The Whispers of War [Wells End Chronicles Book 2]

by Robert Beers

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, they killed me.”

  Bilardi threw back his head and laughed at Adam's expression, “A jest in return Swordmaster. Fair pay, I believe, for the one you played on me. No, I didn't die, as you can see, but I near had my hide handed to me for sure.”

  “I remember there were nine of them. Couldn't see their faces, but their eyes shone with a desperate hunger. I'll never forget that part of it for as long as I live. All I had with me was my Guardsman's sword. You saw some like it in the barracks. Effective, but not a weapon made for finesse blade work. I gutted the first one and took a good chunk out of the next two but the third one got a hold on my sleeve. That's all it took for the rest to close in. I was sure death herself was calling me.”

  “That was when Sergeant Folistor made his presence known. The man came in swinging his sword and howling like a rabid dog. He beheaded the three who held me before any of the others even knew what was happening. That left four against two, but only one of us had a sword, fortunately, that one was Folistor. One of them attempted to rip out his guts with some kind of blade curved like a hook. The blade scraped a deep gouge right across his abdomen and then the fellow with the blade lost it along with the hand holding it. In all of that the only one making any noise was the Sergeant. He continued to howl as he hacked and slashed at our attackers. One of them nearly took my ribs out with a club and if I hadn't ducked with the pain I would have lost my head to the blade of my own sword.”

  When I looked up again it was all over. Those who could had run back into the shadows and Sergeant Folistor was helping me to my feet. “You ok kid?” He said to me. I nodded dumbly and then he turned me around and put his boot right into the middle of my bottom. ‘Then get that stupid arse of yours back into the part of the city where it belongs!’ I ran and he followed me. We've been friends ever since.”

  Adam was shown the armory next. The Sergeant in charge led the tour as if he was showing off a favorite son and to be truthful, Grisham's armory was worthy of that pride. Their store of edged weapons was indeed impressive, if that sort of thing impressed you. Adam found himself mildly interested in the swords; primarily from a professional perspective, but that was all. By the time the innumerable baldrics, axes, halberds, lochenbars, wildges, spears and so on had been paraded past him, it was all he could do to keep himself from yawning in the Sergeant's face.

  Captain Bilardi noticed Adam's eyes glazing over and stepped in, “Well I'm sure all of this is old hat to one such as you. Thank you Sergeant for a most enlightening tour, you may go back to your duties.”

  The Sergeant spun around and marched back into the maze of storage that made up the armory.

  Bilardi pushed open the door on the wall opposite from the one they came in and held it for Adam. “The last thing I want to show you is the officer's living quarters. It can also be your home if you so choose.”

  “Me? An officer?” Adam looked at his host in surprise.

  The Guard Captain was equally surprised by his guest's reaction. “Of course an officer, do you think one of your blood could be anything else?”

  “One of my blood?”

  “This pretense of naiveté is quite charming, really, but don't you think it has gone far enough?” Bilardi cocked his head as he faced Adam, “Everything about you fairly screams that you are not what you claim to be. Your obvious education, bearing and manners are those of a Lord if not a Royal. What are you, a scion of one of the ducal families? Your profile looks somewhat like those of Labad's line. But all of that line died out over a century ago, or so I thought.”

  Adam turned away from Bilardi's intense stare. “I don't know what you're talking about Captain. My sister and I were raised in a modest village called Beri west of the Circle Sea by our Aunt and Uncle. The schooling we got was from them as well as our manners. I wouldn't even know what to do in a palace.”

  Bilardi nodded his head while showing a crooked smile. “If that's the way you wish it my Lord Swordmaster, so be it. I will keep my thoughts to myself.”

  “I'd appreciate it,” Adam replied, trying not to let his exasperation show in his voice, “Now how about showing me the officer's quarters?”

  “Of course, we shall use the front entrance. This way please.”

  The front entrance to the officer's quarters sat at the apex of a massive veranda. Three broad steps led up to it and onto the veranda's porch. Overhead, six thick pillars about a foot and a half across supported the canopy, which also comprised the second floor balcony. Two ornate multi-paneled doors, with fine crystalglass windows set in a diamond pattern above the panels, opened into the foyer.

  The foyer, a large oval room inside the doors, extended back to two curving staircases arching upwards to the second and third floor balconies. Between the staircases, another door stood open and a Guard Private sat behind the small desk placed just inside the door. He jumped to his feet at the sight of Bilardi and his guest.

  “Be at ease Private. Things quiet here?” Bilardi looked around the area while facing the desk.

  “All quiet sir! Very few in residence at this time, sir!” The Desk Private kept his gaze straight ahead, focused on a point about four inches in front of his nose.

  Bilardi nodded, “Good, good. The gentleman with me is to be treated with the same deference and respect as you would any other officer. You will address him as My Lord, is that understood?”

  The Private's eyes shifted quickly to Adam, memorizing, and then back. “Yes, sir!”

  “Good. Now tell me. Who is in residence now? Besides the juniors, that is.” The Captain folded his arms over his chest and waited for the Private's reply.

  “Umm, up on top there's just Colonel Cuperti an’ his missus. The generals are up in the Palace doin’ the plannin’ sir. The second floor's empty sir, cep'n for Major Lossin an’ Cap'n Zack sir. ‘Tenant Mundy's got the duty on the ground floor,” The private indicated the direction of the Lieutenant's position with a twitch of his head.

  “Very well, we'll begin with the first floor. The senior officer's quarters are more impressive if you have something to compare them to.” Bilardi stepped around the desk and Adam followed him.

  A series of doors lined the hallway that teed off from the security desk's alcove. The Guard Captain turned into the left branch and pushed open the first door they came to.

  Adam looked into a fair-sized room not too unlike the one he had in Granny Bullton's Inn. The bed looked comfortable without being ostentatious. A chest of drawers stood beneath a framed mirror on one wall and a reading desk with a matching armchair against the one opposite. Between the bed and the desk lay a hand-knotted oval rug wearing an elaborate design typical of the Wool Coast region. A sideboard stood next to the chest of drawers holding an assortment of personal items including a pair of miniature portraits in ornate frames. He noted the quality of the work. The artist, whoever it was, knew how to wield a brush.

  “As you can see, even our junior officers live well. Somewhat frugally when compared to that of the seniors, but well enough regardless.” Bilardi looked over Adam's shoulder into the room, “This one is typical of the others on the floor. Come, let me show you my quarters on the second.”

  Adam nodded and stepped into the hall only to run smack into an officer coming out of the room opposite the one he'd been looking at.

  The man roughly pushed him, “Watch where you step, bumpkin!”

  Adam's feet tangled with those of the Guard Officer and as he tried to keep his balance, the man tripped backwards and fell heavily to the floor. Mortified, Adam held out a hand to help the officer up.

  The Guard Officer, Lieutenant Mundy, ignored the hand, surged back to his feet and pulled his sword from its place on the wall.

  Captain Bilardi stepped past Adam and wrapped both arms around the enraged man. “Restrain yourself Mundy! Let it go!”

  Mundy would have none of it, “I'll kill him! I'll gut him like a fish!”

  “No you won't
!”

  “Let me go! This insult has to be paid in blood!”

  “And it would be your blood Mundy!” Bilardi hissed in the Lieutenant's ear. “Don't be more of a fool than the one you're acting like right now. You cross swords with that man and you'll die.”

  The tone of the Captain's voice shook Mundy out of his rage. “You sound like you're afraid of him.”

  “Perhaps a little.” Bilardi admitted. “There's something about the man that unnerves me. You want to cross blades with him? Go ahead. But first you need to be better than I am. Are you?”

  Mundy looked down the empty hallway, the juniors in residence wisely keeping to their rooms. “What are you going to do?”

  Bilardi shook his head. “I don't know quite yet, that is something I'll have to think on. I do know this—right now he is useful. He's someone men would follow into the realm of shadow itself and Grisham will have need of him in the days to come. After he's done what is needed, well, we'll see what happens then.”

  Mundy snarled, “That's fine for you Captain, but I ain't Grisham.

  * * * *

  Charity, Flynn, and Neely rode along with Sergeant Travers and the Ortian troop under his command through the hardwood forest that comprised the western half of the vale of Cloudhook.

  Travers halted before the head of a path that twisted its way down the steep slope to the vale below them, and pointed, “There's the camp, right where our orders said it would be, and look up there, you can see the top of the mountain through the clouds.” Travers pointed to the glacier-sheathed peak of Cloudhook as it jutted through a break in the weather.

  “That ain't a camp, it's a bleedin’ city.” Neely muttered to Flynn as they looked in the direction of Sergeant Travers’ point. From their vantage point a sea of khaki-colored tents spread out below them to nearly the horizon. The movements of men, horses and wagons made it look almost like an anthill in operation.

  “I've never seen anything so large, not anything natural that is,” Charity pulled her mare up alongside Flynn's draft horse.

  “Would'n wanna be that cook. I kin hear it now, oy, Cookie! Oatmeal fer ten thousand, an’ hurry it up!” Flynn's chuckle rumbled in his chest.

  “Cook nuthin', what about th’ poor guy who's gotta do nightsoil duty? Talk about yer crappy jobs.” Neely reached forward and rubbed the spot between his horse's ears. The gelding nickered and leaned into the rub.

  Charity tried to hide her smile, “Oh stop it you two, I don't want to be embarrassed. Remember, we're guests here, let's act that way.”

  “Right'chu are miss Charity, but blimey ... that's a lotta tents.” Flynn stood slightly in his stirrups as he looked onto the vista below.

  Sergeant Travers walked his horse around alongside Charity's and had to lean quickly out of the way to avoid having his arm raked open by the cat. “Isn't she ever going to settle down?”

  “It's going to take more than a few days, Sergeant. It was one of your men who abused her, after another one of them lured her over to the campfire, I might add.” Charity stroked her cat's head. Travers received the full effect of a green-eyed glare accompanied by a low growl that promised mayhem.

  “But I didn't do anything. I wouldn't do anything, and Derrl-Gynic, all he did was feed her! Murt's the only villain in this story and he got what was coming to him.”

  “It's obvious you're not a cat, or a cat person, Sergeant,” Charity said primly. “As far as she's concerned you're all guilty as co-conspirators and it's going to be a long while before you're trusted.”

  He looked past Charity to Flynn and Neely, “Funny how your two friends there still seem to be on friendly terms with her.”

  Charity stroked the cat some more, “Flynn and Neely are family Sergeant there's a difference.”

  Travers wheeled his mount around and urged it into a brisk walk. “Well, we'd best get down there. It's a good two hour trip to the camp, if I don't miss my guess and I'd like to make the lunch call.”

  “Oh yeah. I kin taste th’ oatmeal now.”

  “Flynn!”

  “Sorry miss Charity.”

  The trip took just over two hours as Travers had guessed, putting them on the edge of the Ortian camp about a half hour before lunch call. Two tall men wearing engineer insignia on their tunic sleeves crossed over from their posts to stand in the way of the company.

  “Halt right there, if you please,” The one on the right raised his hand in the universal gesture.

  Travers eased his mount forward until he felt he was close enough to talk without shouting, “Sergeant Travers in charge of conscription company forty-two reporting in. Are we in time for chow?”

  The Engineer looked down at his boots and began to chuckle.

  “Something funny in what I said, sir?” Travers frowned.

  “No, not precisely,” the Engineer said, looking back up at Travers, “It's just that you're the seventh company to come in today, and to a man every single one of you has asked me the same question. Come to think of it now, it is pretty funny.”

  “Yes, hilarious,” The Sergeant's stomach rumbled loud enough for the engineer to hear. “About chow call...?”

  “Of course.” The Engineer pointed behind and to the north of where he stood, “Follow that line of tents until you get to a double-wide lane. Turn right and go down it for a couple hundred tents, about three miles. You'll see a wooden structure with a canvas top. That's the chow hall. If you get lost, ask for a lad named Circumstance, he'll set you right.”

  Travers reached out and took the Engineer's hand, “I appreciate the info, Engineer...?”

  “Colling-Faler, Engineer Third, at your service,” The young man returned Travers’ grip firmly and then released his hand. “You'd best get moving along if you want to make it in time to be fed.”

  “That we'll do, Engineer Third, that we'll do.” Travers heeled his horse into a canter and the rest of the company followed. Charity, Flynn and Neely brought up the rear.

  “If anything it's even more like a city when you're in it.” Charity slowed the mare enough for Flynn and Neely to come alongside her.

  Neely nodded, “Sure is. Kinda reminds me of th’ first time I seen a big city close up.”

  “Neely, if this is another one of those racy stories of yours...” Charity looked at the tracker from out of the corner of her eye.

  Neely looked pious, “Racy stories, me?”

  Flynn chuckled, his chin resting on his chest.

  Charity rolled her eyes, “Oh, very well. Go ahead.”

  “Right-chu are,” Neely cleared his throat briefly, “'Course you know I was born in Grisham. Far as I know it's th’ biggest city there is. But I didn't think of it as a city back then, I was a kid. You know, there's th’ neighborhoods an’ such, your world's a few blocks an’ alleys. Ya never look at it as bein’ a part of th’ whole bloomin’ thing.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” Charity mused and then guided her mare around a trio of engineers wrestling a piece of equipment across the lane.

  Flynn grunted, “Most wouldn't I suppose, they's involved in th’ concerns of what's goin’ on with them an’ maybe th’ neighbors. I mean, in some folks cases just findin’ th’ next meal's big enough worry. You want ‘em ta solve what's troublin’ th’ countryside at th’ same time?”

  “Why, Flynn. You're a philosopher.”

  The big man looked at Charity with wide eyes, “I don't think so Miss Charity, I ain't never even been married.”

  Both Charity and Neely shook their heads.

  “She means you're a deep thinker, Flynn,” Neely murmured out of the side of his mouth.

  “Oh.”

  “As I was sayin’”, Neely cleared his throat one more time, cause I wuz a kid I really didn't know nothin’ about bein’ in a big city. We moved from Grisham over ta a small village, ‘bout a hundred miles east o’ Bern along the shore. It's a tiny place, but there was kids an’ things ta do, an’ as far as I was concerned, th’ only difference ‘twee
n it an Grisham was there was a lot more game fer th’ table.”

  “Well I stayed there fer th’ next ten years. That's where I learned my trackin’ skills. Ma passed on a coupla days afore I left th’ village. Wasn't much ta keep me there after that, ya know?”

  “Weren't you happy there?” Charity asked.

  “Some of th’ best days of my life were spent in that little place. Grisham's excitin’ an’ all, but it ain't no place to raise a kid. I ‘spect my bones'd be coverin’ a cell floor ‘bout now iffn we'da stayed there.” Nelly shook his head, “I just hadda move on, ya know?”

  Charity looked across Neely to Flynn. He shrugged and she turned her attention back to Neely, “So where did you go?”

  “Bern, th’ rustlin', bustlin’ metropolis of Bern,” Neely smiled. “To me it looked like th’ biggest city in th’ world. I mean there was buildin's five stories tall. An’ there was even a pub where a feller could find out what a girl was all about ... upstairs. Iffn ya knows what I'm talkin about,” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Neely...”

  “Oh nothin’ racy ‘bout this tale Charity.”

  “Sure, and my grandmother raised Garlocs as pets.”

  “Really? How surprising. Anyway, it was there I discovered my unique talents with th’ ladies.”

  “Neely, you're incorrigible. I think I'll ride up to see how Travers is doing.” Charity clicked her tongue and pulled away from the tracker's position.

  When she was safely out of earshot Flynn turned to his friend, “What was that talent of yourn Neely?”

  The tracker smiled as if in memory, “I remember it like it were yesterday. I'll tell ya somthin’ Flynn, a man don't hafta be th’ best lookin’ feller ta be th’ best man wi’ th’ ladies. I thinks you'll agree with that, won'tcha?”

  Flynn nodded his head. He'd seen a few pairings that made him look twice.

  Neely returned the nod, “Thought ya would. Well, we both knows ol’ Neely ain't the looker some is but I got's somthin’ a whole lotta them fancy boys'll never git.”

  “What's that Neely?” Flynn leaned closer to his friend.