The Hundred: Fall of the Wents by Jennifer Prescott Read Free Book Online

can ask them yourself. I think you will find their wisdom to be worth the brawn of youth. But it is late now, and we should all get some sleep. I have rooms prepared for you.”
    “We’ll share a room, thanks,” said Tully, who did not like the idea of being cloistered somewhere in the tower, apart from his friends.
    “As you wish,” said Hen-Hen, and gestured to the UnderGrouts who stood waiting at attention in the shadows. They stepped over to the base of a large spiral staircase and waited. Tully rose to his feet and grabbed one more piece of cheese. The three followed the UnderGrouts in a solemn procession up the stairs, their six shadows flickering on the circular tower walls in weird, elongated shapes.
    Tully looked back: Hen-Hen’s chin was near his chest as he stared into space. His head nodded slightly. Then he seemed to drift off into sleep, and the great, fat bees that adorned his chin rose into a cloud above him, fanned out into the room with a whispering buzz, and were gone through the open windows. Maybe spies, Tully thought suddenly, but for whom? Did Hen-Hen know that they left him at night?
    About halfway up the staircase, the first UnderGrout opened a door and gestured at the three to step inside.
    “Thanks,” said Aarvord gruffly, but they didn’t acknowledge him.
    “Boo,” said Aarvord, right in the face of the nearest UnderGrout, who placidly ignored him. “You three alive? Never mind, never mind.” Aarvord led the way and Tully and Copernicus followed him into the room. The door clicked shut behind them.
    The room was curiously shaped; like a circle with a hole in the center, it extended all the way around the stone tower, with the staircase where the hole would be. They walked all the way around, admiring the sumptuous paintings and tapestries, each of which depicted battles from ages past. None of the battles, noted Tully, included a strange shadow-enemy.
    One of the tapestries showed a scene from the Small War, which was not particularly small at all—only in comparison with some of the wars that had preceded it, and due to its mercifully short length of only 27 days. It had followed the war between the Vivipars and the Ovipars, and before that had been the war—limited in scope but no less bloody— between Common Crests and Lesser Frells.
    Tully had been born into the heart of the Small War, which raged throughout the heat of the end of summer known as the Dying Days. He gazed at the scenes with distaste, wondering why anyone would choose to immortalize this unhappiness through art. Efts carried edged maces and fought side by side with Wents—the most peaceful creatures on the planet, and unaccustomed to violence. The Wents swung fire-whips—long threaded weapons with hot stones at their ends. Their opponents were the Dualings—creatures who had but two beings who brought them to life, rather than three, and their numbers were many.
    Tully had only once seen such weapons in person. He had been sent down to the cistern to find and loosen a blockage in the pipes. As he dug through the wet moss to find the entryway to the water tunnel, his fingers had run over something sharp, and he had drawn back his hand. It was a thick, serrated sword—as big as his arm—and he had pulled it out and turned it in the dank green light in the underburrow of his home. Whoever had hidden it here perhaps intended to retrieve it, so Tully returned the sword to its hiding place.
    He wondered, when he went above again, who had owned the weapon. He had gained three Wents during the war in addition to Kellen, his own. Hindrance, Bly, and Sarami had all lost their families, and had come to live with Tully and Kellen. The arrangement was meant to be temporary—opening one’s doors to orphans and strays was a common kindness. Tully could not imagine any of them wielding such a cruel weapon. But he knew that they all had. They had all struck killing blows, even Hindrance, whom he had grown to love.
    Tully