The Whispers of War [Wells End Chronicles Book 2]

by Robert Beers

  Hodder put an arm around his friend's shoulders as the barmaid approached. “Hsst! Talk like that'll get our heads removed from our shoulders.”

  “Maybe we should talk about it.” Stroughten paid the barmaid for the brandy and put it in front of Wuest.

  “Are ye insane?” Hodder picked up his ale and drained it. He signaled for the barmaid without taking his eyes off of Stroughten. “Avin here has a bit of a reason to feel like he does. I'm rather fond of me head being where it is thank you very much.”

  Stroughten looked his friend up and down for a second. “You'd have no trouble. Just stand in place. They'd mistake ye for a fence post, ordinary lookin’ as ye are.”

  “Gotta be done,” Wuest murmured into his third brandy. “Can't leave, Southern army's too flickin’ close. Gotta kill the skrudin’ bugger, gotta...” He collapsed face down onto the table.

  Stroughten looked across the table at Hodder. “He's right there, can't leave. Guard's got the port all locked up and the Southerners ‘er marchin’ up the highway. Duke's gonna get us all killed if this keeps on.”

  Hodder's voice came out as more of a squeak than a whisper, “What can we do about it, Leum? You gonna shove a blade into the Duke's back? I'm certainly no blade and I sure as the pit ain't no killer!”

  Leum was Stroughten's circle-name. He looked at the ceiling for a long moment. “I know a man.”

  * * * *

  “I said,” Mashglach repeated his request to the Dragon Winglauch, “is there anyone else with thoughts pertaining to the matter before us?”

  Shealauch raised a hand from his place next to his mother who was still fuming, though quietly.

  Mashglach nodded in the young Dragon's direction. “Yes, the one for whom this assembly has been called, young Shealauch. We stand ready to hear your words.”

  The young Dragon looked around him at the assembly and though having spoken before, suddenly felt very small and very, very young. The Winglord appeared to loom over him like the shadow of Cloudhook over the plains.

  Timidi leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Don't be nervous dear, just tell them what's on your mind like before. They all want to hear what you have to say.”

  Shealauch looked back up at the Winglord. Mashglach smiled at him gently and nodded. “Compose your words in the way you feel most comfortable young Shealauch, we will wait.”

  The Dragons in the great hall all murmured their agreement.

  “Umm...” He coughed nervously and tried to start again. “I was wondering...” He coughed again, his throat felt very dry. “Would it be undragonlike to just forget the whole incident and leave the humans to their short lives while we continue on with the business of being Dragons? I mean ... I'm healed now. So, why can't we?”

  He looked up at the Winglord and then turned to face the entire assembly. “Why can't we?”

  Several of the older Dragons expressed audible surprise at such a mature attitude coming from a Dragon of Shealauch's age.

  * * * *

  Drinaugh dipped a shoulder slightly and banked around a small cloud. Below him the land changed from high prairie into the rolling foothills preceding the heights of the Spine of the World. Soon he would reach the ancient crater that was the vale of Dragonglade and home. He watched the landscape glide by beneath him, seeing the snakelike patterns of creeks mixing into the darker greens of the treetops as the ground beneath rose into the flanks of the Spine. A change in the familiar landscape brought him into a tight-banked turn as he doubled back to take a closer look at what caught his eye.

  Focusing his telescopic sight brought the double row of dots into view as a company of men, men marching behind some on horseback. Drinaugh hovered in place as he considered what to do. His recent experience with the wolves and Adam's mate-to-be had taught him much about the species. In fact, they were more like Dragonkind than he had originally believed, but something about this group bothered him.

  Hovering took prodigious amounts of energy. Dragons were designed to be gliders; they were not hummingbirds. Drinaugh could feel the huge muscles in his back and in his chest beginning to fatigue. The men were climbing the foothills in the direction of Dragonglade, and those were not gifts they carried.

  He dipped into a short dive to pick up speed and then started the climb that would bring him over the spine and down into the home of the Dragons.

  * * * *

  She leaned back in the saddle as the dappled mare picked her way down the slope. In front of her, Sergeant Travers and his patrol neared the bottom and would soon be onto flat ground.

  “Come on girl,” Charity clicked her tongue in encouragement to her mount. The cat, in her usual place behind the saddle, complained quietly at the jostling as they bounced with the horse down the steep path.

  Flynn and Neely followed behind Charity and her mare. Neely was actually glad to be on horseback as his still healing legs got a nice rest from walking.

  The draft horse Flynn rode followed Neely's buckskin with ease. Her huge platter sized hooves found sure purchase on the rich soil of the hillside. Flynn's multiple chins jiggled as he bounced in his saddle. “This is a rough go, Neely, I don't think I've ever been jostled so much before.”

  Neely barked out a short laugh. “This ain't jostlin'. Why I remember a time back in the westlands; Big Keri I think they called ‘er ... Yep. Big Keri.”

  “Why'd they call ‘er Big Keri?” Flynn joined in the fun of one of Neely's stories.

  “Well...” Neely paused for effect. “There wuz a couple ‘o reasons, iffn you get my drift...”

  * * * *

  “What?” Adam paused with his ale halfway to his mouth.

  “I believe you heard me correctly,” Bilardi said languidly, “I am here to offer you a commission in the Grisham City Guard, a position by no means, mean.” He smiled at the obvious word play.

  Thaylli's dislike of the man grew by the minute.

  “Why?” Adam put his mug back down and leaned forward onto the tabletop, “What use would I be to your city guard? I don't have any experience in it and I really don't see why you'd be interested in someone like me.”

  Bilardi looked over at Milward and raised his eyebrows in mock astonishment. “Ah, such humility! And from one so young.”

  He turned and leaned toward Adam. “Very well, I'll tell you why, my young blademaster. Because of what you say you didn't do back in that alley is the reason. If there were a few more of your worth Grisham would have the finest officer corps in all the land. Tell me,” He leaned back and picked up the goblet of wine Kittlyn had set down while he talked. “Do you have any idea of what those southern barbarians will do to the people of Grisham if they break through the wall? A wall you bear some responsibility for opening mind you.”

  “There are several points of debate on that Sire Bilardi.” Milward took out his pipe and began stuffing it.

  The guard officer waved a languid hand. “So you say, but can you not also verify my concerns?”

  Milward puffed his pipe alight. “I'm sorry. I can't prove or disprove any of that, as I know little of the southlands. I've had my hands full these past centuries just getting to know my way around up in the north. Besides, from what I know of the writings of Labad, they could not have come from the heart of a barbarian.”

  “True, True,” Bilardi nodded, “But things have changed somewhat in the centuries since Labad. The current Emperor, nor his recent ancestors, follows not the God of Labad. Instead they sacrifice the bodies of virginal children upon an altar stained red with their blood.”

  “That's horrible!” Exclaimed Thaylli.

  “That's not the worst of it milady.” He inclined his head toward her in a small bow. “The people of the Southern Empire are kept in a state of enforced ignorance. Those who do manage to learn how to read or write are tortured for the pleasure of the Royalty. Their teachers are killed outright and the bodies used as the main course in a pagan feast.”

  “Ewwwww.” Thaylli looked a little
green.

  Bilardi nodded. “I concur milady.” He shifted his eyes back and forth between Adam and Milward. “Would you wish to see that fate fall upon the good people of Grisham? The greatest library in all the known lands is here. The beast of the south would love to see it become a pyre in honor of his demon god.”

  “I've heard little of what you're telling us,” Milward said mildly. “For the seat of Labad to sink into such depravity as you describe, why ... it seems farfetched at best.”

  “So ... Test my words. See if they are not true,” Bilardi replied blandly. “Use your Wizard's ways, look to the south and see if there is not an army marching upon us. See if they are not of a mind to remove Grisham from the face of this world.”

  Milward leaned back against the wall behind the bench he sat on. “Don't have to, something's up. The idiocy going on in this city's proof enough of that. The reason for it is something else altogether, and it will take more than a simple scry to find out.”

  Adam looked at Thaylli. The fear she felt was naked upon her face.

  Bilardi sipped some more of his wine. “As you say Wizard. I know little of such matters. All I care about is protecting the people of my fair city. Your young friend here is a weapon that cannot be ignored in that protection. I would be derelict in my duty if I did not at least try to enlist his aid.”

  Adam finished his ale and put the mug back on the table. “As Milward says. Something is going on. This city is filled with people afraid for their lives. I've gotten to know some of them as friends and I'd rather not see them come to a bad end. I'll help you, Captain Bilardi, if I can.”

  * * * *

  Drinaugh powered down into Dragonglade and backwinged to a less than dragonlike dignified landing. A feeling of dread concerning the intentions of the humans he saw climbing the slopes toward his home weighed on his mind, but the glade itself was deserted. He'd never seen it with at least a few of his people occupied in some way or another. The dread increased. Was he too late? Had some calamity already struck his home leaving him the last Dragon alive?

  He entered the main doors into the complex of halls, rooms and arena-sized spaces that made up Dragonglade proper. Still he found no other dragons. That could mean only one thing. His fear of being left alone in the world was real or...

  Mashglach looked up as the young Dragon burst into the meeting hall. “Drinaugh! Has your sojourn among the humans robbed you of all manners?” The Winglord quivered with indignation at the apparent display of rudeness.

  Drinaugh, still winded from his race through the halls of Dragonglade stumbled forward and nearly fell except that Chabaad reached out to steady him. “Easy, young Dragon. What is the reason for this haste? Tell us, as this is the time and place for revelations.” The mature Dragon looked about the group and then rested his gaze upon the Winglord. “Is it not?”

  The other Dragons in the hall expressed their agreement with Chabaad's assessment.

  Mashglach puffed out his cheeks and nodded. “Go ahead young Drinaugh. Speak your peace. Let the assembly hear why you've burst in upon them like a marauding band of Ogren.”

  “Uh ... Well...” The young Dragon began. Then he looked around and noticed who was going to be listening to what he said.. Why, that was Oshglach, the oldest Dragon of all, standing just a winglength away from where he was. “You see ... I...”

  “Oh get on with it Drinaugh!” Harlig grumbled. “I can feel my cheeks whitening just standing here.”

  “Harlig,” Mashglach copied the large Dragon's grumble, “he's a juvenile. Grant him some grace, if you don't mind.”

  “As you say, Winglord.” Harlig cast an eye at the young Dragon. “At your own pace Drinaugh.”

  “Thank you. Uh ... I saw a party of humans, with weapons, climbing up the slopes toward Dragonglade. I don't think they're very friendly.”

  The hall erupted into bedlam. Nearly every Dragon began voicing their opinion as to what they should do, or not do, depending on their personal feelings towards isolationism.

  A few of the more radical voices called for the humans to be put down like sick beasts, after all, wasn't that what they were? Chabaad led that faction with Timidi in full-throated agreement.

  A large group, led by Harlig called for nothing to be done as there was no possible method the humans could use that would allow them access into the caldera, except by falling, and since humans could not fly...

  Drinaugh shrank back against one of the pillars supporting the roof of the hall. This was not at all what he wished to see. Dragonglade itself was being torn apart by his words and his actions. He felt completely and thoroughly miserable.

  The hubbub of Dragon voices stopped as a call that quickly built into a trumpet blast of ear shattering intensity echoed throughout the hall. In the aftermath of the sound there was shocked silence. No Dragon since the times before the coming of man had ever uttered that cry. All Dragons knew of it. It was built into their very bones, but it was also a matter of visceral pride that no Dragon since Blathjeck the Bloody ever felt the need to use it.

  “Winglord!” Harlig was the first recover from his shock. “You go too far, explain yourself, now!”

  Mashglach ignored the rebuke and stared at the assembled Dragons with eyes flat with anger.

  Drinaugh saw the twitching of the Winglord's wings and crouched further behind his pillar as he waited for the explosion to come.

  “Too far, you say? Since when does a fledgling fresh from the birthing sack presume to tell an adult they've gone too far?”

  “Fledgling?” Haglig's voice rose in pitch until it was almost tenor. “Fledgling?”

  “Yes Harlig, fledgling,” Mashglach purred, “and it will continue to be so for every Dragon in this hall who chooses to act so.” He raised his voice so it carried to the rest of the assembly. “I used the battle call to bring you all back to your senses. If I didn't know better I would have thought I was in a hall filled with Elves instead of Dragons.”

  Many of his listeners averted their eyes.

  Mashglach pulled his head back into an erect position as he crossed his arms. “Good,” he nodded, “at least some of you have the good graces to be ashamed of yourselves.

  “Drinaugh,” he turned his attention back to the young Dragon, “come out from behind that pillar and give us a better description of these humans other than, ‘I don't think they're very friendly.'”

  The young Dragon peered around the edge of his refuge. “Uh...”

  “Come, come, Drinaugh, I won't bite. Nor will I abuse you. You, for one, did not partake of the hysteria we've just witnessed. As far as I'm concerned you're on a maturity level with the honorable Oshglach right now. Perhaps you could teach Chabaad, Harlig and Timidi a few lessons. Eh?” Mashglach favored Drinaugh with a wide grin.

  The young Dragon's returning smile was faltering. “Yes Winglord. Uh ... I had some time to look more closely at them before flying on. They had a lot of those pointy stick things they throw plus those things that look like a harp with one string.”

  “Spears and bows,” Mashglach muttered. He centered the full force of his gaze onto Drinaugh. “What size did these sticks appear to be? Did they have bundles of smaller one as well?” Many of the older Dragons picked up on where the Winglord was heading and a faint susurration swept through the hall.

  Drinaugh wrinkled his brow in thought. “Umm ... The stick things looked to be about a thumb's thickness and maybe seven to nine human feet in height, and yes, I saw what looked like bundles of the same thing, only smaller, except they had feathers attached at one end.”

  Mashglach nodded at that, his eyes hooded. “One of the signs...” He said to himself, though a few of the Dragons closest to the podium heard it.

  “Very well,” He shook off his moment of reflection, “You have heard young Drinaugh's witness. Whether we like it or not, Dragonglade is going to be attacked by a party of men armed with weapons that have the capability of harming, or even killing some of you.”

&n
bsp; Another mummer ran through the hall, the word kill surfaced and bobbed along the top of the conversation like a bubble in an agitated pond.

  “What do we do Winglord?”

  “Yes. Tell us! What do we do?”

  More and more of the Dragons picked up the refrain until Mashglach was being beseeched from all corners of the hall.

  “Silence!!” Harlig strode to the front of the hall and stood before the podium facing the assembly.

  “Well said Harlig,” Mashglach murmured from the senior Dragon's ears only, “Welcome back to the ranks of maturity.”

  “We'll discuss my demotion later,” The senior Dragon said out of the side of his mouth. He then fixed a steely-eyed glare onto the now quiet and somewhat shamefaced Dragons in the assembly. “I was called fledgling and I deserved it for the lack of courtesy I showed during Winglauch, but never did I ever believe my ears would be assailed by such fresh-out-of-the-sack whining as they've been subjected to by this grouping. This Dragon,” he pointed behind himself to Mashglach, “is not your mother or your father. And this Winglauch is not a nursery where your tails are cleaned for you.

  “Drinaugh has brought us word of a problem that concerns all Dragons, and we as Dragons must meet it with the wisdom and maturity we are supposed to be gifted with. Perhaps those who say we've kept ourselves from the rest of the world too long are right. It would appear so when a small band of misguided humans can produce such results.”

  Harlig put his hands on his hips and reared upright from his usual slouch. “So, what are we to do? Are we Dragons, or are we Wyrms?”

  The answering shout nearly blew him backwards. “DRAGONS!!!”

  “Shall we deal with this threat as Dragons?” Harlig's eyes blazed.

  “AS DRAGONS!”

  “Well Harlig, you've got them. Now what are you going to do?” Mashglach said dryly.

  The senior Dragon turned his head to look at the Winglord. “As Bardoc is my witness, I have absolutely no idea.”

  * * * *