Osric tried to resist, but he could not pull away. The hooded, garlic reeking man laid into Kenneth without mercy. Kenneth laughed at the man as he was battered, choking on his own blood, sweat, and saliva. Though he was inflicting pain on a massive scale, it soon became apparent to Osric that the man was holding back intentionally. Osric had unintentionally began to probe the man with the Empath gift he had inherited from Bridgett. The guard did not enjoy his job, and he halted the beating temporarily, looking back at Aron.
Kenneth looked at Osric, with swollen eyes and a bloody face, and smiled. “Do you think he would be happier if we gave him a few coppers to swallow,” he said. Then he looked at Aron. “I hear they can do wonders for your constipation, and that would improve your mood considerably.”
Aron spat at Kenneth and pushed the guard out of the way. He struck Kenneth with the backside of his hand and took a fistful of hair in his grasp. “My mood will be the least of your worries if you speak to me that way again. You will have a hard time eating without a tongue.” Then he kicked a heavy boot into Kenneth’s stomach.
Osric could not watch as Kenneth was tortured, so he offered a truth he felt he could afford without giving too much away. “I will tell you why we are here, if you promise to stop this and let us talk to your superior.” He hung his head in resignation.
“I’m listening.” Aron grasped his hands behind his back and slowly stepped in front of Osric.
“We are trying to delay the war.”
“What,” Kenneth shouted, looking at Osric in disbelief. Osric looked at him with an apologetic stare, but he could see no other way.
“Why would you want to delay the war?” Aron inclined his head in curiosity, examining Osric’s face for sincerity.
“Our investigation of the explosion has shown some information that suggests strange activities in our government before the palace was destroyed. We don’t know if the Turgent knows about these activities, or if he is behind them. We need to find out who was responsible before going to war or countless lives will be lost!” Osric held Aron’s gaze, probing him for emotions. Genuine shock covered all other emotions as his eyes widened.
“So, your efforts have all been to delay things while you investigated?” He walked away, pacing the room. His eyes wandered the floor as he spoke, “You, freeing the dragons, and fighting with the dwarves?”
“Yes,” Osric answered as Aron looked up at him, excitement filled his mind, and a smirk grew wider on his face.
“You don’t know how close you were. You may have found your answers if only you had not been caught.” Aron crossed the room, rubbing his palms together mischievously as he approached. He leaned in, nearly touching his forehead to Osric’s as he spoke. “But now, I have you here.” Aron turned and headed for the door, motioning the men to follow.
“You said you would let me speak to your superior!”
He turned back with a laugh. “We knew you might be a problem. You were supposed to die in the palace.” Signaling the men to wait at the door, he swaggered back. “What a clever pest you have become.”
“If you are this rude to all of your guests,” Kenneth spoke through swollen lips, “it’s no wonder your parties only have men.”
Aron glared at Kenneth with clenched teeth. Osric could feel the rage rising up inside of him. It was somewhat disorienting to discern the difference in his own feelings and Aron’s. The wild shifting between emotions that he was experiencing, mingling with his own, were difficult to navigate in his head.
“That is the last time you will insult me,” he signaled to the guard with bloody fists, “gag him. I will decide if he should keep his tongue tonight.”
“If you could douse it in a nice wine, that would be great.” Kenneth smiled up at him as he hung on the wall. “I’m in the mood for a red, if you have it. What do you think, Osric? One last toast to celebrate beating Aron for a second time?”
Aron filled with rage, but Osric could sense his restraint. Even as he kicked Kenneth repeatedly in the side, he held back. There were much darker places within him, and Osric could sense them, buried deep beneath the layer of calm that covered his face. Osric’s pleading went unheeded until Kenneth hung limp from the chains, his shallow breathing the only reassurance that he had survived the beating. The guard nervously placed the gag loosely on Kenneth and backed away toward the door.
Aron stood once more in front of Osric with grim satisfaction on his face. His breath came heavily from his latest activities, and the sweat that ran down his face gave him a sinister quality.
“You freed the dragons and nearly stopped the weapons shipment. Then you come in here with demands?” His voice was weary, and in the dim light Osric could hear water trickling as Aron whispered. “I guess you should know who you were up against before we kill you. I will tell you so you know just how futile your struggle has been.”
Osric looked up to meet the cold, determined eyes of a madman. His Portentist gift flared once again, and he felt the hairs on his neck stand in anticipation. The information was valuable, and Osric realized what had happened in the room. The beatings, the insults, the lack of concern for himself and careless way Kenneth had been acting was actually a plan. Osric wasn’t sure when Kenneth had come up with the idea, or why, but Osric hated letting his friend take a beating just so he could get information. However, discussing the sacrifice would have to wait until they were free. Kenneth had been goading Aron the whole time, hoping to make him lose his calm and gloat.
“Like they would trust you with a secret of that nature.” Kenneth mocked him one last time before the gag was forced into his mouth. Another vicious kick from Aron was his reward.
“You have no idea what I know.” Aron spun around, screaming in reply as he towered over Kenneth, breathing heavily from the exertion. “Leave us!”
The guards snapped to attention, nervously making their way to the door, and left the three of them alone in the dark room. The silence was only cut by the water dripping, the echo of Aron’s footsteps, and the cold, gravelly breath of the three men.
“You should already be dead.” Aron pointed at Osric. “He planned the destruction of the Ratification Ceremony, not only to start the war,” he shook his head, “but he had you promoted to make sure you would be in that palace. How did you get out of that rubble?”
Osric shook his head, unable to understand the mystery of his survival. He wanted to believe it had something to do with the unicorn, but he was starting to wonder if it had saved him or changed him somehow. Either way, he would not answer the question. He felt that he had given away too much information already, and his gift was reinforcing the importance of this little conversation already.
“Why would he want me dead?”
“That Portentist gift of yours, and you have to ask that question.” Aron walked to the table in the room, examining the weapons he had taken. “You have gathered a great deal of information, and in a short time, too. He knew you could be a problem and wanted to take care of that before it was an issue.”
“You keep saying ‘he.’” Osric watched Aron as he picked up his newly fashioned sword, and turned it over in his gloved hands. “Who is this man?”
“Man?” Aron arched his eyebrow and looked back. “If you only knew.” A wicked smile covered his face and he set the sword down, crossing the room and placing the soiled rags back into Osric’s mouth. “Why he does what he does is for him to tell you, but you both will be executed in the morning. That is your payment for what you did at Braya.” He patted Osric on the cheek.
Silence filled the room, and Osric closed his eyes. The pitter patter of rodents scurrying, dripping water, and all other sounds were drowned out to the intensity of the sensation the Portentist gift placed on the next words. Goose pimples covered his body in anticipation of the information. Though his hearing became sharper, it focused so that all other stimuli disappeared.
“The Turgent ordered your death, but he has not been himself for a year now. A sp
ell placed the will of another man in his heart, and that man has been leading us all. I will tell you who has beaten you,” Aron whispered in his ear. “Konsult Dredek.” Aron stepped back, his gloating face barely visible in the dim light.
Aron turned toward the table and gathered Osric’s wand in his hand. “A Gus wand is hard to come by in these parts. I think I will keep it.” He placed it in his belt.
Osric needed that wand. He could not let Aron take it, and he had all the information he had come for. For the first time since his capture, Osric felt panic rising up inside. Watching his wand moving toward the door brought him to almost unbearable longing. The wand was the source of all of his frustrations, the reason behind his changes, and was directly accompanied by the most foul mouthed prairie dog he had ever met. Yet, he found himself strangely desperate to hold it again.
Osric began to grind his teeth on the filthy towel that held back his words, hoping he could break through. Aron looked back at him after knocking on the door.
“Too bad you are stuck in here. I imagine this information would have been helpful. Don’t you wish you had let me kill that dwarf?”
*
Though he had not made much progress wearing through the gag with his teeth, Osric had managed to stretch the fabric with the motion. Then he attempted to push the soiled restraint out of his mouth with his tongue, leaving it burning in protest to the unnatural effort. Each time he tried, he could push the cloth out a bit further, then pulled it back in and began to stretch it again with the grinding of his teeth. He lost track of time in his struggle to free his mouth, pausing only at the sound of guards talking outside the door.
The taste of manure and urine permeated his mouth, but he knew the effort needed to continue. He pushed through the shaking of his tongue and wore it raw while trying to free himself. His final push forced the vile taste over his lips, and one final shake till it dropped from his chin to his chest.
“Eo ire itum,” Osric whispered. He found himself standing a few feet away, facing the door. He turned, rubbing his sore wrists and exhausted beyond reason, to face Kenneth. Quickly he tore the gag away and shook his unconscious, restrained friend. Kenneth stirred, wide eyed and favoring his right side.
“Well,” Kenneth forced a weak smile, “did you bring me some dinner?”
“I will buy you whatever you want, just as soon as we get out of here.” Osric held Kenneth’s arm and spoke softly again, “Eo ire itum.”
They stood in front of the table as the restraints clamored against the stone wall, and Osric helped Kenneth to the chair. The pain from his beating was obvious as he cradled his ribs. Osric grabbed a dusty bowl from the shelves behind the table, and held it under the trickle of water to get something for Kenneth to drink.
“This won’t taste very good, but you need to drink,” Osric said after a small amount had been collected.
“Okay, but next time, ask them for some mead to take the edge off, please.”
Osric forced a weak smile and set the bowl down after taking a drink. He watched as Kenneth suffered with each cough while struggling to swallow the water. Osric had a moment of regret that his father had died before his new talent to absorb abilities had developed; he wanted to examine Kenneth for injuries but couldn’t without his father’s gift.
“Let me check your ribs.” Osric motioned for Kenneth to lift his arms.
“They are broken. No need to check them,” Kenneth replied.
“Trust me, lift up your arms.” Osric’s tone, though quiet, was obviously not a request. Kenneth raised his arms and Osric placed his hands over the ribs. He closed his eyes and spoke as silently as he could, “Emendandum.” A warming sensation flowed over his hands, and through them.
“What was that?”
Osric opened his eyes to see amusement on Kenneth’s face. He had spent a lot of time reading the mysterious book that Ero had entrusted to him, and it occurred to him that he had not shared the information he learned with Kenneth.
“It was one of the spoken spells I can remember from the book.” Osric took his hands off of Kenneth’s chest and shrugged. “So, how do you feel?”
“Well,” Kenneth stood slowly, running his hands over his shirt, “I think his effort to tenderize me worked.” He cleared his throat, testing the extent of the spell’s effectiveness. “I’m not quite ready to dance, but coughing won’t hurt nearly as bad as it did a moment ago.”
Osric packed up his sword, and all of his supplies that were left on the table. Everything, that is, except his wand. Curiosity got the better of him as he wondered why they would leave the supplies in the room with them, but he was grateful for their lack of planning as he pocketed the book.
“Great, then what do you say we get out of here so I can buy you that steak?” Osric helped Kenneth to his feet. “I could use a few glasses of mead myself, and I think I owe you a drink at The Rusty Wagon, anyway.”
“Well then, let’s get going. I need a softer bed than this place has to offer, but the scars should get me some much appreciated attention from Jane.”
Osric steadied Kenneth and supported him as they turned to the door. He pictured Stanton in his mind, and as he spoke the spell, the familiar sensations began. A sudden jerk, and the feeling of being dragged backward sent his mind racing with panic. A sharp, crushing pain coursed through his face and consciousness slipped away rapidly, leaving nothing but a cold, familiar blackness to end his pain.
Chapter 15
____________
Magical Musings
Bridgett closed the book she was holding and placed it on the table in front of her. She could remember Eublin reading those same tales to her when she first came to the Grove. She had always thought of them as myths, children’s stories, and Eublin had seemed like an eccentric, old uncle who believed in the impossible. Having seen what she had over the past few weeks with Osric, though, she was beginning to reassess what Eublin’s tales might mean for the uses of magic. It had been years since she had read Eublin’s research, as he called it, and she was struggling to focus on it. As much as she enjoyed the memories the stories provoked, she just couldn’t keep her mind on the words in the book. She was torn between being furious with Osric for kissing her and wishing she hadn’t reprimanded him for it. She was confused and frustrated by the rapid changes her life had undergone.
Her responsibilities were to the Grove of Unicorns. She was supposed to insure that the secrets of the Grove were not exposed. She was supposed to use her abilities to assist the unicorns in maintaining balance. Up until she met Osric, she thought that maintaining balance meant tending to the inhabitants of the Grove. Not only were there unicorns, Maidens, and Eublin living within the protection of the Grove of Unicorns, there were also a seemingly endless variety of plants and animals that flourished in the perpetual summer within the mysterious spell. While they would probably go right on thriving without her, Bridgett had always felt that it was her responsibility to watch over them.
She had spent fifteen peaceful, pleasant years among the unicorns. Although she remembered her early childhood and her years in training with the Healers of Araseth fondly, she felt as though she had spent nearly her entire life devoted to the Grove and the unicorns. Most of her time had been spent collecting herbs, tending to the gardens, and studying with Eublin. She had often traveled outside the Grove with the unicorns on brief trips, healing the sick or blessing the births of newborns around Archana, but she had never been gone for more than a few days until she climbed up onto that dragon with Osric. He had changed her entire world, truly he had changed her, and she wasn’t sure if she should curse him or thank him for it.
Osric was an enigma. He had more power than any wizard born on Archana in the history she was aware of. He had somehow acquired multiple innate abilities, which Bridgett had never considered possible. Each inhabitant of Archana was born with one ability-one measure of magic-so how could Osric possibly have so many? Yet, as powerful as he had become, Osric was often car
eless, hasty, and uncertain of his own abilities. He was too inexperienced to have such responsibility thrust upon his shoulders, but he always managed to find a way out of trouble. From the first day she had met him, she knew the unicorns were interested in him. She hadn’t had the faintest idea then of why that may be. Now, it seemed obvious that they must have known that Osric’s fate would be tied to the future of Archana. She wished she could discern how his fate was tied to her own.
She had always expected that her life would be quiet and peaceful, a safe existence within the protection of the Grove. She had never expected that she would someday be caught up in a struggle for peace or entwined in the fate of all of Archana. She had spent her entire life distanced from others, yet all she could think about was getting closer to Osric.
Bridgett wished she could speak with the unicorns. For the first time in her life, her Empath ability seemed completely inadequate for her to do her job. She could feel a sense of something great from the unicorns, as if the world were on a tipping point. It was as though they were watching these events with excitement and awe. Change was in the thoughts of every unicorn mind she touched, and they were unsure for the first time in her memory.
Bridgett cradled her head in her hands and took a deep breath. Pining over Osric would do her no good, and it may keep her from finding something important that could help him. She was about to pick the book back up and resign herself to getting through it without thinking about Osric when she heard voices outside the room. She glanced out into the hall just in time to see Eublin and Gus disappear into the main library. Glad for the distraction, she grabbed the book and followed them.
Gus and Eublin were already seated and engrossed in their discussion about the explosion at the palace in Stanton. Eublin smiled at her as she entered and indicated with a nod that she should take the chair next to him.
The High-Wizard's Hunt: Osric's Wand: Book Two Page 16