“But this just isn’t right.”
“It is not what you expected, but this is what we have to offer. What you have to decide is whether our small organization bent on overthrowing a corrupt government is where you want to place your allegiance. Is room and board worth the price of your stone, knowing that our headquarters is not the place of majesty you had heard it to be, and even if you will have to work harder than you may be used to?” Osric threw the weight of each word at Orson. There was no room for half-hearted idol worshipers. He didn’t have time to waste with legend seekers.
If anything could end Osric’s suffering, he knew that it was ending the war with Dredek, the war against every bad moment that he had faced in the last year, the war against the phantoms that haunted his dreams. It was his enemy, his misery, his phantom, his war.
“Well, room and board is a better deal than I’ve been getting lately.” Orson ran a massive paw over his head as he gazed timidly at the dark building. He took his time, pondering his options. Shaking his head, he turned to face the group with a tentative nod. “I suppose this is my best option, but I do tend to eat a bit more than the average human. Your cooks may have their hands full keeping up with my appetite.”
“I am sure they can handle your needs.” Osric stepped forward and placed his left hand on Orson’s arm. “Do we have a deal then?”
“We do.” Orson slapped Osric on the right arm, hard enough to knock him a few steps sideways, eliciting laughter from both Gus and Kenneth. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to put so much force into that.”
Osric rubbed his arm casually. “If I can’t handle that, then I shouldn’t be the leader of a rebellion, huh?” He smiled and motioned the group to follow him toward the barracks. “Orson, you are decisively invited into our sanctuary.”
Orson gasped and nearly lost his footing as the scenery before them changed. It was as though a wave of magic washed over the entire area, changing the dark and dreary into the bright and cheerful. Though still night, everything was well lit by bright lights on stone pillars surrounding the location. The light encompassed the entire area and highlighted grounds, which were well tended with flowers, freshly trimmed grass, and hedges. The barracks itself was clean and every window shown bustling with life and light. Sprites darted mischievously through the trees, while brightly colored fairies flitted from one flower to the next, seemingly aimless in their wandering.
Wielding practice swords and wands, small groups of young warriors practiced late into the evening in a ferocious form of combat. Others grappled in an unarmed fighting style called DuJok, while several dwarves and humans gave instructions to those doing battle. On benches outside the door to the building, surrounded by low-cut hedges and winding garden paths, many different species and creatures sat engaged in scholarly debate.
In the distance, the six tall pillars stood vigil, warding against any danger that might attempt to gain entrance. Yet, in contrast to their steadfast silence, the whole of the enclosure was teeming with life. Orson was rooted in place, mouth agape as he took it in. His eyes darted from one location to the next, hardly able to focus on one thing before another attracted his gaze.
“I know it is a lot to take in, but you haven't seen anything yet.” Kenneth motioned for Orson to follow him inside the barracks.
“Yes, and after that overly dramatic introduction, you may have caused another to become as useless as you have been lately.” Gus grimaced at Osric.
“Gus, be polite and introduce me to our new friend, won’t you?”
Orson turned at the new voice and consciously closed his mouth.
“Well, of course my lovely lady.” Gus’s tone shifted significantly as he turned to face a beautiful, red-haired woman carrying a hammer and wearing a leather apron. “Where are my manners? Jane, this is Orson. Orson, this is Jane, the loveliest blacksmith this side of Rowain, and lover of the blockhead with the long braid standing next to you.”
Jane smiled warmly up at Orson.
“That’s right, and I can't think of a man more lucky in all of Archana.” Kenneth approached her with a silly grin and embraced her eagerly.
“Nor can I,” Gus muttered, shaking his head.
“Well, the lady’s eyes tell me she feels lucky as well.” Orson tilted his head and examined the couple. “And there is no finer couple than one in which both sides feel that they are the better for the coupling.
“Ah, it’s another sappy day, and me without my handkerchief. Tell you what, I have better things to do. You are taking up the time I need to spend examining the most important magical artifact of our time. Osric, when you are all done fondling your emotions, I’ll be in my study.” Gus scampered into the building without so much as a look back. “He is always useless after watching you two snuggle anyway!”
Orson laughed at Gus’s sarcastic remarks and watched him disappear into the remarkable structure. He shifted his weight, clearly anxious to get inside and see what other treasures were in store, then turned his head to see a desperate, pain-filled expression on Osric’s face. Jane and Kenneth had stepped a respectful distance apart, looking nervously at each other.
“Did I miss something?” Orson inquired.
“Nothing of any importance.” Osric’s voice took on an overly formal tone and he shook his head, almost imperceptibly, toward Kenneth. “Follow me, and I’ll show you where you will be staying.” Orson followed with a lingering expression of bewilderment.
The doorway opened up to a large, brightly lit room with passageways leading off to either side at the far end. Several rectangular tables sat perpendicular to the walls, with benches lining each side. Orson grinned in appreciation.
“I can smell the wonderful aromas taunting me now. I believe I will be spending a good deal of time in this room,” Orson said. The tables were sparsely occupied with late-night diners engaged in low conversations.
“The kitchen is nearly always open, but you are at the mercy of the cook for the menu.” Osric encouraged them to follow him through the dining hall.
“Don’t let him scare you. James thrives in the kitchen all day and can likely prepare anything you request better than you have ever had it before,” Jane said reassuringly as they walked. Osric paused at the end of the room, where the passages split off in either direction. “And if Kenneth is a reliable source, my late-night snacks are not too bad. I would be happy to fix you anything you want, if I am available.” She winked up at Kenneth and patted his ribs where he had recently gained a little weight.
“This passage leads to the libraries and classrooms.” Osric indicated the hallway to the right and then turned and headed to the left. “This way to the conference rooms and sleeping quarters.” They turned down several more corridors and passed a multitude of open and closed doors before striding into a large welcoming room with an external window. “There aren’t many rooms this large here, but luckily it is available. I hope you will find the accommodations acceptable.”
“Compared to the hard ground I am used to sleeping on, this room is a haven of comforts.” Orson stretched his massive body and stifled a yawn. “I am sure if I follow the scent of a delicious breakfast I will be able to find my way through this maze back to the dining area.”
“If you get lost, just ask anyone you see. Everyone here will be glad to help you find your way. Crossing that barrier was like being welcomed home. If you are invited in, you are welcome.” Osric smiled. Assured that Orson had everything he would need to sleep comfortably, he ushered everyone from the room.
* * *
Orson awoke early when the distant aromas of a meal began to waft through the halls. His stomach rumbled as he let his nose lead the way through the corridor. Honey ham, biscuits, eggs, and sausage were only a few of the distinct scents that guided him. It wasn’t long before he found himself walking into the dining hall in time to watch a portly man easing a tray of bread onto a table near the door.
He stood at the entrance, savoring the aroma of the freshl
y baked loaves and glanced around the large room. His eyes fell on a forlorn form sitting alone on a bench across the dining hall. Orson recognized the figure as Osric, and he wondered why the famous man was sitting all alone, looking intently at the tabletop. He approached the table, excusing himself as he passed by the few stragglers that had made their way to the kitchen for the first meal of the day. Orson breathed deeply and relished the taste of the air in the room, but his mind was focused oddly on Osric, in spite of the temptation to his senses.
Pulling out the seat across the table from Osric, Orson sat down and cleared his throat gently. No sign of movement or recognition came, so he studied Osric’s posture and demeanor. Curiosity kept his attention from the food, as he wondered how in only a few weeks he had gone from his selling trinkets from one village to the next to sitting at the table with the very man responsible for all the rumors that had made their way to his ears.
Yet, the human who sat in front of him was so different than the figure portrayed in all the gossip that Orson had a hard time believing he was the one. He knew that the children's descriptions of a giant wielding an invisible wand wouldn’t be correct, but he had suspected there to be more truth behind the declarations that he was a charismatic leader who brought joy to the lives he touched.
Osric sat silently at the table. A solemn, sorrowful shadow covered his entire being. Still, there was a purpose to him—a driving, merciless pursuit of something Orson could not make out. It was intimidating to be close to a man with so much determination that he didn’t notice an ursidae had just sat down across the table. Yet there was a soft, longing love behind Osric’s eyes that lent comfort to the surrounding gloom. That comfortable feeling of welcome caused Orson’s heart to ache for whatever could cause the pain behind those simple but troubled green eyes.
“I would prefer if you spoke, rather than just sitting there staring at me. It is disconcerting to have a bear eating so loudly with a gaze that intent on my head.” Osric did not raise his head but continued to look at what was clearly a wand.
Orson looked down, surprised to see that a large plate of food had been placed before him and he was indulging without even being aware of it. A mound of tube sausage filled the plate, and he was gnawing absentmindedly on one of the perfectly spiced meats. Dozens more sat waiting on the plate with a variety of berries, breads, and a few slices of cheese.
“Wha… Where did this?” Orson struggled to make sense of the food in his grip, but Osric interrupted him.
“James brought you a plate a few minutes ago. Some of the breakfast crowd was growing nervous with you staring at me, and his emotions would lead me to believe that he thought they would be more comfortable in here if you were already eating. You started eating almost immediately after he set the plate down. It was more mechanical habit than desire that led you to start. Honestly, I was more worried by that than by the way you were studying me.”
“I didn’t intend to make anyone uncomfortable.” Orson turned his head to either side, noticing that the room was nearly half filled with those seeking an early-morning meal.
“It’s not your fault. Ursidae are not that common in Stanton. Their insecurities will pass with time. Give it a week and David will be pestering you to play a game of bones with him.”
Orson squinted, uncomfortable with the fact that Osric’s gaze had not once risen from the wand on the table in front of him yet he was obviously far more aware of their surroundings than Orson.
“I know I should have probably introduced myself first, considering not many of us would venture this far from the mountains, but I’ve just been too caught up in the events that have brought me here to think beyond my bulk. But who could blame me?”
“I am caught up in one of the events that brought me to this point as well, so I certainly don’t blame you.” Osric shrugged while maintaining his focus.
“Do you do this often?” Orson motioned to the wand that was the center of Osric’s attention. For a short time, there was no response. Just when Orson was tempted to begin another line of questioning, feeling awkward about the length of the pause, Osric spoke.
“More than I would care to admit, but not nearly as much as I would like.”
The response sounded emotionless and dry. His hands were folded in his lap, and he shivered as if he were conserving heat after a long night with no sleep. Orson could not decide what to make of the intensity he felt in Osric’s presence, so he gnawed on another sausage while mulling over his thoughts.
“Can I ask you a question?” Orson inquired.
“Please do. I would feel more comfortable in conversation with you than having you stare at me while you try to figure me out.”
Orson’s eyes went wide as the possibility that Osric could read his thoughts ran through his mind.
“Why would you ask me to be a part of this?” Orson looked around at the bustling surroundings. People were more than curious about the two of them, but they went about their business with prideful purpose. Orson could sense their pride, not from any gift but from every aspect of their interactions. Their heads were held high, and they talked with excitement as they conversed over their meals. There was a rhythm to the air about them, or at least that was the way he had always felt around exciting events. However, this was no band of entertainers or even a celebration. The men were working toward something, and they carried on as if it weren’t work at all. It didn’t take a gift to see that he had been asked to join something special.
Osric lifted his head quickly and furrowed his brow. It was a bit unsettling, to say the least. Orson felt as though he were being weighed—not by any scale that could be seen, but by whatever form of measurement Osric held in his head. Just as quickly as it started, it ended.
“Once you have had enough to eat, I will show you around, and then I will explain.”
Osric looked back down at his wand, and Orson found himself looking down at his plate. Only three sausages remained, so he made short work of them. It was tough to decide whether to finish the plate. He had been brought more than he was used to eating, but these were no ordinary sausages, and it had been a long while since he had been able to eat so much. If Osric had plans for the two of them, Orson had no idea how long they would be gone. Besides, bears just don’t leave food unfinished.
It wasn’t long until Osric was leading him down passageways and explaining to him what each room was for.
“This is where the Wand-Makers work, this is where the Amulet-Makers work, and this is where they make the charms,” Osric rambled off the various activities taking place behind closed doors as they walked.
“Why don’t they all work in the same room? Isn’t it all the same thing?” Orson asked.
“You might want to steer clear of these rooms before saying something like that again. You’re lucky nobody heard you, as they tend to move in and out at an impressive clip.” Osric continued to lead the way with a wry smile. As they rounded the next corner, he continued. “To be honest with you, I feel the same way, but if any one of them heard you, Gus, Harsic, or Largrid would have your head. But, they all insist on examining me on a regular basis, so it made sense to keep them close to each other so I can get it over with.”
“My brother had the Wand-Maker gift before he was taken with a wasting disease. He seemed to think they were the same thing, so why would they have an issue with being in the same room?”
“Your brother was right. It is exactly the same gift.” Osric shook his head as his chest rumbled with silent laughter. “I am new to this myself, but what I have managed to glean is that it has to do with the craft.” Osric stopped walking and laughed as he continued explaining the debate. “Gus would argue that the Wand-Makers are the embodiment of the gift, since they were the first ones who came from it, and he would say that theirs are the most highly sought after and highest paid craft in all of Archana. Harsic insists that the elves took the gift and used it as a way to embody the very essence of magic. He claims that wandcraft is a
n archaic form of the gift that is only taught to their children as an introduction to the art of amulet making. Largrid says that they are both wrong and that gnomes took what both crafts once thought was the pinnacle of advancement and used those lessons to make many of the more common tools used today.
“Sure, everybody has a wand, and everybody thinks amulets are lovely, whether they have a useful function or not, but Largrid always says, ‘My father had a charm that would allow him to see who was at the door late at night by holding a stone against the door at the height of their face.’ That is one of his favorite speaking points. I think he uses it to sell peeping stones, but in the end his argument is that we each have dozens of charms about our homes. I have one that makes my room smell better, one that stops dust from sticking to my window, one that keeps my clothes from wrinkling. In fact, after I heard Largrid tell his story, I had him make me one of the peeping stones. He insists that charms are superior to wands and amulets because they are more widely used. I can see all the points equally, but they will argue until the sky falls about which approach is better. So, whatever you do, do not let them hear you say that they are the same.”
“Well, I had no idea that it could be that complicated.” Orson shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Don’t worry too much.” He turned and motioned for Orson to come closer. Osric whispered softly, “Having them work so closely has made them all step up the quality of their craft as well, and that may have played a part in why I had them placed where they are. They are all the best at their respective skills, though they do technically share the same ability. Watching them fight about it is sometimes exhausting, but typically it is also entertaining.” Osric winked.
Until that moment, standing in the hall and discussing the intricacies of his operation, Orson had not seen a moment of joy on Osric’s face. True, he had laughed, but there had always been something in his eyes that showed a different emotion. The average witness might not have noticed it, but years of studying rock and stone outcroppings had shown him the importance of detail. You didn’t want to give a cursory examination of an opening only to find out that the top of the cave you wished to enter would soon collapse with you inside if you disturbed the upper corner while tunneling. No, to find a safe path you had to notice how everything held itself in place.
The Well of Strands (Osric's Wand, Book Three) Page 3