The Weaving of Wells (Osric's Wand, Book Four)

by Jack D. Albrecht Jr.

His footsteps were hesitant on the slippery stone as he approached the treacherous bridge. The wind blew sheets of ice toward him, whipping his cloak against his body and stinging his eyes. He was able to make out only the slight impression of the great iron doors that stood beyond the swaying bridge, and he waited for a lull in the storm to clear his vision. He needed a view clear enough to ensure that he would appear on solid ground across the chasm. Luckily the wind, seeming to hear his silent plea, calmed for a moment just before the moon dipped behind the steep mountain and stole the light he needed to see. Machai spoke the spell in the brief intermission, hoping the sense of falling was from his transportation and not the wind driving him down into the black abyss.

  He appeared before the doors, assured himself that it was truly stone beneath his boots, and gazed up at the immense iron barricade that marked the entrance of the IronForge clan. The wind resumed its vicious attack, ice pelting his cloak and clinging in his beard. Machai wrapped the cloth strip that kept his hand shielded from the ice and wind tighter and gripped the large metal striker firmly. The hammer was embedded in the stone and hinged on a spring. He drew it back toward himself firmly, and when he released his grip the hammer reversed direction and struck the door solidly. The reverberations of the gong strike echoed throughout the chamber beyond the door, and he hoped a warm welcome awaited him.

  He grew concerned that his summons would go unanswered as the night grew colder and darker. He considered using the striker again, but before he could pull the hammer back, a small square concealed by the pattern of the door slid aside to reveal a flickering light inside.

  “Who be daring the mountain in an ice storm?”

  “I be Machai of FireFalls, seeking admittance and an audience with Festil, blood of Gring, the mighty founder of IronForge.”

  “Ye be daft to be coming here in this weather. Be ye mad, or be ye desperate?’

  “I be only a touch of both, me friend. A gathering be summoned, and I be seeking a member of the nine.”

  “Aye, ye be desperate then. Mean ye any harm to IronForge or its clan members?”

  “Nay, no harm at all. I be here as a dwarven cousin, friend and ally to IronForge.”

  “Aye, ye be true.” The small door slid closed and Machai heard a loud creaking just before the warmth and light of the mountain’s interior spilled out to embrace him.

  Machai stepped through the iron gateway into a well-lit tunnel. Large fires roared on either side of the door, though like the fire in the cave no wood fed the flames, and Machai welcomed the warmth that thawed his bones and left his cloak melting puddles on the stone floor. The Trust who had queried him through the small window waved a hand impatiently at him, and he hurried after the retreating figure.

  The tunnel went deep into the mountain, making Machai feel at home in the almost familiar passageway. However, rather than encountering a gaping chasm at his feet, they passed through several crossways where small openings in the stone walls blew warm air across the tunnel.

  “What be the winds?” Machai asked his guide.

  “Spells of protection. If ye be passing before me, rather than after me, ye be catching on fire instead of feeling a warm breeze on yer cheeks.”

  Machai nodded silently, glaring at the dwarf’s back for failing to tell him so before they started walking down the passage. At regularly spaced intervals, torches were set into iron brackets just above their heads. The light made the space seem larger than it was, but the thick smell of smoke made the stone walls seem imposing. Machai wondered why the area was not better ventilated. He looked around, taking notice of the various protections that were in place to protect the clan from intruders.

  In addition to the winds, Machai noticed a portcullis as they passed beneath it. The grooves in the stone in which it would slide down to block the tunnel were nearly imperceptible. In several places, there were lines of small holes in the walls, with arrow tips glinting just inside. Machai wondered how they were triggered, as his guide didn’t seem concerned about walking past them. Just beyond the last of the recessed arrows, they passed under another portcullis. Machai realized that a fairly formidable force could be caged between the two grates, and triggering the arrows would decimate the majority of those within. Though he was sure there were other ways of getting in and out of the mountain, Machai was impressed that the entrance was so well defended. An army may make it across the iron bridge and through the doors, but it was likely to be completely wiped out before anyone could reach the end of the main tunnel. After one last gush of hot air, Machai and his guide emerged from the passage into a large open chamber.

  To his left and right, several smaller tunnels branched off, and directly across from him two staircases led to higher and lower levels in the mountain. The Trust turned to Machai and then indicated a stone bench against the wall near the opening of the tunnel they had just come from.

  “Be taking a seat. I can be seeking Festil, but ye may need to be speaking with Gorin first.”

  Machai sat on the bench, trying to recall if Gorin was the name of the IronForge clan leader. As a boy, he had learned much of the history of the nine clans. He had known the names of all of the clan leaders then, and most of their children’s names as well, but he had forgotten many of them over the years. His work in training young dwarves to wield weapon and wand had required little knowledge of politics and even less of diplomacy with the other clans.

  Before he could recall for sure, two young ladies appeared from one of the tunnels to his right. Both had blue kerchiefs tied over their heads, covering brunette curls, and both wore white aprons. The first carried a tray on one hand and a mug in the other. The second placed a small table before him so her companion could unload her burdens. They turned without speaking to him, but they giggled as they retreated into the same tunnel again. Machai shook his head slowly, wishing they hadn’t left so fast, but he was grateful for the meal. A dark bread, a soft white cheese, and a dried fruit that he didn’t recognize were arranged neatly on the platter. The mug held cold water, and Machai had nearly finished it all when he heard the sound of jingling chainmail and heavy boots approaching.

  The armored dwarf came up the staircase across the chamber. A short sword was scabbarded at his hip, but no helmet covered his blond hair and beard. A thick scar traced the length of his face, from his left temple to his jaw, and he scowled at Machai as if he were the one who had given it to him. He stopped in front of Machai, eyeing him suspiciously before speaking.

  “Ye be seeking Festil for a gathering of nine?”

  “Aye.” Machai stood up, but his tone was polite.

  “Ye willn’t be speaking with him, unless ye be convincing me of yer mission.”

  “Ye be Gorin, the leader of IronForge?” Machai asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Though I be short of time, and the ice be raging outside yer iron doors, I would be speaking with ye of the state of Archana. Then, ye will be seeing me need for Festil and the gathering of nine.”

  “Aye,” Gorin said, seeming to come to some conclusion about Machai as he briefly assessed his words and manner. “Be following me to me chambers, and ye can be saying yer piece.”

  Machai followed him across the room, and they ascended the stairs to the next level up. They spoke little as they walked, and the stone walls with interspersed torches changed even less as they moved further into the mountain. Upon entering Gorin’s rooms, however, Machai was struck by the lush decorations and the elaborate furnishings. The main corridors may be plain and unadorned, but the clan leader’s chambers were a study in generations of spending gold on frivolous novelties and domestic comforts.

  The front room was carpeted in thick rugs, and heavy, brightly colored tapestries covered every wall. An elegant chandelier was suspended in the air above a large round table. Eighteen chairs encircled the wooden table, and the finish was such a glossed stain that Machai could see his face reflected in its surface. Tables and shelves held jewel-encrusted statues, large
gilt-framed paintings, old books and scrolls, and crystal trinkets. The richness and beauty of the room was overwhelmed by its clutter and opulence, and Gorin looked like a rough and unpolished rock amid the gold and gems. Through an open doorway in the far wall, Machai could see a massive four-poster bed draped in dark red curtains and skirted with layers of gold linen and lace. Several swords hung on the walls around the bed amid portraits of stern-faced dwarves in gleaming armor.

  Machai could not help but shake his head, wondering if Gorin relished the luxury of his surroundings as much as those who had come before him. Surely it had taken many generations for the variety of items to be collected in one place, and Machai hoped that the current clan leader cared less for gold than the collection implied. Then, Machai wondered why Gorin had chosen his chambers, with such decadence, as the location for their discussion.

  “Why do ye be calling a gathering? Surely the FireFalls clan be needing wiser dwarves to be making decisions than Thenar, but a gathering be a bit extreme,” Gorin said loudly, refusing to hide his dislike of Machai’s clan leader in tone or in volume. Machai bit back a sarcastic retort about the impossibility of finding wisdom in such surroundings.

  “Thenar be seeking to be protecting the clan, but we be in need of dwarves who can be seeing the distant future as well as the near. There be a wizard in Angmar seeking to be raising his kin from the dead, and it be likely that he has found the power he be needing to succeed.” Gorin’s eyes went wide at Machai’s words. “We be calling a gathering to seek the consent of the nine clans to be marching an army out to meet this madness.”

  “Aye, Thenar be content behind his stone mountain, huh?”

  “Aye,” Machai said. “We willn’t be ignoring the threat of new magic in the world, but we cannot be recruiting enough men with Thenar threatening charges of treason.”

  “I believe we can be aiding each other, Machai, and ye may yet get yer army. I will send Festil with ye to the gathering if ye can be obtaining something for me in exchange. I be knowing that FireFalls recently be acquiring a large shipment of gems for imbuing. Ye be bringing me a number of these gems, and I will be giving ye what ye be wanting.”

  “IronForge be a clan of mercenaries now, Gorin?” Machai glared at the greed on display in the room as well as in the clan leader.

  “Not mercenaries—merchants. We be good at seeing profits where others be seeing problems.” Gorin’s voice dropped low as he emphasized the last word, making Machai angrier at the intended threat.

  “Nay. I willn’t be paying ye a single coin.” Machai stepped closer to Gorin. “When was the last time anyone be knocking on yer door in the middle of an ice storm?”

  Gorin’s brow furrowed and he took a step back, startled by the change of topic.

  “It be happening rarely, if at all.”

  “How do ye be thinking I be making it here tonight?” Machai didn’t wait for Gorin to respond. “I be traveling here from FireFalls in the time it be taking yer servants to polish one gaudy trinket in yer rooms. I be crossing the iron bridge without ever touching foot to it. And if I can be arriving at yer door with so few problems, ye can be sure that others will be able to as well.”

  “Are ye threatening me, Machai?” Gorin’s hand rested lightly on the wand secured at his hip.

  “No. I be offering ye a great reward for aiding the Dwarven Realm in a time of great necessity. Ye will be sending Festil back with me for the gathering, and as soon as the storm be lifting ye will be supplying three hundred men with weapons and armor and be marching them to the Iron Valley. All of yer men who be passing me scrutiny for battle will be taught new forms of magic and strategy to help defend yer home and yer people from the magic that could be used against ye by yer true enemies.”

  “How dare ye try to be persuading me to be handing the lives of me men over to ye on the threat of some distant and ambiguous magic. Ye should be spending time in me dungeons for yer insolence.”

  Machai recited the traveling spell so softly under his breath that Gorin could not have heard him over the angry rush of his own blood in his ears. He appeared directly behind Gorin, seated at the round table. Before the clan leader thought to look around for him, Machai spoke.

  “Now ye be sounding like Thenar. He likely believes that I be in his dungeons right now, since that be the last place he be sending me.”

  Gorin spun around, his mouth hanging open and his hands clenched into fists.

  “How can ye be doing such a thing? Ye don’t even have a wand in yer hand.”

  “As I be saying, there be new magics spreading across Archana. Do ye be wanting yer men to be learning new magic, or to be open to attack by it for lack of the proper defense strategies?” Machai asked, resting his empty hands lightly on the smooth, polished table. Gorin stood silently for a moment, glaring at Machai and cracking his knuckles.

  “Three hundred men, ye said?”

  * * *

  Treethorn landed on the dragon platform near FireFalls just as the sun was coming up over the mountains. The ice storm had subsided slightly during the night, and with Festil maintaining a shield and Machai warming the air around them with his gift, they were able to make it to calm skies, where the dragon could safely use the traveling spell. Machai slid down the dragon’s wing and helped his shaky companion to the ground. Though it had been a while, and a great deal had happened since then, Machai could still remember how disorienting the spoken spell was the first time he experienced it. He understood why Festil was unsteady on his feet, but they had little time for him to gain his bearings. Machai thanked Treethorn for exposing herself to such harsh conditions on his behalf, and he offered to reward her with a generous amount of coins from his pouch. After all she had gone through for him, Machai would willingly part with the small fortune. However, she refused that payment with an indignant laugh and flew off to bask in the warm sunlight and to seek a hearty meal. Then, Machai hurried Festil through the halls of FireFalls to Kablis’s chambers, hoping they would find that most of the nine gathering members had arrived during the night. Only five new faces greeted him when they walked into the room.

  “Where be the other three?” Machai asked as he sank into an overstuffed chair against one wall.

  “There be no word yet from Phel, but IceIsle be a long way.” Kablis took the seat next to Machai. “Gerbim be reaching me by wand. He be finding Legin in StoneStar, and they should be here anytime. Morgo went to SnowStand, but Rhemt be heading for Barlington on trade. Morgo be following the river looking for the boat he be on, but since me wand be silent it be likely he still be searching.”

  Machai eyed Festil and the other dwarves from the various clans, and he wondered what they would need to hear to be convinced that war was the correct choice for the Dwarven Realm. Festil was fairly young, but the stern gaze of the IronForge clan was firmly etched in his features, and he had shed the instability of his shock at traveling by spell. His blond beard was trimmed straight across at his chest, and he wore his long hair in a single braid down his back. Krind had welcomed Festil warmly when he followed Machai into the room, providing warm food and mead to the newcomer as he ushered him to the large table in the center of the room. The guests sat around the table, trading stories of their clans’ recent happenings and discussing the various ideas they each had about what a gathering would entail. They knew why they were there, but none of them had ever been present at a gathering.

  Machai slipped in and out of sleep while sitting in the chair, the exhaustion of having used so much magic catching up to him, as conversations and laughter drifted around him. Around mid’day, Gerbim arrived with Legin and with news of Phel, who had spent the entire night arguing with the clan leader of IceIsle. Kant was the leader’s uncle, an old dwarf that had rarely left his clan’s walls in recent years. However, his spine was still straight and stong and his hands still thickly calloused from weapons training. Phel had tried to make the leader of IceIsle see that Kant was needed to complete the gathering, but the
protective younger dwarf refused to yield. Phel had contacted Gerbim, seeking advice on what he should do, when Kant walked up and slapped a wrinkled hand on his nephew’s back. The old dwarf had listened to the men argue all night, and when it seemed that Phel might give up, Kant had looked his nephew in the eye and said, “Ye be too kind and too foolish to be of me blood, and ye be too young to be dictating me life or me death. A gathering be the highest honor ye may ever receive as a descendant of Behg the Brutal. I be going now, with or without yer blessing. It be me right and me responsibility to be knocking some sense into these foolish young dwarves who be bent on a foreign war.”

  Phel and Kant arrived shortly after Gerbim, and the absence of Morgo and the last of the nine gathering members settled over the room like a fog. Machai roused himself from his sporadic slumber and sent a young dwarf who earned coin by running errands to get a tonic from the healers. He needed something that would restore alertness and ease the magical fatigue. It was an expensive remedy, but Machai would have no time for the sleep he needed until after the gathering was over.

  When the small vial of foul-smelling liquid arrived, Machai drank it quickly with a grimace. He struggled to keep it down, but once his stomach had settled he began to feel a bit better. Soon, he was nearly back to his normal self, and he found Kablis in the next room.

  “How can we be aiding Morgo to be finding Rhemt so we can be getting this gathering over with?” Machai asked. Kablis glanced up with a worried expression.

  “I cannot be saying, though I wish I be knowing. Perhaps if we be sending more men? We be sure he be on a boat, but Morgo cannot be traveling any faster than the dragon can be flying. We be fearing that the spoken spell may be taking him past the boat and he could be missing it.”

  “What be the furthest south the boat could be stopping before Rhemt be heading east for Barlington?” Machai asked.

  “There be a small port city on the coast, though I cannot be recalling its name. Rhemt be either gaining a ship to be sailing along the coast from there, or calling a dragon somewhere between the forks and the coast. It be impossible to be saying where he be disembarking if he be taking a dragon over land.”