The Whispers of War [Wells End Chronicles Book 2]

by Robert Beers

  “But I don't want it,” Adam almost wailed.

  Ethan gave him a sad smile, “I know, lad, I know. But, don't you see? All your running from it's just brought you to the point where you would have been had you accepted that destiny in the first place. Look at the Captain, he knew, and I'll bet old McKenit knows also. And now, so does our beloved Magister Mallien.”

  Adam massaged his forehead with both hands, “Lovely.”

  Fainnelle chose that time to return to the booth, “You wanted something ... what's wrong lad?” She looked down on Adam with his head between his hands.

  He didn't answer her question, but instead nodded toward the front of the pub, “When those Churchmen came in asking about Thaylli, Fainnelle, what did they say, exactly?”

  She pursed her lips, “I don't know, exactly. They was speakin’ to the Gaffer, not me, he tol’ me later. He said they said they was from the Magister, an’ they was interested in speakin’ to your young lady, ‘bout what or why, they didn't say.”

  “Do you know what the Gaffer told them?”

  Fainnelle smiled, “He tol’ them they was a copper short an’ a gold late, since she been sent packin’ a couple days ago. They asked why, an', you have to excuse the Gaffer, lad, he meant well by her, feelin’ protective an’ all, he said it was cause of her spillin’ more beer than she sold. Said iffn’ they wanted to find her they was welcome to, but he wasn't interested in havin’ her back.”

  “No offense taken, Fainnelle, he did well,” Adam returned the woman's smile and lifted his tankard in salute.

  Ethan sighed hungrily, “Since we've got you over here, young lady, is there anything back in that kitchen of yours worth eating?”

  Fainnelle set both fists against her hips, “I'll have you know, Ethan, that anything I've got cookin’ back in my kitchen is worth eatin’ an’ well you should know it too, since you've put back enough of it to fill three men, but I thank you for the ‘young lady’ bit,” She finished with a grin. “I'll see what we can plate up for you.”

  Adam asked for a plate for himself and soon he and Ethan were single-mindedly involved in reducing the heaping platters of fish stew set before them. There was no bread, as the siege had effectively cut off shipments of flour and wheat from the south, Barley, they had aplenty from the ships coming in from the bay east of the Wolfwood, but most pubs and inns customers preferred it served in liquid form since the loaves formed of that grain tended to break teeth. There was no speaking while they ate, and neither one of them noticed the two black clad figures enter the pub and join the crowd at the bar.

  The Gaffer did notice and nodded at the two while polishing one of the never ending tankards brought in from the back by the scullery boy, “Evenin’ Inquisitors, what's yer refreshment this night?”

  “Small beer,” the voice held little emotion, and the little it held was not pleasant. The Gaffer swallowed once, thinking of the service he'd done for the young lass and reached down behind the counter for the glasses used for small beer. Next to the glasses sat his truncheon, a two-foot length of iron-hard wood, weighted at the end with a lead collar. His hand hovered over the weapon for a second and then slid aside to grasp two of the glasses.

  The figure to his left smiled coldly, “Wise decision Pubkeep, there may be forgiveness for you after all.” Both of them spoke in a quiet, self-assured manner.

  The Gaffer swallowed again, “I ... I don't catch yer meanin’ Milord.”

  This time the one on his right smiled, “You lied to our brethren earlier this day when asked by them concerning a certain trollop in your employ. Now you consider threatening us with the weapon you hide beneath your bar. It sits approximately here, I believe,” A polished fingernail gouged an x into the oak counter directly above the truncheon's resting spot.

  Sweat began running down the Gaffer's brow, even though it was still cool. “Lie? I ... I never told no lie. I sent that girl packin', I did. Ask Fainnelle, she'll tell ye the same, so'll most o’ me custom.”

  “I'm sure they will,” The one on the left nodded, still smiling, “And I'm sure the stories will match closely, almost as if they'd been rehearsed.”

  By this time the patrons on either side of the two figures had noticed what was going on. They now had the entire front section of the bar to themselves.

  The Gaffer looked to his right and his left, and then wiped the sweat from his face with the palm of his hand. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Milords, but what does yer want with the girl anyways? She ain't no threat to no one, I mean she...”

  “That was and is no concern of yours, Pubkeep,” the one on the right interrupted smoothly.

  “Your concern should be how you are going to answer our questions,” The one on the left traced a fingernail through a ring of condensation on the bar. Steam rose from the nails wake. “We will have no difficulty assuring your truthfulness.”

  “Is there a problem here, Gaffer?”

  The Inquisitor on the right spoke without turning his head. “You have no part in this affair, bumpkin, go back to your drink and enjoy what life you may have left.”

  “No, I don't think I will, nor will my friend,” The voice behind them sounded confident, dangerously so.

  The two black clad figures turned slowly as if on pivots. Behind them, the Gaffer sagged like a balloon losing its air. The one on the right's smile stayed with its mouth, leaving the eyes cold and distant, “You have made a mistake, bumpkin, one that will cost you your soul.”

  Ethan shrugged, “Too late, I kicked the Church out of my soul's business a long time ago. I let Bardoc worry about the niceties.”

  “Blasphemy,” The one on the left breathed, “How dare you speak so about the Mother Church?”

  Adam looked at Ethan and saw how the man was standing. There was going to be swordplay. He added a few inches of distance between them as he loosened his sword in its scabbard.

  Ethan smiled while his right hand caressed the worn pommel on his sword, “Your church is no mother of mine, so I dare what I please. Now, are the two of you going to leave this place peacefully—or in pieces?”

  The speed with which the two attacked was blinding. Both Adam and Ethan had barely cleared their scabbards when the rapiers of the Inquisitors slashed across their shirtfronts. He managed to parry the return slash and then try an attack of his own but his black clad opponent was easily a match for him. At glance to his left showed Ethan was in the same fix.

  A sudden twisting attack by his opponent caused a line of fire to bloom on his sword hand. Out of the corner of his eye Adam saw blood welling up along the line of the cut.

  The pub had completely cleared of Patrons. Fainnelle shooed her daughter and the rest of the serving girls out the door. No one wanted to be around in case more of Mallien's Inquisitors showed up.

  Ethan now bore an additional rent in his tunic and two bloody slashes on his right cheek. The Inquisitors fought with an eerie calm, their feet moving only when necessary. Unlike their opponents, both Adam and Ethan began to show signs of strain. Sweat mingled with the blood on Ethan's cheek, and Adam's breath now came in short gasps as he struggled to get enough air into his lungs.

  “This is beginning to bore me,” The Inquisitor across from Ethan stepped back and brought his rapier up in salute, disengaging from the duel. Adam's opponent did the same after one last pass. “Surrender now, and we will promise your deaths to be short and painless, even though you are guilty of gross blasphemy.”

  “Really?” Ethan wiped the blood off his check with the back of his free hand. “And I was just getting all excited about the prospect of a long painful one, how disappointing.”

  “Yes,” Adam said, easily, “Don't you have a more attractive offer? After all, look who you work for.” He hoped Ethan knew what he was doing with the false bravado. It was only because of Fainnelle and the Gaffer that he hadn't worked a shaping already, and he wasn't sure he wouldn't have to, regardless of who witnessed it.

  “Then,” The one across from Ad
am shrugged, “It appears we must charge you.” He moved forward a series of short hops and lunged at Adam with a lightning fast move that Adam just barely blocked with a high parry, forcing the tip of the rapier up and away from his forehead.

  “You are fast, young Lord,” The Inquisitor said quietly, “But not fast enough. Soon my blade will wear you down.” In the background, Ethan's opponent was backing him up against the far end of the bar. Ethan tried sliding the edge of his saber in along the Inquisitor's rapier, but the Churchman converted the attack by twisting his lighter weapon around Ethan's blade and pinking him in the shoulder.

  Adam parried a strong downward slash and countered with a move that whipped the point of his sword across the Inquisitor's chest, scoring a long line of red against the ebon black. As the man jumped back with a curse, Adam raised his own sword in salute, “Perhaps I'm fast enough, after all.”

  The Inquisitor snarled and lunged at Adam's feet, sweeping the tip of his blade in a vicious arc, just inches off the boards of the floor. Adam jumped as the rapier passed beneath him, bringing his sword over and down in a swift arc, forcing his opponent into a backing defense as he hammered at the others rapier with his heavier sword. The change in tactic seemed to confuse the Churchman. Since Adam was targeting the weapon instead of the man, most of the subtleties of fencing were thrown out the window forcing the Inquisitor to concentrate primarily on deflecting the force of Adam's cuts.

  “I see your mind,” The black clad Churchman grated, “This will avail you nothing. My brother and I have weapons you cannot guess.”

  One of the pub's tables had been overturned during the general rush when the fight started. It lay on the edge of its circular top. Adam struck out with his left boot and sent the table rolling towards Ethan's opponent. His own opponent mistook the move and laughed harshly, “Poor aim, heretic, that missed me by yards.”

  “I wasn't aiming at you,” Adam replied, as he continued to beat against the rapier.

  Ethan dodged back, ducking below a high cut. His opponent could not recover in time to avoid being hit by the rolling table, which allowed Ethan time to recover and launch his own attack.

  Adam saw the result of his gamble and called out, “Use the blade of your sword. Go after his.”

  Ethan nodded and began a series of rapid-fire cuts, battering the blade of the Inquisitor's rapier as Adam had done. Now the tide of battle had reversed. Adam and Ethan backed the Churchmen across the pub floor until they were pinned against the far wall across from the bar.

  A metallic ping sounded, sharply cutting across the clang of blade against blade. The Inquisitor facing Ethan looked with chagrin at the stub of steel protruding from his rapier's hilt. Almost immediately after that another ping sounded when the rapier of Adam's opponent gave way.

  The shaping took Adam completely by surprise as he found himself hurtling across the pub. Unseen hands gripped him, pinning his arms at his side. To his left, Ethan's curse said the same had happened to him.

  “A wise and clever strategy, targeting our weapons, instead of ourselves, it is a pity you will never live to tell of it,” The Inquisitor who had dueled Adam tossed the remnant of his rapier off to the side. It rolled for a ways and then came to a stop against an overturned spittoon. He interlaced his fingers and turned his palms outward, cracking his knuckles, “The only question that remains is how to dispose of your bodies.”

  “Adam, what is holding us? Do something!” Ethan struggled against the shaping, but the only thing he could move was his head.

  “Yes, young Lord, do something,” The Inquisitor who had dueled Ethan chuckled, “My brother and I would be very interested in seeing what your swordsmanship can do against the powers of the Church.”

  Adam reached out with his Wizard's sense. Another surprise stuck him, though the shaping held him snugly, he could break free any time he desired. To his sense, the bonds felt as though they were made of tissue. He looked up at the Churchman, “If you let us free now, I promise I won't hurt you.”

  Laughter greeted his statement, “Let you go, why should we do that? We've just bound you.”

  Ethan looked over at Adam and raised an eyebrow in question. The look he received was answer enough. “If I were you I take him up on his offer.”

  “Well, I am not you, bumpkin, nor am I inclined toward graciousness in your behalf. You owe me for one very good rapier.” The Inquisitor snapped his fingers under Ethan's nose.

  Adam built up his shaping slowly, being careful to hide its presence in the background. He had no idea how sensitive the two Churchmen were, so stealth was the better part of wisdom. He raised his head once more, “This is your last chance. Release us and you can leave unharmed.”

  The Inquisitor across from Adam sneered, “And you'll do what, boy? Bore us with more of your bravado? Pfaugh! We have dealt with your like before. You are nothing more than a swordsman who has interfered one last time in business that was none of his affair.”

  “No, I'm not,” Adam said, quietly bringing the shaping to a finish.

  “Oh, really,” the reply came with another sneer, “And what else are you, besides a swordsman outclassed by his betters?”

  “I'm a Wizard,” Adam released the shaping, dissolving the magik that bound him and Ethan, while at the same time encapsulating the two Churchmen. He stood and stretched, joints popping as they realigned, “You'll notice there's a difference.”

  The eyes of the Inquisitors bulged as their immobile bodies were lifted from the pub floor and suspended near the ceiling. “I can maintain this bit of magik as long as I want, and from what I understand, Wizards live nearly as long as Dragons do. Gaffer! Fainnelle! You can come out now.”

  Fainnelle and the Gaffer came out of hiding and gaped at the scene before them. “Blessed Bardoc, what has happened?” Fainnelle looked around at the ruined pub.

  The Gaffer walked over to where Adam and Ethan stood and looked up at the two floating Inquisitors. He then looked at Adam and Ethan, “Which one of you is the Wizard, iffn I don't miss me guess?” His gaze centered back on Adam.

  “How did you know?” Adam asked.

  “Lad,” the Gaffer began while stooping to right an overturned chair, “When you've run a pub as long as I have, you can learn an awful lot about folks, iffn you keep yer eyes open. Take Ethan there, “He hooked a thumb in Ethan's direction, “He's a man with a lot of experience, some good, some bad, but he'll back a friend till his belly caves in. One thing he ain't, is a Wizard. Never has been, from the look of ‘im.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Ethan said dryly.

  The Gaffer smiled, as he continued to clean up the Pub with Fainnelle's help, “No offense, Ethan.”

  “None taken.”

  “But you take Thaylli's lad there, Adam. There's always been somethin’ about him. Summat different, you know what I mean? He ain't regular folk like Fainnelle an’ me. He's somethin’ better.” The Gaffer's eyes took on a far away look.

  “Somethin’ ... Royal,” Fainnelle finished for him.

  A sputtering from the magically bound Inquisitors took Adam away from the uncomfortable feeling of being the center of attention. He turned and walked over until he stood beneath them. “You have something to say?” He asked.

  “Let us down. You have no right...” the one on the left began.

  “Let me, Adam,” Ethan joined him at his side, “I have a bit more experience in these matters.”

  Adam nodded and stood back.

  Ethan drew his sword and tapped the Inquisitor who had complained with its tip, “You are mistaken there, citizen. We are not the ones who have broken Church law, you are.”

  This brought on more sputtering, but little else. Adam's shaping bound the two Churchmen to the point where only their eyes and their mouths could move. “T ... that is preposterous. It is you who are the criminals, the heretics, the blasphemers. I command you, release us now!”

  “Stubborn to the last, aren't they?” Ethan turned and smiled at Adam, the Gaffer
, and Fainnelle. He tapped the Churchman again, “No, no, no, bad boy. Don't you know that lying is a sin? The old priest who taught me my letters also taught me Church law, and since the time of Labad, officials of the Church have been forbidden to practice magik of any kind. Are you going to float there and tell us that what you did wasn't magik?”

  Silence greeted his question.

  Ethan smiled, “I accept your admission of guilt.”

  “But he didn't say anything!” The Inquisitor on the right protested. “He admitted nothing. We admit nothing.”

  “Oh, but you did,” Adam stepped forward. “The Book clearly states, the silent tongue speaks volumes. Your silence answered his question more fully than an outright admission.” He moved closer and looked each of them in the eye, “Who taught you? How did you come to learn about shaping magik?”

  He received the same silence Ethan had.

  “Nothing to say, eh?” Adam shrugged, “Ok, then I guess that's it.” He turned away and nodded to Ethan, with a wink, “Kill them both.”

  Fainnelle gave a little shriek and started to cry. Both Inquisitors began yelling, “No! You can't!” as Ethan moved forward, grimly with his sword at the ready. The one on the right began crying and blubbering, “You don't understand, we can't tell you, it is forbidden...”

  His brother yelled out, “Stop! You'll kill us bot...”

  The Inquisitor's last word was cut off in mid-syllable as he began to scream in agony. A red mist billowed up around him and then the other one began to shriek. Spatters of red pelted the pub floor in a grisly rain as the Churchmen's cries rose in pitch and intensity. Sounds of ripping claws and rending talons mixed with the screams. The red mist thickened, obscuring what was happening and soon small chunks of flesh joined the spatters. This continued for what seemed an eternity, but in reality only lasted for a few brief seconds. The shrieks cut off abruptly and the mist cleared; where once had been two figures clad in black, now hung two skeletons, clothed in tatters of skin and bits of reddish gore.