Bridgett followed him down the corridor at a brisk jog, matching his pace but letting him lead her on toward her ambition of safety. They ran the length of the wide hallway, and just before it ended in another set of doors, the boy veered off to the left. The tunnel he had chosen was not as wide or as artful, but it was still well lit. He took several more turns before they once again found themselves in narrow, stark tunnels with sparse lighting and stone floors. The passageways were gradually sloping upwards, indicating to Bridgett that they were headed in the right direction. They crossed a few main tunnels, wide and elaborately decorated, but they darted across quickly and kept to the simpler passages. Twice they stopped and changed direction to avoid running into soldiers.
As they came to the end of a particularly narrow tunnel, the boy crouched down and held his hand up to keep Bridgett from moving forward. She crouched against the wall behind him, and she could hear voices just beyond the opening. The youth peeked around the corner then quickly withdrew his head and held up four fingers. Bridgett felt a heavy uncertainty that they could get past four well-trained men with superior weapons. Even using magic and having the element of surprise did not seem to outweigh the odds against them. She pointed down the passage the way they had come and looked at him questioningly, but the boy shook his head. He pointed into the tunnel before them and then up at the ceiling. Bridgett guessed he meant that the only way to go up was to go forward. She nodded and sat back against the wall to think.
Maybe if they waited a while the men would move on and the passage would be clear. Unfortunately, from the sound of the voices, it seemed that they were content to remain in the tunnel rather than join the main battle down below. Bridgett gripped her wand and dagger securely and nodded at the Trust that she would follow his lead. He peered into the hall, and after a moment he waved her forward with his free hand and crept quietly out into the passage.
Bridgett glanced over and saw that they were indeed human soldiers, dressed in the uniform of the turgent’s men, and they were walking slowly with their backs toward her and the boy. She walked as quietly as possible over the stone floor in the opposite direction, following the young irua toward another tunnel entrance. When they had nearly reached the doorway, Bridgett heard a voice call out behind them.
“Hey, you there, stop.” She glanced over her shoulder to see four heavily armed men rushing toward them. Ignoring all of the pain and fatigue that resisted each of her movements, Bridgett ran as swiftly as she ever had. The young irua, though much smaller than her, sprinted through the tunnels at a pace she struggled to match. Though they were weighed down with their armor and weapons, the conditioned soldiers careened through the tunnels just behind her. The men ran, heavily encumbered but aided by strong magic, while casting spells at their prey. No spells found a direct hit. Bridgett attributed this to the soldiers’ unfamiliarity with the twists and turns of the tunnel system and to sheer luck.
As she followed the boy, trying to keep her momentum without falling as she turned sharp corners, she hoped he was not choosing his path randomly. He veered suddenly to the left, and Bridgett followed him into a wide passageway. Two shallow ruts ran the length of the tunnel, evenly spaced, as if from the wheels of many wagons passing through over hundreds of years. Water splashed against her legs with every step as it flowed past them downhill along the ruts. Bridgett heard the clatter of colliding metal and shouting behind her as the first soldier slipped coming around the corner and his companions stumbled over him in their pursuit. Just ahead of her, Bridgett saw two irua standing in the tunnel. One wore the sand-colored robes that resembled those of the Trust but had the same gold embroidery that she had learned to loathe soon after exiting her cell. The boy yelled to them, and though she could not understand the words, the cry for help was obvious in his tone.
The robed irua raised his wand, and a blast of cool air rush past Bridgett as she covered the last few strides to the hopeful reinforcements. She stopped, gasping for breath with her hands braced on her knees, and gazed back down the tunnel at the approaching invaders. They were still fifty or so strides behind, but their progress had been arrested as they seemed to struggle against a powerful wind. The irua stood in the center of the tunnel with his wand pointed at the humans and his free hand outstretched in front of him. Wind whipped at his robes, but Bridgett felt only still air surrounding her as she stood just behind him.
The second irua stood facing the tunnel wall, his wand pointed at a crack in the stone where water was seeping through and running in rivulets across the floor. The boy spoke to him briefly with a tone of authority, and then he began running his wand along the cracked stone. As Bridgett watched, the split stone began to knit together behind his tracing fingers as he passed the wand over the crack and the flow of the water slowed to a stop. The irua sighed in relief and nodded but then rushed to assist the other in holding back the soldiers.
Bridgett sent a concentrated current of energy from her wand toward the nearest soldier, but the air swirled so swiftly that her spell was caught up and collided with the ceiling instead. The blast dislodged small chunks of stone, which rained down upon the men.
“I will not be able to hold them off for long. Be sure that breach is secured.” The irua’s arm was trembling as he attempted to maintain the blast of air.
“Trevar sealed it, but I don’t know if his magic is strong enough to keep it that way. You, human, can you fight?” He turned his gaze on Bridgett as he drew a long, curved sword from the scabbard at his hip.
“I was trained as a healer, not a soldier.” Bridgett did not feel confident in anything Osric had taught her about combat. The men were making slow progress toward them, indicating that the irua was losing his control over the power.
“Then stay back. If you can get a clear shot with a spell, take it, but don’t risk hitting one of us.” Bridgett nodded and he held his sword low in front of him as he moved toward the humans. Trevar, the young Trust she had followed all this way, grinned back at her and then ran toward the men, gripping his dagger. The robed irua dropped his hand, causing the soldiers to topple forward from the sudden lack of resistance. He immediately began casting defensive spells around the two irua as they advanced.
The soldiers scrambled to their feet and drew their weapons. The first to recover his stance rushed forward and engaged the older irua, trading blow for blow with his heavier sword and longer reach. Yet, the irua moved much faster and with greater precision in his motions. His lighter weapon was more mobile, and he quickly had the human on the defensive. Trevar threw himself into a tumble, springing off his hands and landing both feet against the chest plate of a second soldier. The force of impact sent the men stumbling backward, and the boy landed on his feet and followed. As the man fell, Trevar lunged forward and stabbed his dagger into the joint where the leg and torso meet and a gap in armor allows for movement, severing the man’s femoral artery.
The two remaining soldiers were rushing toward Trevar, and Bridgett managed to hit one with a blast of energy that knocked him sideways. The distraction gave the young Trust enough time to maneuver away, and he retreated back toward the older wizard just as the irua gained the advantage and slayed his opponent.
Bridgett attempted to cast another spell, but since she was afraid of hitting the wrong target the blast went wide. The irua deflected a strike meant for the boy with his own sword, but the second soldier had nearly caught up to him. Trevar ducked as the man swung at him, and the strike glanced off of the stone wall. Unless he could access a gap in the man’s armor, his dagger would do him little good. He rolled to the side, slipping under the soldier’s arm and quickly regaining his footing. The human moved faster than he had expected, though, and a heavy blow to the back of his shoulder knocked Trevar down.
Bridgett rushed forward. The robed irua sent a blast of air that knocked the soldier off of his feet, sending him sprawling onto the floor. She quickly helped Trevar to his feet, and they ran back up the tunnel as the man tried
to scramble back up. His sword had skittered across the stone floor, but he drew a wand and cast a spell as they passed the irua caster. The blast of energy grazed past the old wizard and struck the wall where Trevar had mended the crack.
The stone wall split open, creating a massive breach between the tunnel and the vertical watercourse on the other side. Water and chunks of stone gushed into the tunnel; a large slab of the wall broke free and slammed into the older irua’s leg. Bridgett dropped her wand. Still clinging to Trevar’s hand, she grabbed the wizard’s arm and traveled them as far up the tunnel as she could see away from the rushing water. Trevar looked at her with wide eyes when they reappeared at the far end of the tunnel, but he smiled softly and then turned a concerned gaze on the other irua.
The tunnel ended in a large archway, which led into a wide, rectangular storage facility. Bridgett and Trevar helped the injured irua into the space and laid him out on the floor. She managed to stop the bleeding from his leg by tightly tying a strip of cloth above the wound, but without her wand she could do little to heal him. Trevar’s wand had been broken when he pitched forward from the soldier’s blow. Bridgett ran down the tunnel, hoping she could find another irua to help them, but there were no branches from the passage that far up. They had escaped the flood, but they were completely trapped by it.
Large sections of the tunnel ceiling began falling in from the weight of the water above. Since the rush of water had not even slowed, Bridgett assumed that they must be located under a reservoir of some sort. If they didn’t move soon, she feared that the entire section of the tunnel system would collapse. She had no choice but to use the traveling spell to get them all out, but she had no idea where to go. She felt the fog of fatigue pressing in on her thoughts, and the idea of traveling a great distance made her head spin. The only area on the surface that she was familiar with was located directly across from the main gate to Angmar, and the invading army was likely to overrun it. Still, she had no choice.
Bridgett took a few steadying breaths and pictured the sand dune where Ashir had landed upon their arrival in the Irua Realm. She took Trevar’s hand tightly in hers and grasped the irua wizard’s wrist with her other hand. She spoke the familiar words with a thick, dry tongue.
“Eo ire itum.”
The falling sensation was stronger than usual, and Bridgett fell to her knees in the hot sand. Her stomach heaved, emptying its contents with a violent convulsion, and it took a moment for her vision to clear and for the world to stop spinning. She looked up and attempted to orient herself to her surroundings. Trevar was cradling the older wizard’s head in his lap and gazing out across the desert. The bulk of the invading army must have made it through the entrance, but clusters of men were still fighting near the small buildings.
Bridgett climbed to her feet and smiled weakly. At the base of the hill, a familiar stocky form was standing on a pile of bodies, swinging an axe above his head and yelling threats at the army.
“Machai,” Bridgett said, her voice cracking with relief. She had to call out again to be heard. The dwarf turned around and broke into a wide grin.
“Bridgett, how in stone’s thunder did ye be winding up here?” He leapt down from his perch and ran up the side of the small dune. Machai dropped his axe when he reached her and grabbed her in a fierce hug. His greeting awakened her aches and pains anew, but she was too exhausted to complain.
“Machai, I can’t explain now, but these irua need our help. I can’t travel. I have nothing left. You must get them back to Stanton and get them to a healer immediately. Where’s Osric?”
“The last I be seeing of him, he be commanding from that hill.” Machai indicated the massive dune that held the entrance to Angmar. “Ye cannot be asking me to be leaving in the middle of a battle.”
“Machai, they saved my life more than once, and he has knowledge that could end this war.” Bridgett gazed over at Trevar, wondering what had made him trust her enough to show her the Well of Strands. “For better or for worse. He must be taken to safety.”
“If ye be sure he be that important, then I willn’t be letting ye down.”
“Thank you, Machai.” Bridgett squeezed the dwarf’s shoulder and smiled gratefully at the young Trust who had delivered her from death more times than she could count. As the dwarf prepared to travel, Bridgett walked out toward the gate of the city. She moved through the knots of fighting like a ghost, tattered and dirty and of no great threat to anyone.
As she approached the entrance to Angmar, a flash of gold among the sand caught her eye. Lying, half buried by shifting sand, just below the shattered double doors was the irua who had led her from her cell to her intended execution—the one who had sent shivers of repulsion across her skin as he had traced his fingers along her flesh. His tan robes were stained with blood, and his ashen skin gave him the appearance of weathered stone. Bridgett bent down and wrapped her fingers around the hilt of his dagger lying next to him in the sand. The image of the dagger poised above her heart flashed through her mind. His expressionless gaze seemed to mock her even in death, and she quickly pulled her amulet from the pocket of the irua’s robe. Slipping it over her head, she welcomed the reassuring weight of the stone against her chest, and she continued on without looking back at his battered body.
Bridgett crawled up the side of the large dune, dragging herself when she was too tired to walk upright. As she crested the hill and looked out over the sand, she saw a long line of wagons moving slowly across the desert. Bridgett turned around and scanned the base of the hill. The battlefield was an expanse of sand churned under thousands of boots and tinted with the blood of the fallen.
A swirl of black robes caught her eye in the distance, and Bridgett started down the slope with her heart pressing into her throat. Before her, she watched in horror as Dredek held Osric in a magical grip. Osric’s body was suspended above the sand, trembling in its eerie stillness. She looked on, unable to raise her weapon fast enough, as Osric’s body convulsed and so much energy coalesced around Dredek that visible sparks shot out around him. She screamed as she began shouting spells at the robed wizard and stumbling down the side of the mountain of sand. Osric crumpled to the sand as Bridgett reached flat ground and threw herself at Dredek. He was startled by the sudden onslaught of sand and stones flinging up at him from her spoken spells, and he turned just in time for her to plunge the jagged dagger into his torso.
Rushing past Dredek, Bridgett stood between the surprised wizard and Osric’s sprawled form. Though she expected him to reach out and kill her, to her amazement Dredek whispered the traveling spell and disappeared. Osric’s eyes fluttered closed as Bridgett dropped to her knees beside him. Fighting back desperate sobs, Bridgett took his bloody hand in hers and traveled to Stanton, knowing that the expenditure of magic might kill her.
They appeared on the grass outside the barracks, welcomed by gentle sunshine and strange silence. Bridgett saw someone rushing toward them from across the grounds as she collapsed unconscious beside Osric’s crumpled body.
21 – First Awakening
Words barely registered in Osric’s mind, but the familiar voices carried on. He wasn’t sure who was speaking, but he recognized the voices somewhere deep within his mind. The melody of the exchange had a recognizable feel to it. The wordplay had the effect of drawing his focus out of slumber.
“I don’t understand how.”
“Well, you must have been exposed to whatever it is that has given the other two the gifts as well.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense. I was gone from this place for months. How could I pick up all of these gifts while I was away from him but not before I left?”
“A gift doesn’t simply appear instantly, it has to grow to its full potential before you can use it. It is more likely that you picked up the abilities months ago, and the Wand-Maker gift was just the first you noticed.”
“Maybe the new evidence will help him figure out the mystery of the wand.”
“H
e has been at the heart of this whole mess since the start. You wouldn’t believe all of the discoveries he has been responsible for lately. If anyone can figure it out, it would be him.”
“That’s not something I would have expected to hear from your mouth, Gus.”
“I know, and if you tell him what I said, I will deny every word of it.”
“Would it be a terrible thing for him to hear? Maybe a bit of kindness would help him focus.”
“Are you mad? It’s my challenging of every move he makes that keeps his mind so sharp. It may be the reason we have such a good relationship.”
“Ha!”
Osric’s body felt stiff as his eyes drifted open. He could make out a stone ceiling above him, and candlelight licked at the room, making shadows dance as though they were alive in the corners. He did not attempt anything as foolish as movement, but the true and vivid nature of the pain his mind and body was experiencing became evident to him. The voices continued as he let his eyes close, and the comforting caress of sleep took over yet again.
“He’s been waking like that for weeks. Do you think he’ll pull out of it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen this kind of damage done. It looks like his Portentist gift was ripped out of him. When that gift was taken, the others were dislodged from their anchored locations. If he does recover, he may be a very different person than he was. He should have died instantly.”
“Archana be praised that didn’t happen.”
“I think you are the one to be thanked for this miracle. Archana didn’t bring him back here; you did. And it almost killed you to do so. You recovered, and as stubborn as he is, I imagine he will come back to us as well.”
The Well of Strands (Osric's Wand, Book Three) Page 27