The Whispers of War [Wells End Chronicles Book 2] Page 3

  “That's conscription patrols,” Travers said quietly.

  “Same difference,” Flynn grunted as he settled a bit against the log. “Like he said, Miss Charity, what's next? You wanna head to Grisham? I'm ready to go if you are.”

  Charity's expression softened immediately, “Thank you Flynn. I really appreciate it.”

  “Neely?” She looked at the tracker.

  He shrugged, “Yeah, sure. Why not? Just give me legs a chance to heal up afore we get too much into th’ thick of it, ok?”

  Charity jumped off her place on the log, ran over to Neely and gave him a hug. She then did the same to Flynn. “Thank you, both. You don't know how much this means to me.”

  Neely took hold of his crutches and struggled to his feet, he headed over to where the horses were tied off.

  “Where you goin'?” Flynn turned his head to watch Neely as the tracker stumped out of the campsite.

  “To sharpen me sword,” Neely replied without turning his head. “Looks like there's gonna be some killin’ to be done.”

  * * * *

  Adam watched through the ruined city gate as the wolf pack run across the lands west of Grisham until he could no longer see their forms in the distance.

  Faces appeared at the corners of the building lining the square. Braver hearts ventured into the square itself, but kept a wary eye locked onto the thirty-foot form of Drinaugh. When the Dragon showed no sign of desiring to snack on anyone, others came into the square. They rummaged through the rubble to see if anything was left worth taking. Items not thoroughly ruined by the power of Adam's shaping were snapped up or fought over.

  Drinaugh looked at Adam, “I should probably be going too.”

  “But you just got here,” Adam looked up into the face of his Dragon friend. Drinaugh's presence brought back a rush of memories of Dragonglade. He had a sudden desire to go back there, where things weren't so confusing and it was easy to forget about the terrible power hiding within himself.

  “I know,” Drinaugh looked around the market square and at some of the fistfights going on over disputed loot, “but this isn't exactly what I expected. You live in a violent world Adam, and if I'm going to be any kind of an Ambassador to these people I'm going to need to learn a lot more about them.”

  “Why can't you learn about them right here?” Adam asked.

  “I don't think they'd let him,” Milward poked aside a piece of rubble with the point of his staff. “Grisham's general population may be willing to forgive a little breaking and entering, as long as they get to profit from it along the way, but it would be foolish to expect that sort of understanding coming from their leaders. They're not people who take kindly to those who damage their property, especially the expensive pieces.” He pointed his staff at the gaping hole where the gate used to stand.

  Adam looked to where Milward pointed, “Oh.”

  “He's right Adam,” the young Dragon murmured, “but don't worry, I'll visit as often as I can, and we Dragons are very good at keeping our promises.”

  “Please don't go,” Thaylli hugged Drinaugh's abdomen fiercely. “I'll miss you terribly.”

  “You fainted when you first saw me ... twice,” Drinaugh said quietly, with a smile at the corner of his mouth.

  Thaylli hugged him harder, “That was before I knew how kind and gentle you are.”

  “That's very nice of you to say,” Drinaugh answered, “but I really must be going. You don't want Grisham's soldiers trying to poke me full of holes do you?”

  “If they do, I'll have Adam send them all away just like he did that horrible man in black!” Thaylli sounded like a mother defending her child.

  “No,” Drinaugh gently chided her, “that wouldn't be right, and if you think a bit, you'll agree with me. It's not good for an Ambassador to develop the reputation of being fearsome.”

  “We have to get going. Eventually someone official is going to notice us and then start putting pieces together. I don't feel up to another fight with guardsmen right now,” Milward tapped the floor of the market with his staff. “Say goodbye and let the good Dragon leave.”

  Drinaugh disentangled himself from Thaylli and backed away. “I'm going to miss you all, especially you,” He looked at Thaylli once more, “Dragon rider.”

  The Dragon leapt into the air and with powerful strokes of his wings soon lifted himself high into the sky. Soon that all could be seen was a dark speck that shortly disappeared into the clouds.

  Adam turned to look at Thaylli, “What did he mean, Dragon rider?”

  “Oh, didn't I tell you? I rode him on the way here. Like a horse!”

  Adam didn't know what to say. He felt jealous and scandalized all at the same time. “Y ... you ... rode ... a Dragon?”

  “No,” Thaylli said primly, taking small offence at Adam's tone, “I rode my friend.” She turned her back on him and stalked off being sure to show him a good amount of wiggle as she did so.

  Milward chuckled as he clapped a hand onto Adam's shoulder, “Let's be off lad. I could use a bite to eat. It's near lunchtime isn't it? A brown ale would go down well right about now.”

  “I doubt I'll ever understand women, Milward.” Adam let himself be led off into the street that would lead to Granny Bullton's Inn. Thaylli allowed them to catch her, not wanting to become lost in the city's twisting streets.

  “That's the way of Creation Adam,” Milward murmured in a voice for his apprentice's ears only. “Women understand us only too well, whereas we are kept continuously in the dark, by design, I'll wager.”

  “What was that?” Thaylli looked at the old Wizard suspiciously.

  She got a beatific smile in answer, “Why nothing my dear. I was just telling our mutual companion here about the lovely brown ales awaiting us at the Inn. Would you like one too?”

  Thaylli sniffed, “I don't like ale, it's too fizzy. Some wine would be nice though, for a change.”

  They left the square behind and walked up the incline into the Inn's neighborhood.

  Back at the market's edge a whip thin figure dressed in the black uniform of a Grisham Guard Officer watched them as they turned a corner and disappeared from his sight. His right hand played with his rapier's ornate basket hilt as his lips pursed in thought.

  * * * *

  “I tell you, it's getting’ worse,” The scullery maid hissed to her fellow worker in a frightened whisper. “I had to go into his rooms to pick up the dinner dishes last night an’ he didn't even look at me. He just sat there twitchin', with his eyes all bugged out, starin’ at somethin’ that ain't there. Gave me the chillers.”

  “You needn't convince me Lisbeth,” The other girl, a rather plain, short woman with mouse brown curly hair replied. Her arms were immersed in suds up to her elbows, washing crockery, “Poor Grisabele paid for it the night before.”

  Lisbeth started, nearly dropping the stack of plates she was carrying to the cupboard, “Grisabele? No! How?”

  The short one, relishing the chance to retell a good juicy story pulled her arms out of the suds and wiped them on her apron, “Well, what I heard is, she was called into his chambers ‘cause he says there's bugs crawlin’ all over ‘im.”

  “Oh my! What did she do?” Lisbeth had a deep-rooted fear of all things crawly.

  “The poor thing made the mistake of tellin’ his nibs there weren't no bugs in his bed.” The short one shook her head; “I hear he went spare at the tellin', total spare. Started yellin’ crazy like, and grabbin’ her, sayin’ she's a Garloc in disguise. Grisabele tries to say she isn't an’ to please stop hurtin’ her.”

  “What happened? How did she pay for it?” Lisbeth put the dishes away while keeping one eye on her co-worker.

  The stout one's eyes grew large, “I hear he called in the guards outside the door and had ‘em skin her, alive! All the time she was screamin’ an’ bleedin', an’ he was yellin', sayin, ‘See I wuz right!’ Over an’ over agin.”

  Lisbeth felt her gorge rise at what the dishwasher de
scribed. She choked as she tried to keep it down.

  Her co-worker handed over a dishcloth dampened in cold water, “Here dear, this'll help. I hear poor sire Wuest weren't so strong. Nestia tol’ me he come runnin’ out of his nibs rooms and lost it right there in the’ hallway. Three times.”

  That was enough for Lisbeth and she showed why.

  “Oh you poor dear. Just like sire Wuest.”

  Chapter Two

  The barmaid bent low at the waist allowing the young man at the table full view of what she had in store. “Here's your ale, honey. Can I offer you anything else?”

  Adam looked at the expanse of bosom hanging before him and gulped, “Uh, no, no thank you, thanks anyway.”

  He received a broad smile that was more invitation than greeting, “Well you just let me know, ask for Kittlyn.” She brushed her hand across his cheek before wiggling her way back to the kitchen door.

  “They can go back into their sockets now,” Milward said from behind a mugfull of ale.

  “What?” Adam forced his eyes off of Kittlyn's retreating form and back to Milward.

  The old Wizard chuckled lightly, “Your eyes. Shall I pick them off of that girl's behind for you?”

  “I guess I was staring a bit, wasn't I?”

  “Just make sure you act a little more circumspect when Thaylli comes down those stairs,” Milward pointed with his free hand. “She strikes me as a jealous type. I wouldn't want anything ... permanently damaging ... to happen to you.”

  Adam drank some more of his ale, “She knows I'm trustworthy.”

  “In her head she might, but in her heart she just like every other young woman, she won't completely trust you until you jump the swords together, and maybe not even then. You're a good-looking young man with a lot of promise. Some would probably take you for the son of a Lord or even a Royal.” He leaned forward and whispered, “We won't tell them you're really the true Emperor.”

  “Hsssst!” Adam shushed Milward's whispered revelation. “I don't want that mentioned, ever! There's no proof that's true.”

  The old Wizard raised his eyebrows, “No?”

  “Ok,” Adam grimaced, “so there's proof, but it's not overwhelming, and frankly I'd rather not have the job. I like being free, besides, I still have something else I need to do.”

  “What's that?”

  “Find my sister, Charity. We've been to the library. You've found out what you needed and you did promise to help me find her.”

  Milward paused before replying, “Yes ... yes I did.”

  Thaylli's entrance into the room diverted Adam from questioning the Wizard further about his supposed reluctance in finding Charity. She chose a moment when Kittlyn was placing a platter of roast slices on the table while at the same time reintroducing her bosom to Adam's shoulder. A few quick steps moved her from the foot of the stairs to the table where she, apparently by accident, jostled Kittlyn enough to separate the girl's front from Adam's back.

  Thaylli looked up and smiled at the barmaid. There were knives in that smile. “Bring me some wine, please. Thank you.”

  Kittlyn's returning grin promised mayhem. “Why certainly, Red or white?”

  “Red, please.” Thaylli's voice could have frozen the bottle.

  Before actual blows could be exchanged, a guardsman officer in an elaborate black uniform pushed through the door to the Inn. He looked directly at the table where Milward, Adam and Thaylli sat. His gaze centered on Adam alone and the hand resting on the elaborate basket hilt of the saber at his side tightened slightly.

  Milward leaned forward and whispered, “Make no sudden moves lad. This one's not like the rubble you dispatched earlier.”

  Adam nodded. The man was tall and whippet thin but with broad shoulders and capable looking hands. He moved with a dancer's grace as he crossed the floor to stand at the end of their table.

  The guard officer gave them a half bow. “I apologize for intruding on your luncheon. May I sit? I have a proposition for the young Swordmaster here.”

  Milward chuckled, “Swordmaster? I fear you have us mistaken for a different party Sire Guardofficer.”

  The man in black's mouth quirked in a quick half smile. “One old man with the look of a Wizard, a young fellow nearly grown wearing a Royals blade and a comely wench who rides Dragons. A grouping such as that leaves a broad trail. I fear no mistake Sire Wizard. May I sit?”

  “Sit, sit,” Milward sighed. “What is this proposition you say you have?”

  He sat across from Adam and looked at him again in that same searching way he did when he entered the room. It made him uncomfortable, like he was one of Milward's samples for study.

  “That was quite an exhibition of swordplay you put on back there,” The guard officer's voice was cultured and smooth. Thaylli wasn't sure she liked it.

  “What swordplay?” Adam picked up his ale and drank.

  The officer shrugged, “Now, I myself have faced down as many as four swords at once. They were probably better than the average press gang member, true, but six? No, I don't think anyone since Labad himself can claim such a feat. Where did you train? Who was your mentor? Certainly not this old fossil here, all due respect to your position, Sire Wizard, but you don't look the type to train a killing machine such as the one I witnessed earlier this day.”

  He leaned back when Milward's only answer was a lifting of his eyebrows. “Ah well, no matter. My real reason for being here is to ask if our young hero would be willing to aid our fair city in her time of need.”

  Adam put his drink down. “I ... Prefer to know whom I'm talking to. You seem to know a lot more about us than we do of you. Who are you and why the special interest in me?”

  The officer gave Adam another half bow from where he sat. “Captain Bilardi of the Grisham City guard at your service.”

  “The son of the sitting Duke?” Milward ran a fingertip around the rim of his Ale glass. He did not look up as he voiced the question.

  Another half bow, Thaylli thought he looked like an elaborate children's toy bobbing up and down like that. “At your service.”

  “There are those who say you're the deadliest blade in all of the Trading States.” Milward looked up at the guard officer.

  Bilardi smirked with a slight shrug, “Some would say. That one is still without scars says more.”

  “You still haven't said why you're here,” Adam growled.

  A brief frown crossed the officer's face but was quickly stashed. “I haven't, have I? My apologies. I am here, specifically, to offer our young hero a commission in my Lord Duke's City Guard.”

  * * * *

  The old pub catered to those who served in the houses of the city's gentry. Because of this, information was as much an item of trade as potables.

  Hodder and Stroughten, life long friends to the Duke's man, Wuest, sat in their customary stall waiting for their friend to arrive.

  “He's late.” Stroughten cracked a peanut shell he'd plucked from the wooden bowl between them.

  “You said that five minutes ago.” Hodder reached into the bowl and snatched out a peanut of his own.

  “Doesn't make him any less late.” Stroughten chewed his peanut and washed it down with a mouthful of Porter.

  “Avin's prolly got some duty the Duke's shoved on ‘im at the last minute.” Avin was Wuest's circle-name, the one reserved for friends and family. Hodder finished off his drink and signaled for another. “He'll show, when he can.”

  As if Hodder's words were a spell, Wuest pushed through the door to the pub, looked for his friends and walked over to the stall in four quick strides.

  “God's Avin, yer totally white! You see a ghost er somethin'?” Hodder shifted his lanky frame over to make room for his friend.

  Wuest dropped into place next to Hodder and rubbed a hand against his eyes. “Brandy, please,” he called across the room to the barkeep. “Ale's no good for what I've seen,” he said in a lower tone just for his friends’ ears.

  Stroughten
leaned onto the table as Hodder fetched the brandy. “What'd you see? Gotta be somethin’ mighty awful fer a face like that.”

  “Brandy first, then talk.” Wuest leaned back against the high back of the bench. “He's insane, completely insane. There's no other answer.” His hands shook, spilling a few drops as he took the brandy from Hodder.

  “What's the...?” A raised hand cut off Hodder's question from Stroughten.

  Wuest took the snifter and drained it in one throw.

  “You want another? You still look the ghost, Avin.”

  He nodded his head yes and Stroughten signaled the barmaid for another brandy. Then he turned to reach across the table and patted Wuest on the shoulder. “Ok Avin. Tell us.”

  The Duke's aide's hands still shook and he clasped his fingers together to steady them. “I was in my work area arranging the new schedule for the feast time when I heard the shouting. It was the Duke. He claimed there were black beetles crawling through his bed linens.”

  “Was there?” Hodder sipped some more of his ale.

  “Of course not! Sorry, didn't mean to snap.”

  Hodder and Stroughten nodded in sympathy as Wuest took the second brandy placed onto the stall table and tipped half of it into his mouth. His hands still shook as he brought the snifter back to the table. “No, no bugs, just those in his brandy-sodden brain. The poor chambermaid made the mistake of telling him so. She was skinned alive for her trouble.” He picked up the snifter and finished it.

  “Gods,” Stroughten breathed out the epithet.

  “No gods'd be involved in somethin’ like that,” Hodder muttered, “only madmen an’ devils.”

  “It was the screaming that brought me into his chamber where I saw the whole bloody horror,” he spoke into the tabletop.

  Hodder signaled for another brandy frantically.

  “It looked like she was clothed in blood,” Wuest continued on in a monotone, “and all the time the Duke was dancing around, pointing at her as she screamed out her life, saying, ‘See, I told you so. See, I told you so,’ over and over again. My gorge started to rise and I rushed from the Duke's chambers. Didn't make it much past the doors. As long as I live I'll never forget what I saw. He's got to be killed.”