The High-Wizard's Hunt: Osric's Wand: Book Two (28 page)

Her mind raced, trying to find a way to help the beast, but she was distracted by the actions of the Kallegians. The men were evenly spaced around the lion, circling slowly, and they were chanting in unison in a low, gutteral tone. Each time the soldiers changed the tone of their chant, Bridgett felt a distinct wave of pain wash over the lion. She could not make sense of it, but it seemed as though their synchronized words were slowly breaking the bones and tearing the flesh of the lion’s body. Yet, the only visible wounds were from the arrows.

“Stop!” She heard herself scream. She suddenly realized that she was standing only a few strides from the circle, and she was out of breath. She cursed herself for the mistake and watched the lion crumble to the ground. She was too late to save him, and she had placed herself in grave danger by approaching the group.

The six men turned and smiled at the sight of her with her knife and wand ready. The low, ominous tone began and she felt herself held in place as they circled her. She screamed for help as her eyes began to play tricks on her. She regained control of her body so she could move, but could see three of each of the men and had no idea which were real. All attempted attacks were hopeless as she found that any Kallegian she lunged for would disappear as soon as she neared him. She felt disoriented and confused as the pressure continued to build. It pressed on her bones and innards as she continued to scream for help.

Images shimmered on the edge of her vision. She thought for a moment that she could see several figures running toward the group. Pain ripped through her body and she collapsed, feeling as though her muscles were being torn. She gave up screaming because she didn’t have the strength left and surrendered her body to the throes of death. Her only wish was that she could have lived long enough to warn Osric.

The pressure built again as the tone changed for what she knew would be the last time. A fog rolled across her mind, and she tried to scream one last time. Slowly, the intensity of the pressure crushing her eased, and she heard voices that seemed to be in a struggle. She had a moment’s sympathy for the next person to be caught in the same trap she had fallen into.

The pain subsided completely and she managed to lift her head. She was shocked to see two Kallegian fleeing from a large figure covered in blood. The giant man was holding a decapitated head in one large, muscular hand and a hammer in the other. The figure looked familiar, but she could not make out who it was. Bridgett felt her strength returning rapidly in the absence of the magic that had nearly ended her life. She stood slowly and watched the man drop the head he was holding. Bloody, sweating and breathing hard, he turned to face her.

“Macgowan?” Bridgett gazed through tear filled eyes as he nodded. “Thank you.” She strained to speak. He placed a shaking hand on her arm to steady her. Bridgett watched as he put his bloody hand into his satchel and pulled something out. The tears slid down her cheeks as he placed a blood stained daisy in her hair.

“For Kauna,” he said, lips shaking with the emotion behind his words. Bridgett ceased searching with her Empath gift. His sorrow for losing Kauna was too much for her to take. Then he turned and slowly meandered toward the market district.

Bridgett felt ragged and weak from her ordeal. She felt an urge to comfort Macgowan but did not know where to begin. She had witnessed many families lose members in her days, but rarely did she feel a mind as wracked with grief. She quickly caught up to him, and he stopped as she placed her hand on his arm. Ignoring the blood covering him, she kissed him on the cheek and they slowly made their way toward their destination. “She would be proud. If it is possible, I know she is missing you, too.”

*

Osric surveyed the street and could not make out any more of the hooded Kallegians. The street echoed with the sounds of the night, but the air was lacking the scent of the cold winter nights he had grown to love over his years. The smell of blood and smoke assaulted his senses.

The battle had gone better than he had hoped, and he was proud of the performance of his Vigiles. News had reached his ears of some casualties, but most of the deaths were of the numerous animals that had chosen to join them in their battle. Nearly ready to depart for his next patrol, Osric sheathed his sword and readied himself to
travel.

“Osric.” Thamas stepped to the edge of a rooftop nearby. “The dragons tell me that the streets are clear. All of the Kallegians are in the market district.”

“That quick?” Osric was slightly surprised and confused by the efficiency with which they were able to carry out their plan. The Vigiles were great fighters, but rumors of the Kallegian’s skill with magic had made him expect a much more difficult battle.

“They didn’t put up much of a fight.” Thamas grinned. “I told you we should stay and fight. The talk of their magic must have been a severe exaggeration. We should escort them out of Stanton before the rest wake up.”

“I’m not sure this is the end of it, but we can hope,” Osric agreed. He saw Thamas disappear as he spoke the spell to
travel
. Osric took a moment to be grateful for their success. He was glad he had allowed Thamas and many of the other Stanton residents to join in their cause. He had expected a much higher mortality rate for the people who fought with heart but with little combat training.
I just hope we can end this now, without any more fighting.
The familiar sensation of movement greeted him as he cast the
traveling
spell, and reappeared in the market district.

The faces of the Stanton villagers greeted him as the scene began to take shape. Some of those gathered wore a curious expression at the commotion, some were timid with the impending confrontation, and even more gossiped as if the whole event was a show they had come to watch at a festival. Others wore grim expressions of realization. Serious expressions were donned by ex-Vigiles, elders, and several men who had served in the Ryhain’s personal guard.

In the distance, near one of the city’s shops, Osric caught sight of Bridgett. She stood with Macgowan, bloodied but looking as strong as ever. She was engaged in a heated argument with Thamas. The frustrated faces of the dwarves, with Machai in the lead, looked on with serious expressions. Osric could sense the urgency in Bridgett’s plea, but he was too far away to make out the words. His Empath ability indicated that whatever she was saying was of paramount importance to the safety of Stanton, and to the success of their purge of the Kallegian incursion.

Osric beat a path, jumping over a few nearby barrels with a hand to help him gain height to clear the obstruction. The Empath gift urged him, but there was something more to it. There was input coming from more than one of his gifts, and with the inflow of stimulus taking him by surprise he could not identify which gifts were guiding him. Multiple gifts indicating the same danger without clarity spurred him to run even faster.

He forced his way through the throngs of people waiting to watch the Kallegian leave in defeat, striving not to collide with them as he ran. He saw a shopkeeper fall to the ground in the chaos of the battle’s aftermath, but he rushed past her in his urgency to get to Bridgett. Osric cringed at the lack of consideration he demonstrated by not helping the shopkeeper to her feet, but he needed to discover what danger Bridgett had brought to the attention of the Vigiles.

Osric arrived, panting from the exertion and panicked at how ragged Bridgett looked in the low light. The evidence of her ordeal in her torn dress, bruised and bloody skin, and scared expression terrified him.

“What happened to the two of you? Why wasn’t I called?” Osric motioned to Macgowan and Bridgett with a stern scowl, still struggling to catch his breath.

“Osric, we set a trap for ourselves by bringing them all here. We tried to contact you, but we couldn’t establish a link with your wand. You must have been casting a spell,” Bridgett said.

“A trap for ourselves, what do you mean?” Silently he cursed himself for leaning too heavily on his wand in the battle and being unavailable when Bridgett needed him.

“We succeeded as much as we have because the attack came while they were in small clusters. I nearly lost my life when I encountered a small band of them. If it weren’t for Macgowan, I would be dead right now.” Bridgett’s words landed hard as Osric examined the blood spattered tunic and pants on Macgowan. Macgowan’s Blacksmith hammer was held firmly in his right hand and his bloodshot, swollen eyes hinted at a fierce struggle.

“They be children before our blades. They will be cowering before us and fleeing like wounded dogs.” Kablis waved his hands in the air and turned to his men. “She be just a weak girl.”

“Kablis,” Machai put a hand out to stop him from walking away, “I be seeing them cowering before me blade, but she be no ordinary woman. Ye should be heeding her words. This battle be far from over.”

“Ba,” he swatted at Machai’s outstretched hand in annoyance, “let’s be finishing this and then we can be celebrating.” His certainty of victory was obvious as he yelled his final words at the Kallegians who were rousing their companions.

“Hey.” A shout cut through his jubilation as Macgowan stepped in his path. A ring of reverberating metal pierced the air as Macgowan’s hammer connected with the head of Kablis’ axe. “You will not stand a chance against their magic. I was only able to save her because I surprised them while they were focusing on her defenseless, dying form at their feet. If you will not listen to a woman, then hear it from me. I echo each of her words. Will you speak of me the same way you spoke of her?” Macgowan stood menacingly, towering over Kablis. The dwarf backed away slightly, wide eyed as the force of the words grew more threatening. Osric glanced at Macgowan, awed by the passion in his speech. The man hadn’t strung more than three words together since the palace collapsed with his wife inside. A hush came over the crowd as everyone nearby backed away, eyeing the outraged man.

Bridgett approached and placed a gentle hand on his massive shoulder. “Macgowan, I thank you, but I think I can take it from here.” She smiled gently up at him in appreciation. Then she turned her attention back to Osric.

“In the streets, I sensed their desire to search each other out, and I happened upon a group of them encircling a lion.” She gazed nervously at the Kallegians gathering in groups on the edge of the cobblestone road. “They were chanting something, and I watched the immobile lion crumble from the magic produced by their tone.” Her eyes closed and a tear fell down her face. “Then they turned their attention to me,” her words spilled out of her mouth in a rush, “and as they surrounded me, the chant first kept me from moving. Then it was as if I was being smothered beneath a blanket, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The pressure built as the tones in their chants changed, and soon I found myself being crushed from within.”

Osric was horrified by the way she looked as the story rushed out of her mouth. He kept a wary eye on the Kallegians as well, but luckily they had not stopped waking the unconscious men that had been brought to the market district. He did not imagine they had much time left to prepare, so he focused on Bridgett’s words, trying to form a plan.

“Their chant is more powerful in larger numbers, and we just put them in between us and the way out of Stanton! We need to do something before they get the rest of their men to join them, and we do not have much time.” Pleading eyes looked back at Osric. “Please, look at them and feel what I am telling you. Their confidence is growing fast.”

Osric nodded in agreement. He turned toward the Kallegians and searched for their emotions. An isolated man awoke in a fit of nerves and stood looking at the crowd that was gathered. As his eyes searched his surroundings, he ran to join a cluster of hooded figures. He moved uncertainly until he joined the others, and an instant relief began to incorporate itself within him. Soon after the relief came a rush of confidence that began to grow. The confidence mingled with an emotion Osric could not give a name, but tangled within the emotion as he was, Osric felt his lips curl in a greedy, malicious smile. Osric fought to withdraw his focus from the man’s unfamiliar emotions. He slowly regained his own feelings, distancing himself from the Empath link.

“Machai, you have fire burning within, correct?” Osric pointed at his chest and Machai smiled.

“It be burning hot, me friend.”

“Does any of your kin have the same gift?” he probed Machai further. A smile creased the dwarf’s face as two others stepped forward from his group.

“Ye want us to be lighting a fire under their arses to be sending them on their way?”

Osric nodded with a smile and waved for the three dwarves to follow him. They quickly found their way to the front of the line and spread out as wide as they could space themselves and still cast an effective spell. Wands outstretched, Osric watched the others initiate the spell so he could repeat the process in himself. He hesitated only briefly before invading the privacy of the dwarves without asking to look within them. He hadn’t practiced with the Fire Elemental gift and they would need his help for a strong enough fire. Relief filled him as he saw them initiate the spell like any other, and the ability felt natural as he began drawing on the power. Osric fixed the purpose in his mind and sent the power outward as he had observed the dwarves doing.

A wall of flames joined between the four casters and began to move in the direction of the Kallegians. The few men who lay unconscious, as yet unreached by their comrades, burst into flame as the wall of fire passed over them. The flames soon woke the men and Osric cringed as they screamed out for help. Horrified, angry faces peered through the flames. The Kallegians waiting on the wrong side of the fire began to issue orders, and they soon formed several long lines in front of the flames, refusing to yield.
If this turns into a test of wills, they will lose,
Osric thought to himself.

A low tone began to emanate from beyond the wall of flame, but fire continued to surge toward the front of the lines they formed. Soon the flames licked at the feet of the nearest men as they chanted. A few scattered amongst them erupted into flames, screaming, but the lines held. As the tone of their chanting deepened, the fire slowed in its progression and diminished in height.