The Weaving of Wells (Osric's Wand, Book Four) (21 page)

Cinereus flew on into the night, banking and swerving with the curve of the river. Far below him, the water moved smoothly along its course, sweeping steadily south toward the sea. The sound of the water was faint, merely a whisper beneath the rush of the wind. Machai had forgotten how far a dragon can see, and he leaned forward impatiently in his harness, eagerly waiting for his vision to identify the silhouette of sails against the starlight reflecting off of the water. His legs were beginning to grow stiff from his position on Cinereus’s back when he finally spotted the ship.

The cog sat low in the water with the weight of its cargo, its large single sail billowing in the wind as dwarves moved about on the wooden deck. The ship looked to be in good repair, if still a few years out of dock. A large complement of men was carrying out various duties, but with several of them concealed behind the massive sail, Machai couldn’t get an accurate count from his seat. The captain was a stout dwarf with a long, thick mustache, bald head, dark cloak and boots, and he was surrounded by men gesturing to the sky as the dragon flew by. Beyond that, Machai could make out little in the dark from his seat. Cinereus sank lower, approaching as near to the ship as he safely could. Machai looked for the identifying markings along the side of the hull, and he let out a sigh of relief when the moonlight revealed the dwarven runes.

“That be the one we be wanting, Cinereus. Ye be saving me skin tonight.” Machai rested a grateful hand against the smooth scales of the dragon’s shoulder. “Can ye be contacting the other dragons and letting Kablis and Morgo know the search be over?”

“Of course. Would you like me to land, or do you intend to board the ship from here?”

“Can ye be keeping us alongside so I can be hailing ’em?” Machai didn’t want to waste any time.

“I can try, but I won’t be able to get you close enough for you to gain the ship without the spell. I will keep it steady enough for you to unharness before traveling.”

“Aye, that’ll have to be doing then.” Machai waited until the dragon was as close to the ship as possible. He could see the dwarves scrambling across the deck, lowering the sails, and loading a small cannon mounted on the starboard railing. He called out to the captain, “I be Machai of FireFalls Clan. I be seeking Rhemt, blood of Metzel, the mighty founder of SnowStand. Will ye be granting me permission to be coming on board?”

The crew of the boat moved methodically, quickly carrying out the captain’s orders, and Machai was impressed that Cinereus seemed to be unfazed by the weapons aimed his way. He kept them steady in the air, using great, smooth beats of his wings to keep them aloft while slowly following the progress of the boat downstream. A gentle wind had picked up, but the words of the ship’s captain still reached Machai clearly.

“Aye, if ye want to be leaping from yer dragon, ye can be doing so. Ye’ll be welcome aboard as bait for me next fishing trip.” The crew roared with laughter, but Machai took the captain at his word and spoke the traveling spell. He appeared standing in the center of the deck, and it took him a moment to feel stable on the gently swaying surface of the ship after being on Cinereus’s back for so long. Machai’s hands were empty and held palms open out at his sides. The shock of the crew would wear off quickly, and he didn’t want them to perceive him as a threat. The ship captain approached Machai, one hand on the sword sheathed at his hip. “That be quite the trick. Since I be inviting ye onto me ship, ye better be telling me why ye shouldn’t still be fish food.”

“Rhemt be the last member of nine needed for a gathering. Ye cannot be feeding me to yer fish, or ye’ll be finding yer ship enveloped in flames. I be meaning ye no harm, and I be hating to threaten a cousin clan, but I be at the end of me patience. Be turning over Rhemt, and be continuing on to trade or be sailing back to SnowStand. I do not really be caring which, but the gathering cannot be going on without him, so I willn’t be leaving without him.” Thin blue flames licked Machai’s clenched fists as he spoke. He was so exhausted, he doubted that he could wash the entire ship in fire if he had to, but the captain didn’t know that. The crew eyed Machai uneasily, keeping their distance from the unfamiliar dwarf with unusual abilities, but his threatening words brought their hands to their wands and weapons. The captain eyed him warily, sizing up Machai’s power in the flames lapping the skin of his fingers and wrists.

Machai had gambled on the gifts present in the crew, hoping there was no one on board who could easily counter the threat of fire on a wooden ship. From the anger and hesitation in the captain’s eyes, Machai decided he had won the wager. The captain caught the eye of a crewman behind Machai, and with one jerk of his head the man ran off toward the narrow steps that led to the small chamber beneath the deck that wasn’t occupied by cargo. A moment later, he returned with a second dwarf. The newcomer was dressed in finer cloth and was older than anyone else on board, but he had the rugged boots and twinkling eyes of a young adventurer. He came readily to the scene with a look of curiosity.

“Ye be asking for me, Captain?”

“Aye, Rhemt. Ye be disembarking early. Gather yer things and be assigning the lead position on the trade.”

Rhemt looked confused, and he glanced around at the situation more closely. His gaze took in the crew and their looks of disdain for Machai, the fire surrounding Machai’s fists, and the stern set of the captain’s jaw. He settled his eyes on Machai.

“Ye be stirring up trouble? What do ye be wanting with me?”

“As a descendant of Metzel, ye be the last member of a gathering of nine taking place tomorrow. Ye need to be returning with me to FireFalls.” Machai kept the fatigue out of his voice by clinging to his frustration of the past two days traveling all across the continent to seek the members.

“A gathering ye say?” Rhemt glanced over at the captain and then back to Machai. “Ye can be extinguishing yer hands, lad. Ye willn’t be needing to be creating fear and tension between our clans. A gathering be sounding fascinating.” The elder dwarf grinned and walked back down the steps to retrieve his pack. Upon his return, Machai nodded respectfully to the captain, gripped Rhemt’s arm tightly, and spoke the traveling spell under his breath. The two dwarves appeared on the bank of the river in time to hear the cries of surprise lift from the crew as the ship continued on down the river and into the night.

“Fascinating!” Rhemt exclaimed, seemingly unfazed by the unusual method of travel, and he followed Machai through the trees toward the open field where Cinereus was waiting.

14 — Morning

Machai woke early with a pounding headache, the residual consequence of too much magic and too little sleep. They had arrived back in FireFalls late the night before, but the addition of the ninth member of the gathering had eased the urgency of his stress slightly. There was still a great deal to be done, and the success of his mission still hinged on the approval of the gathering to send an army out from the realm, but he had regained a glimmer of hope that he could still pull it off.

Machai rode the stone lift up through the shaft of the mountain until the brisk morning air caressed his cheeks. The lift stopped, lying flush with the surrounding snow-blanketed stone, and Machai stood there and gazed out at the valley that gave his home its name as the sun brought a blush to the eastern sky. In the evening, the snow and ice turned to fire spilling down the mountain from the orange light of the setting sun, and the trees looked to be aflame. On mornings like this, however, the light brought bright white clarity to everything Machai could see. As the sun climbed into the sky behind the tall mountain peaks, the snow glistened like diamonds and the trees were haloed by shimmering light. The breathtaking view breathed new optimism into the weary dwarf, and Machai whispered a blessing to Archana and asked for resolution to the tension and conflict among his brethren. He wanted only to be able to fight for what was good and right in the world without his own kin and clan leader seeing him as a traitor. Osric was depending on him, but he hoped he would not be marching out from his home for the last time, an army at his back or not.

Machai bid good morning to the sun as it washed the valleys below with cold light and then touched his wand to the lift. As he sank back down into the mountain, he closed his eyes for a moment and tried to etch the image of the sunlight and snow embracing his home into his memory. Come what may, he would be able to summon the sight at will and bask in something beautiful. The stone lift carried him deep into the mountain, past the levels containing the kitchens, the armory, the private quarters, and the craftsman’s labs. He stepped off of the platform as it came to rest at the tunnel to the Great Hall. There, the gathering would decide his success or failure.

When Machai entered the hall, Kablis, several of their supporters, and all nine of the gathering members were already present. They were seated in small groups, against the wall or along the dais, sharpening and polishing weapons or engaged in hushed conversations. Machai entered with his head high, walked purposefully through the large room, and stepped up onto the dais. His weapons and armor had been brought down ahead of him, and he sat down among them and began to check his blades over, focusing completely on the task at hand and trying not to contemplate the trial ahead.

Machai had been training and working with weaponry all of his life, and he had been in many battles, but never one couched in ritual or against his kin and clan cousins. The story of the gathering emphasized the debate, but the ceremony was far more complex and dangerous. Agrik had been with Machai and the nine members late into the night explaining how the gathering would work, how the tradition had evolved, and what they would be expected to do once they had committed to the ceremony. Though Kablis had challenged Thenar to the gathering, it was Machai’s battle to fight. Thenar had smiled smugly when Threed had informed him that Machai, not Kablis, would be engaging in the contest of wit and arms against the clan leader.

The gathering was scheduled for mid’day, when the sun was at its apex, and the participants were growing anxious as the time approached. Shortly before the appointed time, Thenar arrived in the hall fully armored in gleaming mail and plate. He carried his highly polished helmet in one hand and a parchment scroll in the other. Threed followed behind bearing Thenar’s weapons and a scowl as his eyes landed on Machai sitting upon the dais. However, Thenar looked calm and he greeted the members of the gathering with welcoming smiles and hearty handshakes.

Kablis joined Machai and helped him into his armor, securing the buckles of his chest plate while speaking reassuring and calming words to keep his nerves steady.

“It be a battle of words. The blows be a ritual only. Ye cannot be defeated if ye have no opponents. Be brave, and for blade’s bounty be persuasive.” Machai nodded silently, breathing slowly and running his arguments through his mind until the words became an echoing chant in his head. Thenar was arrogant and ignorant in his refusal to aid the Aranthians, and Machai was determined to convince the gathered—or defeat them.

Machai allowed the familiar space to calm him as he waited for the nine dwarves to don their armor and arm themselves. The cavernous room echoed with the sounds of low voices, jingling chainmail, and scraping metal. The height of the dais was minimal, but it was enough to provide Machai with an unobstructed view of the room. There were no furnishings other than a large brass bell near the door, but the walls were adorned with dusty tapestries depicting elaborate scenes of ancient battles and dwarven lore. Torches that were nested in iron brackets lined the walls, casting a warm glow throughout the room, and they burned without consuming fuel or emitting any smoke. The stone floor was worn smooth from the feet of generations of dwarves, and one of the stairs on the left side of the raised platform was cracked with one corner crumbling away. Machai thought it was appropriate, as he felt like he was a small piece of the clan being broken apart from the whole. Even if he won in the gathering, the harmony of the clan had been fractured by the need for a gathering in the first place. Machai’s attention was drawn back to the impending debate as the nine gathering members made their way up the steps and onto the dais.

Thenar moved in closer to Machai with a smug expression on his face. The two stood nearly shoulder to shoulder, and the nine others formed a loose line behind them.

“Ye shall be wishing ye had stayed in the dungeons before I be done with ye.” Thenar’s words were a low growl, only loud enough for Machai to hear. Machai gripped his sword tightly, and his response was just as quiet.

“Do ye be surprised that I be slipping out of yer dungeon cell? It be a pitiful task compared to organizing a gathering in a mere three days, but we be managing that just fine as well. Here we be. Do ye still be underestimating me and the new magic that be sweeping across Archana? Imagine what we could be doing if we were truly yer enemy, rather than yer kin.”

Kablis set the bell to ringing, and a steady stream of spectators entered the chamber. The Great Hall was nearly filled, as most every member of the FireFalls clan had turned out to watch the gathering, when Agrik nodded toward Thenar to indicate that mid’day had arrived and he could begin speaking. Thenar unrolled the scroll he held and looked out at the crowd before reading. Once he was finished, Machai would give his speech. As the Summoner, or the one who called the gathering, Machai would speak first and Thenar would respond. Then the questioning would begin.

“FireFalls, today we be welcoming representatives of the nine clans to our mountain walls. A grievance be raised, and today we be settling it with the honor and tradition of a gathering. Ye be here to be witnessing a debate which be deciding the fate of many of ye and yer families. Our ancestors, when they be the one clan of all dwarves, be wisely seeking answers and agreements in the sacred rite of battle, and we be doing the same to be honoring their names.”

As Thenar read off each name of the nine members, the dwarf raised his sword to loud cheers from the crowd. “Hern of BillowBluff, blood of Stasp! Jom of BlackAxe, blood of Tunft! Irto of FireFalls, blood of Uvet! Kant of IceIsle, blood of Behg! Prex of IronAnvil, blood of Gyln! Festil of IronForge, blood of Gring! Rhemt of SnowStand, blood of Metzel! Furtl of SteelBorne, blood of Myx! Legin of StoneStar, blood of Ware!”