The Weaving of Wells (Osric's Wand, Book Four) (37 page)

“But how can you be allied with both dragons and elves at this time?” Osric inclined his head.

“Those that attack the walkers are no cousins to the eagles.” Ero’s voice was adamant but controlled. “The offending dragons are led by a massive, black-scaled beast named Calx. Though it appears that only the dragons that never felt bound to the elders are involved, we fear more may join him if things do not change.”

“What do you mean?” Osric stepped closer. “What needs to change?”

“The change isn’t on the part of any walker, but rather on the part of dragonkind. Something dark has awoken in the minds of many since the battle at Stanton. After partaking in such violence against humans, some dragons withdrew and began seeking solitude. Once they found it, too long left alone and without touching the minds of other dragons, they would likely feed the anger and resentment. We suspect that Calx has sought them out, attempting to seduce them into taking action against walkers.”

“And emotions once seeming shameful seem righteous when you find someone of the same mind.” Bridgett nodded in understanding. “The anger grows in the company of anger.”

“Yes. It grows to the point that grace and kindness no longer hold power over it when left too long without.” Ero bowed his head. “It is possible that the dragon threat will grow.”

“Why can’t the dragons that are still allies of the eagles speak to their wayward kin?” Bridgett shook her head with a worried frown.

“That part is a bit more complicated. Many of the dragons are still struggling with their own feelings on the subject—I don’t think you realize how much that one battle affected all dragonkind. Many of them have been avoiding walkers because they too feel the stirrings of bloodlust. While I am confident that most of the dragons will never be a threat to walkers, it will take time for the relationship to be restored. It is also likely that they fear communication with any dragon who is engaged in the attacks. The dragons have the stability of their herd to worry about.”

“Does Stargon have any plans to deal with the situation? With all the destruction they’ve caused, I would hate to have the Aranthians go up against a group of angry dragons.” Osric’s tone was somber and worried. An earnest desire for the dragon attacks to cease without sacrificing more lives fueled his plea.

“That is a complicated question,” Ero replied.

“Why is it complicated? If anyone can stop the bad dragons, it’s the good dragons.” Gad stepped forward, and Osric could sense his need to trust in the compassion of the dragons that had saved his life near Braya.

“Yes, they are doing something, but their efforts may prove to be less than successful in the end.” The eagle’s expression was sympathetic, but it carried some small hint of warning too. Ero wasn’t about to tolerate rude questioning. “Unfortunately, the defecting dragons had already gained knowledge of the traveling spell before they parted ways. Locating their hideout—or hideouts—is turning out to be a more daunting task than any could have guessed. And then there is the final issue.” His last words were suggestive and unsure. He looked at Osric, searching his eyes for a few moments.

Osric’s brow was creased with concern. “There is something more, something worse?”

“It seems there always is these days. Stargon and the other elders have reason to believe that the attacks are not just random rage-filled dragons seeking treasure or sating bloodlust. It is possible that they are being coordinated, that the dragons are taking orders. Stargon suspects that a single mind is behind this chaos and destruction.”

“Have you attempted to use your Chronicleer gift to see where they are, or who is behind it?” He wasn’t even sure if it was possible, but the idea made sense to Osric.

“Unfortunately, these events are much too current for my gift to be of any use. The timeline becomes clearer the further away in time we are from the events. Perhaps a Seer could be of more assistance, as my gift is reliable only for events that occurred perhaps five years ago or more.”

Osric nodded in agreement. “Now the clarity of the fire-telling in the Caves of D’pareth is making more sense. So, what do we do? How do we help the dragons find them?”

Osric was starting to feel overwhelmed by the amount of work he was volunteering the Aranthians to perform. They were still working on bringing Dredek to justice, and they had just offered to help the elves in their recovery and defense. As if that weren’t enough, they were supposed to help the dragons find flying beasts from the ground? How they were going to accomplish the current goals was a big enough challenge. Adding a nearly impossible task to their limited resources could prove to be a fatal mistake.

“I’m not sure what would be a good course of action. I’m here to offer aid to our elven brothers. I’m sure Stargon would be more than willing to discuss options, if you can offer assistance.” Ero’s shrug held more than the uncertainty of his answer. There was a sorrowful cast to the eagle’s body that showed how truly difficult it was for him to not be able to provide the insight that Osric needed.

Osric knew he would have to have another meeting. The next would be with Stargon, but when he would have the time for that discussion was another problem altogether. He felt a terrific weight settle on his mind as the different obstacles ahead revealed themselves to all of the gifts he still fought to understand. There had to be some relief on the horizon, or the Aranthians might feel their might buckle under the weight of it all.

Portent was the gift that centered him, but even with that familiar tug telling him that these were the right choices, he began to question if something had gone wrong with the gift. Had the gift grown back corrupted, or was some other gift changing the way it worked? His mind reeled with the possibilities as he began to dread facing another choice that put lives on the line.

23 — The Iron Valley

The march from FireFalls to the Iron Valley had been long, but with the combined abilities of the large group it hadn’t been terribly difficult. Those like Machai and Lers, with the Fire Elementalist gift, had been able to keep everyone warm with hovering fireballs that traveled alongside the company. Several members of the group had worked out the spell that kept a very thin layer of air between the boots of the dwarves and the icy ground, preventing slips and falls as well as keeping their feet dry and warm. Since they weren’t trudging through snow or scrambling over loose gravel, the rough, icy terrain was not nearly as exhausting as it would otherwise have been, and they made exceptionally good time. Most of their supplies were carried in wagons pulled by hardy mountain mules, and the hovering spell was cast on the wheels and hooves of each team to allow for easier travel. Many of the party members kept their wands out, maintaining shields around the group to keep the icy wind at bay and trap the warmth from the fireballs. Others used Stone-Sight to watch for weaknesses in the stone of the trail, avoiding rockslides. Those with the gift of Hearing listened for the distinct cracking of ice and shifting of snow that signaled an avalanche, and those with the gift of Sight looked far ahead from each elevated point with good visibility to identify the easiest trails. Some members of the company used gifts less suited to the strategies of an army to keep spirits high on the long trek, singing traditional war chants or bawdy tunes while others accompanied them on wooden flutes, small stringed instruments, and handheld drums.

The party headed northwest through the mountains until mid’day on the second day, when they reached the river. From there, they followed the Diutinus River due north to its headwaters. The source of the river was a network of springs bubbling up to the surface in a cluster of caves. The party reached the caves just as the sun fell behind the peaks on the third day. Machai sent the Stone-Sights ahead into the first cave entrance they came to. They reported back quickly that a recent rockslide had closed off the access to the springs, but they could clearly see a better way in just beyond a curve in the trail. Machai urged the men on, promising a hot soak in the healing waters of the hot springs, and the party moved forward in good cheer. The path hugged the side of the mountain, climbing steeply and often narrowing, allowing only one or two to walk abreast without being too close to the dizzying drop-off that overlooked the river frothing over the rocks far below. It was fully dark before the entire party was able to file into the cave system, and once they were inside, a thick fog made it even more difficult to see. The warm waters collected in dozens of small pools, and contact with the cold mountain air caused dense clouds of steam to gather in the natural stone corridors.

The trail-weary dwarves held their wands aloft, using a simple spell to ignite the tips and cast warm light through the mist of the caves. Water droplets clung to their skin and clothes, and dazzling rainbows danced through the billowing steam as light came in contact with the fog. Much of the party wandered deeper into the caves, seeking the warmest pools of spring water, Machai among them. A trip to the hot springs was a rare treat, and Machai had only made the trek a few times before. He had led their party slightly out of their way, adding perhaps half a day to their journey to the valley, but it would be well worth the extra distance they would have to march to soak in the healing mineral waters. When he was young, he had heard a legend that when the mountains were formed a dragon had been trapped in the ice and stone, and his angry breath had heated the water as he thundered and thrashed in his prison deep underground. Machai had always laughed at the story, thinking the idea of a dragon being caged by mere stone and ice was absurd, but after seeing the dragon elders imprisoned at the Braya Volcano, he found no humor in the tale.

Machai held his lit wand out before him, seeking to penetrate the dense steam and make his way safely on the slick stone floor. At the edges of the caves, thick ice had built up in rippling waves against the cold rock walls and across the high ceilings, and the light from his wand made it appear that he was walking through a tunnel of flowing lava. He thought about the view from the top of his clan’s mountain. When the sun was sinking into the horizon, the snow on the trees and mountainside were awash in flame, providing the name of his home: FireFalls. He wasn’t sure he would ever get to see it again, and the beautiful spectacle of the cave system was bittersweet.

Machai reached the end of the chain of caves he had been walking through, dead-ending in a small, high-ceilinged chamber with a circular pool in the center. It was hard to believe that the whole network of caves and pools was formed naturally, but he had never seen or heard any convincing evidence to the contrary. As he began stripping off his cloak, gloves, chainmail, boots, and tunic, Machai was joined in the deep chamber by Kablis, Lers, and Krind, the kiln master from FireFalls. Before wading into the pool, Machai and Lers formed and placed a few small balls of fire around the perimeter of the pool to lend light and diminish the fog. The four men moved slowly into the water, allowing their aching muscles time to adapt to the heat of the mineral-rich water. Krind, being impervious to heat as his natural gift, sank more quickly and sighed comfortably as the water rippled over his shoulders.

“This water be almost hot enough to be warming me frozen fingers and toes,” Krind said with a smile.

“It be nearly hot enough to be boiling me blood,” Kablis responded, “but it be feeling like paradise after that cold march.”

Machai closed his eyes and listened quietly as his companions discussed the journey from FireFalls, the most exciting parts of the gathering, and the organization of the army once they reached the Iron Valley and the troops from seven other clans. Although Kablis and Machai had both fought alongside dwarves from SnowStand and IronAnvil in skirmishes with bandits and battles with earth elementals, in Machai’s lifetime, no more than two or three clans had banded together in battle. As far as he knew, this would be the largest army assembled by the dwarves since before the nine clans had separated.

After soaking for a good part of the night, Machai felt rejuvenated and eager to resume the march toward the valley, but he needed to check in with the men and make sure morale was up, even though they had all left their homes behind and wouldn’t be able to return. The fiery ice of the caves would have reminded them all of the view from FireFalls too. Machai dressed quickly and scooped up one of the fireballs in his hand, holding it out before him to light the way. Many of the men had already climbed out of the healing waters and dressed, and they were quickly readying camp and taking stock of the company’s supplies for the rest of the journey. Others, mostly the oldest and youngest of the dwarves who had followed him, were still luxuriating in the warm waters. Machai spoke with as many as he could, thanking them for their commitment to the war and reassuring them that he would value each of their contributions and skills in the coming battle. For the most part, spirits were high and Machai was confident that no one regretted leaving their home. Still, many eyes were cast upward with longing and sadness at the light dancing across the ice. There would be much grieving in the coming seasons, but Machai hoped that the Aranthians would welcome his men with eager friendship and the barracks would quickly become their new home.

Once supplies were accounted for and warm meals had been cooked and distributed, the dwarves spread quilted pads out on the stone near the warmth of the pools and crawled under heavy skins to sleep for as long as they could before starting out again in the morning. Only a handful of guards were needed to watch the entrances to the cave system and to keep an eye on the mules and wagons. Machai scheduled the watch shifts shorter than normal so that all of the men could get as much sleep as possible. Just as the sky was beginning to lighten, they all awoke refreshed and completely healed of the aches and pains from the long march. The rest of the journey to the valley would be easier, as it was downhill and a shorter distance, and the songs that were sung were jolly tunes about dancing gals and fruitful hunts.