The Promised Ones [The Wells End Chronicles Book 1] Read online

  * * * *

  Thanks to his power, the burns were finally healed, and the scarring slight, though it meant little to him, as he'd long since ceased caring about his appearance. What displeased him more so than the disfiguring was that he'd been left with a slight limp. It was an implication of weakness, and it fed the fires of the sorcerer's hatred until he had to find release.

  Gilgafed made his way to the Scrying chamber, and released the shaping. Nothing happened. A bead of sweat formed on his brow as he built up the power. This could not happen! His powers were at their peak, no one in this world had greater, he had proven it through the extinction of his enemies. The fat from their bodies had lit his meals for an entire year. Their unborn had filled his larder and filled his belly. Their daughter's daughters still filled his fortress as slaves these centuries later. What was wrong? ...Could it be the old Wizard...? He threw the thought away with a shudder, and refused to consider the implication.

  The sorcerer sent the shaping again. Again, nothing. No image of the brats would come. The prophecy had to be averted. He clenched his fist and raised it, and then trembling, drew it back down.

  Could it be...? He formed another shaping, and set it against the glass. The mists swirled, and then settled into a rough shape that slowly coalesced into the figure of a man. Yes, he knew now what the problem was.

  “You summoned me, my master?” The figure in the glass was darkly handsome with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His brow was high with a thin band of gold encircling it. His smile, rather than pleasant, was leering and self-indulgent.

  Gilgafed considered his choices. Revenge, to be fully realized, must take years in the processing, but he wanted it now. If he followed his desires, there would be little time for subtleties. Should he..? No, it had to be done now. His decision made, he turned his attention back to the one in the glass. “Yes, Cloutier, I did. You have been able to indulge yourself because of my power for years, and now I have a little task for you. Knowing your tastes, I believe you'll enjoy it.”

  * * * *

  Bustlebun stood in the open doorway to their room, shaking his head in amazement. “Bless my buns, but I never be seeing anything like what you two did.”

  “You, missy.” He pointed a sausage-thick finger at Charity. “I not be a believer in witchcraft, but by Bardoc's bristlin’ beard, I know not what else to call the way you handled that bow of yourn.

  “And you, laddie buck. Wieldin’ that blade like Labad hisself. Unnatural it be. Unnatural.”

  Charity looked up from her inspection of the feather bed. “Do you wish us to leave, Mr. Bustlebun?” She said wistfully. She'd never felt anything as soft as that mattress.

  The Innkeeper's eyes widened in shock. “Why, I be suggesting no such thing, by Labad, no! You two may have scared half me custom away this night, but mark me word, there'll be twice that tomorrow.” He shook his finger at her. “And all of em waggin’ their tongues about the two young warriors at Bustlebun's.”

  He leaned back and looked at them, a broad smile on his face. “You have a good sleep, now, younglings. There be a fine breakfast for you on the marrow.” He turned and left, the melody he whistled fading as he continued down the hall.

  The room contained, along with the large featherbed, an oil lamp on a stand and a bureau with four drawers on the wall next to the door. The top of the bureau held a wash basin, two pitchers of water and two thick cloths. A cake of strong smelling soap sat on a small dish next to the basin. Underneath the bed was stored an ornate chamber pot complete with lid. After storing their gear, the twins spent several minutes moving around the room, looking and touching. Such finery had seemed a world away from them in the village. Now here they were in the middle of it, and it was theirs to use!

  Charity sat on the bed, and bounced on it. She giggled. Adam grabbed her and pushed her even more firmly down on her next bounce. She squealed and pulled his hair. Soon they were in a wrestling match, bouncing all over the bed.

  They fell off the bed, and landed on the floor to the accompaniment of two inquisitive barks. They looked up to see two very large, black and tan mastiffs looking down at them with their ears cocked, and their heads tilted to the side.

  Bustlebun came into the room, puffing. “Skip, Donger.” the two dogs looked at him, their tails wagging.

  “Ah, there you be, my fine hearties. Come along, now. Don't be botherin’ the guests.”

  He looked at the twins, a frown of concern wrinkling his forehead. “My apologies, younglings. They heard your play, and wanted to join in. I'll be takin’ em back downstairs now.”

  Adam got up off the floor. “Don't bother, Mr. Bustlebun. Charity and I both like dogs, and if they want to play with us, we'd love to have them.”

  Bustlebun beamed. “Well, now. That be wonderful. I be much too busy with runnin’ the Inn and all to give them the attention they deserve. You hear that, me boys? You've got yourself some playmates.”

  The mastiffs barked joyfully, and leaped into the twins, licking their faces thoroughly. Adam and Charity fell to the floor once more, and laughing, gave the dogs a good play until all of them were panting for breath.

  * * * *

  Cloutier, Earl of Berggren, tied his cravat with care. One should not consider matters of state while dressed improperly. He stepped back and admired his image in the full-length mirror. It cost him a small fortune to have had it made that is, until he had a few of his guards retrieve his payment as back taxes. Too bad the glazier decided to object. What was his poor widow going to do now? His chuckle echoed off the walls of his dressing room, a spacious area at least twenty yards long by slightly less that wide. A wardrobe covered most of the north wall filled with tunics, coats and cloaks of fine and rare fabrics and furs. Beneath the hanging garments stood rank upon rank of expensive boots and shoes. Cloutier's most prized pair graced his feet as he gazed at his image in naked admiration. They were made with the tanned foreskins of adolescent boys, sewn with care to create a subtle pattern, and finished off with an elaborate tapestry in gold and silver thread. Yes, the outfit would do nicely for starting a war.

  * * * *

  They had potatoes for breakfast. Cook served them fried to a golden brown with onions, garlic and herbs. The platter was heaped with them, and they helped themselves to as many as they liked, washing them down with mouthfuls of hot tisane laced with lemon.

  Bustlebun paused by their table, carrying a large pot of the steaming, fruity brew. “I wants to thank you two again for givin’ the lads such a fine playtime last night. They slept like a couple of newborn pups.”

  Charity chewed and swallowed a spoonful of breakfast. “You don't have to thank us, Mr. Bustlebun. We enjoyed it as much as they did.”

  “And gracious, too.” He looked at them out of one eye, a sly smile lifting a cheek. “You be not royalty in disguise, do you?”

  Adam put down his mug. “No, sir, we're not. May I ask a question?”

  “Why, sure, Lad. Ask away.” He put the pot down, and folded his arms.

  “We don't know our way around here. We need to find a small village at the edge of the forest. It's only got a couple of streets and a small market in the center, but it's clean.”

  He nodded, his chin meeting his chest. “Uh huh, uh huh. I do be knowing the place. It be a fair walk, but the path takes you to it. You follow the path, you be OK.”

  They thanked Bustlebun, and finished their breakfast. He surprised them at the door with a sack of provisions for the road. “Now, you be welcome back here any time.” He said. “Of course, you already be payin’ for it.” He finished with a belly laugh that caused him to shake in all directions at once.

  The path began just beyond the Southern end of the Inn, and the deep forest closed in upon it as if wishing to hide a cherished possession. Full stomachs and a pleasant day made the hours pass quickly, and they decided to break for lunch alongside a small waterfall with a patch of sunlight playing in the spray.

  Adam opened t
he sack, wincing at the memory of having worn its like not so long ago. Inside, he found four wrapped loaves of the cook's crusty bread, a half dozen waxed cheeses, a number of individual packages of roasted nuts and dried fruit, as well as four sealed flasks of Berry Juice.

  They lunched on bread and cheese while dangling their feet in the cool water. Charity giggled as small fish nibbled tentatively at her toes.

  A badger waddled out of the brush to get a drink. It eyed the twins suspiciously, and growled while it lapped the water. They wisely left it alone, and packed up the leftovers of their lunch. The ground sloped gently upwards for a long way into a downs thickly forested with trees wearing a silvery bark that gave off a pepper-like scent when rubbed.

  After the downs, they crested a brief rise in the land, and then followed the path through a series of switchbacks down to a stream at the slope's base. Jumping the stream proved easy, and they kept to the path as it curved around a small hillock encrusted with a bramble thicket, and walked right into the middle of a group of Dwarves preparing camp for the night. Eight bearded and plaited heads turned to look at them, as they stood there, unsure of what to do.

  One Dwarf, with his beard and hair completely white, grunted and waved them over to the log he was sitting on.

  They made their way through the busy Dwarves, and sat down on the log. The old Dwarf was tending the campfire underneath a black iron pot suspended by a tripod. A savory aroma of simmering stew came from under the lid of the pot.

  Their host ignored them for a while, as did the other Dwarves. He finished tending the fire, and lifted the lid of the pot, sniffed and grunted again, waving a hand over the stew, and then placed the lid back onto the pot.

  The twins watched the Dwarves at work with huge eyes while they sat on the log. One Dwarf, with complete nonchalance, lifted his tunic and urinated on several small sticks laid in front of him. A strong acrid odor drifted past the two watching youths.

  “Did you see that?” Adam leaned to the side to whisper into Charity's ear.

  She nodded mutely, too shocked to say anything.

  Another Dwarf was carefully digging several shallow trenches in a circular pattern as if they were the spokes of a wheel. Behind the one digging came a dwarf who laid a stone, the size and shape of a flat loaf of bread, into the outer end of each trench. The rest of the Dwarves were tuning musical instruments. One resembled a gitar, but it had too many strings. Another looked like a baby's harp, and there were two that looked like pan flutes, but with the tubes stacked deep as well as wide.

  The Dwarf whohad urinated on the sticks picked them up and sniffed them. He nodded his approval, and then he stuck each one of the sticks, point down, into the soil at the end of each trench. When the last one was in the ground, the musicians struck a chord, and the Dwarves, excluding the one with the white hair, gathered in a circle with the musicians, and began to sing, their eyes pointed at the ground.

  The words came out in a slow, ponderous melody, heavy with minor chords. The message in the song was filled with references to Mother Earth, the womb of the soil, Bardoc and the rule of three. The white-haired Dwarf hummed along with them, keeping time by slapping his left hand against his knee.

  When the singing stopped, the musicians struck a last minor chord and put their instruments aside. The White-haired one, whom the twins surmised was the leader of the group, tested the stew once more. He motioned to the other Dwarves, and they all gathered around the cook fire, some pulling up large stones as seats.

  The gitar player stood up and crossed his arms in front of his chest, and began chanting in a low gravely voice, “After the Dragons we come. Born of dust and born of stone. After the Wolves we come. Born of dust and born of stone. Bardoc gave us life, and Bardoc gave us wisdom. After Bardoc we come.”

  The other Dwarves answered. “We come.”

  The chant continued. “Fathers and sons, come and gone. This was the way since our beginning. Then he came, and broke the peace. War was on the land.”

  The other Dwarves answered. “War was on the land.”

  “The Philosopher King was born in the West against the Circle Sea. He grew strong and wise, and none could stand against him in battle. He threw down the Evil One, Gilgafed, and banished him to the isle of flame, Pestilence. There, his black power waned.”

  “There his black power waned.”

  “Peace was on the land once more, and Dwillkillion prospered. From Firth to Longpointe, we labored and grew.”

  “We labored and grew.”

  “Labad kept his word, and the Dwarves were left alone. No man, Elf, Garloc or Troll bothered or crossed our lands. The peace of a thousand moons.”

  “The peace of a thousand moons.”

  “Then the Evil one rose up from his prison of flame with power terrible. War was on the land once more. Labad came forth, bright as the sun, but the powers were matched, and neither side could prevail. Thus, the land was sundered.”

  “The land was sundered.”

  “The Dragons came to Labad's plea, for a vision was upon his mind. The rule of three.”

  “The rule of three.”

  “Ask the Dwarves, he was told, for their memories are of the stone.”

  “Their memories are of the stone.”

  “We came in honor to the Philosopher King. For, in surety, he kept his word. We kept safe his pledge and his treasure for those who would come. The word of the Dwarves is true.”

  "The word of the Dwarves is true."

  The gitar player sat back down at the last refrain as the white-haired Dwarf stood. The old Dwarf swept his gaze across the others, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Are the wombs prepared and laid with stone?” His voice was surprisingly strong and vibrant for one of such obvious advanced age.

  The other Dwarves answered in unison. “Aye.”

  “Are the wards wetted and placed for each?”

  “Aye.”

  “Is the song sung, and the history revealed?”

  “Aye.”

  He uncrossed his arms, sat down and lifted the lid off the pot of stew. “The wombs prepared. The stones are laid. The wards wet, and the song is sung. With the history fresh on our lips, we share our food as one.”

  He stirred the pot with a wooden spoon, and tasted the stew. He nodded and raised the spoon over his head, and shouted, “Labad!”

  The others shouted “Labad!” in answer,r and the formal atmosphere left the camp. The Dwarves helped themselves to the stew, and sat down, dipping into their bowls with chunks of black bread, eating, smacking their lips, and talking amongst themselves.

  The old Dwarf turned to Adam, and held his hand over his heart. “Urbus. I am chieftain of this band. That one is Garven,” He indicated the gitar player. “Next to him, Belgris and Faltur. Those two are Mergan and Durl.” He pointed to the two across from the twins. “And over there are Twill and Knurl.” The two Dwarves indicated raised their dipping bread, and grunted, their mouths full. The one named Knurl added a wink with his salute.

  Urbus took his hand off his heart, and picked up his bowl of stew. “I have told mine and theirs.” He waved his bread at the other Dwarves. “Custom dictates you tell me yours.”

  Adam put his hand over his heart in imitation of the Dwarf. “I am Adam, and this is my sister Charity. We thank you for your hospitality.”

  Urbus leaned back and looked down his large nose at Adam. “Courtesy, from a young human in these times, surprising. Hospitality is given, young Adam, and Charity.” He nodded to her. “You may share my fire and food, though Dwarf fare may not meet your palate as it does ours.” He chuckled. “It will be interesting to see your expressions when you taste our stew.”

  The Dwarf named Durl handed a bowl to each of the twins, along with a good-sized piece of the black bread. Urbus sat there watching while they looked at the stew.

  “Go on. Eat. It's good.” The Dwarf named Twill demonstrated by dipping his bread into his bowl, and taking a healthy bite.

 
; Charity lifted her bowl and dipped the bread in. The stew smelled delicious, savory and spicy with an unusual overtone she couldn't place. She took a small bite of the dipped bread. It tasted as good as it smelled, and then the spice hit her. It seemed as though someone had set a fire into her mouth and throat. Her eyes bugged, and, gasping, she began groping for a drink to cool her mouth.

  Urbus and the other Dwarfs laughed uproariously, slapping their knees and clapping their hands. The joke was a good one.

  Charity downed nearly half a flask of berry juice, and paused, pulling in deep breaths to clear the last of the burn.

  “Good, yes?” Twill roared out another huge laugh while dipping himself another bowlful of stew.

  Charity gathered herself to let the Dwarves have an earful of her outrage when a thought struck her. Why give them the satisfaction? There was evidence in both their silly chant and in the way they deferred to Adam that Dwarves ran a society where females were secondary. Well, she was going to give them an example of feminine strength even if it took the last layer of skin in her mouth and throat. She smiled at Twill, and said, “Yes, it is good.” And then she dipped her bread deeply, and helped herself to a big bite, chewing and swallowing.

  The Dwarves looked at her closely, waiting for the eruption. It didn't come. Charity leaned against Adam, and whispered. “The stuff is hotter than Uncle Bal's spicy beans. They want to see us choke on it. Let's show them something different.”

  Adam nodded and dipped his bread. He looked at Charity. She winked. He nodded slightly, and took a bite. She was right. The stew was hotter than his Uncle's beans, much hotter. It took an act of his will to not reach for the juice. He looked at Urbus as he dipped the bread again. “My sister's right, it is good. May I have the recipe?” He took another bite of the bread.

  The Dwarves sat frozen in place; their bread paused over their bowls. Urbus looked like he might be choking, then a chuckle came bubbling up out of him, and exploded into peals of roaring laughter. The other Dwarves joined in, appreciating the joke being on them.