The Weaving of Wells (Osric's Wand, Book Four) (53 page)

The beast raked its claws across the floor, leaving four long indentations on either side of its body in the otherwise smooth, well-worn stone of the passage. It snarled again and then hurled its mass toward the crowd of mingled troops.

“No magic! Brawn and sharp blades, me brothers!” Machai hefted his axe and shouted as he shifted his weight. His blade caught the hind leg of the beast as it rushed past him, rending its flesh and spilling thick blood across the stone. The creature never twitched from the wound, as if it hadn’t even noticed the bite of the blade in its leg, but Machai was reassured to see that his weapon could inflict an injury in the stone-like skin of the beast.

His optimism faded in the blink of an eye as he watched a dwarf and two human soldiers get ripped apart by the creature’s fierce claws as it encountered the bulk of the crowd. Soldiers screamed and scattered on the edge of the crowd, and Machai muttered insults about cowardice as he rushed toward the monster with his axe gripped firmly in both hands. Three Aranthians were holding the thing at bay with their swords, and Machai launched himself up onto its back while its focus was on the other men. He landed on its spine in a crouch, but the beast twisted its torso viciously in response to the threat. Machai nearly tumbled to the ground, but he swung his blade down and caught the monster’s neck with his axe. Keeping a firm grip on the handle, Machai was able to pull himself up onto its back as he pulled the weapon free. With another solid swing of the axe, Machai took its head off, and his men yelled out a mix of cheer and battle cry.

As Machai slid off the heap of muscle and bone, he grimaced to see two more of the creatures drop out of the tunnel’s ceiling. He adjusted his grip on his axe and called out encouragement to his men.

“Our blades be more vicious than be their bite. Be sinking in yer teeth, brothers.”

His troops had gathered themselves into a tight unit, forming a solid wall of steel across the tunnel. The Aranthian archers took their places behind the dwarves, arrows nocked and ready to launch. Dredek’s men had separated themselves from the Aranthians, reforming further up the tunnel and eyeing both the rock monsters and Machai’s men with violent intent. Machai called out an articulate grunt, ordering a few men to watch the soldiers and prevent an ambush. It seemed the cowards were content to let Machai and his men battle the sharp-clawed beasts, but Machai worried they would be fighting on two fronts if the soldiers decided to take advantage of the situation. He kept his attention on the monsters, counting on his men to give adequate warning from behind if necessary.

“Fire!”

The archers let loose the arrows, but the majority of the projectiles glanced off the thick, wrinkled hides like toys. A few found their mark, and the enraged creatures sprinted toward them with shafts bristling from their faces and torsos. Machai resisted the temptation to launch fireballs, knowing they would only absorb the magic and feed their rage. He fell into line with his comrades and readied himself for the battle.

The creatures came on fast, claws slashing and teeth gnashing, tearing into the frontline. His men held out well, those in front defending themselves and each other with shields while the row behind stabbed and slashed with blades. It wasn’t a perfect fight, and several of his men took wounds that would require rapid, intricate healing to save their lives, but the beasts fell with agonizing roars.

Just as the animals cried out in death, Machai heard the warning cries of his men indicating an attack from Dredek’s soldiers. The unit responded quickly, resuming the fight with the elite human troops. Wands were drawn, and Machai allowed the magic to rush to his fingertips. He launched three fireballs in quick succession, clearing the heads of the dwarves and slipping past the other Aranthians. Fire blasted the frontline of the soldiers, enveloping half a dozen men in flames.

Machai ordered the charge, and he rushed headlong with his men into the fray. He swung his axe methodically, no longer concerned for the lives he had to take to reach his destination. While the troops were loyal to the Human Realm, which Machai still saw as an ally, Dredek had established the Aranthians as enemies, and his soldiers wouldn’t stop fighting to keep Machai from the Well of Strands. He cut through the troops swiftly, pushing toward the end of the tunnel and the promise of fulfilling his mission.

Finally, Machai struck out with his blade and there were no more soldiers to fell. He glanced around for the doorway, and he barely heard his men cheering behind him to celebrate their success. Machai rushed down the tunnel, past all of the bodies and his own men, until he found the entrance that he needed.

The archway loomed before him, a small break in the smooth stone wall of the tunnels. He hurried to it, ducking slightly to slip through the opening, and he slid to a stop on the platform inside. Looking around quickly, he noticed a wide ramp leading down into the darkness off to his left. Before he could descend, he needed to know what he was rushing into. Machai moved slowly and quietly to the edge of the stone ledge on his hands and knees and peered down into the well. His breath caught in his throat at what he saw.

Dredek stood in the center of the well. Scores of bodies were strewn about on the stone floor around him, and Dredek held a wand in each hand. Machai was surprised to see that the bodies were whole, not the bones and decaying flesh he had feared he would see, and if he didn’t know better he would have thought the caldereth were merely sleeping. Dredek began to tremble, but he kept his arms aloft with the wands gripped tightly in his hands. Sweat gleaned on his pale skin, and Machai could only imagine how much magic he was channeling through his body while standing in the Well of Strands.

Machai pushed himself back from the edge and tore his gaze from the wizard. He hoped that whatever Osric had planned would happen soon, because the bodies that filled the well looked as if they could awake and rise up at any moment. Machai knew that if Osric failed, no one other than himself would be standing between Dredek and an army of caldereth. He gripped his axe in one hand and his wand in the other and headed for the ramp.

Machai stayed close to the wall, wanting to get as close to the bottom of the well before Dredek could have a chance to see him and lash out with his magic. He hoped that the wicked caldereth wizard would be too deeply engaged in the spell he was casting to notice a dwarf sneaking down the ramp toward him.

Before he had made it a third of the way down the ramp, Machai encountered the first of the caldereth bodies laid out on the stone. It seemed that the floor of the well had not been large enough to contain all of the caldereth corpses that Dredek had brought with him. Machai stepped around the head of the body, pressing his back against the smooth stone that encircled the well. His progress was slow, as he feared that disturbing any of the bodies was likely to draw Dredek’s attention. He placed his feet carefully, stepping over or around each of the still, dead caldereth as he made his way deeper into the darkness. He could see nothing but shadows and the faint outlines of the bodies near the wall at the bottom of the well. Had he been able to get a clear view of a safe place to conceal himself, he could have just traveled by spell and waited for the opportune time to attack Dredek, but the only way to stay out of sight of the wizard was to stay far enough toward the wall that his height and the ramp concealed him from view.

Machai was two-thirds of the way down the ramp when he froze in midstep, his back pressed against the wall. He could see the top of Dredek’s head if he leaned forward, and if he descended any further he would be exposed, but that was not what made him stop. The caldereth at his feet, a pale man with thinning hair and sunken cheeks, took a shuddering breath as Machai stepped around his feet. Machai stood rooted to the stone, scared to move or even to exhale, and the man took another labored breath. The other bodies above and below Machai on the ramp also began to breathe. Their muscles twitched beneath their glistening skin, their fingers moved against the cold stone, and their eyelids fluttered open. It was happening; Dredek was bringing the caldereth back to life, and Osric hadn’t stopped him.

Machai stepped forward from the wall, risking discovery by Dredek, but he could not just stand on the ramp in the midst of an undead army and wait for them to notice him and call out. From the edge of the ramp, Machai could clearly see Dredek still standing in the well, but he saw nowhere that he could travel to that would put him close enough to strike at the wizard without Dredek seeing him coming. Some of the caldereth along the ramp and on the floor of the well were beginning to stir, trying to push their long-dead bodies up from the cold stone. Many of them clutched at their chests, groaning or grimacing in pain. Machai finally saw what he was looking for; a large wooden chest sat open in the shadowy recess where the wall met the underside of the original stairs that Dredek had covered with the ramp. Machai could not tell if the chest was empty, but he spoke the traveling spell out of desperation. “Eo ire itum.”

Machai appeared inside of an empty chest that smelled like fresh-turned earth. As he peered up over the rim of the chest, he felt a deep rumble in the stone beneath them. The ground shook, knocking Machai down into the chest. He heard the sound of stone rending, a cracking boom so loud that it made his ears ring. Then, the stone stilled and all fell silent. When Machai pulled himself back up and looked out at the well, Dredek lay in a crumpled heap in the bowl at the center of the room. He saw a caldereth woman with long, black hair crawl across the floor to the wizard’s body with tears spilling down her cheeks and a forlorn wail emitting from her lips.

The caldereth were rising from the floor all around the well, but Machai leapt from the chest brandishing his wand and axe. Dredek might have fallen, but he had succeeded in raising his people before he had collapsed. Machai needed to make sure the wizard was dead and keep the caldereth people from continuing his reign of terror against the irua.

Before Machai could cross the distance to Dredek’s body, caldereth surrounded him. They were naked and unarmed, but they stood more than twice his height and they had a severe advantage in numbers. Machai cast shielding spells around himself, trying to stay alive for long enough to fight his way through to Dredek. He swung his axe in a wide arc, forcing several caldereth to fall back a step to avoid the blade. In response, three of the caldereth cast out their hands toward Machai, and the expressions of confusion and dismay on their faces told Machai that they were as surprised as he was when no magic abilities lashed out at him. He wasn’t sure what the caldereth had tried to attack him with, but he was relieved to see that they were not capable of using their magic. When repeated attempts yielded no results, the cladereth who surrounded him began to look worried and hesitate in confronting him and his large axe.

Machai formed a ball of fire and sent it spinning slowly through the air in the direction of Dredek’s body. Machai followed it closely, and the ring of caldereth shifted to allow the fire and Machai to pass. The woman was clutching at Dredek’s robes, sobbing loudly against his chest. When Machai approached, she scrambled back in fear of the fierce dwarf with his weapons and fire. He reached down and placed two fingers against Dredek’s neck, but he could find no pulse. The wizard was dead, and the caldereth were alive but somehow incomplete. Machai didn’t know what had happened, but he knew that he must keep the caldereth contained until Osric arrived and the Aranthians could form a plan to handle the new situation.

Machai gripped Dredek’s arm and whispered the traveling spell, appearing with the body on the platform at the top of the ramp. He would take Dredek’s corpse to Osric, but first he must contain the caldereth. Machai moved to the edge of the ramp and looked down, smiling at the sight of over one hundred caldereth staring wide-eyed at the center of the well, where he had just vanished from sight. Machai cast a spell over the bowl in the center of the floor. If the caldereth recovered their magic, he did not want them to have access to the amplified power of the well. Then, he laid a line of flames across the top of the ramp and sent them slowly spilling downward toward the bottom of the well. He heard the caldereth gasp when they saw the flames moving toward them, and soon all of the caldereth were standing together on the floor of the well. Machai stopped the flames from spreading, but he left them burning on the ramp. He didn’t want to hurt anyone if he didn’t have to, but he would not allow the newly risen people to move freely out into the world. He would keep them contained here until Osric could be found.

Machai grabbed Dredek’s robes behind the wizard’s neck and dragged the body through the archway and out into the tunnels of Angmar.

* * *

With the spell completed and the Well of Strands cut off from its source of magic in Archana, Osric cut off the flow of strands and lowered his hand. His arm ached in the joints but felt numb and disconnected everywhere else. The muscles in his chest and shoulder were spasming, causing his arm to twitch and his hand to tremble. He could feel a sharp, searing pain in his neck and he feared that the strands had torn through his nerves the same way they had blasted through the rock and sand of Archana. His head was throbbing with his pulse, causing his vision to waver with every beat of his heart. Osric staggered over to the steps and sat down, cradling his head in his hands. He hadn’t felt fatigue like this from the overuse of magic in a very long time.

Bridgett rushed over to him with concern creasing her brow and waves of worry washing over him as the Empath ability regained its active state. Osric didn’t bother trying to temper the gift’s effect, but he had little energy left and he barely noticed the emotions of his companions. His own feelings were muted and vague, his exhaustion settling over his spirit like a dense fog.

Bridgett worked quickly and silently, using a variety of her new gifts to evaluate his condition as she administered care. She dabbed a sweet-smelling oil on his temples and another with a heady floral scent to the pulse on his neck. She mixed several different herbs and a bitter, black paste into a small tin of water, heating it with a spell until it began to steam.