The Well of Strands (Osric's Wand, Book Three)

by Jack D. Albrecht Jr.

  “South and a bit to east. Travel far as can see maybe dozen times and there. This good landing to conceal troop count, maybe?” Irgon pointed and offered his suggestion with shrugged shoulders.

  They were in a large open space with a tall mound of sand to the west. A few buildings were scattered around the base, and several gawkers turned to look at them from an opening in the center. They had made landing quite a ways from the sand dune, but almost a dozen men appearing by magical means would attract a lot of attention anywhere the traveling spell was not known, and that was everywhere.

  “It may indeed be a good destination, but I think we should choose somewhere where our appearance won’t disturb so many onlookers.” He spoke, motioning to the gathering crowd outside the opening. “Take my hand. I have an idea for a quicker way to get to Angmar. Keep a hold of each other and do not panic.”

  Osric looked into the sky and spoke the traveling spell. Instantly, they appeared at least a thousand strides in the air, falling. As the air pushed against their formation, their bodies fanned out in a flat circle that joined at their hands. Several men shouted in protest to the unannounced height they had been brought to without the aid of winged beast, and a few more shouted from the adrenaline of the moment, wearing open exhilaration on their faces.

  The traveling spell arrested all momentum, and the group appeared face down in the sand a great distance away. As they began to stand up, Osric noted gratefully that they hadn’t lost any of the men in his experimental use of the spell. He sighed with relief as they rubbed the sand from their faces and looked to him for orders.

  “I know the travel spell, but you challenge expectations and notion of normal,” Irgon said, looking at him with open amazement.

  “Aye, ye be foolish to be pulling such a maneuver if ye do not be warning us first.” Machai stepped forward, anger flashing across his gruff, bearded face.

  “Sorry about making a few of you uncomfortable, but we needed to cover ground. Since we can only travel as far as we can see when we don’t know where we are going, I needed to see further. We don’t have time to waste. This is where we will bring the men. We don’t want to lose anyone with traveling accidents. Be smart about it and give yourself enough room. Spread out and head back.” Osric motioned for the men to move. When they had made suitable arrangements, they traveled back.

  A few minutes later, standing in front of his men, Osric regretted having spent so much time recruiting scholars. Nearly two hundred soldiers stood in front of him, and they were about to face thousands of battle-hardened men in war. Though the scribes, and everyone who had been brought into their fold to study magic, were there for good reason, right then he would have traded all of them for a few thousand dual-wielding trained soldiers.

  “Aranthians,” Osric called, but they were already waiting for his words. Each instructor had a group of men with them, and they all stood ready to join arms and travel at a moment’s notice. He would have sent them on their way already, and a large part of him wanted to do just that, but they deserved more. Though they were going to defend a people from extinction, he felt he needed to offer them a few words before they offered their lives as a sacrifice to save a race from a distant land. “That has been our title for only a few days now. Aranthians.”

  He mulled the name over again and again in his head. What did Aranthian mean? Over the last year, he had discovered that he instinctively knew the meaning of many words he had never heard before. He named his sword Legati and knew that it was another word for legacy. Yet, in the time that had passed since that day, none of the scholars he had consulted knew which language it originated from. He had known what Legati meant without a moment’s hesitation, but he couldn’t conjure a meaning for the name that prophecy had given their group. Then he understood why. It was like being woken up from a deep sleep by a bucket of cold water. Truth surged into the very core of his mind, and he spoke with conviction.

  “Aranthian is a name with no history. No species, no tribe or nation has assigned meaning to this word. No man can stand before you and tell you what this name means or what you are for being a part of what we have started. Prophecy dictated that this name become ours for that very reason.” He looked out over his men. Not a face indicated recognition, but every eye was fixed on him and every Aranthian’s head was held high as they listened to his speech.

  “Our group was formed in the wake of the Stanton attack. We were attacked to start the war we are attempting to thwart. Some of us lost loved ones in that attack. It was that event that sent me out on the beginning of a journey that has led here. It was those events that led to the start of the Aranthians. From those ashes”—he pointed in the direction of the palace—“we were formed.”

  He paused to let his words linger. He knew his next words were more for himself than for his men, but he hoped he could instill them with a sense of pride and purpose.

  “Those of us who have become Aranthians because of those events may not truly understand why we are here either. But we can determine that together. Why we are here and what our name will mean is what we make it to be. Are we to be a name of fear or justice? Will we be known for our knowledge of magical mysteries or brute strength?

  Today our name, Aranthians, becomes known to all of Archana. They will begin to assign meaning to that name with whispers of support or cries of hate and fear. Every action you take will lend meaning to our name. We have already decided that today we will be known for saving lives. Each of you made that decision by standing here before me. But what meaning you choose from there, what other choices we make to lend meaning to our name, make your choice loud so you’re understood. Let the Aranthians’ name be spoken for generations to come!”

  Applause erupted from the men, and their leaders began to organize all of them for their departure. Osric smiled as even the scholars cheered in the distance. With Legati in hand and his Gus wand securely fastened to his side, Osric issued the order to travel to Angmar.

  * * *

  Osric ducked just as a spell went by his head. One of the things he loved about the Wand-Maker gift was being able to see the spells being hurled at them from hidden distances. This one wasn’t aimed at him, but it had missed its target in the battle that was taking place. Before him were thousands of men marching from right to left. The front line of the attack was pressing hard against the hill, and the invading troops funneled through the main entrance in the center of the dune and through several nearby hidden entrances behind the piled sand. They would have to find a location somewhere to regroup, and the irua defense was setting out to do just that.

  His men were going to offer reinforcements to the irua attempting to hold their location, but anyone could see that the battle had already thwarted that plan. He knew that much more of the irua world was below the surface than was above, so there would be no help from dragons or eagles on this day. Osric quickly formed a plan and summoned the leaders.

  “Irua buggered already. We cannot stall them further,” Irgon said softly.

  “I agree.” A familiar voice resonated from Osric’s left side. He turned to see Macgowan standing in armor with large hammers in each hand.

  “Macgowan, it is good to see you.” Osric smiled but quickly turned his focus back to the forming contingency plan. “They have taken the entrance, but there is still a great deal of troops at the surface. We need to cause as much of a disturbance as we can. I want the body of that army to think of us as bees, and I want to sting them everywhere we appear. Let’s make them come back out to deal with us before they advance their force. I want to see Dredek crawl out and face the might of our Aranthian force.” Osric looked them each in the eye and asked, “Ready?”

  “With our traveling spell, we can cause a great disturbance. We should concentrate our attacks here.” Macgowan drew the rough layout of the battlefield in the sand with his thick finger and pointed. “This is where most of their men are crowded.”

  * * *

  Along with the re
st of the men, Osric had learned very early in the attack that they could travel quicker by speaking most of the spell quickly after appearing and by speaking the final word once they had completed their goal and had to retreat.

  Osric appeared behind a small group and ran a sword through the gut of the first soldier to turn and face him. Macgowan appeared close by and staved in the heads of the two soldiers closest to him with his hammer. The three remaining opponents scattered in fear, regrouping at as great of a distance as they could manage. Macgowan turned immediately to address Osric.

  “Macgowan, what is the newest report?” Osric launched a fireball into a wedge of soldiers that was driving its way toward the entrance of Angmar, sending most of the men scattering as they beat the elemental flames from their armor.

  “Men have sighted Dredek moving with a small caravan toward one of the back entrances. They say he carries many chests with him. I come to fill your position so you can see to bringing an end to this foolishness.”

  “I intend to fight him, but I may need help when I face him. None of us knows what he is capable of. Remember, he managed to take over Rowain and kill the turgent without much difficulty. I don’t want to underestimate him.”

  “Then I move with you, my friend. Follow me!” Macgowan vanished with his index finger pointing toward the top of a sand dune. Almost instantly, he appeared at its crest, and Osric followed.

  Arriving just as Macgowan pointed toward a moving line of troops, Osric watched as Macgowan engaged the first men in the formation and then moved to the back of the line. Osric saw the furious and panicked look on Dredek’s face as his men began to fall from an enemy that appeared instantly and then was gone just as quickly.

  Osric felt waves of desperation wash over the sand and collide with his mind. There was a thick and almost overwhelming need to protect something emanating from Dredek’s mind. The need was as feral as a drogma shielding its newborns, and his need to protect was focused on whatever was inside the chests.

  Osric jumped into action and attempted to summon Macgowan, but his efforts were to no avail. Osric didn’t want the blacksmith anywhere near the chests if Dredek were to attack. Luckily, the battle tides carried Macgowan in the opposite direction, and one look at Dredek told Osric that he hadn’t noticed the incursion amidst the battling around him.

  “Dredek!” Osric lit a shaft of light into the air with his wand and projected his voice through the power of his mind alone. Import reverberated through the Portentist gift as their eyes met. Osric sent a burst of flame at the front of the line, hoping to draw Dredek out of the shelter of men.

  Quicker than Osric could have guessed, Dredek had crossed the distance in a blur of motion. He stood with a vicious smile that startled Osric with its raw hatred. Drawing two short, curved daggers from behind his back, Dredek looked at him with a familiar gaze that Osric couldn’t place. “It appears that I was right to try to have you killed in Stanton.”

  “I’ve never been more pleased to be a disappointment than I am today.” Legati felt like an extension of Osric’s arm as he stood facing Dredek.

  “You are indeed a powerful wizard,” Dredek said with an impressed expression, arching an eye in Osric’s direction. “What a clever tool to gain power. I think I’ll have it when we’re done.”

  Import shifted to danger in a flash, but it came from several directions. Using the Hunter’s gift and the Portentist gift, Osric swung Legati with reckless speed in ever more complicated strokes in an attempt to stay ahead of the onslaught. It was as if Legati had been stabled too long and felt the need to run, and run it did. Each stroke of his blade was met with swift resistance from one of Dredek’s thin swords. Osric used a spoken spell to reinforce and retain a shield so that his wand could be free for offensive spells. He launched a fireball at Dredek’s chest, but it fell away harmlessly to the sand, and Dredek laughed wildly and recklessly. Everything that Osric could think of to throw at the strange wizard was blocked, dodged, or completely ignored by Dredek. Soon, the dark-robed wizard stopped laughing and increased his attacks. His blades blurred as they carved elaborate arcs in the air, which Osric was hard-pressed to block. Osric found himself struggling to maintain his shield and wield his sword at the same time. As Dredek pressed his attack harder and faster, Osric tracked backward over the dune, trying desperately to gain some distance to compensate for the speed with which the wizard moved.

  Dredek’s movement was both disturbingly unnatural in the sheer quickness of it and as natural as breathing in its effortlessly smooth transitions from one movement and the next. Osric dodged, ducked, and darted out of the way, barely avoiding his own destruction each time. It was clear that his advice to Macgowan had been correct. Dredek was a force to be reckoned with. Osric wielded his wand and sword as quickly as possible, but he was barely able to hold his ground. His focus was so monopolized by defending himself that he couldn’t even think of any spoken spells to help him overtake his opponent.

  The speed that Dredek moved with gave Osric little opportunity to do anything but defend himself. His training with sword and wand, as well as every gift, told him that attempting to strike Dredek would result in a gap in his defense that would allow Dredek to drive one of his blades home into Osric’s soft and yielding flesh.

  Osric stepped back and felt the ground shift as the sand slid beneath his feet. As he began to fall, Macgowan appeared behind Dredek. Just as the appearance filled Osric with relief that he wasn’t about to be cut down, Dredek ducked below the swing of Macgowan’s hammer and spun quickly behind him, slashing a blade through the tendons at the back of his feet. Macgowan wailed in pain as he dropped to the sand with resignation on his face.

  The strike had been delivered before Osric’s body had completed its fall, and Osric winced with fear as he waited for Dredek to deal the deathblow.

  “You will wait your turn. I will be with you when we have had our chance to become better acquainted.” Dredek looked at Osric knowingly. “Go on. Pick up your sword or this is going to end sooner than I thought.”

  Osric looked at his left hand, not having realized he had dropped Legati in an attempt to right his landing. Slowly, his hand wrapped around the hilt and he brought himself back to his feet. Dredek’s brow furrowed, and Osric felt a nagging sense that he should recognize something in the expression. Macgowan had rolled on his side and he began to heal himself with tears streaking down his face.

  “I like to think of myself as a teacher,” Dredek said as he readied his stance to begin an attack. “And never more have I felt the need to teach than standing before a man who should, by all rights, have destroyed me by now.”

  “If I can figure out how to match that speed of yours, this may go my way yet.” Osric tried to stall, letting his mind search for some edge.

  “That’s not even magic!” Dredek laughed and brought his hands to both sides as if he were displaying himself. “Go on and look. You’ve got the gift. Go ahead.”

  Unsure of how Dredek had gained the knowledge of his abilities, Osric let his vision slip into the realm of magical strands. What he saw was both familiar and frightening.

  “How?” Osric couldn’t think of anything else to ask. It was a simple question, but everything hinged on the answer.

  “I may not be as powerful as you are, but I have been around much longer.” Dredek saluted with one blade to his forehead and took up the fighting stance again. “And if I knew how to do it like you do, you wouldn’t stand a chance against my experience.”

  When Dredek launched himself at Osric, it seemed as if his speed had doubled. Osric redoubled his concentration and continued to struggle backward over the mound—back toward the location they had set out from. He wasn’t about to attempt the traveling spell, as Dredek seemed to already be familiar with that move. He didn’t want the fight to end with his tendons cut as well, and trying to send Dredek somewhere else would only delay the end of the battle and put others in danger at another location.

  With t
he mystery of what he had witnessed inside Dredek, Osric’s mind was at its breaking point. He had to plan his steps to avoid another fall, let his gifts guide Legati and his wand in an intense battle for his life, and consider options that would allow him to be the victor in the exchange. Still, nothing took more of his mind from the moment than what he saw within Dredek.

  Eight distinctly different gifts existed within Dredek’s body. The Wand-Maker gift, Fire Element, Water Element, Earth Element, and Air Element were the only gifts he could recognize, but they were distinct and present within himself as well. Yet, something was different about the way they appeared in comparison to his inexperienced eyes. There was no other way to describe it: the gifts just seemed to vibrate wrong.

  What's more, Dredek was right: Osric was more powerful. Osric had dozens of gifts, yet he found himself backing away from an inferior opponent, fearing for his life. He sidestepped one lunge of the blades and found wind pressing him away. He shifted his weight against the gust of wind as stones began to pelt him from behind, knocking him off balance.

  Dredek stood back, laughing at the way Osric floundered against the magical attack. Water welled up from underground and darted toward Osric’s head. Quickly, Osric traveled a dozen steps away from the location. The moment Dredek noticed the shift in location, he dropped his right-handed blade and gripped the air with an angry snarl. Osric felt as though he were being held within a metalworker’s tongs.

  Heat surged in waves within him as every movement tore at his mind and body equally. Osric held absolutely still, unable to move his limbs or his mouth. As he attempted to wrap his mind around the pain, Dredek moved closer with a strange mix of anger, resignation, and determination on his face.

  “That clever little trick?” Dredek winked. “I’ve known that for weeks. I’ve known about your traveling spell since we captured your spy in Rowain. How do you think we got our armies here so quickly?”