The Whispers of War [Wells End Chronicles Book 2]

by Robert Beers

  An ordinary opponent would have had his throat ripped open by the last arc of Mundy's thrust. Fortunately for Adam, the sympathetic magik of Labad's legacy, in addition to his honing of native skill, made him no ordinary opponent. By the time Mundy's blade finished its pattern Adam's throat wasn't there. But his sword was.

  As the Lieutenant's sword tip completed its passage Adam's blade followed it on around and forced Mundy into a position where his entire left side was exposed. Adam exploited the opportunity and a line of red blossomed on Mundy's left cheek.

  “Auuggh! Blast you, you skrudding cur.” The Lieutenant slapped his free hand against the wound as he attempted a riposte.

  Adam parried and then his sword blurred. Another line of red appeared on Mundy, this one on the other cheek.

  Murmurs of approval and a few gasps of excitement came from the watchers. Lieutenant Mundy's lack of manners had won him no friends at the luncheon.

  “Give it up Lieutenant. I don't want to kill you, apologize to the lady and then leave. This will have never happened,” Adam emphasized his offer by twisting past his opponent's guard and tapping him on the chest when he could have easily run him through.

  The clash of steel upon steel continued for a few moments before Mundy answered, “Can't. It's gone too far.” He attempted a low level slash at Adam's knees and got a pink in his shoulder for the trouble. Another exchange and the sleeve of his sword arm opened up with the bicep deeply scored.

  Mundy yelled inarticulately and charged Adam waving his sword wildly, holding it in both hands.

  Adam ducked and danced to the side, parrying the Lieutenant's slashes almost as an afterthought, “Apologize Lieutenant,” He opened up Mundy's other arm.

  “Apologize,” A second wound appeared next to the one on the right cheek.

  “Apologize,” Another blatant opportunity for a sure kill ignored in exchange for yet another minor wound.

  “Stop saying that,” Mundy panted. The combination of frustration, fear and loss of blood had begun to drain him. He knew Adam could kill him any time he wanted to. What he could not understand was why he didn't? He knew he surely would have if the positions were reversed.

  “I will when you apologize, do it and you can go,” Adam parried another slash and then spun the Lieutenant's sword out of his hand, catching it with his left hand.

  “My sword! How...?” Mundy grasped empty air. A gasp of astonishment came from the watching crowd.

  Adam could hear Thaylli's voice in the mix cheering him on. He threw Mundy's sword off to the side well away from easy reach, “I could have killed you during the first exchange. I could kill you now and no one here would even lift a finger to stop me. Look around you Lieutenant, do you see any friends? Look at your Captain, the Colonel, the ladies. None of them are in your corner.”

  Mundy looked into the faces of those standing around them. As Adam had said he saw no sympathy there. Bilardi wore a look of satisfaction and that hurt even more than the variety of wounds he now bore.

  The Lieutenant staggered a few steps toward his Captain. “You, you did this to me. You knew what would happen. You brought this freak into our barracks as an insult to us all. You skrudding bastard! You farting son of a bitch! You're as bad as that maniac you call father. Where's my honor now, how am I ever going to live this down? You can fight this dirty war of yours without me. Damn you all to the pit and beyond!” The last came out in a rasping scream as he turned and ran full upon Adam's sword. Blood spurted out of his mouth as the blade emerged from Mundy's back.

  He looked up into Adam's face and sneered, “I ... I ... ‘m gonna...” and he died.

  A few of the women screamed, including Thaylli. Two of them fainted and one emptied her stomach, which prompted a number of repetitions.

  Bilardi rushed forward and pulled Mundy's body onto its back. The Lieutenant's dead eyes looked past him into eternity.

  “Why?”

  The Guard Captain's head snapped up at the question, “What?”

  “You heard me Captain, why?” Adam wiped Mundy's blood off the sword with the golden sash that was part of the Grisham dress uniform.

  Thaylli broke away from Sirena Culperti's grasp and rushed to Adam's side, “Adam. I was so worried, that horrible man. Why did he do it?” She looked at Bilardi and her eyes projected pure venom, “Why didn't you stop it?”

  The Captain looked back at her, “I had no power to stop it. This city has laws I cannot break. I am as shocked as you are about Lieutenant Mundy's actions. He was the one who threw the wine bottle. In addition, if I am not mistaken you gave him several opportunities to apologize for his churlish behavior. Did you not?”

  Adam opened his mouth to answer but Bilardi overrode him and continued speaking, “In spite of what you may believe I had nothing to do with his forcing a duel upon you.”

  Thaylli crossed her arms and snorted. “No of course not, how could we possibly think that?”

  “Thaylli,” Adam kept his eyes on Bilardi, “please go back over to the Colonel and his consort.”

  “No, I'm not leaving,” Thaylli pushed out her lower lip and looked stubborn.

  “Please, Thaylli, I need you to,” Adam added a tone of urgency to his plea.

  She shot one more look filled with poison at Bilardi and then stalked off to where the Culperti's stood. Hirittia gathered the young woman into her more than ample bosom.

  “Now Captain,” Adam said quietly, “shall we try answering my question again, or do you wish to spout more legal doubletalk at me?”

  “Mundy was an idiot!” Bilardi hissed his opinion under his breath at Adam, “If he hadn't run himself onto your blade I'm sure he would have forced you to kill him anyway. If you must know, there is more to the story. The man was heading for the hangman's noose eventually. You did me a favor.”

  Adam blinked. “What?”

  Seeing there was no imminent swordplay forthcoming the dining hall emptied and Lieutenant Mundy's body was removed. This left Bilardi and Adam facing each other over the stains the unfortunate officer had left behind.

  The Captain waited for the last onlooker to leave the hall and then returned his eyes to Adam. “You asked a question?”

  Adam ran his hand through his hair as he paced back and forth. It was happening again. The feeling of being pulled along by forces beyond his ability to control and he hated it, “Are you saying I did you a favor? That all of this was necessary, why?”

  Bilardi laughed and slapped Adam on the shoulder. “Please forgive the charade my young Swordmaster. Word had reached me Mundy was accepting bribes from agents of the Southern Empire. I'm sure it would have been only a matter of time before any of us fell to a knife in the back, or a drop of poison in our ale. However, I had no proof it was only good fortune you tripped him. Given his temper, the result was inevitable but I also knew that you would be in little danger. As you can see, it worked.” The Captain looked down at the bloodstained floor, “He was just that sort of a man. Unfortunately, his family has ... connections with the church, making any arrest or overt movement by my men or me politically impossible. My father would have had to go along with them, so you can see I had little choice in the matter.”

  “Oh,” Adam looked at the stain. Something about the whole business still didn't feel right, but he was tempted to take the Captain at his word. The idea that Mundy was a spy was one explanation for the man running himself upon Adam's sword.

  He looked around the hall and then back at Bilardi, just looking at that smiling face made him a little uncomfortable and he excused himself saying he needed to see to Thaylli. What he really wanted to do was put some space between himself and the memories of Mundy's eyes staring at him as their light went out.

  Captain Bilardi watched the broad back of the young Swordmaster as he exited the dining hall. “Something about him...”

  Chapter Eight

  “Well, you will just have to stand aside. It's my job to make sure this camp is secure and that means I have
to ask her some questions,” The man's voice was high and nasal. Charity thought he sounded like one of those yippy mongrels the older women in Aunt and Uncle's village favored. He stood just outside her tent, barred from entering by Flynn's unyielding bulk.

  “Don't mean nuthin’ ta me. She's havin’ a bit of a chat with th’ boy an’ she don't wanna be bothered,” Flynn's rumble sounded like a mountain stating the fact of its immovability.

  Charity turned back to Circumstance whom she'd been talking to before the interruption, “Excuse me but I think I'd better see what he wants.”

  “Ok, but it's only Gaspic, he likes to think he's important,” Circumstance half-turned to watch Charity deal with the Senior Engineer's assistant.

  “Stand aside fellow, I said, stand aside!” Charity could not see the man arguing with Flynn. Her friend's silhouette blocked all but a glimpse of the legs. At least from the knees down he was wearing the same uniform the other Ortian engineers wore; shiny black boots with beige trousers tucked into their tops.

  She walked over to where Flynn stood just before the exit flap of the tent she'd been given, “It's ok Flynn, you can let him in. Remember, we're the guests here.”

  “Right'cho are Miss Charity. You kin come in now. Say, ain'tcho th’ one they calls Gaspuke?” Flynn turned to the side to allow the Engineer in.

  “That's Gaspic, you lummox,” The man growled as he pushed past Flynn to glare at Charity. “Explain yourself,” he grated, folding his arms across his chest.

  She nodded to Gaspic in greeting and then turned to walk back to the folding stool she used as a chair, “Explain what?” In addition to bad manners, a big nose and almost no chin, the skinny little fellow also had bad breath. He filled the tent with its stench.

  Gaspic tapped his right foot in agitation. Charity wasn't sure if he was aware he was doing it or not. “You know very well what I'm talking about. All persons of extraction other than Ortian citizenry must report to the supervising officer in charge when their presence penetrates the boundaries of an official military encampment, field facility, and/or base occupied by a score or more military personnel,” He sounded like he was reciting from a manual.

  “You not really serious about this, are you?” Charity could not keep the smile from her voice in spite of the man's breath.

  Gaspic puffed up like a rooster defending his yard, “I am certainly most serious young lady. The Ortian Empire cannot have foreign individuals, whatever their extraction,” He sent a glance in Flynn's direction, “may be just wandering around. There are regulations for such things and under my watch at least, they will be followed.”

  “What regulations?” Charity coughed behind her hand, trying not to breathe too deeply.

  “Allow me to enlighten you,” The Assistant Supervisor warmed to his lecture as he ticked the points off using his fingers. “One, as persons of non-Ortian extraction you must register prior to partaking of the benefits this base offers. Two, said registration may or may not allow the persons or persons registering free movement within said base unless so ordered by the base commander or his appointed representative, that is me.”

  “Actually the one you need to talk to is the Chief Engineer, Lemmic-Pries,” Circumstance spoke up from his spot in the back corner of the tent.

  Gaspic reared up, scandalized, “How many times must I tell you his title is Lord Lemmic-Pries, or better yet, Lord Chief Engineer?”

  Circumstance remained unimpressed. He'd seen the Chief Engineer's assistant dressed down by Lemmic-Pries as well as felled by one punch from Ethan. “He said to call him by his name only, Lemmic-Pries, he likes it that way.”

  Charity smothered a laugh but Flynn allowed himself a deep-throated good-natured chuckle. The supposed ridicule sent Gaspic's fragile temper soaring and only his fear of Flynn's towering bulk kept it from exploding.

  Gaspic's sputtering only added fuel to the fire, and both Charity and her companions in the tent burst out laughing, which sent the apoplectic Engineer fleeing from the tent. The mess table chatter for days afterward included retellings of the sight of the red-faced Assistant Chief Engineer as he ran out of the visitor's tent chased by near hysterical laughter.

  “We'd best go find this Lemmic-Pries,” Charity said, once she was able to get a coherent phrase out. “I'd rather go through the formalities than spend another second breathing that little stinker's air.”

  Circumstance wiped the last of the tears from his eyes, “It isn't really him that stinks. It's this root powder he takes every morning. He thinks it will help him to grow bigger.”

  “Don't know why he'd want that,” Flynn rumbled. “Oughta be satisfied the way ya is. There's allus a reason fer somethin’ growin the way it does, ‘s Bardoc's bizness, ain't our'n.”

  “Well at least he isn't in this tent.” Charity pulled open the flap and stepped through, “Come on, let's find Neely and then we'll go over to the Chief Engineer.”

  Outside the tent, the camp, now a fully functioning base, was a beehive of activity. Engineers, troopers and even conscripts were streaming past the tent toward a large knot of men, many of them waving their fists in the air and shouting what sounded like encouragement.

  “That's a fight. Miss Charity,” Flynn said as they approached the outskirts of the gathering. “Wonder what it's about?”

  “I don't know and I don't care,” Charity's voice held a strong edge of disgust.

  Flynn stopped suddenly enough that Circumstance had to do a quick sidestep to avoid running into him. “You don't? Some'un who fights as good as you do, an’ you ain't interested? I swear Miss Charity you allus find a way to surprise me.”

  Charity declined to answer.

  “I think we'd better get in there,” Circumstance looked around Flynn toward the ever-shifting throng. It continued to grow as more and more men from the camp added to its numbers.

  “Why?” Charity turned to give the boy a severe look, “So we can get a good vantage point before they're all taken?”

  Circumstance pulled his left foot over to prevent it being trodden on by a passing trooper. “No ... it's not that, but it is important. You know how I sometimes know things? This is one of those times.”

  One of Charity's traits was the ability to quickly make up her mind. She turned to Flynn and pointed toward the shouting crowd of Engineers and Troopers, “Can you get us in there without starting a riot?”

  “Sure, no problem.” The big man walked up to the outer ring of bodies, placed a hand on each of the two shoulders in front of him and created an opening. Charity and Circumstance fell in behind Flynn and followed in his wake like he was a ship passing through reeds.

  A few of the displaced troopers acted as if they wanted to repay being moved with a fight. That is until their eyes focused in on whom had displaced them. Occasionally a terrier will deign to take on a mastiff, however none of these men were terriers and Flynn was considerably larger than any mastiff.

  The last man Flynn shouldered aside turned out to be Sergeant Travers. “Hey! Who do you think..? Oh, it's you, Flynn.” Travers pointed into the center of the ring of men, “Your partner's got himself in a bit of a dust-up.”

  Flynn looked where Travers pointed, “Hey, ain't that..?”

  “Sure is,” Travers nodded, “seems like Murt can't keep himself outta trouble—putting up a good fight though.”

  “I know that man. Where do I know him from?” Charity worked her way around Flynn and stared at the sight of Neely going one on one with a scruffy looking trooper. Much to her disgust a part of her analyzed the tactics and form of the two combatants.

  “Last time you saw him you was kickin’ him in the nuts,” Flynn added dryly.

  Charity stared at the man fighting Neely for a long blank moment and then recognition showed up, “Oh, him,” her tone went completely flat.

  “He's got a knife,” Circumstance's quiet statement broke into her darkling thoughts.

  “Don't see a knife,” Travers squinted as he tried to focus on
the ever-shifting forms of Neely and Murt.

  Shouts and catcalls of support or disdain came from the ring of onlookers depending upon which of the combatants they favored. Money changed hands as bets placed on a given blow or series of blows were won or lost.

  “He's got it hidden,” The boy nodded, affirming his own statement.

  Murt threw a roundhouse punch that grazed the top of Neely's head as the tracker dropped to avoid the blow. He kicked out sideways as he fell back, catching Murt in his midsection. The trooper's breath whooshed out of him in a rush and he flew backwards onto his rear.

  More bets changed hands.

  Neely got back to his feet and raised his hands in triumph as Murt writhed on the ground trying to breathe.

  “See, I told you,” Circumstance pointed to where Murt's left hand fumbled at his waist. It came out grasping a small dirk with a leaf-shaped blade.

  “But Neely's unarmed! Look, there's not a speck of iron on him,” Charity gasped. “What's he doing parading around like that, doesn't he know any better? You don't turn your back on an enemy!”

  Circumstance stepped just into the ring of open ground, “He's going to be killed if we don't do something, and soon.”

  As Neely continued to ignore the rapidly recovering Murt, the trooper pulled himself up to one knee, a wicked grin suffusing his face.

  Charity started forward, “I've got to help him.”

  At the same time Circumstance raised his hand, “I can do it from here ... I think.”

  Flynn pulled Charity gently, yet irresistibly back into the crowd while simultaneously enveloping Circumstance's raised hand with one of his own, “Naw, I think yous'd best lemme do it, these boys'll like it better that way. Just wait here.” With that he released Charity and Circumstance and strode into the center of the ersatz arena.