The Whispers of War [Wells End Chronicles Book 2]

by Robert Beers

  Grisham's own archery corps answered their counterparts below in kind, but unlike the men on the ground, they were protected by three feet of quarried stone before them and solid wood overhead. Nearly every shaft sent into the crowd below meant death whether it hit its intended mark or not.

  “Fire the pitch!”

  Guardsmen holding torches dipped them into man-sized iron pots set into heavy hoarding mounted swivels. Flames erupted into the sky sending the pungent aroma of burning pine to mix with the scent of blood and sweat already heavy in the air.

  “Pour!”

  The earthly equivalent of hell rained down onto the men below. Flaming pitch refuses to go out and continues to burn straight through to the bone. At the base of the wall, the attackers pressed so closely together there was no room to run. Those with wit enough to look up could only watch as agony fell towards them. Their alertness served no other purpose and they died screaming along with the others.

  Burning flesh carries an aroma all its own. A cloud of it billowed up and reached Adam and Ethan's station

  “Ewuuggh!” Adam fell back, covering his mouth and nose, “I think I'm going to be sick.”

  “Keep yourself together Captain!” Ethan shouted, “This is a game of numbers. We have to kill more of them than they do of us.”

  Adam kept his hand over his nose. “But ... burning them alive? That's barbaric!”

  “Can you think of a better way to counter a siege? Only a Wizard could ... oh.”

  “Not another word, Sergeant,” Adam fixed Ethan with a glare, “I'm not going to do that. It's bad enough using my sword.” He leaned close enough that only Ethan could hear his voice. “Using my magik that way would make me feel ... dirty.”

  Ethan nodded. “I understand. There're some doors a man just won't walk through. You'd best get used to this smell though, it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better.”

  Adam stepped past Ethan and looked at the ongoing battle through the crenellation. “This, is going to get worse?”

  An arrow pinged off the stone next to Adam's head and he jerked back, helped considerably by Ethan's grip on the back of his tunic. “A lot worse, and you won't be around to see it if you don't keep your head down. War is nasty business, at all times, and this is just the beginning. In a few days and no one will be able to look over the battlement without losing his breakfast. You think burning bodies smell bad? Wait until they start to rot.”

  “I can't believe it,” Adam peered cautiously around the edge of the crenellation, “they'd just up and leave their own to the vultures?”

  “It's better than getting your backside stuck full of arrows while trying to collect them.” Ethan craned his neck to check the battle and then drew his sword. “Up! All of you wake up! Get those push poles ready! You, ready that ax and try using it for something other than a backscratcher, like that ladder there.” He rushed forward swinging his sword.

  More siege ladders clattered against the stone of the battlement, many of them with Southerners already swarming upwards. Adam drew his own blade, feeling the bitter taste of adrenalin as it rushed into his blood. Part of him felt sick inside as he waited for those who would make it to the top. So many ladders were being thrown up that the southern army had to be trampling its own dead and wounded, some of them probably still smoldering from the pitch. He pushed the image away before it caused him to sick up right there in front of his men.

  He turned, and a young private stood in front of him, grasping a push pole, his eyes wide with fright. He looked barely old enough to shave. Adam's first impulse was to shout at the kid to snap him out of his trance, but another look at the boy brought a memory of himself facing that Fire Wyrm in the caverns he and Charity fell into. He shook his head, clearing the memory, “Scared, huh?”

  The Private gulped, and then blinked as if seeing Adam for the first time. He nodded, “Yes, Sire Captain, more scared ‘n I've ever been in me life. ‘Bout ready to piss me pants, I am.”

  “Well, don't you worry about that, just use that pole the way you're suppose to and you'll be fine. It's as long as it is for a reason. It keeps you out of the reach of the arrows,” Adam smiled to ease the moment.

  The Private's mouth trembled a bit and then he nodded, “I'll try me best Captain. I'll try me best.”

  “Good,” Adam saluted him with his sword, “You do that. I'll be right here with you.”

  He nodded, once, and with his mouth set rushed forward to help push off yet another ladder. This one had half a dozen men on it when it went over backward.

  Adam looked across the battlement. To him it was a scene out of nightmare; men surged back and forth in a sort of macabre dance of death and destruction. Enough southern archers were now sending covering fire against the defenders on the battlement that men were reaching the siegewalk. Ethan's sword flickered in a blur as he defended his area against them. Beyond that, an axman opened up the chest of one of the climbers only to fall with an arrow in his throat and another in his eye. Men rushed up to fill the breach but Adam could see it was a stopgap measure only. The southern army outnumbered them by a hundred to one, at least.

  Yells of pain spun him around, and Adam cursed himself inwardly. While he daydreamed his own post had been overrun. As he watched, two more ladders slammed against the crenellations. Southern fighters were pouring over the wall and onto the siegewalk. One of them cut down the young private and came toward him, blood still dripping from the saber. Adam sidestepped the man's thrust, ran him through, and moved on into the fight.

  The men under his command were being slaughtered. Sheer numbers made defense of the siegewalk an exercise in futility, for every besieger killed, two to three more swarmed over the crenellations to take his place.

  In desperation, Adam picked up the pace of his fighting to the point where even Ethan's bladework seemed plodding in comparison. Each stroke felled an enemy. Each thrust brought him closer to the place where Grisham's defense had broken down. Time slowed for him, and each face of the men he killed was burned into his memory. A roaring filled his ears, and the ground shook. The next thing he knew he was on his knees with a splitting headache.

  Hands grasped him and he tried to shake them off, striking out with the pommel of his sword.

  “Easy Adam. It's all right, the battle's over, for now,” Ethan ducked the blow, and dropped onto a knee to look Adam in the eyes, “You Ok? No, you're not, are you? No one can be that pale and not have a hole or two in him. Here let me look at you.”

  Adam pushed the hands away. “I'm not wounded, it's just a headache. Have someone bring me some tisane and a packet of willet if there's any to be found. What happened?”

  “Earthquake.”

  “What?”

  “That's where the ground shakes, buildings jump around, trees fall, that sort of thing, some people call them earthquakes.” Ethan turned his head, “Someone get over here! And watch for arrows, they can still shoot!”

  Adam rubbed the back of his head. It hurt terribly, in fact it felt like that time back in Silgert when ... He pulled Ethan aside, “What happened? The last thing I remember is a blur of swords and axes, and don't give me another snide remark. I'm not in the mood for it.”

  “Ok,” Ethan nodded, “I don't remember much of it either. I can tell you we were getting our heads handed to us, there's just too many of them and not enough of us. One second I was in the thick of it trying to keep my skin all in one piece, and the next, the shaking started. Strange quake too, and I've been in a few. The Wool Coast is famous for them.”

  “What was so strange about it?” Adam asked warily.

  “Don't get me wrong,” Ethan temporized, “I've seen nature do some weird things. Sometimes as if Bardoc himself was having fun, but this is the first time I've seen an earthquake with a stopping point.”

  “A what?”

  “Just as I said,” Ethan stepped over to the closest arrow loop and pointed, “a stopping point. Look out there and tell me what you see.”r />
  Adam did so, “There's huge cracks in the ground and every siege engine they had is little more than kindling, the ladders too. I don't think they could even use the scraps to build bridges.” He turned to look at Ethan, “Grisham's safe.”

  “For now, if this effect ran all along the wall,” Ethan nodded, his expression searching, “I'd say we were just rescued.”

  Men appeared on the siegewalk and began tending to the dead and wounded. Adam stepped back out of their way and Ethan followed him. “How's your head?”

  Adam rubbed a hand across his forehead. “The ache's going away, slowly, I wish someone would get here with that tisane.”

  “I hear that,” Ethan edged over to allow a stretcher to slide past. “My mouth always cottons up after combat. You don't feel like it when you're in the middle of things, but you sweat out buckets. It was you, wasn't it?”

  “It was me, what?” Adam gave Ethan a hooded look.

  Ethan moved close enough so he could whisper without any of the men around them overhearing, “The earthquake. It was your doing, wasn't it?”

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” Adam tried to protest his innocence, but he couldn't meet Ethan's eyes. In addition to the headache his chest burned where the medallion lay against it.

  Ethan smirked, “Yea, sure. That's why you're looking like the fox caught in the hen house. Don't worry, I won't give anything away, I'm glad it was done. There's just one thing, Captain.”

  Adam looked up at the title, “What?”

  “What did you think something like this would do to those tunnels we were looking for?”

  Adam bowed his head, “Oh, deity.”

  Ethan clapped him on the shoulder, “Exactly.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “We're here.” Sammel reined in the donkey and turned to look at Zasloff, “Are you awake?”

  The Dwarf's chin was firmly planted against his barrel chest and both eyes were closed, but the voice that came out of his beard belied his appearance, “Of course I'm awake. How could I be otherwise with all the noise this city of yours makes? Now, show me this child.”

  Ellona had leapt from the cart before Sammel brought it to a stop, and was already inside with Jonas and Nicoll. She looked up at the Healer's approach, “Hurry, please! He's barely breathing, and his skin feels like ice.”

  “I'm coming, woman, I'm coming,” Zasloff said with a touch of exasperation. He pushed past her and opened the cloth bag he held. “Leave me now, that is, unless you wish this boy to not be healed.”

  “But ... I'm his mother,” Ellona wrung her hands as she looked down on Jonas’ pale form, “He needs me.”

  The Dwarf pulled a small stoneware crock from his bag. “Right now, he needs me more. Leave now, or I will.”

  Nicoll dragged Ellona by her arm. “Come with me dear, Sari's over at my place. I'm sure she'd like to know her mother's back.”

  Ellona resisted Nicoll's pull for a brief second, and then, with a despairing glance at Jonas, she allowed herself to be taken from the boy's room. The Dwarf continued to rummage through his bag, pulling out many more items than could possibly have fit into it. “You can go too, old man,” he said to Sammel without looking up. “I'm not sharing my secrets with anyone, not even you.”

  As Sammel began to close the door, Zasloff said in a more kindly tone, “Tell the woman not to worry, we got here in time.”

  * * * *

  Corporal McKenit met Adam and Ethan at the base of the steps leading to the siegewalk. A nasty looking gash peeked out from behind the thick bandage wrapped around his upper left arm, still, the old noncom managed to throw Adam a snappy salute, “Captain Bilardi's compliments Milord, if you could meet him at his office...”

  “Where'd you pick that up, Corporal?” Ethan pointed at McKenit's arm.

  McKenit glanced at his arm and then shrugged, “This bit o’ nuthin'? I've cut meself worse shavin'. Whilst you was playin’ on the siegewalk, his Lordship an’ me was seein’ to things over at the Gatehouse. They was usin’ them elfonts of theirs to knock on the door. Didn't get far that way,” He grinned nastily, “seems someone set a bunch of pointy spikes poking outta the timbers afore they got here. After a taste of them things, the elfonts just stood there. Near drove their drivers frantic, it did.”

  Ethan smiled. “So, what about your arm?”

  “Well, seeing the gate weren't going to cooperate, them southerns went after the barbicans. Woulda got in too, iffn that shakin’ hadn't started up. Never saw so many men so anxious to kill me all in one spot. Got this,” He glanced at his arm again, “cause I was keepin’ the other two fellers after me head busy. Never liked quakes afore, but this one were a blessing, by Bardoc it were.” McKenit nodded once in emphasis.

  “Summat wrong Cap'n?” He noticed Adam's grimace.

  “Nothing some hot tisane won't cure, Corporal.” Adam massaged his temple with a couple of fingertips. “Any idea what this meeting's all about?”

  McKenit shook his head, “Wouldn't say, Cap'n, just said to fetch you and the Sarge here, iffn you was still kickin'.”

  “I'll be sure to thank him for that vote of confidence,” Adam said dryly.

  While Ethan quietly laughed, McKenit missed the joke entirely, “His Lordship's a wise man, Cap'n. Knows his bizness, he does.”

  Nothing else was said the rest of the way to Bilardi's office. Exhaustion, along with the chilling sight of just how many had lost their lives in the siege, left few words worth saying, nor the energy to say them. Stretched out along both sides of the street inside the curtain wall, lay the bodies of those taken from the siegewalk. Though the ones tending to the grisly task did their best, it was impossible to hide the results of war. Many of the bodies lacked an arm, or a leg, or both. Some had been opened like a pig for the knacker and flies were everywhere.

  They left the line of bodies and crossed over and through the Merchant Quarter, twelve blocks of eerie silence, contrasting what was once a bustling scene of activity. Past the quarter, between the Guard compound and the Merchants sat an area of the city where business was still somewhat brisk. The public houses catered to anyone with a thirst and coin enough to satisfy it. It would have been a rare Gaffer indeed who closed his doors merely because of a bit of fighting. The owner of Thaylli's pub had said as much one evening while Adam was waiting to walk her home from work.

  “Oh sure, nasty business it is, nasty business, war. But you can't expect a man to stop serving custom just because a few fellers are mad at each other now, can ye? Why, I've had brawls in me place'd clear out whole neighborhoods, an’ I still managed to pull a pint or two. Naw, I ain't closin’ down, Cap'n. Iffn them southerners come in here, I'll offer ‘em a pint an’ a bite. Ain't seen a man yet, willin’ to fight with his mouth full.”

  A quick tour of the pubs told Adam that was the prevailing sentiment among their owners. Some of them even looked upon the war as a business opportunity, with the invading army as nothing more than an untapped source of revenue. Those thoughts occupied his mind until they reached the gate of the guard compound.

  The sentry on duty saluted, but only after assuring himself that none of them happened to be an enemy in disguise. No less than a dozen hard-eyed men watched over the inspection with their weapons drawn. Guardsmen patted them down and checked their faces to be sure they were not wearing masks instead of flesh.

  Ethan grunted in satisfaction as a private plucked at his cheek, “Good lad, you make sure of things and we'll all live a bit longer.”

  The inspectors waved them in and then closed off the path behind them. Adam rubbed his cheek where the guard had pinched him, “Can they do that, make you look like someone else, without magik?”

  Ethan chuckled, “You'd be amazed at what can be done with a bit of tree sap and paint. Remind me to tell you about the goings on during the Firth War.”

  Bilardi's office, usually an island of quiet contemplation, had turned into a riot of activity. The scion of Grisham sat at his de
sk, hair askew and black circles under his eyes, scribbling madly at a stack of blank parchments. Aides rushed back and forth, some carrying sheaves of maps, others delivering single sheets with terse lines of prose. Two pots sat at his elbow with a plate of uneaten scones.

  He looked up at their approach, “Adam! Ethan! You're alive!”

  Adam nodded.

  Ethan patted himself across the chest, “I am? Why, what an amazing thing, I am, aren't I?”

  Bilardi grunted sourly, “Keep your humor outside the door, Sergeant. Suffice it to say I am pleased to see that both of you survived the siege. I need your help. We have to find out if those tunnels we spoke about survived that shaking. It turns out there's thirty-two of the bloody things down there, did you know that?” He shook his head, “No, of course not, there's no way you could have—McKenit, clear this room.”

  The old Corporal did so with brusque efficiency.

  “How did you find out?” Adam asked once the door closed.

  “My father,” Bilardi said simply.

  Ethan started, “The Duke? I was told he died.”

  “I'm not surprised. We thought it best to allow the assassins to think the job was successful, whoever they were. All the signs pointed to someone who is very, very good at what they do. It's possible my father used them himself at one time.” He sighed, “No, its better if the population mourns. That way their Duke lives a little longer.”

  “Grisham has got a funny way of mourning,” Ethan muttered under his breath. Adam smothered a chuckle.