“The fragments be needing to be collected. Ship ’em to the mountains, where the thing be belonging. I do not be knowing why it be here, but ye don’t be wanting it to reform in town.”
“Reform?” Keri gasped and sat upon the ground. Her fatigue from the exertion of her gift was clearly evident in the dark circles under her eyes and the lines drawn around her mouth.
“Aye. Ye cannot be killing an elemental. It will be taking a long time for this one to be reforming, but the further it be from here when it does, the better.” Toby scowled at the stone shards that littered the field, but he quickly issued the orders for the guards to begin cleaning up the debris. Machai walked slowly to Kenneth’s side and spoke softly. “I be thinking I do not have the energy left to travel. Would ye be willing to be taking me and me friend there to the barracks and a healer?” Kenneth followed his gaze to the horse lying on the ground. When Machai started toward it, the poor animal made an effort to rise and flee, but it was unable to stand, so it waited in resignation for its fate.
“Of course.” Kenneth grinned. “After a show like that, it’s the least I could do for you.”
16 – Tunnels within the Sand
The stark difference in temperature and light from the Elven Realm made Bridgett gasp. The heavy, tropical moisture and warmth of the tree-covered landscape had morphed into a dry and unforgiving heat. Not only did the heat radiate from the sand-covered vistas, but vicious winds and overwhelming brightness also had her quickly placing the hood of her cloak down over her eyes.
Though the harsh change had been difficult for her to tolerate, Ashir was radiating waves of delight.
“Don’t you just love the way the sand in the wind scrubs away the dank odor that all that moisture leaves on your body?” Ashir asked as he stretched out on the hot sand.
“It won’t be kind to my skin or eyes to be out in this for too long. How far is it to the city?” Bridgett asked.
She saw two stone buildings, which looked to be trading outposts, and a stable. The thin animals in the stable were about the size of horses, but their necks arched to the ground. They were lazily drinking from a trough in slow, sleepy motion. A short ways away from the structures, an opening in a massive dune was guarded by four irua. Other than the one attendant at the stable, she couldn’t see any other signs of life. There was nothing but sand as far as she could see. Why Ashir hadn’t brought them directly to the dragon platform of the city was a mystery to her.
“This is the city.” Ashir nodded toward the opening in the sand. “That is the path to Angmar.”
“I thought there would be more signs of the city on the surface. Are you sure this is the correct location?”
“Yes, this is Angmar. The city stretches out far below the surface, away from this blissful heat and sunshine. I have never seen it, but I hear it is a sight to behold, though I don’t understand why anyone would want to live in dark tunnels underground.”
Bridgett could feel Ashir’s internal shutter as he spoke. She cringed at the thought of creatures that sought open sky entering a subterranean habitat. She noticed how his eyes went nowhere near the location mentioned as the entrance. Instead, he searched the skies longingly as he basked in the sun.
“Thank you for bringing me here, Ashir. I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you would still choose to carry me, even though you do not have to. I hope the sunshine brings you joy.”
Ashir’s big eyes swirled as he gazed back at her. “There will never come a day when I would not choose the honor of carrying you to where you wish to go. I hope you do not come to harm in the city beneath the sand.”
Bridgett knew she was taking a great risk by approaching the irua alone. Even though the race had been represented at the ratification ceremony to sign the peace treaty, relations between the irua and the humans had often been strained in the past. However, Osric needed help and she had been away for too long to yield no results. If entering the underground city of Angmar was the only way she could help him, she would make sure that she was successful; she would not be told no twice.
Bridgett kissed the dragon’s warm, scaled cheek and then walked with nervous steps down the slope of the hill toward the small buildings. The irua guards standing near the entrance to the tunnels seemed to be made of the same stone as the structures. From such a distance, they did not look to be alive at all, standing so perfectly still with identical postures. She approached the stable, hoping the attendant could give her more information about just how unwelcome her presence would be.
From a distance, the fellow looked not very different than a human, but the closer she got, the more her initial impression faltered. He was much taller than the average human. Looking closely, she could see that the entire structure had been built with great stature in mind, yet it was proportionate to what her senses would have expected. It made for a rather uncomfortable approach, as the walk took much longer than her first glance had suggested.
The first thing about the irua that caught her eye was his lankiness. At no place was this more evident than at his elbows. Long, thin muscles joined to thick bone and cartilage at the joint between the upper and lower arm, and his strong knuckles grasped tightly to a dandy brush while he groomed the animal. Mechanically, the large, bald irua passed the brush over the beast while he cooed in a soft tone.
“Hello,” Bridgett said softly, hoping not to disturb his seemingly gentle nature.
“Hello,” he echoed with a deep rasp, only slightly turning his face toward her. “If you wish to purchase a dratnaught, it will be thirty-two aetiem.” His face was as bony as the rest of him, and his cheeks sunk deep into the surrounding features.
“Actually, I was hoping to enter Angmar.”
“These are the stables. We don’t let dratnaught into Angmar. Go see the guards at the gate.” He made a swatting motion toward the statue like figures at the opening.
Taking direction and comfort from the stable attendant, Bridgett turned and faced the entrance to the city. If anything, no alarm had been set to warn of humans; his actions had shown her that much. Yet, there was a growing tension in the air as she approached what was supposed to be the city gates.
However, it didn’t look anything like a gate. It resembled a buried smokehouse, like the ones she had seen on the outskirts of many villages throughout her travels, albeit a very large buried smokehouse. The huge, double doors seemed as if they were merely stood up on the side of the sand dune and forgotten. The steep mound of sand was larger than anything Bridgett could see in any direction, and she wondered if it had been crafted magically. The doors had no stone frame and no visible hinges, but they were standing open behind the four irua. The space between them was a dark maw in the side of the tawny mountain, large enough to allow two wagons to pass through side by side, though it would likely be a tight squeeze for a dragon—even one the size of Ashir.
The four guards shifted uneasily as she approached, and then there was a blur of motion that had her stepping back with outstretched hands. Before she could react further, they held her by the wrists and pressed her down against the sand.
The hot, gritty sand blistered the tender skin of her cheek. She struggled for a moment, but the two guards who held her were sufficiently strong that she may as well have been in irons. Without speaking a word, they led her into the dark opening and down a long, narrow path into the tunnels of Angmar. Dispersed in even increments were stone lights of a slightly different design than those she saw in De’assartis, but there was none of the life and color she found with the elves. This was a dark and dreary hole. Her captors offered no answers to her protests as they took her deeper into her captivity.
They turned from the main tunnel into a side path that appeared from nowhere, and Bridgett realized that the dark greys and tans of the world she had entered could hide a great deal in their shadows. She shuddered at the thought of being lost under so much sand, never sure which turn would bring her to the surface once again. Only the knowledge of t
he traveling spell comforted her enough to prevent her from fleeing before they took her too deep. She took several deep, calming breaths to keep her panic at bay and tried to hold in her memory the way back to the sunlit surface.
Left and right turns mixed in a dizzying array of back tracking and deceit. After what seemed like an eternity of turns, twists, ups, and downs, she began to sense that the journey was meant to confuse her sense of direction more than to lead her to any specific place. The more she reminded herself that she could leave any time she wished, the more comfortable she grew with the narrow passage. When she embraced the idea that the traveling spell was at her disposal, she was able to slow her breathing and stop demanding answers, relieving at least some of her anxiety.
She turned her attention away from fear and onto her surroundings. She noticed a great deal of life surrounded her at every corner—or rather, many hidden corners held life just out of view of the untrained eye. The shadows of each tunnel they entered were carefully placed, and in the darkness she could make out depressions that shielded life and light from anyone who was unfamiliar with the layout. Looking carefully, Bridgett could see farms with strangely colorless crops, children playing, guards patrolling, books and scrolls on shelves, and all manner of creatures living in the hollow, hidden entrances. Though each sighting was momentary, there was no mistaking what she saw as anything other than a bustling town.
Above each of the openings was a large stone block with something carved into its face. It took many openings before she could make out even a portion of what was engraved. They looked like symbols or words written in the stone, possibly to direct travelers to different locations throughout the labyrinthine tunnels.
Bridgett didn’t know what to make of it all, but it was clear that she had entered the irua capital. She could even see deliveries taking place further down the tunnels that she was led through. Once, on a particularly short detour through a crowded area filled with hundreds of irua, she saw an entire marketplace doing business. She was quickly led away from the area and taken deeper into the heart of Archana.
At the surface, she had to contend with scalding-hot sand, but she had noticed several changes in the air as they trudged through the tunnels. The levels of farms had been high in humidity and heat, while the markets were well ventilated and a very comfortable temperature. Currently, her surroundings were cold enough for her breath to float aimlessly away in a thick cloud. She could tell from the emotions radiating from her captors that they were very close to their destination.
There were only small globes of light set into the stone walls of the tunnel at very distant intervals, leaving most of their last steps in shadows. Bridgett nearly collided with the irua guard who was leading her when he came to a sudden stop. She wanted to pursue her questioning about why she was being detained, but the guard behind her grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and pushed her through a narrow gap in the tunnel wall. The other guard quickly swung a door of metal bars across the opening and turned a key in the locking mechanism. Though she called out for answers, the two irua disappeared down the tunnel without a word. Her pleas fell on damp stone and darkness as the nearest globes of light dimmed with their retreat.
Bridgett stood against the metal bars, intimidated by the darkness and the unfamiliar surroundings. She pulled her wand from its pouch on her belt. The action was so natural, a moment passed before she realized how surprising it was that the guards had not searched her and taken her possessions before locking her up. She briefly felt relieved, but a nagging doubt wormed its way into her thoughts. Concentrating on her wand, Bridgett focused her thoughts on her desire for light and willed the tip of her wand to illuminate. With bated breath, she stared at where she knew the tip to be, but she waited in vain. Her wand would not respond to her demand.
Bridgett attempted a spell to unlock the cell door and another to contact Osric, but nothing she tried was successful. In desperation, she spoke the traveling spell and pictured the hill of sand where she had left Ashir on the surface. She felt no sensation of falling forward; she merely felt the cold bars pressing against her back. Finally, she acknowledged that the key must have triggered a shield as well as the lock on the door, and she would have to wait until the cell was unlocked before she could travel to safety. Returning her wand to her belt, she reached out until her hand rested against the smooth stone wall next to the door.
Bridgett moved slowly, tracing her hand along the wall of her cell. She counted nine paces before her free hand in front of her encountered the back of the room. As she turned to follow the new wall, she nearly tripped over a thin straw mat on the floor. She steadied herself with a deep breath and continued, completing the short journey in seven paces. When she once again reached the bars of the cell door, she lowered herself to her knees and felt along the floor. The darkness was disorienting, but she managed to keep her bearings by the location of the straw mat along the back wall. She found only a chamber pot near the back corner and a thin, ragged blanket rumpled on the mattress. Even with her warm cloak, the chill air and cold stone sapped the heat from her flesh. She stood on trembling legs.
Bridgett paced the short distance from one wall to the other—back and forth, eight steps and a slow turn, back and forth—contemplating her situation and its possible outcomes. In the pitch-black cold, time was distorted, and she could not tell how long it had been since she was captured. She resisted the urge to relieve her bladder, knowing she would be unable to use a spell to empty the chamber pot. Gnawing hunger told her it was likely well into the night. Her feet were numb and the muscles in her legs were twitching as she continued to pace in frustration. Exhausted, she finally sat limply on the straw pad, refusing to allow the stinging tears to spill over from her eyes.
She sat with her back pressed against the stone wall, gazing across at the darkness that concealed the door from her sight. Her mind raced, threatening to overwhelm her with emotion, her own feelings pressing down on her like a stone against her chest. Guilt rose up into her throat, forcing her to swallow, though her tongue felt swollen in her parched mouth. She thought of how Osric must have felt when he discovered that she had left. She hadn’t even tried to explain, to give him the chance to prove prophecy wrong. She had let the foolish image cast by a careless See’er chase her from his arms, and she hadn’t even had the courage to tell him goodbye.
Bridgett had spent months burying her own feelings as she searched for the unicorns, for the safety and security of her past. She had told herself that she needed to find them because they could help Osric, or even because they might need her help, but she had been denying her true motivations. She had spent most of her life within the protective haven of the Grove of the Unicorn, far from the responsibilities and ugliness of war, and that innocence is what she had been chasing.
When she failed to locate them, she had run to the false safety of Lost Lake. Her fears and doubts had kept her there like a child huddling in a mother’s skirts. She had spent far too much time wandering along the lakeshore, wallowing in self-pity because she had felt robbed of a future with Osric. Their future had been stolen from them, but her own failings were the thief.
By the time she had finally found enough courage to take action, she had been mere days too late. If she had only reached the Elven Realm and pleaded her case to the Council sooner, they would have agreed to help her. Her failure in De’assartis loomed before her in the dark, taunting her in her growing misery. The unseen walls of her prison cell pressed in around her, adding to the list of the many ways she had failed Osric.
As she contemplated her long chain of mistakes, feelings of anger, suspicion, and anxiety began to eat away at her despair. As they grew stronger, Bridgett realized that those emotions were not hers. Although she could not cast even a simple spell to light her wand, it seemed her Empath gift was still functional within the confinement of her cell. The realization drew her from her thoughts and brought her focus sharply back to her present situation. She concentrated o
n the subtle tendrils of emotion she could detect, and she stretched out her gift along the underground tunnels. If she could not see her surroundings, at least she could find out what the irua were feeling. It would also allow her to know when they were approaching her cell.
Bridgett closed her eyes, seeking any information her gift could give her. The emotions she could sense were distant and vague, but she could tell that dozens of minds were somewhere near her. She was unsure if it was the vast amounts of stone that broke up the tunnels that dampened her ability to read the emotions or if it was the actual distance that separated her from her captors. She had gotten the impression that the tunnel system was incredibly elaborate, and she had certainly been led a long way in before being thrust into imprisonment. Yet, she found herself frustrated by her inability to judge how close any individual mind was from her location. They all seemed to originate from an equal distance, yet she could not decide on a single direction from which they emanated. The task of trying to sort out what she was sensing with her gift made her dizzy, and she was grateful for the solid wall at her back reassuring her of her own stability.
As she struggled to identify individual emotions, Bridgett suddenly felt compelled by an overwhelming urge to open her eyes. Her heartbeat quickened and her muscles tensed. Unable to resist, her eyelids fluttered open and she realized that she could see the bars that caged her. A dim light had pierced the utter darkness of the passageway, and she could hear the muffled sound of footsteps on stone.
Bridgett focused her gaze on the solid outline of the door, willing her eyes to adjust to the inadequate light so that she could see her surroundings clearly. As she stared at the metal bars, suddenly her sight refocused and thin ribbons of light appeared to be coiled around the bars, woven in and around each other and all meeting at a single point in the keyhole of the lock. Bridgett blinked rapidly, startled by the strange observation. The weaving lights faltered, and once again she could only just make out the door of her cell. She blinked again. Shifting her gaze, she stared at the dull stone of the floor between the doorway and the mat. As she stared hard to assure herself that she could actually see and was not imagining the return of light, again her vision refocused. The stone blurred almost imperceptibly and again a faint ribbon of light emerged in her sight, following the edge of the floor and walls around the cell. Bridgett looked closely, focusing on the light rather than the stone, and she could make out distinct colors in the individual strings of pulsing light. Shocked and intrigued, Bridgett recalled Osric’s description of the spell around the Grove. His words fit perfectly with what she was seeing, and Bridgett’s mouth fell open at the realization that she was seeing the strands of magic, which made up the shielding spell on her cell. It was the only explanation that made sense, although it made absolutely no sense at all. She was no Wand-Maker, able to peer into the invisible structure of Archana and witness the intricate patterns of the world’s magic.
The Well of Strands (Osric's Wand, Book Three) Page 20