The Promised Ones [The Wells End Chronicles Book 1] Page 5

  “Why? The note said it was for me.” Adam felt a surge of protectiveness well up concerning the weapon.

  “It also said for us to test our feelings about them. I want to see what he meant by that.” She held out her hand, and smiled. “I'll give it back.”

  After a brief hesitation, he held the sword out to her hilt first. She took it and handed it back immediately, shivering. “Ewww. I never want to touch it again. It made me feel ... all crawly.”

  “I guess the King knew what he was talking about.” Adam resheathed the sword.

  “Here, try the bow.” Charity held it out to him.

  Adam recoiled. “No, thank you.” Just the thought of handling the bow had become repulsive.

  Charity gave in to a mischievous notion, and began chasing he twin around the area with the bow held like a rapier. They continued like this until they both fell down laughing and puffing, the earlier moodiness forgotten.

  * * * *

  The shadows in the forest began to lengthen, signaling the coming of sundown. The twins walked along the path, looking for a sheltered place to curl up for the night. The path bent to the right in a long, lazy curve. To the left side of the path, the ground began to curve upwards to form a knoll. A grouping of large boulders settled against the leeward side of the knoll backed up by a Blueberry patch that promised a fine breakfast in the morning. One of the boulders leaning against its brothers created a nice space for a pair of tired walkers to bed down in.

  Adam pulled the edge of his cloak over his shoulder, and snuggled into its folds. “Good night, sis.”

  “G'night, big brother. Sweet dreams.” Her voice faded away into soft snores.

  Adam lay there listening to the sounds of Charity's sleeping, with the nocturnal creatures of the forest adding their own background harmonies. He drifted off with Charity's sweet dreams echoing in his mind.

  In the morning, the blueberries proved to be as sweet as they looked. Charity reached up for a branch loaded with some as large as a copper, and stopped. “Adam. Do you hear that?”

  He finished chewing a mouthful of berries, and swallowed. “No.”

  Charity cocked her head. “There's something coming through the trees, over there.” She pointed to the Southeast.

  Adam held still and listened. There was something. He heard the snapping and cracking of branches breaking. A premonition of danger came over him, and increased as the sounds grew louder. He turned and ran back to the rocks, gesturing to Charity to follow. He ducked back into their sleeping hole, pulling Charity in with him. They lay flat, and waited to see what would come out of the wood.

  From their vantagepoint on the knoll, the twins could see the tops of many of the trees, with a good view in the direction of the sound. Adam swept his eyes back and forth, the feeling of doom growing stronger with each passing minute. “There!” He breathed a whisper to Charity.

  She looked in the direction he indicated. The tops of the trees were shaking back and forth as if something was pushing through them. A sudden flash of orange caught Charity's eye. She turned her head, and whispered in Adam's ear. “Did you see anything?”

  Adam didn't answer. He just pointed.

  Charity turned her head back, and stifled a gasp. Two huge creatures pushed the tops of the trees edging the path aside, and stepped out onto it. Their skin was mottled like the thing that had tried to steal Adam's sword, but with a sickly orange, olive green and chartreuse combination that made her think of the results after sicking up a carrot stew. One had a face finished off with a beak like that of a Nuthatch, if a Nuthatch also had teeth. The other one had a snout like a pig with large upward curving tusks. They seemed to be looking for something, uprooting smaller trees and bushes to see what was behind them, and splashing around with their huge clawed hands in the small creek that ran near the path.

  Adam's feeling of fear coalesced into a dread that spread through his belly like cold fire. He saw the things turn towards the knoll, and begin to walk up it. His vision blurred as he was struck by a sudden flash of pain that shot through his head. Charity nudged him in the side. “Adam. They're going away.”

  * * * *

  “Damn them!!” His fist flew towards the scrying glass but stopped short of smashing it. He had to control himself. His strength was now back enough to enable him to take care of this problem, and then deal with the Trolls about their stupidity. Their hides would make for colorful upholstery in his sitting room.

  The sorcerer built the shaping slowly, layer by layer until the power tingled on the surface of his skin. He moved the focus of the scry from the point where the Trolls were, back to where the twins lay, and released the power.

  * * * *

  “Ow!” Adam rolled over and felt his chest.

  “What happened?” Charity turned away from watching where the huge creatures had disappeared into the wood, to see the cause of Adam's outcry.

  “Something bit me.” He rubbed the area, and then opened his tunic. The pain came from his chest behind where the amulet lay. He moved it, and found a small burn mark the size of his father's rock.

  * * * *

  “Aiiiieeeee!” Gilgafed felt as if he were on fire. He could smell the scent of his flesh cooking, and a sound like that of bacon frying filled his ears. Somehow, one of those brats had sent the shaping back at him redoubled. With the last of his power, he cut the link, and collapsed.

  “Cobain. Cobain!” He would live and he would heal, but there would be scars, deep, deep scars. A quick death was no longer an option where they were concerned. Once he had them. Oh, yes, once the brats were in his hands ... years, no, decades ... they would scream for decades before his revenge was satisfied.

  Chapter Three

  They saw no more creatures that day other than the normal wildlife one would usually see in the deep wood. The burn on Adam's chest healed at an amazing rate, which caused Charity to bring up the topic of magik once more. They took the time to examine their individual bequeaths from the Philosopher King. The weapons continued to be strictly matched to only the twin they were designated for, but for that one they seemed to be balanced perfectly. In addition, Charity had never held a bow before, but she somehow knew the proper stringing technique. The only sword Adam had ever wielded was a branch used in mock battles with the boys of the village. The sword he now held was a man's weapon, sized and balanced for a warrior the size and strength of a man his uncle's size, but in his hand it was as light and supple as one of those branches back in the village.

  It took them three days and nights to reach the Inn. The path emptied onto a low cliff overlooking a clearing filled with grasses, wildflowers and a large Inn backed up against the forest wall. The Inn stood three stories tall, with four dormer windows along the front. A stable attached to the near side showed hay through its open doors. Someone busy grooming a horse stood just inside the stable doorway. A woman carrying a small basket walked towards the front door, where a rough looking man lounged against the wall. The sign over the door had no letters, just a painting of a Boar's head over a foaming tankard.

  Adam and Charity followed the path as it zigzagged down to the clearing. The man glared at them as they walked up to the door, and then turned and walked away in the direction of the stable. Adam pushed open the door, and they stood there, transfixed.

  A cacophony of noise poured out of the open door. Sounds of goblets, tankards, plates and cutlery clattering together mixed with voices in various stages of yelling, shouting or cursing. A coarse voice, heavy with a country accent, called out. “In or out, younglings. Don't keep lettin’ the wind in.”

  They stepped inside, and Charity hastily shut the door.

  The owner of the voice jostled his way through the crowd, and waddled over to greet them. “Now then. That be better. What do you two be needin’ this fine summer's day?”

  He was the fattest man they had ever seen besides the Mayor, a little below average height and nearly as broad as he was tall. His beard showed traces
of the red his hair must have been, when he had it, for his head was a bald as a hen's egg. Laugh and smile lines crisscrossed his face as he stood there, hands on hips, waiting for their answer.

  Charity looked at Adam, he shrugged. She looked back at the Innkeeper, and smiled shyly. “Do you have a bath, and a room for the evening?”

  The Innkeeper chuckled, causing waves to move across the expanse of his belly. “That be what I do, youngling. Iffn you be crossin’ my palm with a silver.”

  Adam dug into his belt pouch, and pulled out the smallest of the Emeralds. He held it up before the Innkeeper. “Will this pay for anything?”

  The Innkeepers eyes went wide, and he puffed out a low whistle. “M ... m ... may I be holdin’ that sparkler for a minim, lad?”

  Adam dropped the Emerald into his hand.

  “Oh ... laddie buck.” The Innkeeper shook his head in wonder. “This here be worth me Inn and the land beneath her, iffn you were sellin’ this in the markets of Grisham, and maybe even more, maybe, if you were sellin’ it in the far south. They be likin’ sparklies a heap down there.”

  Charity shifted her weight to one foot, leaning on her unstrung bow. “What will it buy us here?”

  The Innkeeper looked pained. “Och, missy. I be wishin’ I could be takin’ this, but I be havin’ no coin enough to make change, even iffn you be stayin’ here for two moons, I can't.”

  An idea jumped onto Adam with both feet, and danced around in his head. “How about if we make a deal where you get the sparkler, and weHe looked at Adam with a slight suspicion in his eyes, and leaned forward. “What you be meanin’ enough, laddie?”

  Adam looked at Charity, winked and then looked back at the Innkeeper. “You say this stone is worth your Inn and the ground it stands on, correct?”

  “I don't think I be likin’ where you be walking, lad.”

  Adam shook his head. “No, no. That's not what I'm thinking. I don't want to buy your Inn. I just want to rent room and board for whenever my sister and I come through here, that, and six golds, twelve silvers and twenty-four coppers. What do you say to that?”

  The Innkeeper rubbed the back of his head, and grunted. “Well now, I be thinking I like the sound of two gold, five silver and ten copper meself.”

  “Make that four golds, eight silvers and fifteen coppers, and you have a deal.”

  The Innkeeper spat in his palm, and held out his hand. “Done.”

  Adam repeated the gesture. “And done.”

  A bellowing laugh exploded from the Innkeeper's chest. “By Labad, I like you laddie buck. You've the mark of good haggleman. Chauncey!”

  A skinny little man with a huge nose shuffled over to them. “Yes, Mr. Bustlebun, sir?”

  “Now, Chauncey, I've told ye time and again, I be no sir. So don't be callin’ me that, OK?”

  “Yes, Mr. Bustlebun, sir. I'll remember.”

  The Innkeeper sighed heavily, and looked toward the ceiling as if beseeching the heavens. “Find Quincey, and get me, me small chest from him. You know the one.”

  “Yes, Mr. Bustlebun, sir,”

  Chauncey returned with a small, ironbound, archtop chest. Bustlebun opened it using a small brass key, and counted out the agreed upon coins. He handed the coins to Adam, and placed the Emerald gently into the chest. He did not give the chest back to Chauncey, but patted the lid and beamed at the twins. “Now then, what'll you two be havin'? I've a nice bit of venison on roast, or if you're of a mind, cook keeps a fine stew on the simmer.”

  Charity's mouth watered at the mention of the meat. “Roast, if you please.”

  Adam closed the flap on his belt pouch. “I'll have the same, thank you.”

  Bustlebun's face nearly vanished in a broad grin. “And polite, too. Bless me buns iffn you two aren't a breath of fresh air.” He turned his head, and bellowed. “Chauncey!”

  Chauncey appeared at Bustlebun's elbow. His mouth opened, and Bustlebun held up a hand. “Naw. I'll be hearin’ no more sirs, today. You get these two a table spot, a healthy helpin’ of the roast, with fixings and...” He looked at the twins. “What'll you two be wantin’ to drink now?”

  Adam looked around the tables. Most of the patrons seemed to be drinking from large tankards. The smell of hops was prominent. “Do you have something besides Ale?”

  Bustlebun chuckled again. The boy had made him wealthy beyond his dreams. He was in a fine mood. “Why, there be wine, tisane, berry juice and small beer. I like not the small beer.” He leaned forward and whispered the last.

  The twins both chose the berry juice. The food came served on two large stoneware platters. Each platter held three thick slabs of roast venison with a peppery gravy poured over them. A small loaf of crusty brown bread, sweet with nuts and honey, lay alongside the meat. A small serving of boiled vegetables finished the plate. A waitress brought them two fired clay mugs and a pitcher of deep red berry juice.

  Charity sliced a chunk of meat, and raised it to her mouth followed by a bite of the bread. The gravy was spicy with pepper, and complemented the venison. She looked at Adam. A spot of gravy was smeared along the left side of his chin. She pointed to the spot. “You saving that for later?”

  “What?”

  “You've got gravy on your chin.”

  Adam wiped away the spot.

  Charity drank some of the juice, and sliced another chunk of meat. “What gave you the idea of using the Emerald?”

  Adam tried some of the boiled vegetables. Cook had used butter and herbs as a sauce. “It just came to me, and it seemed the right thing to do. You remember that part of the letter that said he'd left us clothes and coin?”

  She nodded, chewing on bread and meat.

  Adam followed the vegetables with a mouthful of berry juice. “Well,” He tore off a chunk of bread, and swirled it in the gravy. “We got the clothes, but other than what Mr. Bustlebun gave us, I haven't seen any of the coins promised in the letter.”

  The sound of voices raised in anger rose over the background babble in the crowded room.

  “So you figured if we sold one of the jewels...”

  “Right. So now we've got a room whenever we need it along with food,” He wiped up the last of the gravy. “And some money in the bargain.”

  A half-full tankard flew across their table, and through the window behind them. A body followed close behind, enlarging the hole in the window. Someone yelled, “FIGHT!", and then pandemonium broke out.

  Shocked and startled, the twins ducked under the table as a barrage of tankards and bottles flew overhead. Several shattered against the table and a mix of ale and wine began puddling on the floor.

  The sounds of weapons clashing and men cursing filled the air.

  Charity screamed and flinched back from a sword blade that gouged the floor scant inches from her hands. A bootheel caught Adam in the thigh, shoving him into Charity.

  “We've got to get out of here.” Adam rubbed his thigh.

  Charity inched back a little further under the table as a bottle shattered against the floor. “I'm right behind you. This is insane, what set these people off?”

  “I don't know, and I don't care. Look! There's an opening, let's go.” Adam crept out from under the table, keeping an eye open for any stray projectiles winging his way. Charity kept close behind him until a knot of three brawlers ploughed into them.

  “Adam!” Charity shrieked, as the fight swept her away.

  He turned around to see where Charity was calling from, slipped on a loose bottle, and wound up on the floor, flat on his back looking up at a short, bald-headed man wearing an evil grin. The little fellow's smile showed rotting teeth through a five-day growth of beard as he aimed a double-headed ax right at Adam's midsection.

  In a blind panic, Charity fumbled around on the floor, and found her bow. She crawled over to an empty spot near one of the support pillars in the inn's common room, and looked across it, trying to find where Adam might be, but it was hard to see due to the shifting nature of the ongoing
scrum. Leaping onto a nearby table, she looked once more, and finally spotted him lying on the floor near the front door. An ugly little man was preparing to cut him with an ax. Charity didn't think about what she did next, but strung her bow with one smooth motion, nocked an arrow, and released it. A second arrow followed the first in a single heartbeat. They caught the axe wielder in both upraised arms, and pinned him to the wall as his weapon fell impotently to the floor.

  * * * *

  Chauncey and Quincey rested their elbows on the bar, watching the fight. Bottles shattered against the cupboard behind them, and tankards bounced off the bar. A body sailed out of the melee, and landed onto the bar top, a belt knife protruded out of its back. Quincey pushed it off the bar phlegmatically, and then he took the proffered bottle of brandy from Chauncey, pulling a long slug of the potent brew. He set the bottle down, and wiped his mustache with the back of his sleeve. “I tell yer, Chauncey. It's a sad bizness, it is.”

  Chauncey tippled from the bottle. “What's that, Quincey?”

  “Yer just don't see the good brawls no more.”

  “So true, Quincey. So true.”

  * * * *

  “You know how to use that sword, sprout?” A hulking figure with red muttonchops and full mustache blocked Adam's way.

  “I ... I don't want to fight you.” Adam tried to back away, but an overturned table blocked his escape. The thought of the axe still had him shaking.

  “Good. That'll make this playtime all the easier.” The redhead drew his sword; a plain infantryman's blade suited for killing, and nothing else.

  He took a cut at Adam, an overhead blow intended to split the opponent down the middle. As if in a dream, Adam's sword was in his right hand blocking the blow, his blade angled perfectly to reduce the shock and cause the opponent's edge to slide away, leaving an opening for a counterstroke.

  The redhead was good. He pulled his stroke as it hit Adam's blade, so he wouldn't be left with a huge hole in his defense. Adam's return shifted in mid-flight, and cut over and above the other's sword, forcing it down and to the side. This created an opening, which Adam exploited in a lunge that buried his blade into the redhead's lower left side.