid attention.

  “Show them the chasm. Take care to stay under cover and outside of the snipers’ range.”

  “Yes, General. Right this way, please.”

  Deric-Hess led Neely with Flynn, Charity, and Circumstance close behind, away from the canopy and down slope into a thicket of hardwoods. “These will give us some cover. The grounds from here are well forested all the way around the western walls of the city to the cliffs overlooking the great bay.”

  “It ain't changed much, then.” Neely said as he bent a sapling out of his way. “Mind this patch, Flynn. Some o’ these little'un's ‘ll switch yer privates iffn you ain't careful.”

  “You're familiar with this territory, then?” Deric-Hess asked, interest brightening his eyes.

  “Neely grew up here ‘bouts,” Flynn chuckled. “Ain't much you kin show ‘im he ain't already seen.”

  The young officer stepped aside. “Oh, then perhaps you should be leading the way, sire.”

  Neely looked closely at Deric-Hess, searching for any sign of cynicism, he found none. The lad was being completely earnest. “Naw, you keep on, young feller. You're doin’ just fine.”

  They were led through an area filled with rills and rushes. Sparrows and finches defended their territories with a cacophony of chirps and whistles. A rise in the ground took them into a grassy clearing that looked over the downs fronting the city wall. The jagged black rent of the chasm snaked its way along the wall in both directions.

  Behind the chasm and the wall rose the rooftops and spires of Grisham proper. The Ducal palace rose above them all. Sunlight glinted off the copper sheathing the keep's roof and its towers. Beyond the rooftops, misty in the distance, rose the cliffs housing Grisham's Library, the sliver strand of the strait shone ribbon bright below them.

  At the point where they stood, the lip of the chasm looked to be a quarter mile or more away. Occasional flashes showed between the walls crenellations, reflections off a helmet or a weapon. More reflections showed along the battlements of the towers spread along the wall.

  “Looks crowded up there,” Neely commented, shading his eyes as he ran his gaze along the city's curtain wall.

  Flynn nodded. “Lottsa pins for me cushion. You sure ‘bout this, Miss Charity?”

  “My brother's in there, somewhere, Flynn. Once we're inside we should be ok. None of us are members of any army, and only Neely has any connection at all with Grisham. I'm sure the years have changed him somewhat.”

  “I'm hopin’ that meself,” Neely muttered.

  They stood there for several long moments, watching the city wall, and the black chasm before it, saying nothing. Finally Neely broke the silence with a murmured, “It just might work.”

  “You got somethin', Neely?” Flynn asked. The other turned to listen.

  “Think so. You notice how the ground ain't even on both sides ‘o that ditch?” Neely pointed with a twig he'd picked up earlier. “See there? Our side is a good bit higher than their side. Bet it's that way along most of its length, cep'n where it levels out at th’ ocean cliffs.”

  “That is correct,” Deric-Hess broke in, “The Engineers said that the earthquake shifted this side of the chasm away and upwards from the Grisham promontory, as much as twenty feet in some areas.”

  “An just when were you gonna let us in on this little bit of info, junior?” Neely walked around Flynn and gave the young officer a gimlet stare from less than an inch away.

  Deric-Hess flinched back and swallowed hard, “I ... uh, I meant no offense, sire Neely. Really, I didn't. I'm sure if I would have told you sooner if the question had come up...”

  “Don't intimidate him, Neely,” Charity said, sharply. “We have ample time, so no harm's been done. What is this idea of yours, and where does the difference in cliff height figure into it?”

  Neely smiled to himself, “Well, I hafta admit part of it come to me when Flynn was braggin’ about your shootin’ ability. It looks like there's plenty of places where that ditch out there is maybe two feet or less across. This is what I'm thinkin',” he kneeled down and cleared a spot of ground with his knife, “We find a place where th’ cover's good right to th’ edge, but still with room to move. When night comes, Charity shoots a line with a grapple across to th’ other side. Iffn it holds, we slide down th’ line, an’ bob's yer uncle.”

  “Uh, Neely...” Flynn began, “Just how thick a line you planning on gettin'? I ain't slidin’ down no thread, it'd snap afore I got ten foot out.”

  Charity nodded. “That could pose a problem. I'm not sure how far my abilities with the bow go, but I'm sure the arrow has to be able to fit in order to work. If I tried to shoot a boat anchor across, I'm certain it would fail.”

  “Let me go first,” Circumstance spoke up. “I'm the lightest, and I can carry a heavier line over with me.”

  “What about anchorin’ it? Flynn asked. “We sure don't want it comin’ loose whilst we's crossin’ over.”

  “That won't happen,” Circumstance said, flatly. The finality of his tone brooked no argument from those who'd witnessed what the boy could do. Deric-Hess, on the other hand, had no such point of reference.

  “Surely, you're not thinking of actually allowing this child to undertake such a dangerous outing?” He said, aghast.

  Flynn plucked a grass stalk from the ground near his feet and began to chew on it. “You wasn't there,” He said, laconically. “If you was, you'd understand.”

  Neely stood and stretched, “That's a fact. Seein’ sometimes changes a whole bunch of opinions a man can carry. Believe me, lad,” He said to the young officer, “You don't wanna see what we saw. Just trus
t that th’ boy knows what he's doin', an’ leave it at that.”

  They could see the indecision flooding through Deric-Hess. A strong part of the young man rebelled at any thought of putting a child in harm's way, but here were three personalities rumored to be the equal of any of the heroes of old telling him not to worry. His eyes bounced from face to face, looking for some crack in the resolve, he found none.

  “I see,” he sighed. “What supplies will you need?”

  The Ortian Army Quartermaster wasn't about to release any of his materials merely at the say so of a junior officer; a blistering, profanity-laced postscript to that say-so from Jarl-Tysyn, however, turned things around and the company was given access to whatever they needed.

  “You know, Flynn,” Neely said, as they sorted through stacks of grapples and lines, “th’ more I see of that General feller, th’ more I like ‘im.”

  “Right you are, Neely,” Flynn replied while examining a grapple with collapsible vanes, “He's a man what knows how to get things done.”

  It took a good while to sort through everything, but eventually they had a collection of lines and grapples that looked as if they'd do the job. Flynn located an empty box and Neely gathered the supplies into it.

  “Charity should have her part put together,” Neely grunted, as he dropped the last section of line and grapple into the box. “Let's see, iffn I'm guessin’ right, should be dark soon, and I don't know about you, Flynn, but I'm kinda itchin’ to get goin'.”

  Flynn's eyebrows climbed into his hairline, “You, Neely? But you said Grisham was...”

  “...th’ last place I'd druther be,” Neely finished for him. “I know, Flynn, but a man's got a right to change his mind, don't he? ‘Sides, this time I'm goin’ in with a whole bleedin’ army at me back, an’ the Duke ain't huntin’ me, I'm huntin’ him. Changes th’ flavor of th’ whole situation a mite, don'tcha think?”

  Flynn chewed the thought over, “Aye, Neely, you're right there, it does at that.” He picked up the box of supplies and followed Neely over to the other side of the Quartermaster's enclosure where the smaller weapons were stored. There they found Charity, with Circumstance standing close by, sorting through several bins of arrows. A number of the shafts lay on the floor. She was holding one away from her and sighting down its length with her left eye closed. That arrow joined the others on the floor.

  Charity shook her head as she picked up another shaft. “I can see why you have so much trouble keeping Grisham's parapets clear, most of these arrows would be better for shooting around corners than anything else.”

  The Quartermaster's assistant wrung his hands, “Milady, please understand, this is war and our fletchers have little time to complete their duties.”

  “Than it's probably a wonder these have feathers on them at all,” Charity murmured as she threw down another reject.

  Flynn dropped the box he was carrying and the ensuing clatter made the already nervous assistant jump.

  He turned and saw Flynn and Neely grinning at him. “Oh, my Lord,” He exclaimed, “I thought the barbarians were upon us.”

  Charity glanced at the two and then returned to her sorting. “You were right, those two aren't exactly what you would call civilized. Is this all of them?” She swept the remaining arrows off to the side.

  The assistant hesitated. Charity was on him in an instant. “Are you going to tell me you might be holding some back? Are there better ones? Are there actually some arrows in this place that will fly in a straight line?”

  Neely moved to where he was just behind the assistant and placed his long knife against the man's throat. “Looks like he's havin’ trouble talkin’ outta his mouth. Maybe I should give ‘im a new one.”

  The little fellow began babbling, “B ... b ... but I cannot. I ... I ... I mean, it's forbidden.”

  “So, unforbid it,” Neely's voice held a deadly flatness.

  Charity scowled, “Oh, let him go, Neely. All you're doing is scaring him, and he isn't the enemy.” She turned back to the arrows laid out in front of her. “Besides, these should do me, I think.”

  Neely replaced his knife and the Quartermaster assistant nearly fainted with relief. “Thank you, milady, thank you.”

  “You're welcome,” Charity said, dryly. “What's in that box, Flynn?”

  The big man shrugged, “Bits ‘n pieces, Miss Charity. A bunch'a grapples ‘n lines, what might do, I think. I ain't never done somethin’ like this.”

  Charity smiled, “We're all in the same fix, Flynn. None of us has done anything like this. Let's take a look at those, shall we?” She pointed at the box.

  Neely kicked the box of grapples and lines into a spot with better light, “Here ya go, ain't too pretty, but like you said, Charity, they should do.”

  Circumstance stood up from his spot against the wall and walked over to look into the box. Without hesitation he reached down and pick up a line. “This one,” he said, quietly. He handed the line to Neely and reached down again. The grapple he brought up was the smallest of the group. “And this one.”

  Flynn smiled broadly, “Well, that was easy.”

  “But ... aren't you going to inspect them yourselves? You're not going to take this boy's opinion merely on face value?” The assistant gesticulated broadly as he spoke.

  Neely smiled at Flynn, “Why is it, Flynn, that these southern fellows are so thick when it comes to Circumstance?”

  “I dunno, Neely,” Flynn replied, with an exaggerated casualness, “Maybe it's somethin’ in their diet. Kinda strips away the childlike trust, ya know?”

  “Could be right, Flynn. Perhaps it's th’ tea ... kills th’ manhood, ya know.”

  “Will you two stop it?” Charity looked up from her examination of the grapple and line. “As to Circumstance,” she turned her attention to the Quartermaster assistant, “We have our reasons for trusting his opinion. These will do nicely.” She held up the items.

  The assistant gulped and nodded, “Yes, milady. I'll tally them up right away.”

  With their supplies gathered together, Charity and her companions paid a brief visit to Jarl-Tysyn to inform him of their plans.

  “A night raid, hmm?” The General rubbed his chin in thought, “Sound thinking in most cases. I've only got one concern, how in the world are you going to see to hit your skrudding mark at that distance when it's flaming pitch black outside?” His voice rose into a near bellow, “what good is all this preparation going to do if the four of you fall into that great bloody ditch?” He threw out his arms and spun around, “Gods, I wish I had a Wizard. I'd have him burn that bloody city to the ground.”

  Neely reached out and took Charity by the arm. “Easy there Charity,” he whispered, “Th’ man don't know what he's sayin', an’ it might just be good to keep it that way.”

  At first Charity stiffened as Neely's hand closed on her arm, and then she relaxed. The tracker was right; it wouldn't do any good to let the General in on any more of the family history than he needed to know. She reached over and lifted Neely's hand off her arm and forced a reassuring smile for Jarl-Tysyn's benefit, “You needn't worry General, light or dark, I'll find my mark.”

  Jarl-Tysyn did not answer immediately. He nodded at her over his shoulder and then stood there, hands clasped behind his back. The General held that pose for several long seconds, his head bowed in thought. Charity was just about to break the silence when he turned around and fixed the four of them with a scowl. Charity got the distinctive feeling that was his favorite expression.

  “Skrud it,” Jarl-Tysyn growled, “Half a plan is better than nothing, which is what my officers have been giving me. Let's do this thing.”

  Charity nodded and left the General's tent with her companions in tow. She paid a brief visit to Deric-Hess, who for some reason had been chosen by the cat as a friend. “She's not in the habit of doing this. Apparently she sees something in you.”

  The young officer tossed a scrap of meat in the cat's direction, watching as a paw
snagged it neatly out of the air. He looked up a Charity and smiled, “I've always been that way, Milady. Animals just take to me, I don't know why. Boy, she is a big one though, isn't she?”

  She nodded, thinking, Was I ever that young?

  “I have a favor to ask of you,” Charity said, rubbing a hand along the cat's back and getting a loud rumbling purr in return.

  He nodded his head gravely, “You just name it, Milady. Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it.”

  She smiled, “It's nothing that dangerous. I just need someone to watch over her while I'm away. She'll want to follow, but she won't be able to. I'd feel a lot better if she had someone she liked taking care of her until we get back.”

  “Oh, I'll be glad to Milady. As much as animals like me, I like them.”

  Charity reached down and scratched the thick fur around the cat's neck, “Perhaps that's why they like you.”

  Since most of their equipment and supplies were already gathered and packed, Charity and her companions spent a tense couple of hours waiting for dark, all except Circumstance. He seemed as calm and unruffled as ever.

  Flynn and Neely watched him as they crouched behind a thick hedge of bottlebrush overlooking the narrows. Neely's jaw muscles bunched and relaxed as he chewed on a piece of grass. “He don't move much, does he, Flynn?” the tracker whispered, as he pointed at the boy with the gnawed stem.

  “Nope,” Flynn replied, just under his breath, “The lad's a quiet one, he is, lessn’ he needs to move, he don't.” The big man chuckled, deep in his chest, “Mind you, I'd druther not be the one he'd decided to move against. You remember that thing what sent all those draugs ‘gainst us?”

  Neely nodded, his eyes still on Circumstance, “Aye, I do. It seemed near as surprised as us when th’ lad sent it away. You don't belong here, you never did,” he raised the pitch of his voice into a fair imitation of Circumstance's contralto. “We's livin’ in strange times, Flynn. Hope we gets to see th’ end of ‘em.”

  “Me too, Neely. Me too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Zasloff finished his examination of Jonas, stood, and grunted. He said nothing to Ellona, who hovered in the doorway, but began packing the various vials and small bags of herbs and powders scattered about the bedside table into his pack.