The noise of garbled voices came from the other side of her head, but she could not will herself to try and turn it. The anticipation of the pain was enough to stifle her curiosity. As she listened, she was able to determine that many dozens of irua were speaking—at least she assumed they were irua. They spoke in low, raspy voices in the same guttural language she had heard earlier in her cell. Though she could not understand their words, a clear wave of energy and excitement was passing through the crowd. She continued to watch the aged irua on his throne as he gazed back at her with black, piercing eyes. She tried to reach out to him with her gift, but the effort left her dizzy with pain.
As she looked on, the gold-embroidered, tan robe she had followed from her cell entered her field of vision. That same thin grin that seemed to say he knew more than he should mocked her from the dais as he approached the throne. He spoke briefly in the irua language, and a quiet stillness settled over the chamber. Nodding at Bridgett, he continued in Common.
“All will give glory to the Nagish. Hear his words of wisdom and right as he charges our enemy for her crimes.” The throng of irua out of her sight all cheered together. To Bridgett, it sounded like a pack of wolves growling in unison just before leaping for her throat. With one subtle movement of the Nagish’s hand, the crowd was silent once again. He did not rise from his throne nor lift his head and gaze upon his subjects, but his voice resonated with power, even as it quivered with age.
“For the past one thousand years, our people have kept these sacred passages. We have toiled and labored to keep right what the world would usurp and corrupt. We have lived as a noble race, forever harried by the greedy and vicious inhabitants of other realms. We have lived through famine and drought. We have lived through the Fires of Forismina. We have lived through the Floods of the Third Forge. We have lived for the land, to tend, cherish, and protect what Archana has entrusted us with. We have lived long, loyal lives.” His voice grew more powerful as he progressed, echoing through the chamber until the very stone around them trembled in awe. “And we have died. We have died thankless, overlooked deaths remembered only by those here who would chisel our names in the stone. We have died.
“And for our lives, cut short so often by the stone itself that demands our attentive care, what do we seek in return? We care not for accolades or treasures. We do not seek to expand our hold over greater swaths of our beloved land. We do not strive to slit the throats of lesser beings merely because it would quicken our blood for a day. We do not demand tribute from those blind fools for serving what they cannot even see rests beneath their boots.” Sporadically, Bridgett could hear individuals in the crowd groaning in agony or calling out in encouragement for their leader’s words. Though Bridgett had always had the impression that the irua were a scheming race, quick to strike a bargain for the purpose of breaking it for profit or favor, she felt herself moved by the persuasive words of this ancient creature. The response of the crowd told her that his words were having the desired effect on his people as well. “We ask only to be left in peace to serve our greater purpose in this world. We sent honored members to a distant realm to engage in an offering of peace, and they were slain by the corruption of those wicked, infantile humans. Their lives were sacrificed on an altar of greed. Now, as we gather here, their army of depraved murderers, armed with blades of enchanted steel and arrows dripping with their evil, are marching for our door. They come to take what was never entrusted to them, for they lack the courage and constitution needed to live in service to Archana. They only know what it is to take, and they want to take our lives.
“They care not for the sanctity of servitude, for they use their women as agents of their wickedness, and the hearts of their women are just as corrupt.” His gaze bored into Bridgett as she lay restrained, berated by the echoes of his words, cast at her from every direction. “As this woman has been sent here to serve their mission of wickedness, so she shall. She appears alone and innocent, but she is a snake in disguise. She would seek out our secrets and sell them to her military masters. She would try to seduce us, and then she would betray us. Just as she was the first to breach our tunnels, she shall be the first to die.”
The chamber erupted with cheering and shouting, and something small and heavy struck Bridgett’s thigh hard enough to bruise her flesh. As a crowd is likely to engage in actions that no one individual that comprises it would ever condone, this first impassioned irua to throw something at her initiated a wave of projectiles. Bridgett was too engrossed in trying to think of a way to prevent her execution to attempt to cast a shield with a spoken spell. She cringed and her muscles strained as her body was pelted with a variety of objects conveniently found among the throng of irua. Several moments passed, and Bridgett suspected her leg might have been fractured by a fist-sized rock, before the Nagish called a halt to the barrage.
Bridgett watched with a racing heart as the one who had led her from her cell slowly approached. From somewhere in his robes, he produced a dagger with a long, snaking blade, clutching it easily in his hand. In a grating whisper, the Nagish began to chant words Bridgett could not begin to understand, but her anguish grew greater as the words stung her ears. The irua continued approaching her, timing his footsteps with the slow repetition of foreign words emitted from the Nagish’s throat. His grin remained frozen on his face, and his eyes locked onto Bridgett’s eyes like fire to dry kindling. As he reached the side of the wooden table that she was lashed to, he raised the wicked blade above her chest, poised and waiting for the conclusion of the chant. His hands trembled slightly as he gripped the hilt.
The Nagish continued mercilessly, his voice rising in pitch and volume until his slow cries echoed around the chamber. Fearing the blade would plunge through her heart the instant his chanting ceased, Bridgett strained futilely at the clamps holding her in place. She managed only to break her own skin, the seeping blood failing to allow her limbs to slip free.
In desperation, she cast her gaze around the room, ignoring the renewed burst of pain in her skull as she moved her head. Her sight stalled on a shadowed ledge behind the crowd, about halfway up the wall to the domed ceiling. It was narrow, likely cut into the wall as a station for a guard or perhaps for storage. It didn’t lead anywhere, and there were no stairs leading up to it. Bridgett acknowledged that she would have nowhere to go, but being alive, trapped, and exposed was more appealing than waiting for the dagger to strike. She did not hesitate. She focused her vision on the small space above the ledge, taking care not to use the wall itself as her reference. She spoke the spell rapidly, barely allowing the air to pass her lips. She hoped the irua was too intent on the words of the Nagish to realize she had spoken. As she completed the spell, she relished the familiar falling sensation that indicated she had successfully left her bonds behind.
Her feet felt a lip of solid stone beneath them, her weight teetering precariously over the open space. She heaved herself forward, spinning quickly and pressing her back against the reassuring wall. While the irua were all staring open-mouthed at the empty platform, Bridgett pulled her wand from its pouch on her belt and cast a shield before her. She hoped it would prevent arrows from reaching her and prevent herself from toppling from the narrow ledge. When she was satisfied that the shield was strong enough to hold, she took a deep breath and called out to the Nagish.
“You speak of loyalty, peace, and service, yet you do not hesitate to draw first blood in a needless war. You speak of the wickedness of the army marching toward you, but you do nothing to ensure that you are not slaying an innocent. How can you call yourselves a noble race when you would pierce the heart of an ally seeking to save you from certain extinction?” Bridgett held the amulet she kept concealed beneath her dress in her free hand, using it to focus her Empath ability to emphasize the emotion behind her words. By channeling her ability, she hoped her voice would carry her desire for peace to the crowd, but it required great diligence to suppress her anger about their intention to kill her.
/> Every eye in the room turned toward her in surprise. The Nagish rose from his seat, leaning heavily on the arm of the throne, and stared up at her in awe.
“Guards! Kill her.” Several irua armed with short swords rushed toward her. A dozen more ringed the room and directed crossbows at her.
“Wait.” Bridgett put all the power she could muster behind her voice. “You will not kill me, unless you want the war that waits outside your door to consume you. I demand that you let me speak before a Trust. When you hear the truth of my words, we can discuss how to prevent your downfall.”
“You are in little position to be making demands, girl,” the Nagash called up to her. He then turned and spoke quietly with the irua who still held the curved dagger in his hand. Bridgett watched him retreat. The same gold embroidery that she had seen before falling unconscious on the stone floor faded from her vision. The Nagish barked out a short command in the irua tongue, and though the crossbows remained trained on her, no one fired a bolt or attempted to cast a spell in her direction. Bridgett stood tall, assured that she was safe behind her shield should any of the guards decide that killing her may earn them some military honor leading up to the war.
After a moment, her would-be murderer returned with a young irua boy. The child also wore robes the color of sand, but his lacked the golden adornments. He looked around the room wide-eyed, and he stared in awe when he saw Bridgett perched on the slim outcropping. The Nagish nodded at the boy, and Bridgett let out a heavy sigh when he knelt on the ground below her, waiting to hear her words. At least, she took his proximity to mean he already trusted her enough to be near her without fear.
“Here is your Trust.” Contempt and arrogance flavored the Nagish’s tone. “Say what you will, but if you attempt to deceive us, you will not leave this chamber alive.”
Bridgett slipped the amulet back into her dress, as she did not want to be accused of trying to sway the Trust with power behind her voice. She held her wand steady, maintaining the shield before her, but she spoke directly to the boy sitting on the floor beneath her.
“I came here to inform the irua that a human army intends to wage war against you. It seems you already know of the impending threat. I am not a spy for that army. A powerful wizard is working to stop the war from happening, but I fear he has not had time to form a great enough force to stand against the invaders. I came hoping to rally the irua to his cause, to urge you to defend yourselves against these false accusers, and to do anything in my power to aid Osric in seeking peace for the realms of Archana.”
The boy turned his face up toward her. His eyes were closed, but Bridgett felt as if he were peering straight through her. After several anxious moments, he stood and hurried over to the dais. The Nagish beckoned him forward with a finger, and his face took on an expression of surprise and indecision. Bridgett held her breath as she waited to hear what the irua leader would do with the information. She knew that the Trust, if he was true to his ability, would see her honesty as blatant and unquestionable. Yet, she did not know if the Nagish would place an alliance over his own pride, since it was he who had declared her the enemy. After a moment, the dagger-wielding irua bent and whispered into his ruler’s ear. Though she could not hear their words, the change in expression on the Nagish’s face instilled her with a mixture of hope and fear.
“She speaks the truth. I forbid any of my subjects to cause harm to this lady.” He raised his scepter toward the distant and hidden sky, and a cheer erupted from the gathered masses. Bridgett was overwhelmed by the wave of emotion that hurdled over her, inundating her with hospitality and joy. It was such a distinct shift from the fear and mistrust she had felt just a moment before that she had to press herself against the cool stone wall until a brief spell of dizziness passed.
One of the guards quickly brought a crude wooden ladder and leaned it up against the wall so that Bridgett could climb down from her perch. Though she was not completely convinced of the sincerity of the Nagish’s proclamation, she was glad to be able to pass through the throng without fearing for her life or being pelted by stones. Her ankles and wrists were still oozing blood. Her head felt as if it were being squeezed in an iron clamp, and she could not bear to put her full weight on her left leg, but she was alive and still able to fight for Osric’s cause. The Nagish ordered a healer to come to her aid immediately. Bridgett sat upon a stone bench along one wall of the chamber and allowed a small irua woman to tend her wounds after examining the herbs and poultices that the healer intended to use. The young boy who had witnessed her speech and proclaimed her honesty brought ice for her head and sat with her as she rested.
“Thank you for using your gift to save my life.” The boy just smiled at her, and the healer woman shook her head and clucked her tongue.
“The boy does not speak Common.” Bridgett started in surprise and then laughed at the irony that the one who could declare that she spoke the truth could not understand a word she had said.
When the woman finished tending to her wounds, Bridgett sighed in relief as the pain began to subside. The gashes on her ankles and wrists from the restraints were clean and wrapped. The ice had taken the worst of the headache away, easing the sharp pangs of her skull. She stood to test her leg, still fearing it was broken, and found that it would not support her full weight. She sat back down on the bench as an irua girl arrived with a platter of dried fruits and nuts and a steaming mug of rulha. Bridgett stirred a generous amount of her own herbs into the beverage, but she sampled the fares tentatively, fearing that too much too fast would aggravate her headache. As she sipped the warm liquid, feeling it ease her sore muscles and sharpen her awareness, a guard approached and asked her if she would speak to the Nagish. Fighting off her weariness, she nodded and limped tenderly after him as he led her to a small but comfortably furnished chamber just off of the large room they had left. The irua ruler indicated she should sit across from him, gesturing to a plushly upholstered chair. She sat gratefully.
“I hope you understand that our actions against you were motivated by caution and a desire for the preservation of my people. It was rash of me to sacrifice you to such a cause without first verifying your identity, and for that I apologize.”
“I understand that you desire to save your people. I have the same desire, and that is why I am here. I still hope for an alliance among our peoples. Osric will strive to stop this war with or without your aid, but the irua have a greater chance of surviving if both forces work together to stop the invasion from succeeding.”
“I look forward to the peaceful alliance continuing after this war business is all over. My reports tell me that it will not be long before the invading army arrives. However, it seems that there are matters that must be addressed already within the walls of my realm.” He gazed at Bridgett with keen, shifting eyes. “How did you extricate yourself from the precarious situation that I regrettably held you in?”
Bridgett had anticipated the question. She knew that if she survived the encounter she would be forced to account for the incredible feat of escaping from iron bands and appearing on the inaccessible ledge. She had not, however, been able to formulate an appropriate response. She gauged his emotions with her gift as she thought about how to answer him. When he began to grow impatient, she feigned ignorance, for lack of a better option.
“Truly, I have thought of little else since I climbed down that ladder. I have no idea how it happened. My only guess is that it was Archana’s generous response to my desperate need.” She sensed a subtle response of anger and disbelief in his feelings, but his face remained cool as he gazed at her.
“I suppose that could be a possibility, but I suspect it may have something to do with that amulet you keep tucked between your lovely breasts.” Bridgett cringed as his eyes wandered lower. “I will coordinate my guards with this human you say intends to help defend us, rather than ordering them to kill all humans on sight, if you will part with that trinket.”
Bridgett’s face blanched a
s she recalled her early years in the Grove of the Unicorn. The Maidens had welcomed her as one of their own, and shortly after she had arrived she received the Aduro Amulet as a gift from the unicorns. The amulet’s ability to amplify her Empath gift allowed her to communicate more effectively with the unicorns, as well as many other creatures. She had worn it for nearly her entire life. Her hands shook as she consciously kept them from reaching for the amulet. From the shadows behind her, the familiar sand-hued robes and sharp dagger emerged. The irua bent down and whispered in her ear as his cold fingers caressed her neck, drawing her hair away and finding the chain by touch.
“Or you can resist, and I will attest that you betrayed us. You will feel little pain from a dagger through your heart, but I cannot say as much for how the young Trust will be punished for failing his Nagish.” His lips were a hair’s breadth from her skin, and a tear slid down Bridgett’s cheek as he lifted the necklace over her head and slipped it into a pocket of his robe.
“Do not look so sad. Your actions here may yet save an entire race. Now, go contact this army that will be our deliverance from the wicked blades of the Human Realm.” The Nagish grinned at her, a glint of yellow teeth peering through his thin, wrinkled lips. Bridgett stood there trembling and then hurried from the room as fast as her injuries would allow. The small boy was waiting just outside, and he smiled up at her with wide, innocent eyes as she emerged.
Bridgett gazed around her in dismay, feeling as though she had failed herself regardless if she succeeded in helping Osric. Perhaps she should have gone to him, seeking solace in the shelter of his arms. What good had she done, anyway? She had only managed to warn the irua of an attack they had more knowledge of than she did. If they already planned to fight the army, what had her risk possibly gained Osric and his men? Bridgett fought to keep her tears at bay as the lack of familiar weight around her neck left her with a deep ache of loneliness and despair. She wished that she could go back—back to when Osric was safe and her greatest concern was how to interpret the frolicking of a young unicorn.
The Well of Strands (Osric's Wand, Book Three) Page 23