The Weaving of Wells (Osric's Wand, Book Four) (55 page)

“We will be there in a moment,” Gus said, eyeing Osric with worry as he wrapped up the conversation with Machai. “Keep the area open for us. And Machai, if there happens to be a healer nearby, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone around in case our fearless leader doesn’t recover quickly from his spell fatigue.”

Machai nodded curtly and tucked his wand into place on his belt. He motioned two men out of the way near the fused stone wall and called one of them to his side.

“Be finding a healer immediately—someone who be having a great understanding of the sickness from using too much magic.” Machai sent the man running off into the tunnels, and he turned around just in time to see Bridgett appear with Osric leaning heavily on her arm and Gus perched on her shoulder.

Osric’s skin was pale and clammy, and his eyes rolled upward slightly as the effects of the traveling spell washed over him. He stumbled forward a step, but Bridgett’s hand was firm on his arm and helped to steady him. After a moment, he was able to stand upright on his own and approach Machai to grasp his wrist and thank him for a successful battle for the Well of Strands.

“It be me honor to be fighting for ye, but I be suspecting ye be responsible for the fall of the dreadful wizard. Dredek be collapsing in death with no man taking a weapon to him.” Machai kept hold of Osric’s wrist, counting the rapid pulse of the High-Wizard’s heartbeat to reassure himself that the man was not in danger of collapsing. Color was returning to Osric’s cheeks slowly, and his eyes were already looking clearer. Once Machai was confident that Osric’s condition was not likely to overcome his ability to heal and recover quickly, he released his grip on Osric and motioned for them to follow him along the high wall of the chamber. Machai walked slowly, not wanting to tax Osric’s body too much after what must have been a terrible ordeal, and the three new arrivals followed him closely. Machai stopped near the body of Dredek, still lying on the stone floor of the chamber, allowing Osric a moment to take in the sight.

Seeing the corpse of the powerful wizard flooded Osric with conflicting emotions: relief and revulsion, a small amount of pride, but mostly regret that he had once again taken the life of another. He knew that he had spared the world from Dredek’s reign of death and destruction, and he had likely saved many lives by ending the life of the caldereth wizard.

“I wish this hadn’t been necessary,” Osric muttered to himself softly. “And I hope I’m not wrong to think it
was
necessary.”

Osric took a shaky step away from the body and turned his full attention back to Machai. “What became of the caldereth bones? We should give them a proper burial, and Dredek too. Though many of his means were wicked, he was motivated by a love for his people and a deep sense of regret.” Osric’s hands trembled and his brow was creased over red eyes.

“The caldereth be well contained.” Machai thought about his flames spilling down the stairs and trapping the newly risen people at the bottom of the well, and he was surprised by the compassion in Osric’s voice when he spoke of burying Dredek’s body.

“Wait, do you mean that Dredek was successful? The caldereth are alive?” His voice raw with dread and defeat, Osric feared he had killed Dredek for nothing if the caldereth had been able to raise his people from the dead before Osric’s spell had killed him. He had destroyed the greatest source of power ever discovered on Archana, and it had all been for nothing if the caldereth wizard’s spell had been completed before Osric severed his power supply.

“Aye, the caldereth be risen from the dead, but they seem to be having no magic. At least, they be having no luck in attacking me with it when they be trying.” Machai wondered if the disappointment in Osric’s voice was due to his fatigue or to the news of the caldereth’s lives.

“If they have no connection to Archana,” Bridgett said, “then they could not wield magic as they were once able to. Aridis said something similar about the deer that I encountered in the forest.”

“If they can’t wield magic, they will be of little threat to any of us.” Osric cradled his head in his hands as he thought about the implications of the day’s events. “Though, it means they will be incredibly vulnerable to anyone who may wish them harm. I had intended to stop Dredek from bringing them back to life, and I failed. But we set out to stop the slaughter of an entire race, and I’m not about to perpetrate the same upon the caldereth. It is not their fault that Dredek undertook this path, and I will not punish them for existing at the hands of a dead madman.”

“Where are they now?” Bridget asked, eyeing Osric with worry.

“They be trapped in the depths of the Well of Strands. I be shielding the opening of the well to be keeping strands out—in case it be a fluke that they be failing to assail me with their spells.”

“Trapped?” Osric glanced over at Machai. “How exactly are they trapped in the well?”

“I be spilling some flames down the steps. I be needing a quick exit with Dredek’s corpse to be stopping the fighting, and I be needing to know they willn’t be following me up the stairs and into the tunnels. If they be having their magic, it be likely that I be dead now. It’d be a hard fight to be taking on hundreds by meself when one hand be gripping the dead wizard’s robes.”

“I’m glad you made it out safely, Machai, but we can’t just leave them down there. Do you know who is in charge of the irua now?”

Bridgett shuddered silently as she recalled the raspy voice of the Nagish condemning her to death, and worse, the lustful eyes and curved blade of the tan-robed irua who planned to carry it out while she was lashed to the stone slab in the center of the main chamber that they had just appeared in. It had not been her only brush with death, nor her most recent, but it was the one experience that still caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end and left her reaching for a weapon at her belt.

“The last leader, the Nagish, died in Dredek’s initial invasion. Surely by now they have another in the position. Though, I guess I know little of the traditions and politics of the irua. Do you know how a Nagish is selected?” Bridgett asked Osric.

“If my memory serves me well from my time as Contege of the Vigiles, the Nagish will not be named until three full moons after the last is laid to rest. It is not a familial progression, nor is it an election, but I do not know more than that about the selection process.” Osric’s eyes were still red rimmed, but they looked brighter after the brief time he’d had to rest.

“Then they are a leaderless people, for now.” Bridgett tried to shake her memory of the irua with the long, curved knife. “We should be seeking out the sect that is charged with protecting the well. They wear the tan robes, and those of highest rank have gold embroidery along the collar.”

“That is probably the best place to start. Machai, can you see if you can find an irua of that description?”

“Aye.” Machai turned and disappeared into the crowd of celebrating Aranthians.

“Osric, be cautious. Not all members of the sect will welcome us here.” Bridgett shuddered slightly once more, and Osric nodded, needing no verbal explanation for her reservations—she had told him of her experience, and he could sense each of her emotions as if they were his own.

Machai returned quickly with an irua in long, tan robes with elaborate gold embroidery covering the entire length of the fabric. Bridgett was surprised to see so much of the gleaming thread stitched into the robes, and she wondered if the man who had tried to kill her had been of much rank at all. Osric greeted the man formally but warmly, hoping to form a quick alliance.

“Thank you for meeting with us. With the Nagish gone, we were unsure who would be able to make decisions concerning the irua people.”

The golden-robed irua stared at Osric with narrowed eyes and lips pressed tightly together. His skin was pale, almost bluish in tint, and heavily wrinkled with age. He stood as tall as Osric, with thin limbs and long, straight hair that hung in a narrow braid over one shoulder.

“Are you responsible for the damage that has been done to the Well of Strands?” His voice was high-pitched and raspy, as much air as sound, but his words held more authority than accusation.

“I am.” Osric would not deny his role in the destruction of the source of strands, but his tone displayed no pride or arrogance for the feat. “I regret that the Well of Strands was damaged, but there was no other way that I could see to defeat Dredek and stop him from executing his plans.”

The irua’s expression did not shift as he listened to Osric speak, but he seemed to be weighing the High-Wizard with his eyes.

“You did defeat him, but did you stop him?”

“No, not entirely. I suspect that I interrupted his spell before it was completed, as his people are alive but apparently unable to use magic.”

“This is true,” the irua said. “The caldereth people will never be able to touch Archana.” Osric felt as if the questions were more of a test than a request for new information. It seemed that the protector of the well already knew of everything Osric said. “Is the damage you have caused irreparable?”

“I cannot say that the well could not ever be restored to a functional strand source, but I believe it would be naïve to say that it could ever be as it was. I have a great deal of work ahead of me to try and repair the world where magic has altered it. I will do whatever I can to bring balance back to Archana.”

The irua did not respond for a long while, and Osric only just managed to remain still and patient as he considered his own feelings about the spell he had sent halfway across Archana and the extensive damage it had done. Finally, the irua in the golden robes ended his scrutiny of Osric and turned his attention to Bridgett.

“Can you forgive this man for the damage he has done?”

Bridgett’s eyebrows arched upward and her mouth parted slightly in surprise at the unexpected question.

“Of course I can. He did what he did to end a war and save the irua people, among many others.” Her brow creased in confusion. “I never felt that there was anything to forgive. I do not feel that he has erred.”

The irua nodded slightly, watching Bridgett carefully. “You cannot feel the despair of the earth you tread upon? You are what is needed for the wells—your bones should ache with Archana’s pain.”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean I am what is needed?” Bridgett looked up into the old irua’s face and shook her head softly.

“It is not wrong that Trevar trusted you, but you are blind.” The irua opened his mouth as if he would say more, but then he shook his head and said, “It is not only trees that sing songs of sorrow.” He turned back to Osric. “What is it that you want from me, High-Wizard?”

“The caldereth were contained within the well, but that is a temporary solution. I wanted to consult you on the fate of the caldereth people.”

“They are already being moved to a portion of the tunnels where they can be cared for and watched until we understand what it is that they are. The irua do not wait for warlords to hold councils when there is work to do beneath our sands. We will take care of Angmar. You are welcome to leave our city at your soonest convenience.” The irua turned to Bridgett. “If ever you wish to learn to see, you are welcome to return.”

Although it was not said, Osric heard the implication that he would not be welcomed in Angmar with her if Bridgett did return. The damage his spell had caused reached far beyond the terrain of Archana, and Osric wasn’t sure he would ever be able to restore the alliances that had been so nearly established at the Ratification Ceremony. Perhaps it was foolish to think that their world could ever exist in peace between all races.

* * *

Aeya’s cheeks showed dirty streaks where her tears had streamed down her face. The scraps of clothing that the irua had provided her with before locking all of her people into a small region of the tunnels covered her naked body, but they were damp from her tears and anxious sweat. She had wailed in agony until her throat was raw and her voice was hoarse.

Now, she sat in silence against the wall with her knees pulled tightly toward her chest. Her body ached, and her muscles twitched and spasmed painfully as they became accustomed to living and moving once more. Her long, thin fingers were wrapped around a smooth stone, but her eyes were gazing off toward the images her mind replayed of waking to see Dredek once again—only to see him fall to the ground in death. Still her fingers clutched at the stone as they had clutched at his robes, begging for him to rise and breathe once more, pleading to find a beating heart rather than a cold stone buried in the fabric of his robes. Aeya’s lips moved as if she were whispering to him, and her fingers clawed at the rock, but her eyes were still and staring; no amount of compassion or companionship from her people could console her.

29 — A Vision of Death

For the Aranthians, the last few months had been remarkable. Indeed, the fledgling organization had begun exploring magic in ways that couldn’t have been dreamt of before. They had grown from a few members who were thrust together in a time of turmoil to hundreds of volunteers who could sustain their growing population for the foreseeable future. They had toppled formidable forces, solved magical mysteries, and freed an enslaved species from cruel cages. Gus sat on the edge of the balcony overlooking the inner gardens of the Aranthian habitat and took it all in.

However, it wasn’t only the Aranthians’ success that caused him to pulse with pride. It wasn’t the stumps being pulled out of the southeast corner of the grounds or the eight men and women making it happen that caused his heart to swell, a smile to crease his face, and tears to dampen the fur of his face. It was the plump, jovial ball of fur directing them all on where to leave the wood they pulled out of the earth that made a laugh escape Gus’s mouth.

He was so lost in the moment, watching his son command a group of acquiescent humans, that he didn’t hear the door open behind him, but a soft familiar chuckle brought him out of his solitary observation.

“I wonder what our friends would think if I told them I found you in here alone giggling to yourself. We all thought you practiced bickering with people when no one was around.” Osric stepped up to the balustrade and let his feet slide through the rails, joining Gus in his good mood.