The Whispers of War [Wells End Chronicles Book 2]

by Robert Beers

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  Writers Exchange E-Publishing

  www.writers-exchange.com/epublishing/

  Copyright ©2004 by Robert Beers

  First published by Writers Exchange E-Publishing, May 2004

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  WHISPERS OF WAR

  THE WELLS END CHRONICLES BOOK 2

  By Robert Lee Beers

  Writers Exchange E-Publishing

  www.writers-exchange.com/epublishing/

  THE WELLS END CHRONICLES BOOK 2: THE WHISPERS OF WAR

  Copyright 2004 Robert Lee Beers

  Writers Exchange E-Publishing

  PO Box 372

  ATHERTON QLD 4883

  AUSTRALIA

  Published Online by Writers Exchange E-Publishing

  www.writers-exchange.com/epublishing/

  ISBN 1 876962 38 0

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to individuals known or unknown to the author are purely coincidental.

  Prologue

  Over a thousand years have passed since Labad wrote his prophecy. Some say he used a dagger dipped in his own blood. A peculiar writing instrument at the least, but if one examines the characters in the prophecy closely, their color and line could have come from just such an origin. The Prophecy of Labad has been a point of discussion among clerics, scribes and scholars through the centuries. Even among the learned, there are those who say it is only legend, or that the dying King merely penned visions seen by a man in the last throes of Garloc poisoning. Yet the prophecy is coming to pass and the Promised Ones written of in its few terse passages are now among us. These are the last of the King's lineage. Twin brother and sister imbued with the sympathetic magik of Labad himself and armed with his weapons. Their names, Adam and Charity, have already become subjects of legend in their own right, he with his sword, and she with her bow. Many of my colleagues may choose to dwell upon that part of the legend alone, but there are others who have been placed into service to aid their endeavor, for the prophecy itself bore powerful magik. I list them here: Morgan, who molded Charity into a warrior of supreme skill, Milward, the last of the Wizards of old, who sheltered them while they were newly come into their task. Hersh of Dunwattle, who took them under his wing and taught them skills of market, Flynn and Neely, one-time thieves now stalwart companions of the lady Charity, Drinaugh, the first Dragon ambassador to walk among men, and the wolves, once shy of all mankind except the Wizard Milward, now packmates with Adam. They have had their part in this play, as did the Lady Thaylli, the only woman to ever ride a Dragon. There is another player, but the prophecies are even less clear on this point. They intimate this one is wields great power brought into being by circumstance.

  This is not to say the path was trouble free. By no means, the perils of their journey were many and varied. Within the caverns of the Dwarfs, they faced the dread Fire Wyrm, beyond the caverns, Trolls, villainous Giants, bigotry and war. Through them all they persevered and survived, though often by the sheer skin of their teeth. A petty war, begun by the machinations of the Sorcerer Gilgafed tore them apart as he had planned and eventually placed the lady Charity into the tender care of Lord Cloutier, the vile Earl of Berggren; her tribulation yet worsened by the belief that her brother lay murdered by the soldiers of Avern. On the way to her time of trial she encountered Flynn and Neely, who upon witnessing her skill with the long bow promptly bent their knee and swore fealty to their Lady. The worth of these two would be proven repeatedly, even during the long two years she would spend as a prisoner within the Earl's castle.

  Despairing of finding his sister, Adam journeyed back to where he and Charity stayed with the Wizard Milward. Together they set out on a journey to find Charity and to foster Adam's rapidly developing powers, what the Wizard's call Shaping. On that journey the young man learned much about whom and what he was, and of the awesome power he would wield. There are those who speak of a thing impossible, a cavern of glistening diamond, formed by the strength of his will alone.

  There are dark whispers that the one of whom the prophecies call The Destroyer is now walking among us, if this is so, the time is indeed short. I have come across a particularly ancient vellum written in the dead language of Angbar that speaks of The Destroyer as having once been a man born of the great eastern whore. Who, or whatever she may be, one can only guess. I believe the Witches may be speaking of a city. Other prophecies speak of it as having no soul of its own but filled with the thoughts and lusts of many minds, black with death and decay, a twisted being that revels in pain, both in that which it gives and that which it receives. Fear is said to flow from it in great waves and this does give verification to the Angbar fragment.

  War is now on the horizon. It is said the Southern Empire has formed an army whose numbers defy description and they march north to bring the vengeance of the Ortian Emperor down upon Grisham and her Duke.

  The Duke's madness has killed many of those in his care and few will escape the time of judgment, unless the Promised Ones fulfill their destiny.

  Alten Baldricsson, Grisham Librarian

  Chapter One

  McCabe enjoyed the feel of the sunlight hitting his face and the small sharp pains the glare caused after so many long months in the Duke's dungeon.

  The steps leading down from the Ducal Palace he took leisurely, one at a time, while casting his new senses for what he had touched in the far north. On the outer edge of sensation, he felt a quiver in the ether and decided a small detour from his trip north would not hurt. The voices inside him shrieked at him to leave the city now but he ignored them and began walking down the hill in the direction of that tantalizing power, toward the Southern Gate Market.

  Grisham's townsfolk fled from him as he approached, giving the former thief a wide path down the twisting streets. Later, when asked, some of them would talk about an all-consuming desire not to be there when the little man dressed in black passed. Pressing for more brought nothing but an invitation to leave the table.

  A beggar, crippled by a fever in his youth was unable to escape a brush of McCabe's finger. As the thief moved on down the street a grinning mummy watched his departure, holding a placard upon which was scrawled a plea for alms.

  He worked his way through the area city dwellers called The Steps. A series of switchbacks steep enough to require ladders in some sections. Thatched roofed inns, shops and cottages lined The Steps with individual landings leading to each brightly painted front door.

  The crowd fleeing McCabe's approach spread out into the various landings and streets as he passed through the area. Most were able to stay out of his reach but those who could not were fed upon. Bodies left in various contorted positions showed the passage of his wake.

  From The Steps the last stairway led into a twisting street lined with pubs and joy houses called Adders Alley. At its far end the alley opened onto the northern boundary of the Market Square. A Scrivener's studio stood across from the gaudy entrance of a pub at the alley's mouth.

  McCabe's vantage point in the alley's mouth gave him full view of the ten acres that made up the Market Square. The sense of power that drew him came from somewhere to his right al
ong the shops and warehouses lining its perimeter.

  He narrowed the focus of his senses until they rested upon a gathering even he found noteworthy. A Dragon, a wolf pack, an old fossil with a respectable smattering of the power and a young couple, stood some three hundred yards from his alley. The power that drew him emanated from the male half of the couple. It was tantalizing, overwhelmingly so. Inside him, the voices shrieked again. This time begging their host to go north now, before disaster fell upon their plans. He ignored them in favor of the power that emanated from the sandy-haired young man. It pulled him like a moth to a flame.

  Swallowing his saliva, he flexed his hands hungrily and started across the square towards his prey. The onlookers that had been gathering to gawk at the sight of a Dragon with its own wolf pack fled from him like mice from a cat, many of them screaming.

  Thaylli turned her head in the direction of the screams and released one herself as she fell back against the wall of the Factor's shop. Her arm rose, pointing to the northwestern corner of the square.

  All heads whipped around to where she pointed and they saw a small black figure walking across the square towards them with a panicked crowd streaming away from it to either side. Milward began forming a protective shaping and then groaned, falling to his knees and grabbing his head in agony.

  The amulet against Adam's chest flared into a tiny sun burning him with its heat and he fell back, gasping at the pain.

  “Back, spawn of evil, back,” The Alpha wolf growled and bared his fangs at the approaching figure.

  One of the younger pack members snarled and launched itself at McCabe's throat. A small yelp sounded and the wolf's body fell to the market floor, shriveled.

  Drinaugh spread his wings and called out to the wolves, “To me, to me, now, for your lives.”

  Two of the other young pack members hesitated, snarling and snapping at the one who had killed their packmate. The Alpha wolf's mate growled at them, “Do what the Skylord says, now!”

  The pack retreated into the shadow of the young Dragon's wings and he furled them around until all the wolves were covered.

  Drinaugh looked back at the approaching figure. To him McCabe looked anything but dangerous, why he was smaller than the girl who had ridden on his neck. A swat of his tail could probably discourage the fellow from coming any closer; however, there was the corpse of the young wolf lying there.

  He turned to ask Adam what he should do but his friend was occupied with the old Wizard.

  Milward still knelt on the ground, waves of pain and nausea swept through him and his head felt as if it would soon burst from the pressure.

  Adam tried to get him to stand. “Milward! Come on! You've got to get out of here, now!” The old Wizard merely groaned and shook as with palsy.

  Thaylli fought the waves of terror that swept through her and bolted from the shop's wall to where her man knelt with Milward. “Adam! Please! We've got to go, that thing's going to kill us!”

  “Don't you think I know that? Milward's frozen here, like ... like he's been struck down.”

  Thaylli shrank back from Adam's anger. “Why yell at me? I didn't do anything.”

  “Don't waste foolish anger on your companions,” Milward's voice was a weak groan and audible only to Adam's ear. “Only the power of a shaping can save us now.” He collapsed in Adam's arms.

  Adam watched the figure walking across the square towards them. A shimmering presence seemed to be moving with and around it like the echoes of a score or more insubstantial beings. An impression of intense evil flowed over him and nausea tried to overwhelm him. This must be what downed Milward, he thought, and then he saw the corpse of the young wolf. It was the one who had hunted with him, the one who had became his friend. A mist, red, like the one that came over him when he pummeled that bully drowning the kittens, rose up.

  Adam did not even feel the headache that usually ensued with a shaping. All he wanted to do was blast the man who killed his wolf into as many small pieces as possible. Every fiber of his being formed into what shot out of his hands.

  Folk looking into the square found themselves blinded for a few moments. The brilliance of the shaping went beyond white into a color that could only be described as pain. Thunder exploded into the square, sending those in it to their knees. Next, came a sound like that of a gigantic waterfall, as air rushed in to fill the void McCabe's body left as it vanished over the horizon.

  Miniature tornadoes created by the disturbance completed the destruction of goods and stalls within the market square, and a rain consisting of what had sat in those booths pelted those below for several seconds. The air was scented with a pungent mix of spice and vegetables.

  Milward recovered instantly and looked at Adam with something akin to fearful awe, “Bardoc's balls, boy! What in the nine hells was that?”

  Adam did not answer the Wizard's question. He stood there, unmoving in the same position he held when the shaping erupted out of him. He was becoming less fond of his path in life, and his chest hurt where the amulet burnt him.

  Running footsteps came to him from his back and his left, unbidden, another shaping rose up to destroy the threat when Thaylli threw herself against him, sobbing.

  He put his arms around her, not knowing what else to do. When Charity was upset he could say, “Buck up, It will be all right,” and give her one of those lopsided grins she found so amusing. This, this was different, entirely different. His feelings concerning Thaylli were a major part of the emotional stew churning within him.

  “Adam? Adam!”

  Milward's tone brought him out of where his thoughts wandered and he turned to see what the old Wizard wanted. “What is it?”

  “Your tone is a little sharp for addressing an elder, Adam.” Drinaugh looked at him mournfully while he allowed the wolves to leave the shelter of his wings.

  Adam looked up at the Dragon's face. Drinaugh's expression said volumes about the value of an apology.

  He looked down again, avoiding Milward's eyes. “Sorry, I didn't mean to snap. That ... thing killed my friend Milward! Loo ... look at what's left of...” His shoulders began to shake and he turned back to Thaylli. This time, she comforted him.

  The wolf pack left the shelter of Drinaugh's wings and padded over to where the corpse of the young male lay. As one they pointed their muzzles skyward and howled. The sound of their voices carried an intense feeling of mourning, sadness and loss. The pack expressed as one being the feelings of all. Tears coursed down Adam's cheeks unhindered by shame. He felt as if he should be howling with the wolves.

  The vigil continued for several minutes and then stopped as abruptly as it had begun. The wolves lowered their muzzles and then turned to walk out of the city. Adam watched them go, holding on to Thaylli's hand.

  “They know you need to stay here Adam.”

  He could hear the tears in her voice and nodded his understanding.

  A growl came from the Alpha wolf and Drinaugh tapped Adam on the shoulder with a finger.

  Adam looked up at the Dragon. “I heard him.” A blush warmed Adam's cheeks.

  “What did he say?” Thaylli asked.

  “That's wolves for you,” Milward shifted his stance putting more of his weight against his staff, “Practical to the end.”

  “What ... did ... he ... say?” Thaylli stamped her foot while glaring at her companions.

  “They are a practical people, as the Wizard said.” Drinaugh lowered his head to where he could whisper in Thaylli's ear. “The wolf repeated what his mate had said earlier. They expect Adam to prove his leadership by siring a litter with you. The last was just a farewell.”

  Thaylli watched the pack walk out of the ruined gate and then break into a run. She blew out her cheeks and then turned to look at Adam. “Well, I'll be a wet hen.”

  * * * *

  “Look at that boy go.” Colling-Faler twitched a thumb at Circumstance as he ran past with a sheaf of elevation sketches clutched in his hand.

 
“Yes,” Lemmic-Pries looked up from his perusal of a set of building plans with the suspicious look of a cafeteria, “even Gaspic is being turned around now by the boy's attitude. He actually said thank you to him the other day.”

  Colling-Faler raised an eyebrow, “He did? What did Circumstance do? Erect the General's headquarters all by himself?”

  “No,” The Chief Engineer chuckled, “nothing quite so elaborate. You know how Gaspic sets impossible deadlines for himself that only he cares about keeping?”

  “Uh huh, so?”

  “So he finally decided to set one that could only be met if he managed to be in two places at one time. The boy overheard our favorite administrator bemoaning what the cruel fates did to him and stepped in. With that imaginary blade hanging over his neck he really had no choice in the matter, at least the way he sees things. Circumstance not only completed his part of the task on time and error free, but he did part of Gaspic's as well. He's an amazing kid.” Lemmic-Pries shook his head as he refocused on the plans before him.

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  Mashglach tapped a talon against the small crystal bell balanced on the top right corner of the podium. The Dragons assembled in the expanse of the great hall heard the sound. It began as a silvery hum that seemed to come from every corner of the hall and built into a pealing tone that slowly faded into soft echoes and memories of better times.

  Dragons of every shape, size and color filled the great hall. At the bell's sounding they all turned from their individual conversations to face the front where the Winglord's platform rose.

  “The Winglauch is now begun. Let all who have business before the Dragons prepare to raise their voice in truth,” Mashglach tapped the bell one more time.

  When the tone faded into its sweet afterlife the chief Dragon raised his wings to their full extent, “Who has business before the Winglauch? Let them come forth.”

  “I ... I have something to say,” Shealauch stepped forward aided by a push from his mother, Temidi.