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

by Jack D. Albrecht Jr.

  Toby stood up quickly after seeing the three tended to by another who had just joined the search, and he and Osric made their way as quickly as they could to the center of the former building. They began to dig—with their hands when they were able and with wands when pieces of rubble were too heavy for them to lift. The sun had traveled across the sky and slipped over the horizon before they paused, and even then it was only for long enough to drink a few sips of water. The dark of the night had taken over and several Aranthian troops joined in the effort to find survivors. Neither Osric nor Toby could remember summoning them to help, but more appeared to carry away debris or cast light on the efforts as the night grew long, but for all of their efforts the progress was slow.

  Many of the men and women who worked on the Rowain palace that day had been in Stanton when that palace had collapsed amidst mysterious circumstances, and they knew all too well the fear that the families of those who worked in the palace would be feeling as they waited to learn if their loved ones had survived. This knowledge seemed to fuel those who labored all night in search of anyone still breathing in the wreckage. More continued to be unearthed, but disturbingly only from the outer regions of the complex walls.

  As fatigue began to set into the bones of everyone engaged in rescue operations, the sun began to slowly rise in the east. Toby looked weary in his fine clothing. The ash that still rose from their surroundings had covered everyone and everything in thick black soot, which mixed with dripping sweat. So much of it had covered each body working the scene that no distinguishing characteristic could be detected on anyone except for vivid white eyes tinged with red and the shape of their body against the grey backdrop of the sky.

  Until these recent events, no recorded history or fire-telling spoke of attacks like these taking place anywhere on Archana. It was a stark picture for anyone to observe as black, soot-covered figures fought against rock, smoke, and fire that would not yield, to rescue those who had little chance at life. But a little chance was still a chance to anyone still clinging to life beneath the rubble, and every successful rescue brought to the surface more shocked faces of buried men, women, and children who had expected to die. The rescuers worked to a point of physical fatigue and emotional numbness as they uncovered twenty corpses for each single survivor.

  By noon the next day, the word had gotten out at the Aranthian headquarters and hundreds of people were working alongside Osric and Toby. In spite of their efforts, the central mass was disturbingly difficult to uncover, and so far not a single survivor had been uncovered from the area. Also, very little progress had been made in carrying out walls due to the instability in the way the walls sat upon the next layer below. They had to uncover nearly the entire outer structure before it was safe to begin digging in the middle—a fact that became obvious a short time into the search when every attempt caused a small cave-in.

  Yet, with the experience of the Aranthians to bolster the efforts, by nightfall on their second day, significant progress had been made. After only a short rest, both Osric and Toby had gotten back to their efforts and they found themselves, with the help of five Aranthians, lifting a large section of wall away from the Turgent’s living quarters.

  “Keep your side higher than ours!” Toby shouted above the smashing boulders that fell on his side of the wall. “Let the rubble fall to our side!”

  “Higher!” Osric urged them on, stepping out of the way as debris fell toward him. “We need to keep the survivors safe. Don’t let up!”

  “Over here!” A small man who worked as a healer in Rowain had arrived early in the morning to help, and he led a small band of workers under the raised stone wall to inspect the area. “We have bodies!” he shouted as the seven who lifted the wall passed the burden onto the next dozen workers to carry it out of the way. Most of the rescue workers were far too fatigued from using magic to levitate stone slabs and put out smoldering fires to even attempt a simple spell. The only option remaining was to work together and use the strength of their arms and backs to lift the vast chunks of rubble.

  Osric and Toby lowered their wands and ran to help with the inspection and to prepare the floor to be moved for the next layer to be opened. They led the digging, but when it came to this part there was no substitute for a local healer, so they let him lead in the rescue. At a quick glance, five bodies lay before them. It didn’t take a healer to know that at least four were beyond any hope, but the fifth, a young girl in her early teens in what looked like a soiled yellow dress, could possibly pull through if she was still alive.

  “Dead.” The healer swore and threw a rock into the air. His tan robes were stained with smoke, and dirt heaved with silent sighs where he knelt on the tilting, cracked floor.

  “Is it the Turgent’s family?” Toby knew it was too soon, but he needed to continue working to rescue them, if there was still a hope of finding them, so he pressed the issue. “Well?”

  The robed man wiped his face with the soiled rags of his clothing and looked around. “This young woman was his only daughter.” He stood there, examining each of the bodies with a horrified expression. “This was his wife, but these three bodies are too badly burnt and crushed for me to tell if one of them was his only son. I just don’t know.”

  “These two wore armor and stood near the door.” Osric pointed to the two mangled bodies by the outer edge of the floor. “This one’s dress suggests servant status. Would they keep a chambermaid?”

  The old man surveyed the bodies again, and a hint of recognition reflected in his eyes. Slowly he began to nod and then he barked out, “Yes! The boy was eight years old and quite a bit smaller than those two as well. They couldn’t be him.”

  His search began again, and he moved in the direction the bodies had fallen. The wardrobes and bed had created a hollow underneath the wall, but survival would have depended a great deal upon how they fell when the palace crumbled, and if they were near anything that still burned. An overturned wardrobe lay on its face, cracked and ready to come apart.

  “Get this up and see if the boy took refuge.” The Healer looked up at Osric and Toby with longing eyes. “Let’s hope, for his sake, the sight of a dragon drove cowardice into his young heart.”

  The wardrobe was unusually heavy, and it looked to be made of quartz. As Osric, Toby, and two of the townsmen lifted the stone panel off of the back of the wardrobe, it became clear that it was designed for more than just clothing. Eight swords of different lengths and styles, four staffs, and a selection of daggers filled a narrow chamber.

  “It’s a false back. I bet many of these are magical in nature.” Toby looked to Osric for confirmation. “Probably gifts from different dignitaries.”

  “The staffs are actually wands, and the one with the ruby set in the carving has a flame charm set in it.” Osric confirmed Toby’s suspicions. “There’s nothing magical about the rest of them, but they look a lot like the ceremonial swords I’ve seen over the years.”

  They spoke fast and began to remove the items from their resting place, making sure to preserve them for the heir they hoped they would find. When they had placed the items on the remains of a charred bed, the men returned to lift the next stone panels from their case. Upon inspection, the hidden door was in three separate panels. It took several long moments before they figured out how to open it and allow them to see inside.

  “It’s a spell that opens it. Look, here,” Osric said out of habit from having Gus around, and then he realized none of those around him were Wand-Makers. “All we have to do is”—he held out his wand—“trigger the locking mechanism.”

  A click and a whirling sounded from within the stone walls at the sides. The panels to either side sunk in and the middle raised, then the three stone plates moved together to the left side, disappearing into the sidewall. The odor of sweat, urine, and vomit rose up from the small figure that lay on top of the clothing.

  “Elgon! This is the Turgent’s son.” The healer knelt by the side of the wardrobe and gently
felt for a pulse. “He’s alive. Water, bring me some water. Quickly!”

  Osric and Toby stood back and watched closely as the older man worked, issuing orders to men and women moving the boy from the mounds of rubble to a safe, clean location within a building not too far away. They had Elgon carried out on a blanket by two Vigiles, stepping slowly over the remaining rubble that was left of the palace. Dozens of men and women had come to help secure the heir to the Turgency, and they watched with worry and relief plain on their features as the two men handled their burden with gentle, careful hands.

  There was still work to be done, and the two leaders from Stanton knew it, but they stood there for a moment to watch Rowain’s people care for their helpless young leader. Then as the second day’s sun was setting, they turned back to the work that had summoned them and set themselves to finishing the task. After another full night of work, they uncovered the last of the survivors. In all, seventeen men, women, and children survived the dragon’s attack.

  22 — Old Friends

  “I don’t think you can appreciate how much damage was done.” Shrad looked across the table with weary eyes. His hand shook as he lifted a cup of rulha to his mouth. “We could tell a lot about what used to be there by what was left.”

  Osric brought a tray of cheese, sausage, and bread to the table. Weeks had passed since he had sent Aron’s defectors to the Elven Realm to check on them after Bridgett informed him of the dragon attack on the Elvenwood. He had been waiting for the report, but recent events had taken precedence over previous curiosities—until Rowain. It was only a day after he and Toby had returned from Rowain—horrible timing, since they were still sending relief for that effort, but the attacks in the Elven Realm were among the first and they might give him some idea of what they were up against if he could hear the accounts from the survivors.

  “But what took you so long to report? I almost forgot that we sent you.” Osric topped off the steaming cup.

  “Well.” Shrad took a piece of cheese. “Even though many of the smaller villages are in ruins, the spells concealing them are largely in place. It was seventeen days into our search before we encountered any elves who would let us in to get information. We had been close to the spells and they interfered with communication, but we didn’t know why until later. And once we were inside, we couldn’t just gather information and leave. I doubt they would have let us leave either.”

  “Okay, then how were you able to leave and bring us the information without raising their suspicions?” He poured himself a glass of water and sat down.

  “By the time I left, they had no reason to be suspicious of any of us. We’ve been gone all this time because we got swept up in the events of De’assartis. The one redeeming thing to come out of these attacks is that De’assartis has been nearly unscathed through it all, though few of the smaller elven communitites can boast the same.” Shrad paused, reflecting.

  “If De’assartis was left alone, what events could you get caught up in?” Osric questioned him gently.

  Shrad sighed heavily. “The first thing was the way the trees seemed to speak. At first it was almost musical, seductive even, but the closer we got to the source, the more it seemed to bring on waves of emotion. We were saddened beyond any rational explanation. Our whole group wept for days on end. That was what got us discovered, but we couldn’t control ourselves; the forest’s call was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.”

  “When they found us they kept saying that the mother had told them where to find us, that help was on the way. You see, they worship the trees. They thought that their mother, the trees, told them we would help, and I suppose we did. At first we were only allowed to help with some small things, like packaging fruit and bread to be sent to groups of survivors. We collected water in corked husks of a fruit the elves use as canteens. We spent days bundling bandages and medicines together, and then they began sending us to help, once they felt they could trust us.”

  “You should have reported to us. We could have sent more help.” Osric leaned in. Shrad’s emotions were starting to affect him, and Osric could sense the most intense emotions were yet to come.

  “Like I said before, we got swept up in everything that was happening. We traveled with them to several small villages that were almost completely destroyed, but part of the mother was always near the survivors.” Shrad shook with some hidden memory.

  “We saw families weeping over unrecognizable, burnt bodies. Lines of them were laid out, hastily wrapped in linen. They just kept bringing more and more bodies, some alive and some not, from different places across the realm. I remember one boy; he was burned beyond recognition on his right side and only a small, blistered, black nub hung from where his arm used to be. The smell was just…” His face contorted in horror.

  “I think I’ve heard enough.” Osric motioned for him to stop. “Is there anything we can offer? There must be something we can do.”

  “Right now, what they need are healers, and medicine, and food. But the elves have a strictly vegetarian diet, which may seem strange but it actually tastes pretty good. With that in mind, I don’t think sending them things that we eat will be of any help, and it may actually hurt in the long run.”

  “They fear that many of the things that we grow and eat in our climate may infest their grounds, taking over ground cover and choking out much of the natural vegetation that grows in the area. They have many plants in that area that are essential to their way of life, and their habitat is very fragile.” Shrad emphasized his final words.

  “So, what should we bring?” Osric was beginning to understand how difficult the relief effort could be.

  “They need manpower. It’s really that simple. We could send medication and healers straight away. But they would need to train our people on the proper ways to gather many of their more fragile crops. Then, they also have many cultural beliefs surrounding the mother that extend into cultivating and farming of crops as well. It would take several days, or longer, for them to trust us to send our own men out to perform the tasks. This is no small project we would be getting ourselves into.”

  “Do you think they would allow me to come and see things for myself before I commit our overwhelmed resources to the cause.” He didn’t know what he was doing, but portent was leading him in this direction. If they were to face Dredek with the five hundred dwarves Machai was supposed to be bringing back with him—and he had already sent Aranthian troops to help bolster the Vigiles in Rowain, and even more to the Elven Realm—he wasn’t sure there would be enough men for them to be able to stop Dredek. In spite of Osric’s misgivings, his Portentist ability hadn’t misled him yet. He was inclined to follow the pull from the gift out of sheer experience, with or without the support of logic.

  “I’m certain they would,” said Shrad. “One thing they would frown upon is dozens of our men showing up at once. There are very few elves available to train them in gathering food, so the fewer the better the first time we go.”

  “I’m not sure how many we can offer, but there will be help sent.” And then Osric had a thought. “I think Bridgett and I will accompany you to the city. We can decide from there what to do with the rest of our efforts.”

  “Great, sir.” Shrad stood up with relief and drew his wand. “I’ll let them know we are on our way.”

  “I’m sure I won’t have to talk Bridgett into going back, but I don’t want to speak for her. We’ll depart later this morning, after I talk to her and see to some things here.” Osric nodded and stood up to leave the room.

  * * *

  After a short wand conversation with Landin, enough to give Osric his bearings for the traveling spell, the three Aranthian troops arrived under a canopy of trees. A cool mist was in the air, as if a storm had recently passed through the area. Gad, Landin, and Asram stood in front of them with a dozen elven archers training their bows in their direction. Osric could sense it was purely for security reasons and none of the elves intended them harm,
though their nerves were understandably on edge. He smiled at seeing the three men again, entirely ignoring the weapons surrounding them.

  “Shrad, it’s good to see you’ve brought help.” One of the many warriors stepped out from the shadows, suddenly becoming visible behind the rest of the elven archers. “And the High-Wizard, if I’m not mistaken?”

  “Yes, this is Osric. I think you’ll find he is everything we told you he is.” Shrad inclined his head and motioned to the other three men.

  “I’m Elisad, commander of the eastern gates.” He was tall, with dark hair, a spotless brown and green tunic to match his breeches, and he trained a vivid pair of silver eyes on Osric as he stepped through the crowd and held out his hand in greeting.

  Osric stepped up and grasped his arm just before the elbow. “I sent some of my best to discover what was happening after Bridgett departed, and I hear things are dire for much of the Elven Realm.”

  “I am sorry to report that the stories are true. One mighty, black beast of a dragon has burned seven of our villages to the ground.” Elisad’s voice was low and heavy with remorse.

  “Velien, is Velien still alive?” Bridgett strode forward with a confidence that commanded attention.

  “Velien?” Elisad stuttered. “I’m not entirely certain.”

  “He worked this gate before the dragon attacks. He’s half a head shorter than you with wide, curious eyes and the same color hair as you.” Bridgett held his gaze firmly with her own.