The Promised Ones [The Wells End Chronicles Book 1]

by Robert Beers

  “What do you think he is?” Charity sat down on a convenient rock.

  Adam sniffed the opening of the jug. “Drunk, I'd say. This smells like the hard cider that they used to put up back home. Remember when we snuck into the Vintner's shed?”

  Charity let out a snort of muffled laughter. She and Adam had been sick for the whole of the next day, and to make it worse, Uncle Bal got the giggles every time he saw them. It was a lesson they never forgot.

  The memory brought out the laughter in Adam, too. The vision of the Vintner's face when he had discovered them both drunk on the floor nearly doubled him over.

  “Pipe down, will you? Can't you let a man sleep?” The voice stopped their merriment. The man with the jug looked at them from under the hand with which he shaded his eyes. “Who in the pit are you?”

  “I'm Adam.”

  “Charity.”

  He groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, and pushed up onto his hands and knees. Then he sat back onto his haunches, and rubbed his temples with the heels of his hands. “Oh, my head. What time is it, anyway?” He held up a hand to prevent their reply. “No, don't tell me, it doesn't matter. You come from Silgert?”

  They nodded.

  “Run away or run off?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Charity leaned forward on her rock.

  “Look, miss.” He shielded his eyes again. “Damn, it's bright. No one leaves that dump unless they're running away or they're being run off. The only people who stay there are the fools who deserve each other. I'm running away, myself. Had a little party last night celebrating my freedom. Ethan's the name.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “We'll see about that.” He wiped his mouth. “Have you got anything on you to drink?”

  Adam handed him a flask of water. He spat it out after taking a sip. “Pffauugh! Are you trying to poison me? I said something to drink, not water.”

  “You want more of what made you sick?” Charity couldn't believe the request.

  He chuckled, and then groaned and rubbed his temples again. “Hair of the dog, you know? It'll take the edge off this headache.”

  Adam rummaged around in his pack, and pulled out a small bag. He took a vial out of the bag, and poured a small amount of white powder out of it into a cup he took out of the pack, as well. Then he added some of the water, and stirred it with his finger. Adam waited for a few seconds and then handed it to the man. “Here, drink this. It may taste a little bitter, but it will help you lose the headache.”

  Ethan looked at the cup warily, as if it held some dire poison. “You want me to drink this?”

  Adam repacked his bag. “Unless you want to keep your headache. I learned this from a herb master, and it works, believe me.”

  The man's hand trembled slightly as he drew the cup closer to his mouth, and then another spasm went through his scalp. He gripped the cup tightly, and drained it in one. “The kid was right, it's as bitter as Cascara,” he thought. He could feel his mouth puckering, and he reached for the flask of water to clear the taste out of his mouth. “Ugghh. That was foul! What was in that, lizard guts?”

  “No, Willit Bark powder, good for just about any ache you've got including the one brought on by too much drink.”

  The man drank more of the water. “So, how long?”

  “How long for what?”

  “How long until I feel better?”

  Charity looked at the sun as it passed behind a small cloud. “Should be soon, now. You've heard our names, what was yours again?”

  He stood up from his crouch, and wiped his right hand on his thigh. Then held it out to Adam. “Ethan, like I said. My name's Ethan.” He shook Adam's hand and bowed to Charity. “I used to be the Baron's Watchman in Silgert. Had my fill of the place, especially Vedder.”

  “The preacher?”

  “Ah, you've met him huh?”

  “Charity grimaced. “Only from a distance, and that was close enough. The man is a monster building a village of monsters.”

  Ethan straightened his tunic; Adam noticed the man's unconscious check of his sword's readiness. “Yes, you've met him. He's the prime reason I deserted my post.”

  “You're a deserter?” Adam fell back a step.

  “Don't be so quick to judge, boy.” Ethan's reply was heated, but his hand kept away from the hilt of his sword. “What time did you spend in Silgert, two, maybe three days?”

  “One, sort of.”

  “That long?” He loosed a bitter laugh. “Try spending three long summers there, and then judge my decision. Maybe then I'll listen; right now I couldn't give a flick.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and gave Adam a wry look. “Right on the money, boy. That potion of yours worked. You could make a fortune selling that stuff in Dunwattle.”

  Charity pushed the cat's head back into its sling. “Is it far from here, this Dunwattle?”

  Ethan looked at her. It's on the Southern end of this forest. The path takes you to the eastern edge of town and the Wildflower Inn.” He smiled in memory. “Home of the best ale in the western lands, and some of the friendliest barmaids in the whole of the Barony.”

  “Barony?”

  He looked at them out of the corner of his eye. “Did you two just fall out of a hole? The Barony of Spu. You're standing on its soil, now. You've probably been walking on it for the past fortnight.”

  Adam stepped forward. “Look, we're strangers here, and we don't know our way around. We've never heard of Dunwattle, or Spu for that matter.”

  Ethan looked at them again, holding them for a number of long seconds with his gaze. “Sister, eh? Strangers, you say?” He reached down and picked up the bedroll he'd been using as a pillow, and began striding up the path into the forest. “Well, come on, then. If I'm to guide you to Dunwattle, we may as well get going.” There was no sign of his checking to see if they'd follow.

  “Adam, we didn't ask him to guide us.” Charity put her bags back over her shoulder.

  “I know.” Adam reshouldered his pack. “I think this is his way of saying thank you. We may as well catch up with him.” He started walking at a speed that ate up the distance between them and Ethan. Charity followed, adjusting her bags as she walked.

  They set up camp with a good amount of daylight left. Ethan said that there was no use in them rushing their pace, as the town would still be there a day later, just as it would a day earlier. He leaned back against an old Alder tree as the twins finished laying out their bedrolls. “That's quite a sword you've got on your hip, lad, know how to use it?”

  Adam felt a cold wave wash over him. His memory flashed back to the night in Bustlebun's Inn. The red headed man had asked him the same thing. He heard again the surprised grunt of pain as his blade slipped into the man's side. Shaking the memory off, he smiled at Ethan. “A little.”

  Ethan straightened up and drew his sword in one smooth motion. He poised himself in en garde, and motioned to Adam with the tip of his sword. “We've got daylight left. Let's see what you've got.”

  Adam shook his head no. “I don't want to hurt you.”

  “I doubt you'll even come close to touching me. Come on, it'll be better than just sitting around and waiting for the moon.”

  “Are you sure?” Adam looked to Charity. She had her hand on her bow, watching Ethan.

  Ethan followed his gaze, and nodded to Charity. “Relax, little lady, I don't want to hurt the boy. This land is a dangerous place, and I just might be able to teach him something about protecting himself, and you.”

  Charity looked at Adam, and took her hand off her bow. She nodded at him, and he stepped into the cleared area across from Ethan.

  “OK, who knows, it might be fun.” He drew his sword, and the silver ring of it filled the campsite.

  Ethan whistled. “Where did you get that blade, lad? That's a Royal's weapon, if I don't miss my guess.”

  Adam moved the sword through a series of swoops and swirls. The tip of it sang as it parted the air. “It was given to m
e as an inheritance, as for the other I can't say.”

  “Or won't say, eh?” Ethan came back en garde, . “Let's see what you have, my prince.”

  Adam decided against answering Ethan's jibe, and let the feeling of the sword flow into him. He was at least a hand taller than he had been back at Bustlebun's, and nearly a stone heavier, and yet the blade still felt as superbly balanced in his hand as it had before.

  Ethan tapped the tip of his sword against Adam's, testing him. He had to admit it; the lad had guts. There was no flinch away from his taps; the blade he held was as steady as stone. Ethan pulled back slightly, lifted the tip of his sword a touch, and moved in for a disarm trick he'd learned years ago. The lad surprised him by reversing the spin of his blade, blocking the trick, and causing Ethan to have to parry a rapid riposte. He moved off the parry, and countered in high position. The counter blocked, his blade slid down and away out of the control area. Thrust and parry and counter thrust continued, each passage turning faster and faster until the blades flickered like lightning.

  Ethan knew he had to pull some old tricks out of his hat, or the boy would wear him down. He ducked a swipe that parted some of the hairs on his head, and used the duck to continue his drop to the ground, than swung his blade like a scythe, but the kid brought his knees up and the blow passed harmlessly beneath him. This left Ethan open to an overhead blow that would have split him like goose for dinner if he hadn't tucked and rolled through the blow. He finished the roll, and sprang up in a spin that caught Adam facing the wrong way.

  “Gottcha.” Ethan tapped the tip of his sword against his opponent's backside.

  Adam dropped the sword to his side, and slumped his shoulders in defeat. “You got me. I'd like to learn that trick.”

  Ethan panted, resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “Kid, I'll be glad to teach you all the tricks I know.” He panted again. “If it doesn't kill me first. Who taught you? They had to be a Blademaster, and I know of only two living today.”

  Adam shuffled his feet. “I ... uh, I kind of taught myself.”

  Ethan snapped a look at Charity over his shoulder. “Is he having fun at my expense?”

  Charity shook her head no. “We don't know any blademasters.”

  “Not Bilardi? Not Morgan?”

  “No one. We just use what we were given.”

  He looked back at Adam. “This is true?”

  Adam sheathed his sword. “Yes, all of it.”

  Ethan looked back at Charity. “And you handle a blade as well as he does?”

  Charity laughed. “No, I wouldn't even know which end to hold. I use this.” She held up her bow. “I don't really know why, but I can feel where the arrow needs to go. I haven't missed, yet.”

  Ethan shook his head in mock disgust. “Naturals. A couple of flickin’ naturals.” He saw the expression on their faces, and quickly held up a hand to forestall any misunderstanding. “Don't take me wrong, please. I'm not mocking you.”

  Adam sat down next to Charity. and began whittling tinder into a pile for the fire, using a knife Milward had given him. “What are you doing then, praising us?”

  Ethan's chuckle was rueful. “In a way, that's exactly what I'm doing.” He looked up sharply at Adam. “How old are you, boy? Sixteen summers?”

  “About.”

  He shook his head again. “And you don't even realized what you just did, do you? Laddie, there are only two swordsmen in the known lands that can beat me in a fair match, all other things being equal.”

  “But you beat me.”

  “Because I know more than you do, lad, not because I'm better. I'll wager that by the time you've reached your maturity, not even Morgan or Bilardi would be willing to draw on you, if you live that long.”

  Charity looked up from playing with the cat. “What do you mean?”

  He sighed and sat down, leaning his back against the Alder tree. “I told you. This world is a dangerous place for someone like me, much less a couple of youngsters barely into legal age.” He leaned forward, his eyes showing white all around. “Trolls, giants, Dragons, not to mention the occasional highwayman could be lurking behind the next tree. Have you ever seen a troll? Their heads brush the treetops, and they munch on rocks like candy.”

  He continued on, warming to his tale. The twins decided not to tell him of their experiences, so as to not spoil the moment. Ethan had the way of the minstrel about him, with his voice rising and falling to match the character of the story. He spoke until the moon rose high in the evening sky, and the shadows of night birds passed in front of its pale light. Finally, his story slowed, and he paused to stretch and yawn. “Well,” He yawned hugely and smacked his lips. “I'm going to curl up for the night. I suggest you do, as well. We've a long hike in front of us, and the deep forest has few spots suitable for camping.”

  Adam and Charity climbed into their bedrolls. Neither of them felt the tiniest bit sleepy. Charity held her blanket open so the cat could snuggle in against her. “Adam?”

  “Yes?” The blanket muffled his voice.

  “The magik scares me. You could have killed Ethan. Do you know that?”

  “I was trying not to hurt him, Charity.”

  “That's what I mean. What has happened to us, Adam? I could follow the path of a fly, and knock it out of the air with an arrow if I wanted to. We're not normal any more, are we?”

  Adam took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Charity, do you feel like treating anyone the way we were treated back in the village?”

  “No.” Her voice was small.

  “Neither do I. I think we're both going to be OK. Goodnight, Charity.”

  “Goodnight, Adam.”

  * * * *

  At dawn they attacked. The favorite sons of Spu and Avern were known to ride their mounts together along the eastern shore of Firth Lake during the late summer mornings when the air held the crisp promise of turning leaves. Dozens of men garbed in black from their toes to their eyes appeared in the high grass on either side of the lakefront trail. The Baron's son drew his rapier, and struck. One of the attackers died, but too many were there to take his place. The heir to the Avernese throne had no time at all, for six of the black-clad figures pulled him from his saddle, their arms rising and falling as the blows rained down. In a matter of minutes, the trail was empty save for a few red stains discoloring the hard-packed soil.

  * * * *

  The pack waited while he sniffed the trail. The scent told him much more than mere sight would. The history of all who had passed for many sleeps lay here. Some of the scent trails were like colors, and lay upon each other as layers in a painting. His old friend the Wizard had passed this place during the last sleep. A wave of nostalgia moved through him. He would visit the Wizard. Not many of the two legs were worth visiting, and none of them worth eating. The Wizard filled his mind like a good meal, and he missed that.

  The Alpha Wolf turned from the walking path that centuries of feet had worn into the rock and soil back to the pack that waited for him in the trees. The wolves used the trails only as message boards; they could travel just as quickly through the trees and have the added security of their cover, as well. The Wizard's scent trail told him his friend was journeying to the high ground, and that in a very little while, just a few sleeps; the pack would catch up with him. He rubbed noses with his mate, and suffered the excesses of the cubs as they greeted his return into the wood. The pack as a whole raised the cubs, though their feeding was their mother's duty.

  “Come,” He told her in the language of the wolves. “We go to meet our friend Two Legs.”

  * * * *

  Milward hiked briskly along the forest path that eventually would lead him to the pass below Black Ben Mountain. He was looking forward to visiting the clerics of Bardoc at Ulsta. The town lay on the high prairie beyond the northern end of the Longwood. They claimed to have one of the oldest copies of Labad's prophecy, possibly even older than the one in the Library of Grisham. Possibly, but
he did not have the months it would take to get to Grisham. If he read the signs right, the first great trial of the two was building to a climax, and he needed to be there to play his part. He plucked a wild plum from a branch as he hiked, and munched it as he thought on the future. At the very least, it was going to be an exciting time.

  * * * *

  Adam woke to the smell of breakfast. “Again?” He thought. “One of these mornings I'm going to be the first one up, and have breakfast waiting for them.”

  “Top of the morning, lad.” Ethan handed him a biscuit and a cup of steaming Tisane.

  Charity poked her head out of her covers. “It's cool this morning.”

  Ethan looked up. “Early fog. It usually comes in later in the year. Most of the summer mornings start this way. It's because of the cold waters of the Circle Sea, and then there's Firth Lake, South of us. It's as deep as the pit, and cold, as well. Sometimes the fog lays upon it so thickly that you'd swear Bardoc himself was preparing a mattress for his night's sleep.”

  Adam chewed the last of his biscuit. “What's the plan for today? How far do we have to go?”

  Ethan speared a biscuit out of the pan and pulled it off the tip of his knife. “I figure we're about one half the way to Dunwattle. If we push our pace, we should be able to make the Inn there before the moon is up.”

  Adam looked at Charity. She was gathering her gear as she munched breakfast. “Then we had best get an early start. I'll get my stuff.”

  The quick pace helped an uneventful morning pass quickly. The forest south of Silgert looked much the same as the forest they passed through on the way to that town. The path for much of the way followed a very slight curve to the Southwest with an easy downhill grade. Ethan had told the truth when he said there would be few places suitable for camping in the deep forest. Underbrush grew thick, and in many places brambles offered early berries but no room to sit and eat them. They rested in a widening of the path where it passed through a grove of Mulberry trees. Some of the pollen caused Ethan's nose to itch, and after he sneezed a couple of times he suggested they “get out of the flickin’ place, and move on.”