Osric felt all hope leave him as he met Dredek’s eyes. He could see many emotions radiating in the eerie orbs, and they mingled with the feelings he felt with the Empath gift. Dredek was filled with fear and a profound sadness, but his eyes weren’t those of a warrior. The patience buried deep within them would lend well to many professions, but soldiering wasn’t one of them. His eyes calculated, rather than raged. They searched for meaning, rather than ways to fight. Dredek looked down with sadness, his hand still gripping at the air and holding Osric in place.
“It’s too bad. If you were given the years that I was given, you may have led us to great magical discoveries in the name of peace. We may all have prospered because of it. But tragedy is just a part of our world, and I must bring yet another upon it.”
His body language was no longer that of a terrifying enemy but that of a tired old man left to fight a world that was set against him. It was as if he were alone in the world to reflect on life and found that it wasn’t worth living. Yet, he lived in spite of his pain. Osric finally understood who he was looking at. The strange accent to his speech, the unfamiliar cast of his skin, and the visions that Aridis had seen all condensed into one clear line. He knew who he was dealing with, but he could do nothing about it.
Dredek screamed as he thrust his grasping hand into the air, and Osric felt as though a part of him had been ripped out. The Portentist gift flared with profound intensity. Then it was no more.
Osric sank to his knees and raised his head. Why does it feel so heavy? he thought. When he lifted his eyes he saw Dredek standing before him, his face pure white and void of emotion. Osric heard a scream of horror as his eyes drifted shut.
Vaguely, Osric witnessed Dredek weakly deflecting a few spells. His eyes drifted closed as he fought off sleep. With great effort, he opened his eyes one last time. Someone was standing between Dredek and himself. A woman stood with a blade in her hands, warding him as blood began to pool on Dredek’s robes about navel height. Dredek’s lips moved in a familiar rhythm, and the wizard winked out of sight. Osric eyes drifted closed, but he could hear someone approaching as the weight of unconsciousness took hold.
20 – From Below She Cometh
Bridgett grudgingly pulled on her boots and glanced up the seemingly endless stairwell. As she mentally prepared herself for the climb, the little boy touched his wand to the joint of the floor and wall and then placed his small hand in hers. The lacework of light slowly dimmed until they stood at the base of the steps in utter darkness. Bridgett lit the tip of her wand to light their way, and they began the long journey back the way they had come from.
As they climbed, Bridgett looked carefully at the walls to see if there was more than one entrance to the well. She was amazed to notice that not only were the walls free of doors, but there was also no indication of any breach in the stone at all. The stone was seamless, without a single crack or crevice, though the texture was of a natural roughness. Bridgett at first suspected that magic had carved the well deep into the ground, but then the stone would be smooth. She imagined a great worm moving through the stone, leaving the vertical tunnel as the only evidence of its passing. In a way, the idea that she might never know for sure how the Well of Strands had come to be made it even more beautiful in her memory.
The further they passed from the bottom of the well, the more fatigued Bridgett felt. The muscles of her thighs began to tremble, and she feared her knees might give out beneath her. She nearly sank to the ground in relief when they finally gained the narrow platform of stone that marked the end of the staircase. Bridgett felt a moment of fear when she looked along the wall for the low archway they had crawled through and saw only solid stone. She glanced over at the Trust, hoping to glean reassurance from his expression, and he giggled as he saw the anxiety on her face. Again, she watched in awe as he used magic she didn’t understand to gain them passage through solid stone.
The young irua ran his hand along the stone at eye level, slowly and surely, and Bridgett gasped softly when his fingertips disappeared. His brow wrinkled and the tip of his pink tongue stuck out from the corner of his mouth as he stretched up onto his toes. He reached further, and the length of his arm nearly to his elbow vanished from sight, as if it were passing through the stone wall. Finally, he grinned widely and withdrew his hand, clasping the small rod with a victorious expression. He knelt down on the stone and drew the same seven symbols on the wall, only working in reverse to form the arc from right to left. Bridgett was no less stunned seeing the symbols grow brighter a second time, until she had to turn her head away from the glow. When the light faded, she turned to see the same well-wrought archway carved into the stone wall.
The boy crawled through on his hands and knees, and Bridgett followed him quickly. The barrels and crates in the small storeroom had remained undisturbed, and they heard no sounds of combat. She stood up stiffly and looked back at the wall, shaking her head in disbelief. Where she had just passed through the wall, she once again saw only a small breach in the stone. It was just large enough for the small boy’s head and shoulders. Glancing down at the floor, Bridgett could not help wondering where the small streams of water were running off to. She did not recall seeing any water at the bottom of the well, but the rivulets were clearly exiting the rough tunnel through the tiny opening. Bridgett touched the boy’s shoulder to get his attention and then pointed at the water. He frowned for a moment and then looked up at her and shrugged. Bridgett smiled and nodded, though she was troubled by the discrepancy. If the water wasn’t passing through to the ledge, where exactly had that small doorway taken them? There seemed to be something much more than a stone wall and a spell between the storage room and the Well of Strands.
Bridgett crept around the barrels and crates and sat down, cradling her head in her hands. She needed to find a way to communicate with the boy, but if he could not speak Common, she had no idea how she could express herself in a way he would understand. She had to make her way to the surface, but she feared that if they retraced their steps back to the main chamber of Angmar they would encounter the creatures that she had seen earlier that day. Perhaps the young Trust knew another route, but she could not ask him. She had no idea where they were in relation to the entrance to the irua city. The boy crouched in front of her, and she could sense his curiosity in his emotions.
Bridgett picked up a sliver of wood that had splintered from a nearby crate. There was enough dust on the stone floor that she could draw a rough outline between herself and the irua boy. She traced out the shape of the gateway to Angmar with the guards standing on each side and a few curves to depict the piles of sand on the surface of the Irua Realm. Then, walking with her fingertips as though her hand were a person, she indicated that she needed to walk through the gate and out to the sand dunes. The boy shook his head vehemently. Bridgett wasn’t sure if he was arguing with her desire to reach the entrance or if he didn’t understand what she wanted. She turned slightly on the floor and sketched rolling hills with a sun in the sky. She looked at the boy, pointed at her own chest, and then pointed directly above them. She only needed him to understand that she must reach the surface, regardless of where the exit might be.
The boy sat for a moment, and Bridgett sensed his conflicting emotions of fear and determination. Finally, he nodded and rose to his feet. Bridgett expected him to lead her down the tunnel, but he climbed on top of a barrel and dropped down out of sight between the stacks of crates that filled the center of the room. After a moment, his head reappeared and he scrambled easily atop the piles until he stood before her again. In one hand he held two large daggers, and from his robe he pulled a skin of water. He offered her the water, and when she had quenched her thirst, he gave her one of the daggers. Until the boy had revealed the stashed weapons, Bridgett had not thought to question that he knew how to enter the Well of Strands, but the daggers were suspicious. She wished again that she could speak with him, but she had no choice but to follow him if she wanted to find h
er way out of the stone labyrinth. She wondered if he knew how to use the dagger he had kept for himself, but she hoped she would not have the opportunity to find out. He crouched down and slipped the water skin out of sight behind a barrel after taking a drink, and then he quietly led her back up the tunnel.
As soon as they had gone far enough to begin encountering the glowing stones in the sconces on the walls, Bridgett extinguished her wand but kept it in her hand. The boy took several turns down empty corridors, and Bridgett soon found herself completely lost. Not only would she be unable to find her way out on her own, but it would also be impossible for her to find her way back to the well. As they ran, the tunnels tended to slope slightly upward, giving Bridgett hope that they were working their way to the surface. They rounded a corner, and suddenly she could hear the distant sounds of screaming. As they increased their pace, the crossings and branches of the tunnels became more frequent, and every now and then Bridgett thought she could smell smoke. Some passages greeted them with eerie silence, while others brought the sounds of battle so close that Bridgett was sure they were running directly into a fight. She tried to keep Osric’s lessons in mind as she considered what she would do if confronted by an enemy soldier.
Bridgett followed the young irua around a bend in the tunnel, and when he slid to a sudden stop, she nearly knocked him over. Crouched in the middle of the passage before him was one of the creatures Bridgett had seen attacking people earlier. It was facing away from them, and it seemed to not have heard their approach. Bridgett touched the boy’s shoulder to reassure him as they slowly began to back away from the beast, her wand nearly grazing his ear as she pointed it at the hulking mass. Their rapid breathing and hesitant steps drew the creature’s attention, and it turned its great body awkwardly in the narrow tunnel. As it moved, sand and small pieces of broken stone fell from its wrinkly hide. Bridgett grasped her wand in one hand and the hilt of the blade in the other. It watched them with small, wide-set eyes, and Bridgett felt a wave of repulsion wash over her. She fought to keep the creature’s emotions from filling her with fear, but it radiated an unsettling, gnawing hunger and an insatiable desire to tear them apart. As they continued to walk backward slowly, Bridgett cast a strong shield before her and the boy. She doubted it would hold if the thing launched its full weight against it, but she at least hoped to slow the creature down.
Although she was trembling slightly at the sight, Bridgett could not tear her eyes from the animal’s form. Most of its weight was balanced on heavily muscled but short hind legs. Large claws clicked against the stone floor as it slowly followed them down the tunnel, and it swung its longer forelegs forward and shifted its weight onto them with each step. The head looked rather small atop broad shoulders, and the elongated snout sniffed at the air with an intense curiosity. A heavy brow ridge shaded the eyes, and Bridgett saw no obvious ears on the top or the sides of the thing’s head.
Bridgett heard the sound of shouting and clashing weapons approaching from a perpendicular tunnel. She cautiously shifted so that the boy could slip behind her and investigate the noise while she held the shield between her and the unusual creature. The young irua peeked around the corner and rushed back to Bridgett with a scared expression. He was shaking his head and pointing in the direction of the large animal. Though she could not understand his words, she knew what he was trying to express when she heard a gurgled scream and urgent footsteps rushing toward them. They could either face the beast and move past it or they could wait in the tunnel and be trapped between it and trained soldiers.
She could still feel the dripping emotion of ravenous intent coming from the animal, and for a moment she wondered if it was grinning at her with its sharp teeth bared. She stopped suddenly, startling the thing and causing it to watch her intently. While it studied her, she grasped the dagger with white knuckles and rushed forward. Immediately, the creature squatted back onto its hind legs and lifted one arm free of the floor. Bridgett aimed for the gap between the beast and the wall. As she approached, she used her wand to hurl small pieces of stone from the floor at the creature’s face. It snarled angrily but essentially ignored the small projectiles. Bridgett watched as she ran, waiting for the inevitable swipe from the deadly arm. The little boy ran swiftly on her heels, holding his dagger steadily at his side.
The swing of the heavy limb came as expected, and dim light flashed off of the sharp claws. Bridgett leaned back and slid under the slashing arm, stretching out her hand and dragging the tip of her dagger across the underside of the shoulder joint. She nearly lost her grip on the hilt when the blade caught the sinuous tendons that anchored the rippling muscles to the animal’s bones. The creature let out a horrible shriek, and Bridgett slid free of its bulk to the other side. As she rose to her feet, ignoring the burning bruise along the side of her hip, she saw the young Trust vaulting over the animal’s head. There was barely room between the ceiling and the creature for his thin body. His right foot landed on the back of its neck, and he twisted himself around as he propelled himself forward.
The boy landed hard, but he rolled quickly to his feet. He and Bridgett sprinted off down the tunnel as four heavily armed humans turned the corner and confronted the angry, injured creature. Bridgett urged the boy on, tightly gripping his hand, and soon the sounds of battle had faded. They slowed only slightly, resuming their journey toward the surface, sand, and sun. The twists and turns blurred before her eyes. She focused on moving, constantly moving forward, still hoping that the boy knew where he was going. Suddenly, he pulled her into a narrow passage that connected to a wide tunnel.
The bright lights that lined the walkway seemed frightening. Bridgett had at least felt concealed in the darker tunnels. Tapestries with vivid images lined the walls, and a plush carpet ran down the center of the aisle. As they emerged carefully from the side passage, Bridgett glanced up and down the hall. She saw an irua running away from them at the far end with his arms full of scrolls, but no one else was in sight. She wished she could ask the youth where he was leading her. He waved for her to follow him and jogged off to the right. A few doorways dotted the wide tunnel, leading off in various directions, but the boy ran straight down the center of the carpet to the end of the passage. It terminated in a broad set of double doors set into the stone tunnel, and he was able to easily push one door open and slip into the chamber on the other side. Bridgett followed him cautiously.
The room they entered was luxuriously furnished with upholstered couches and long wooden tables. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and a generous amount of light came from multiple fireplaces and several wall sconces. The shelves contained a variety of small, decorative sculptures used as weights to hold up rows and rows of books. Had Bridgett not been desperate to reach the surface, she would have loved to lose herself in such a well-stocked library. It reminded her a bit of Eublin’s collection in the Grove of Unicorns, and a twinge of homesickness dating back to before she had met Osric brought a furrow to her brow. She wished, for the thousandth time in a few short months, that she knew where the unicorns had gone.
The Trust crossed the room quickly, gesturing for her to join him near the far wall. He stopped before a small window cut into the stone wall, and Bridgett gasped when she saw what he had brought her here for. Far below them, visible through the small opening, was the large chamber where she had nearly been sacrificed to the war.
The scene was gruesome. Bodies were scattered everywhere, and though most of them were irua, Bridgett could see the corpses of four of the things they had encountered in the tunnels, as well as humans that had been slain. Several knots of fighting were still taking place in the large space, and people were darting through the area into the various tunnel openings. Bridgett noticed several people she thought she had seen in the barracks before she left Stanton engaging the human troops. They fought with sword and wand, just as Osric had taught her to dual wield, and they seemed capable of defeating the other soldiers with efficiency. They moved throug
h the room as a working unit, traveling to avoid being outnumbered and assisting each other to gain victory over their enemies. Bridgett hoped that the presence of Osric’s men meant they still had a chance to defeat the invaders.
However, there was a seemingly endless influx of fresh fighters pouring in from the main tunnel to replace those who had fallen. The friendly forces were being slowly overwhelmed by sheer numbers, and Bridgett suspected it would not be long before they were overrun. She turned to the boy, desperate to express her urgent need to reach Osric. His face was ashen as he gazed down at the bloody scene. His arms hung limply at his sides, and a slight tremor had overtaken his entire body. Bridgett glanced back through the window in time to see a man in plate armor pulling his sword from the Nagish’s chest. Two human soldiers were holding the leader of the irua realm, and the irua guards had been too outnumbered to save him. The humans released their grip and let his limp body slump to the chamber floor. Bridgett knelt down, gripping the boy’s cold hands in her own, and he gazed back at her with tear-filled eyes. She wished she could have protected him from seeing such a brutal murder of his Nagish. She wanted nothing more than to take him from the war-ridden city and show him the open spaces and flowers of her childhood—anything to see the despair diminish from his young features.
Her heart broke at the desperate sadness she saw in his face, and his devastation mingled with hers through her Empath gift. She pulled him to her, wrapping him in her arms and wishing she could shield him from such terrible sights. He still held the dagger in his hand, but it tumbled to the carpeted floor as he melted into her embrace. Tears slid silently down his cheeks and mingled with the dust clinging to her tattered dress. She could not reassure him with words, so she just held him tightly.
Soon, he pulled away and dried his eyes on the sleeve of his robes. He bent down and picked up the weapon. When he looked back at her, there was a stern determination in his gaze and a grim set to his jaw that added years to his young features. Bridgett forced a thin smile, and he nodded in return. He turned away from the window and marched steadily to the double doors.
The Well of Strands (Osric's Wand, Book Three) Page 26