The Weaving of Wells (Osric's Wand, Book Four) (25 page)

Machai watched on, fearing that he may be leaving FireFalls alone after all, and he held his breath waiting for the first of his kin to walk back into the mountain. His eyes landed on Kablis, and he watched as his friend and greatest supporter slowly raised his arm and pointed his sword tip into the sky. Soon, others joined him, thrusting their blades upward and cheering loudly. A feeling of relief, camaraderie, and pride overwhelmed Machai as the beginning of his army chanted the name of their new clan.

“Aranthians! Aranthians! Aranthians!”

Not a single dwarf left the crowd to return to Thenar and FireFalls. Machai leapt down from his rock and walked away from the mountain, two hundred men marching behind him on the glistening snow toward the Iron Valley.

16 — Coiled Potential

Dredek had a few days to rest and recover by the time Jalyn had found the rest of the ingredients he needed. The last of the dead man’s stalk had been discovered a short time before in a lower level of the city, but they had found an abundance of the other materials he needed in the room that their new captives had been hiding in. He spent the last two hours mixing everything he needed, and he was nearly ready to begin distilling the medicine that would speed his recovery.

True, his recovery had come faster than ever before, but it had been a more severe injury to himself than any rending of strands had caused. If he had any hope of reviving his kin before the humans or irua could mount a response to his conquering of Angmar, he would need his power soon. Though deadman’s stalk was deadly in most cases, his people had learned a method of refining the petrified stalk that, in small doses, brought about the healing of both magic and body at an unprecedented rate.

He dropped the twelve stalks into the boiling cauldron, adding the wolf’s essence, and then a handful of kadmel root. The last two would work together to nullify all poisonous properties of the deadman’s stalk. He would have to add more of them at specific times during the process, but for the time being he would need to make himself busy while he waited for the boiling water to dissolve the stalks and turn a bright shade of purple, eventually simmering down to a viscous liquid and turning black. Waiting for the color changes to occur could take days, so getting his captives to cooperate was his next objective. Even so, he wished there was something he could do to speed up the process of distilling the medicine.

He left the room, knowing there was no reason for him to remain in the small chamber for the time it would take for the change to happen, and Jalyn would make sure one of the attendants would keep water fed into the pot. He needed to stretch his legs. The long time spent under the sand without seeing the sun was rather unnerving.

Leaving the tunnels for any reason was not possible. Too many of his men would see that as a weakness, so he had to stay inside for the same reason he waited until he could stand after his last battle to call for the guards to haul the prisoners to their cell. The only option left to him was to walk the gardens and farms that were placed on every level of the city. The grow lamps and well-lit expanses they provided helped him to displace his desire for the surface’s sunlight, and they were well ventilated so far under the sand.

He turned into the grain field and inhaled the odor, closing his eyes. The earthy, sweet smell of soil wafted up from the ground and caused memories of home to flood back into his mind. There were no snow-covered fields of arugula, spinach, cauliflower, and mustard trees, but earthy vegetables had similar smells, and something about the smell of the grain in this area brought him right back to his home. He sat down on the path surrounding the field, pulled out the book his mate had penned centuries ago, and lost himself in memories and calculations.

“Dredek, we’ve found a man in our ranks who can translate the irua language. We’re ready to begin the interrogation at your leisure.” Jalyn startled Dredek out of his thoughts.

“Next time could you announce your presence at the door? I nearly killed you.” Dredek stood up, whipping the soil from his backside and making sure Jalyn saw his displeasure.

“I’m sorry.” Jalyn bowed and backed a few steps away. “You wanted to be informed as soon as we were ready. I’ll be sure to announce myself in the future.”

“Take me to the prisoners.” Dredek glared at his servant, but he stood up straight and motioned for Jalyn to lead the way.

They left the farm behind as the cold, dark halls of Angmar greeted him. They were a poor trade for the lush farm, but it did wonders for refocusing his thoughts. He already knew that the young woman had the strands needed to grant him access to the well, but whether she knew where it was, or how to enter it, he did not know. He was determined to find the answers to his questions, and when he was done distilling the deadman’s stalk, he would be ready to bring life to the bones of his people.

Soldiers moved through the halls carrying baskets of food and treasures they had found in several small stashes throughout Angmar. They had yet to find a site that could be considered the city’s coffers, and searching for gold, food, and a few small groups that had failed to escape the city consumed most of their time. Dredek made sure the army felt appreciated for the time being. He didn’t need to have armed men and women attempting to take power at a time when he was in no condition to do anything other than flee, and the treasure they found was the reward for all of their efforts.

The halls didn’t smell nearly as good as the gardens and farms, and each time they turned down a new path the smells changed. He could almost tell what task had been done on each stretch of the way to the holding chambers. One smelled of heat and metal, obviously a forge. Some rooms smelled of spices and alcohol, no doubt the meadery. Another room smelled of linen and lye, so it must be a laundry. But the halls smelled of damp clay and mildew, which lent to the constant headache Dredek had.

Jalyn opened a door to yet another dimly lit hall, but this one ended at a set of bars. All three of their new prisoners were inside the first cell, but the passageway split off to each side, where more cells were filled with captives taken at an earlier time.

“Where is our translator?” Dredek turned in a slow circle, unsatisfied with the promptness of his help.

“I was told that he was here. I’ll check with the men outside the door and see.” Jalyn stepped toward the door.

“No need, sir. Both of the gentlemen in the cell speak Common.” The guard behind him spoke nervously. “Only the girl doesn’t.”

“We’ve been chatting with our captors since you put us in here.” The eldest male looked up at Dredek with resignation.

“I wish someone would have informed me of this revelation. This news may have changed things.” He shot a sharp look at Jalyn. “I think you can find the way out, don’t you?”

Jalyn looked up with wide, terrified eyes. “I didn’t know. Nobody gave me this information.”

Dredek held his gazed steady. “You are well versed in excuses, Jalyn. But right now you should be gaining some experience in retreat, or this man’s punishment will be yours.” The guard dropped to the ground without a sound, blood pouring from his nose and mouth.

Quickly, the hall was vacated, leaving Dredek alone to get the answer he needed. He turned to the older man and spoke. “May I ask what your name is?”

“My name is Freyn. Please, let my children go. I will give you anything you want.” He stood at the cell door. His words were pleading, but there was nothing but strength in his voice.

Dredek paced in front of the cell, meeting the man’s eyes. “My name is Dredek. And what names were given to your children?” He motioned to the boy and girl at the back of the cell with his wand.

“Keth, my eldest son, and Visah, my only daughter.” Freyn narrowed his brow and watched Dredek carefully.

“And how is it that two of you speak Common, but the last of you doesn’t?” Dredek would much rather have been getting answers directly from the girl. He was suspicious of the fact that she couldn’t speak Common. It seemed that most of the irua they had encountered could speak the widely utilized language quite well.

“Some families are called upon to give a child to serve with the Proferre They are permitted to spend time with their families, but they spend most of their lives with the sect. Outsiders are not permitted to speak to them, so there is no need to teach them Common.”

“They take your young away from you? Sounds like cruelty to take a child from her parents. Are there other examples of cruelty among the irua?”

“We were honored to be chosen. Very few are given the opportunity to serve. The Proferre is our highest calling. There is no cruelty involved in becoming a Guardian.” There was great sincerity in Freyn’s voice.

“And how does one access the Well of Strands?” Dredek leveled his wand at the young boy. “Just to make sure you give me the answers I need, in case you lie to me, or attempt to delay me.”

The boy threw himself against the back of the cell, screaming out in pain, and then fell to the ground, shivering. His father and sister ran to his side, concern evident on their faces. The rise and fall of the boy’s chest was their only comfort, but his fear-filled face and rapid breathing brought tension to the cell.

“Why?” The father’s pleading tone was sorrowful. “Why would you do that? I’ll give you anything you ask. Please, just leave my children out of this!”

“I need to make sure you realize how serious a situation you have found yourself in.” Dredek didn’t like this sort of activity, but it was the only way to make sure he got answers quickly. “It will hurt more next time.”

“Please, don’t hurt either of them. I will ask her.” Freyn turned to his daughter, speaking quickly in the language native to the irua. “Nan wey, chulenek va ya glen?”

She looked hesitantly away from her father, and then to Keth, and back again before she answered. “Nan wey chulenek va ya e sas ah yey va garspa. Ta klet chulenek aya, solo.”

“She says the well can only be accessed if you have what is needed. You can’t access it on your own.”

“Yes, I know about the extra strand. I need to know how to enter the well since I have already located someone with the strand.” Dredek nodded at the girl, and then looked back at Freyn. He waved his wand in the direction of Keth, but he cast no spell. “Ask her.”

“Nan wey, yey keb sas et leh trabis?” He looked at his daughter with stern, pleading eyes.

“Sas ness skib nan etch em nan flet es nan bate. Aya lep neskin.” Visah shrugged nervously.

“You have to write the runes on the wall and an opening will appear.” Freyn spoke very clearly, but his speech was rushed—almost panicked. His gaze kept sweeping to his children and then back to Dredek. He stood between the wand and his son with his chest puffed out.

“And only one with what is needed can write the rune?” It was a cold voice that Dredek chose to elicit replies. He couldn’t risk his prisoners guessing how much he dreaded having to hurt the child to get what he wanted.

“Nan sas ah yey va garspa ness skib nan etch?” Freyn asked Visah, unsure himself of how it worked as he had never trained with the sect that protected the well.

“Peg,” Visah answered.

“Yes.” Freyn turned back quickly to face Dredek.

“Good job, father. Now tell your daughter to take me to the well and open the door. Tell her to take me by the most direct route or I will kill her father and her brother.” Dredek locked gazes with Visah and he donned a most serious expression, turning the wand toward Freyn. “You will tell me exactly what she says, or I will kill her and find myself another of the well guardians. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.” Freyn trembled almost imperceptibly and pointed at their captor as he spoke to his daughter. “Voy Dredek leh nan wey iz neskin aya.” He locked a hateful gaze on Dredek. “Leh nan mair yestin o ta lep brusein es saftin crag sen.”

“Sen klet, aya va shamin.” Visah shook her head slowly, tears streaming down her scared face.

“She says it is forbidden.” Freyn repeated her words for Dredek in Common between clenched teeth.

“Len ness!” Keth shouted at Visah, desperation in his voice.

“Aya va shamin!” she yelled back at him.

“Ta lep brusein se!” he shouted at his sister again.

“Enough!” Freyn shouted at his son. Both siblings shrank back and looked up at their father.

“What are they going on about?” Dredek stepped closer to the cell. “And remember to be honest.” He flicked his wand as a reminder. Keth curled into a ball, closing his eyes in anticipation of pain.

“She says that giving you the information is forbidden. He says that she has to give you the information or you will kill him.” Freyn held his hands up in surrender. “Please, wait! I can talk her into it!”

“I’ve already told you that I will not tolerate delay.” He pointed his wand back at the boy. The girl screamed

“No!” The father moved in front of the wand. “Please, just give me a chance to reason with her. There is no need for this!” Both of the younger irua wept in opposite corners of the cell.

“I am running out of patience,” Dredek said with his jaw clenched. The shouting was wearing at his nerves. “Make it quick!”

“Yes. I understand” Freyn backed away and knelt, ready to leap between Dredek’s wand and his daughter and spoke in a soothing, yet pleading, voice. “Visah, len ness voy Dredek leh nan wey iz neskin aya. Brey, Es goya essen vat. Es saftin essen vat. Sen es vat. Brey!”

“I’m growing tired of this. I need to know what you’re saying!” Sparks hit the wall at the back of the cell. Dredek wasn’t proud of it, but his patience had nearly run out. He almost allowed himself to kill the boy, which made his hand shake perceptibly.

“I told her she must help you. I said that her family needs her to. Her brother needs her to, and I need her to.” Tears were streaming down the father’s face as he held his daughter’s hands. “Visah, brey. Brey.”

“What is
brey
?” Dredek lifted his chin.

“
Brey
means please.” His large hands reached up and caressed his daughter’s head as she buried her face in his chest. Her long strawberry-blonde hair hid her pale, tear-streaked face from view and Freyn’s hand moved gently across it. He spoke in a whisper, over and over again, saying, “Brey Visah, brey.”