The Last Whisper of the Gods Read Free Page A

never saw her face.
    As Visnisk went back to caring for the animals, Sorial rolled onto his back. This was a regular activity for the older boy; Sorial was sure Visnisk spent half his wages on this particular whore. The watching made Sorial curious, and there was a tightness in his breeches. Often, Visnisk didn’t seem to be enjoying himself and the woman was always bored, but he kept bringing her back and she never refused him. When Sorial had approached Visnisk about this seeming contradiction, he was told in a patronizing tone that he’d understand in a year or two.
    “Get yourself one,” called Visnisk into the gloom of the rafters as he filled a bucket with oats. “Or use Excela - she’ll do anyone for the coin. That way you won’t always be watching me. If you don’t like the look of her, I can find you another cheap one. Really, though, it don’t matter what they look like as long as they know what they’re doing. And I know you’ve been saving up your tips - leastaways what that skinflint Warburm lets you keep.” When Sorial didn’t reply, the other boy continued his work as if he hadn’t spoken.
    Sorial soon dozed off, as he often did after watching Visnisk’s nighttime assignations. Many hours later, with even the first rays of the new day’s sun not yet touching the eastern horizon, he was startled awake when a clod of hardened shit struck him on the right cheek.
    “Hey boy, wake up! Get your ass down here!” yelled Visnisk on his way out. By the time Sorial gained his bearings, the other stableboy was gone. He used a wad of straw to wipe clean his cheek then climbed down to piss in a corner and begin the day’s work. The stable was almost empty this morning. With only a single horse and a donkey to care for, Sorial could move slowly and conserve energy. He checked outside several times to make sure the sky was clear. He didn’t want to miss the sunrise.
    While he was waiting, a couple members of the Watch wandered by. Sorial knew them by name: Brindig and Darrin. They had been partners for as long as he could remember, but it was hard to think of two more dissimilar men.
    Brindig was thin and humorless. His gaunt face made him look a decade older than his actual age. His salt-and-pepper hair, only a few strands of which escaped from beneath his watchman’s steel helmet, was cropped short. He never wore a full beard but rarely was he cleanshaven. His nose was thin and curved, calling to mind a bird’s beak. His mouth seemed frozen in a perpetual scowl.
    Darrin, on the other hand, grinned easily. He was a big man in every sense with appetites to match. Unlike Brindig, he wore no helm (which was against regulations, but no one cared). His unruly mane of sawdust-colored hair stuck out in every direction. His face was as plump as the rest of him, but not unpleasant to gaze upon. He had a neatly-trimmed goatee with no mustache. His eyes matched Brindig’s blue, but seemed more lively. Darrin was only a few years his partner’s junior, but he looked young enough to be the other’s son. He was perhaps the most liked man in the whole of Vantok’s Watch.
    “Good morn, Sorial,” said Darrin with his customary affability. Brindig nodded somberly, looking like he wanted to be somewhere - anywhere - else.
    “Morn, sirs,” replied Sorial, who called most adults “sir.” It was easier than remembering names.
    “Should be a nicer day than yesterday,” said Darrin, who was a lover of small talk. Actually, he was a lover of any talk. Few things engaged the jovial guardsman more than hearing the words tumble from his own lips. “Any problems lately?” It was an innocuous inquiry but Sorial couldn’t help but connect it to Warburm’s caution.
    There was something happening that he didn’t understand. The wary innkeeper, warning of dangerous times. The despairing priest, saying the gods had turned from man. And now… “Is something going on?”
    Darrin appeared surprised by the question. “Not