The Whispers of War [Wells End Chronicles Book 2] Page 6

  “The Spirit Shaper was old, for an Elf, thirty-five or more years in age. I remember thinking I never wanted to be that old. His hair was almost totally white and his back was bent with age. The shop he kept attracted my attention immediately. A workbench ran the entire length of one wall and the shelf above it held clay pots with herbs, fungi and pickled amphibians. Some others held mixtures and ointments that filled the hut with a pungent, spicy aroma that struck me sharply in the nose the first time I stepped through his door.

  “He must have used his power to build many of the items in the hut for it had the only polished stone floor I've ever seen in an Elf lodging. Dirt is the usual material—it's far more absorbent and doesn't have to be mopped. The workbench and the shelves also exhibited far more precision than Elves typically use in construction. I found myself hungering to learn how to do such things.

  “For the first few seasons I was little more than a servant and the village children teased me terribly about having to fetch, carry and clean for the old shaper. They did so usually at a distance, though. The brats could never be quite sure I hadn't learned something that would prove fatal to them. I absorbed the old shaper's lessons like a sponge. As his talent lay only in the realm of spirit, that was what he taught, but I knew, in here,” Gilgafed thumped his chest, “that I could do it all. At nine, when the other lads were busy chasing after a pair of legs in a skirt, I was practicing in the wood away from the village. That old shaper would have killed me outright had he known. In the Elven world it is a fatal mistake for the student to be better than the teacher too soon. In half a season I was able to work within all areas of shaping, after a fashion. Full mastery did not come until much, much later and those who teased me learned the lesson of their folly.” The small figurine crumbled in his hand and vanished into mist.

  “My life changed completely on an evening when the rains were so heavy you could barely see across the street because of them. My master was eating when I ran through the door and he looked at me with this strange light in his eyes, ‘Come here boy. I want to share a secret with you.’ He beckoned to me with a finger stained with blood. The blood came from what he was eating. There was a plate in front of him filled with small, white twitching shapes. When I drew closer I could see they appeared to be undeveloped rats.

  “The old shaper saw the expression on my face and sniggered in the way the old do. When he was through laughing, he said, ‘You don't like my choice of meat, boy? Sit. You'll learn to relish it as I do.’ So saying, he picked up one of the tiny rats and bit it in half. Blood spurted and ran down his chin. I hid my revulsion and sat, waiting upon the tale he was sure to tell me.

  “He chewed the remnant of his morsel and looked at me again with that strange intense expression. “How old do you think I am, boy?’

  “From the look of him, with his white wispy hair, a face with more lines than not, I would have said forty-two, maybe forty-three. Very few Elves live past forty-five and my Master looked to be near the mark. I opened my mouth to answer his question but he held up that bloodstained finger and stopped me before I could speak.

  “Nothing was said for a long, pregnant moment and then the old Shaper reached into the plate and plucked another of the rats out of the mass and held it before me. ‘Eat this.’

  “Of course I recoiled from the offered rat. I could feel my gorge rising and my Master sniggered again. ‘Eat this,’ he ordered, ‘and I'll tell you the secret of why I have lived to be two hundred years old.’

  “My ears rang. It could not be, my Master, nearly as old as a Dwarf? I couldn't believe what I heard and I told him so. He just smiled as he ate another rat and then crooked that finger at me. ‘Use what I've taught you. See if I'm lying.’

  “So I did. The shaping came easily as if it had been waiting for the summons. Truthsaying is part of spiritshaping, so he knew I would be able to discern whether or not he spoke false. I sent the shaping into him and watched for the color of the aura as it formed. There it was, golden, without the slightest shading of red. My Master was two hundred years old! So existed a secret I'd dreamed of. As I said earlier, the thought of being old disturbed me. If there was a way to forestall that day I had to discover it.

  “I didn't hesitate after the thought struck me, but snatched the rat from his thumb and forefinger, popped the whole of it into my mouth, chewed and swallowed it.

  “Ignoring the acrid taste of the raw meat and blood, I looked my Master in the eye and demanded the secret he promised to tell.

  “He grunted at my audacity and then nodded. ‘These,’ he pointed a thumb at the plate of twitching ratlings, ‘are the unborn of a half dozen rats, the large forest type. You can tell that by their size. By eating the unborn, I have been able to stave off death's embrace for more than one hundred and fifty years.’

  “Does it have to be rats?” I asked with the taste still on my tongue.

  “What you eat matters not, as long as it is alive and has been torn from the womb.” He ate another of the baby rats as he answered. I joined him in the meal and then laughed as giddiness overtook me. I didn't know it at the time, but that was the magik at work within me, extending my life.

  “My master remained ignorant of just how much his lesson changed my life and I kept that secret from him right up to the day I killed him.”

  “You killed your master, Master?” Cobain blurted out.

  “Don't get any ideas,” Gilgafed growled. “it happened two years later and I'd learned a lot more about my powers by then. So much so, it was impossible to hide the fact I was venturing into becoming a full Sorcerer, not just a shaper of Spirit.

  “The day it happened, I was running through several exercises intended to refine my control. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my Master looking at me with an expression I'd never seen on his face before, and I'd seen the full spectrum from pleasure to pain and joy to anger. This expression was one of fear, my Master feared me. I found the revelation pleasing to no end.

  “He would strike soon, of that I was sure. But if I chanced using the power to see if there was an aura of readiness about him, I would die before I was able to defend myself. The only thing I could do was attack him first. As my Master had taught me I built the power within, storing it in that place inside my mind I'd chosen back when he first began teaching me. The old fool knew nothing of real power; the only thing I had to fear was his experience. As it turned out, even that fear was groundless.

  “To this day I remember the sight of his eyes when my shaping hit him as clearly as if it just happened. There is a moment when your enemy knows beyond all certainly you've beaten them and that realization washes across their face and lodges in their eyes. There is nothing like it. It is delicious, absolutely delicious.

  “Unborn rats were not the only meat I ate back then. I discovered through experimentation that the higher the order of animal that I consumed, the greater the effect. Before I reached one hundred years of age I'd graduated from rats to lambs to swine. Did you know swine were higher in order than sheep? No, of course you didn't, you're a servant, not a scholar.

  “Well, naturally I wondered what the effect would be if I moved from the higher animals into the sentient. Elf I could not bring myself to consider for obvious reasons, I'm a Sorcerer, not a monster, regardless of what you may think, Cobain.”

  “You're my Master, that is enough.”

  “Good answer. As I was saying, besides the obvious, Elf was out of the question, you know how they consider children, and Dwarf would bring along with it certain complications I wasn't prepared to deal with then. They are a particularly stubborn and unforgiving race. Probably be too tough anyway. Dragon was simply impossible, though the idea still intrigues me, that left humans. They breed like rabbits and have little use for anyone other than themselves, making it rather easy and free of recourse to obtain the pregnant female or two. Did you know that some of their women even want to have their child taken from them?”

  Cobain shook his head. The id
ea was too preposterous.

  Gilgafed turned and walked around his desk to sit back down. He leaned back in his chair and put his feet upon the mirrored black wood of the top. “Neither did I at first. But so it was. As it turned out, such a child proved unpalatable, in both flavor and result. It seems that in order to serve my need; the unborn must be loved, a tragedy for the mother, of course, but life for me, and power. In addition it also turns out that the sentient unborn need not be eaten alive in order for the magik to work.

  “There is the tale, my faithful Cobain. You may do with it as you will, but first tend to my meal. Fetus pie tonight I think, with a side of those nice meaty beans from the south and a light wine. You decide on the vintage.”

  “Of course master. As you wish.” Cobain left the room and descended the stairs back down to the level of the kitchens. The Sorcerer kept a well-stocked larder complete with storage units carved into the rock of the mountain and kept chill by shapings designed to work indefinitely with very little maintenance. Several cooks and scullery helpers were busily at work when he entered. The smell of cooking spices and meats filled the air. A sharp pungent aroma struck his nose as one of the junior cooks tossed chopped onion into a hot pan.

  The lead chef looked up at Cobain's approach. “Which one?”

  “Friella.”

  “Her? She'll fight every step of the way and probably die in the process. Shouldn't allow girls like her in the breeding pens at all.” The chef worked the dish he was preparing with more vigor than was necessary.

  Cobain shrugged. “The Master likes them best when they come that way.”

  The Chef nodded. “Aye, that's right, more's the pity. Ah well,” He spat onto a knife and polished it. “At least the Ogren'll get fed.”

  * * * *

  Vedder the Priest turned in his saddle to urge on the foot soldiers behind him. “We're almost there. Come on you. The slope's not that steep. Keep up with us or you'll be left out of the treasure.”

  “There better be treasure at th’ end o’ this hike,” The soldier trotting alongside Aerny muttered as they struggled to keep up. The last foothill that led to Dragonglade's ridge was steep.

  “I'm with ya on that one Wullim. Fack is ... I'm thinkin’ that even treasure might not be worth this.” Aerny muttered back.

  “Quiet you two. Thinkin’ ain't parta yer job, so leave off,” The Corporal in front of them barked a soft command out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Right Corp.”

  “Gottcha Corp.”

  The Avernese Sergeant behind Vedder looked at the ridge they were approaching. “That seems mighty steep sir.”

  “Then we'll leave the horses,” Vedder ordered. “They've served their purpose anyway.”

  “But the supplies, the heavy weapons.” The Sergeant looked back at the ridge one more time.

  Vedder fixed the Sergeant with his best glare. “Nothing was said in your orders, Sergeant, concerning questioning my authority. What was said pertained to your obedience. I said we'll leave the horses and I intend to do just...”

  “Oy! Up there! Up ... flickin’ ... there!!”

  The priest looked up at the interruption and felt his bowels turn to water. Above them the sky had turned to Dragons. Monstrous beasts at least twice the size of the one they'd shot. The creatures seemed to be hovering, maintaining their position with lazy sweeps of their incredible wings.

  Then came the roars.

  Some of the horses panicked and began bucking, twisting and turning in order to lighten their loads. Vedder found himself flying through the air at the first lurch of his mount. Part of him wanted to call out to the men, rally them against the Dragons’ attack. The other part wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in after him. He felt more frightened than he'd ever been in his life. How could he have been such a fool to think a few soldiers would be enough to deal with creatures like these?

  Wullim clutched Aerny's jerkin in his hands and pulled his friend closer so he could be heard in the crush of sound. “I'm gettin’ outta here. You comin'?”

  Aerny shouted back, “That's desertion.”

  Wullim pointed upwards.

  Aerny looked and nodded. “Right. Let's go.” He followed Wullim back down the slope. Several of the others took their cue and began running to catch up.

  Vedder looked up to see the remaining Corporal drag the Sergeant to his feet and pull him along as they ran after the deserting men.

  “Come back!” He shouted at the men. “Cowards! Come back.” The last word came out in a sob. “Come ... Back.”

  A sound came from in front of him and he raised his face from the ground to see the largest of the Dragons settle onto the slope about a dozen yards from where he lay. The massive wings settled into place and it regarded him with eyes that held a disturbing amount of intelligence. Then the head dipped down towards him.

  The defender of mankind lowered his head back down to the rocky soil and said the only thing that came to mind, “Oh, skrud.”

  * * * *

  Milward looked at Adam in open-faced astonishment. “What did you say?”

  “I said I'd help him if I could.” Adam leaned back as Kittlyn reached across him to clear away some of the goblets and mugs.

  “Another one of these my dear.” Bilardi raised his goblet but his eyes stayed fixed on something besides the wine.

  Kittlyn favored the Guard Captain with a broad smile as she inhaled for emphasis. “Of course sire Captain. Is there anything else you wish to order?”

  Thaylli rolled her eyes.

  Milward ignored the potential entertainment and continued to stare at Adam. “Did I hear you correctly? You actually intend to join this ... this fop in his foolishness? No, I absolutely forbid it!”

  Adam's eyebrows rose. “You forbid it?”

  “And just what do you think I should do? Let you flitter off willy-nilly on a fool's errand while your studies, not to mention your sister, lie neglected?” Milward's hand slapped the tabletop in agitation.

  “Uh, gentlesires ... If I may...” Bilardi tried to intercept what he saw as an escalating argument.

  “You may not!!” Adam and Milward shot back and then glared at each other.

  The Guard Captain retreated into his wine as Thaylli shrank back slightly from Adam's display of temper.

  “Well?” Milward raised his voice as he leaned towards Adam, “Explain yourself young man! What about your studies, what about your destiny?”

  Adam leaned towards the old Wizard as he raised his own voice, “And since when did you become my father? Not even Uncle Bal presumed that. The last couple of times we had trouble ... I seemed to do pretty well, I think. And I don't remember you doing much to help either, I may as well have been on my own.”

  Thaylli took hold of Adam's arm. “Adam! He's a Wizard!”

  He shook off her hand. “And so what about it? I am not a child and I won't be treated like one!”

  Milward's voice rose to a shout, “Won't be treated like one? Won't be treated like one? You have barely begun to crawl. It takes years of dedicated study and patience to even begin to scratch the surface of what you need to know and I'll be damned if a child barely out of swads will presume to tell me different!”

  That brought Adam to his feet. “If that is what you think of me, after all we've been through and after all I've done, then it's best we go our separate ways, isn't it?” He turned his head to look at Thaylli. “You coming?”

  Thaylli opened her mouth and then closed it. Milward gave her a sharp look.

  “Thaylli?” Adam held out his hand.

  She looked back at Milward with hurt showing in her eyes. Her mouth opened again and then she shook her head, “I'm sorry, I have to go with him. I'm sorry.”

  Adam held the door for her and let it close behind him as he followed her out.

  Bilardi raised both eyebrows at Milward.

  The old Wizard blew out his moustaches and glared back at the Guard Captain, “This is all your fault,
you know. I should turn your guts into spiders and let them eat their way out, but right now I'm too tired and too disgusted. If he wishes to throw away his studies and ignore his destiny, then that's his problem.”

  He leaned forward and placed his nose scant inches away from Bilardi's. “Your problem is this, one hair, one,” He held up a forefinger in front of the Captain's eye, “If one hair is harmed on his head, I will find you and fulfill what I should have done to you today.”

  Milward spun on his heel and stalked out of the room toward the stairs, his staff tip slamming into the wood of the floor every second step.

  Bilardi watched the old Wizard as he huffed out of the dining room. When Milward vanished around a corner he finally released the breath he'd been holding. He'd heard it wasn't wise to upset a Wizard and that one had looked particularly peeved.

  Kittlyn came into the room from the kitchen with a bottle of wine in her hands. Bilardi offered her his brightest smile, “Ah, perfect timing my dear. It seems I'm alone now, would you care to join me in a glass or two?”

  Her returning smile was blinding, “I'll have to ask permission, but for the Captain of the City Guard...”

  “You just run along and find out. I'll be here.” He watched her wiggle back to the kitchen and then turned to see where the boy and his girl had gone. The view of the street through the window showed him nothing beside the usual traffic of peasants and venders.

  He brought the goblet to his lips and sipped some more of the surprisingly good red wine. As he leaned back against the table he continued to watch the street and murmured to himself. “That went well.”

  * * * *

  Flynn watched the sky to the west of where they rode. The dark edge of the spine seemed closer. They must be nearing the place where they built the raft all those months ago.

  He reached out and tapped Neely on the shoulder. The start his friend gave showed him the tracker must have been sleeping in the saddle again.

  “Gods Flynn! Don't do that. I nearly soiled meself.”

  “You was sleepin’ again. Don't want ya fallin’ off an’ ruinin’ alla miss Charity's healin’ now, do ya?” The big man beamed at his friend through the curly orange beard he'd started last week.