The Whispers of War [Wells End Chronicles Book 2]

by Robert Beers

  “A Wizard,” Milward corrected him, “Can't any of you idiots ever get that straight? If I was a Sorcerer, your wet friend here,” The tiny thundercloud had begun to rain on Litjen-Pul, who had also discovered it would follow him wherever he went, “Would not be alive right now. There is a difference, you know.”

  Murmured fragments of exclamation came to Milward's ears, “...wizard? ... No difference as far as I'm concerned ... we're dead, no way around it ... fool Litjen-Pul, if we ever get out of this...”

  A look of disgust seated itself on Milward's face and his beard bristled, “Oh get out of here, the lot of you. You're not worth the time it would take to turn you into nickbats. You stay here,” He reached out and took hold of the oldest one's sleeve, “At least you seemed to have some intelligence. Tell me,” He looked into the face of the apprehensive Ortian, “Where can I find the Emperor? I want to see him.”

  The rest of the group bolted as if the pit itself was hot on their heels. Above the heads of the crowd could be seen the bobbing and weaving thundercloud as it followed the hapless Litjen-Pul.

  The remaining Ortian stammered at Milward, “T ... t ... the Emperor? No one just sees the Emperor.”

  “Why not,” Milward demanded, “is there something wrong with him? Does he have some communicable disease that keeps others away?”

  “N ... no, but ... he's the Emperor,” The fellow put an emphasis on the word, the.

  Milward kept hold of the Ortian's sleeve, he wasn't sure the man would run without the restraint, but he didn't feel like hunting up another guide, willing or no. “What does that have to do with anything? No, don't answer that,” he held up a hand as the Ortian's mouth opened. “I'm going to give you something to think about, your Emperor is just a man, as you are, and unless he is a Wizard or a Sorcerer he has no special powers beyond that of being a man. Bardoc has no children that I know of, so he has no divinity. And, since he has no divinity he must eat. If he must eat then he must...”

  “No, please, I beg you,” The Ortian was staring at the Wizard in horror.

  “Hmmph,” Milward stared at the fellow for a moment and then nodded, “Yes, I suppose it is a bit too much for you to swallow at one go. So, tell me, where can I find this Emperor of yours? Since I'm not a subject, there should be no problem associated with your telling me.”

  That statement ran around the Ortian's head for a while and then his eyes cleared, “No, I suppose not.”

  “So...” Milward pressed gently. The man was relaxing, finally, no need to ruin things by being too forceful.

  “Well,” the Ortian began, “See that white pinnacle off in the distance over there?” He pointed off to Milward's left, in towards the city. “The Emperor's compound covers the acreage surrounding the tower. It's the highest circle of the city.”

  “Circle?” Milward questioned.

  The Ortian smiled slightly, “Ort is built of seven rings, each one higher than the last. The outer ring houses the servants and working class, much of the military, along with some of the markets and warehouses of the merchants, and of course those offices necessary for keeping the peace. The next ring in is where we stand now. This section holds many of the lower government buildings, some of the better shops and inns, and the homes of many of the more skilled workers, plus several public houses. Above this level you will find the homes of most of the merchants and the warehouses for the best of their goods along with those shops dealing in the finer things, and several of Ort's parks, as well as the University. Rings four and five are where the wealthy and the senior military live exclusively. Ring six houses the upper government buildings for all branches except the Emperor; seven is his alone. So, you see,” He smiled again, “in order to see the Emperor, you would have to pass through several gates, each one with better security than the one before it.”

  “My, my,” Milward murmured, “I had no idea this was such a secure city. I imagine it would take someone with the powers of ... say, a Wizard to get through all of that, wouldn't you agree?”

  The Ortian stared at Milward for a second and then his eyes widened, “Oh, my, I had forgotten.”

  “Of course you had, in there,” Milward tapped a finger against the man's chest, “You'd come to realize I wasn't going to hurt you. You relaxed, and,” He continued, “you should also realize that I won't do any harm to your Emperor, either, I just want to talk to him,” He winked, “And you can be sure that I will.”

  The Ortian nodded, half turned away and then faced the Wizard. “Can I leave now?”

  Milward pursed his lips, “Umm, right after you answer a question. It is fairly obvious to anyone with eyes and a brain that you and your companions do not belong in this ring. Unless I'm very mistaken, those robes of yours are of a much higher class than those of those folk over there,” He pointed with his staff at a group of workmen offloading a cart drawn up in front of what was the Ortian equivalent of a pub, they were being directed in their work by a portly man wearing a heavy apron over a short cotton robe and hose. “Shimmercloth is usually reserved for the wealthy, isn't it?”

  That earned Milward a weak smile, “Yes, it is. We were grolling.”

  “Grolling?” Milward frowned, “I don't know that word.”

  The Ortian looked embarrassed, “Grolling is where those of us who are daring enough venture down into the lower rings to mingle with the lower classes. It is really quite exhilarating sometimes.”

  “Oh really,” Milward said dryly, “Where I come from, the practice is called slumming. Occasionally, the young lords find themselves dead because of it.”

  The Ortian looked at Milward out of shocked eyes, and then burst into laughter.

  “I said something funny?” Milward leaned on his staff and cocked his head at the fellow.

  It took several minutes before the man could suppress his hysterics long enough to get out a clear answer. When he finally did, he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, “The word you used means something entirely different here in Ort. I won't repeat it, but I can assure you it most certainly bears no resemblance to grolling, not at all. And to die because of it...” he broke into laughter again.

  “Interesting,” Milward remarked. “Can you let me in on it's meaning, without undue discomfort, that is.”

  His reluctant guide blushed. The Ortian looked decidedly uncomfortable with the request. He stuttered a few times, and then swallowed, “I ... um, well, that is to say ... the people in my class just don't use that kind of language. Even the children avoid it. In the lower classes, that ... word is used to describe in the coarsest terms possible, what occurs when a man and a woman...” his voice trailed off and the blush deepened.

  “I see,” Milward pursed his lips as he considered the ramifications. “Well, I won't keep you any longer, nor embarrass you further.” He looked up toward the pinnacle of the Emperor's tower, “Up there you say?”

  The Ortian stopped and looked over his shoulder, “You won't make it. No one knows you.”

  Milward continued to look at the tower as he rubbed a forefinger across his lower lip. “We'll see about that,” he said to himself. “We'll see about that.”

  The Wizard's journey through the second and into Ort's third ring proved uneventful outside of his learning how the separate sections of the great city were joined together. Where the outer ring and the second were joined as parts of a gentle slope with little difference between them, the third ring was reached by a broad avenue flanked by white stone steps that slanted upward as more of a ramp than a road. On either side of the steps rose twin stately ramparts sheathed in the same white stone as the steps. Three stories above the street, wide balconies encircled the ramparts and connected to each other by means of a covered walkway. Suspended below the walkway hung the iron points of a serviceable looking portcullis. Hard-eyed men kept watch along the balconies; their expressions matched those of the men who stood just to the side at the top of each step. The one Milward passed as he crossed from the second ring into th
e third gave no indication he even heard the Wizard's greeting, but his eyes followed Milward across the street and into the bustling section filled with shops on the other side. What the Ortian had said was true, the goods offered in the shops were of fine quality, but not ostentatious. Many of them mirrored what would be found in the better markets of the north. The one glaring exception was the produce. A few of the offerings looked like those he and Adam found in Dragonglade, but most of the vegetables and fruits were unfamiliar. A few were decidedly unusual. One stall in front of a shop was selling what looked like over-sized bean pods, but they were a dark reddish-brown in color and covered with a sweet, sticky sap. The bean inside had the consistency of thick paste, and was even sweeter than the sap. The shop next that one keep all of its goods inside. Its most unusual bit for sale was a hard, round fruit about the size of a silver coin, but deep red in color, shading to a black purple. Radiating out from the fruit in all directions were dozens of flexible, dark reddish threads, each of them bearing a clear drop at its end. The shopkeeper insisted Milward try one, which he did, after due instruction. The fruit was not so much eaten, as tasted. It was the drops at the end of the threads, rather than any nut or pulp inside which made it attractive to the diner. The Wizard ran a fingertip across several of the threads and placed it into his mouth. A delightfully sharp and sweet flavor spread across his palate, reminiscent of berries and melons, but with an indefinable something that made the flavor unique in its own way. Where his finger had swept across the threads could be seen the beginnings of more of the drops. Apparently the fruit replenished the supply from some reservoir within its center.

  Further into the ring, and beyond the shops, lay the homes of the merchants. To Milward's eye, the word estate would have been more suitable to describe a good number of them. Those befitting of that description also featured more of the hard-eyed guardsmen like those he saw at the entrance to the ring. He nodded at one as he passed, again receiving no reaction other than being followed by the guard's eyes. Better than statues, he thought. The section of homes and estates continued for several blocks, in fact, the day was coming near to its close when he crossed over into another market that included a few well-appointed inns.

  As the sky darkened, Milward stepped onto the threshold of an inn graced by a deep porch that stretched across the inn's face on three sides. A number of chairs and benches were placed there in small groupings, giving the guests a place to sit and watch the ebb and flow of the southern land's greatest city. A few of them turned to watch as the Wizard stepped across the threshold into the main room.

  Inside, the inn boasted a large central room filled with furniture that made it suitable for intimate meetings or entertaining large gatherings. On the back wall of the room a tall desk sat in front of the innkeeper's registration clerk who took Milward's silver without more than a casual glance at its northern mint mark. A tasty meal of roasted red meat seasoned exotically and mixed with some of the vegetables he saw in the market satisfied his hunger. The wine was surprising, light and fruity, but with an effervescence that left the feeling of soft bubbles on the tongue. He had two more glasses of the wine after his meal and retired to bed, rising just before sunrise. No one in the inn saw him leave.

  A large number of the buildings were quite tall in the third ring, so Milward was not at all prepared when he turned a corner and found himself looking at a forest. The street he was on split and wound outward to the left and the right, eventually vanishing into the distance as it followed the curvature of the ring. The rising sun colored the treetops a fiery yellow. He stared at the forest for a long while and then memory kicked in. “Must be one of the parks,” he murmured. Passing through the line of trees confirmed his suspicion; a broad lane of trees rimmed the perimeter of the park, giving it the appearance of being within the center of a forest. The park itself was a well-groomed paradise of tended lawns, sparkling creeks and fountains, and gently sloping swells of floral green. Nowhere was a walkway or path to be seen. Apparently, in Ort, parks were to be experienced with the feet as well as the eyes and ears. Also apparent became the fact that Ortians were early risers. Milward had not ventured more than half a mile into the park before several of the city's inhabitants could be seen coming through the tree line. Many of them carried small bundles that could be their midday meal. Some couples had with them what appeared to be the makings of a breakfast picnic. Two were leading horses, and one began putting together an easel, while at his feet sat a stretched canvas and several pots with paint drips running down their sides.

  By and large, their clothing duplicated those worn by the young dandies who were grolling in the second ring. In contrast, Milward stood out like an ink stain on white muslin. Many of the heads turned to watch as the old Wizard passed, but either out of politeness or timidity, none of them approached him or tried to bar his way.

  Beyond the second line of trees stretched an even broader expanse of lawn than what Milward had crossed in the park, at its far end stood several white stone buildings unadorned by trim or carving. They looked as if a giant had paused in his building of a wall and then left his blocks strewn across the ground. The structures were arranged in no discernable order, and each turned its entrance toward its own unique point of the compass. As the old Wizard drew closer, he could see dozens of Ortians scurrying hither and fro between the buildings. Many of then carried parcels or stacks of scrolls and parchments. Ah, he thought, this must be the university. Only students rush around with that particular look in their eyes.

  As in the park, no one bothered him, but this time he thought it was not out of politeness. The young are rarely polite in an adult sense, but he thought it was rather because of the possibility he could have been an instructor waiting to hand additional work to whichever unlucky student crossed his path.

  Passing into ring four proved a different matter entirely. At Milward's approach, the Ortian guard stepped into the Wizard's path like a door sliding into place. Milward could almost imagine the snick of the lock closing.

  He did not stop at the base of the steps, but continued his pace, taking each with the same measured tread he had used crossing the avenue that separated the University campus from the entrance into the next ring.

  The Ortian guard was big. Milward found himself looking at the man's sternum when he stopped on the top step. He coughed, gently, covering his mouth with his left fist, while his right gripped his staff, “Ah, hem! Would you please step aside so I may pass? I have business with your Emperor.”

  No reaction came from the guard.

  “I said ... would you please step aside? I really do have business with your Emperor, in spite of my appearance,” Milward looked down and fingered his woolen tunic.

  This time there was a reaction. The guard looked down at Milward and spoke, “Show me your pass.” The man's lips barely moved.

  Inwardly Milward's temper began to simmer. He had little patience with bureaucracy and the guard's attitude smacked of that of a lifelong member of that profession. He tried once more, holding his irritation in check, “I am the Wizard, Milward, that should be pass enough.” Sometimes, it paid to use one's notoriety, he thought.

  “Wizard, or not, no one enters without a pass signed by the Emperor.”

  Milward blew out his moustaches, “And ... how does someone get this pass?”

  “They see the Emperor.”

  What tore it was not so much the sheer idiocy of the situation, but the way that tiny smile appeared at the corner of the hulking guard's mouth as he answered. Milward began his shaping as soon as the man spoke the word, Emperor. The guard's eyes bulged as he felt himself rising from the ground. To his credit, that was his only reaction.

  Milward waited until the guard's feet rose to just above his head before he looked up at the man's still bulging eyes, “See, I knew we could be reasonable about this. So sorry I can't stay to chat, but I really do have an appointment to keep, don't hang around on my count.” He winked, and then strolled beneat
h the guard and into the fourth ring of Ort. He knew the chuckle was rubbing salt into the man's wounded ego, but he just couldn't help himself.

  When he reached the second boulevard crossing, Milward released the shaping. By the time he reached the third, the shouts began. “Took them long enough,” he murmured.

  The dwellings spaced along the wide streets were not so much estates, as they were edifices erected for the purpose of flaunting wealth. Milward looked at them as he passed and shook his head. Even with a large family, a man really only needed so much room to live in, the rest was a waste of resources, not to mention being in truly bad taste.

  He was skirting the edge of an estate filled with marble statuary and Cyprus-lined walks when the guards caught sight of him. Their shouts blended into an unintelligible mish-mash of sound as they gave chase. Milward turned at the sound and watched as the pack of guards closed the distance between them. The one in the lead looked familiar. Ah, it was the one he'd given a flying lesson to. The sword in the guard's hand gave the impression the man had not appreciated the experience.

  Milward formed a hasty shaping and released it as the guards closed in upon him. The one in front slammed into the invisible barrier with a surprised grunt, his nose and lips compressed against it distorted his features into a clown's mask. The rest of his fellows piling in on top of him didn't help his disposition at all.

  “Can I be of help to you fellows?” Milward asked from the other side of the barrier. At least half of the guards were involved in untangling themselves from their compatriots. The rest stood back from the pile, unsure of what to do in the circumstances. Invisible walls were not included in the Ortian Guards basic training.

  One of the standing guards stepped forward warily, and reached out with his left hand until he encountered the barrier. The fingers of his hand flexed like a spider and then withdrew. “Bardoc preserve us, sorcery!”