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

by Jack D. Albrecht Jr.

  “He’s served with me before. I know who he is. It’s just that…” Elisad measured her with skeptical eyes.

  “You don’t know where he is at? Or you don’t know if you should answer?” she continued with forcefulness.

  “Bridgett, what are you doing?” Osric held his hands out, trying to calm her down.

  “I am attempting to get some answers,” she replied.

  “I’m just not sure if he’s still alive, and having an outsider question the well-being of an elf surprised me. Guard groups shift sites and commanders on a regular basis, and things are more irregular than normal these days. He could be on one of the relief crews, or be watching the western gate. Then again, he could be dead. They started sending troops to outlying villages when the attacks began. I just don’t know.” A mournful shrug echoed Elisad’s grim expression.

  “And now the Aranthians are here to aid you. I’m sure the answer will be known in no time.” Gad injected the pride of his station into the conversation.

  “We’ll lend whatever aid we can.” Osric nodded, but the elves shifted with unease at the words, so Osric continued. “And along the way we will observe any customs you wish us to. I am here to get a feel for the kind of help we could send, and what magics they may need to know in order to assist you as quickly as possible.”

  “Well…” Elisad winced, preparing his reply. “You should know that speed could lend itself to the improper execution of our tasks. We appreciate any help you can send, but our problems will not be solved overnight, no matter the magic you bring.”

  “That is why he is here.” Shrad stepped forward with a calming gesture. “Trust us. There are many new magics. I’m sure we can find some that can help to speed relief without causing concern for the elves.”

  “And”—Osric stepped forward with open hands—“we won’t attempt anything without the knowledge and permission of your people.” He took a breath. “But we must attempt to speed relief, if we are to offer it. The Aranthians are in the midst of battle and cannot promise a long, protracted arrangement. But rest assured that we will attempt to ensure that none of our actions violate your customs and beliefs.”

  “Attempt?” Worry filled Elisad’s eyes as he held Osric in his gaze. He was clearly concerned, but Osric could sense that curiosity at his honesty was the driving force behind the question.

  “There are many unknowns with the magics we bring,” Osric spoke openly. “We are still learning what consequences they have, but we will use caution in selecting which to use, as well as your council.”

  “Could you not simply send us scholars? I see no use in more warriors filling our forests.” Elisad continued to probe, but an underlying sense of respect began to fill his mind.

  “Many of our warriors have the minds of scholars, and many of our scholars have the skills of warriors,” Landin said, taking his place beside the group.

  “The ones that don’t possess both skills tend to pass away in the early days of becoming an Aranthian.” Gad joined them, swelling with pride.

  “New magics test one’s mind and body. Mistakes lead to an early grave if we do not possess a keen mind and stout body.” Asram stepped to their side.

  Osric was surprised by their display. He was proud of what the Aranthians had become, but he had never heard any of them speak so highly of it. He had hoped they would become worthy of such praise, yet hearing his own men speak so highly of the infant organization made him realize how far they had come. He swallowed hard, regathering his thoughts to form an argument. Then Elisad spoke.

  “A lesser man would tell us he could guarantee everything we wished. He would say he could observe all our customs and beliefs while delivering speedy healing and food stores. He would say this thinking he could uphold the bargain, but would eventually fail in such a way that would see him, and his people, banished from our walls forever. But you bring no promises?” Elisad’s question was directed through the men displaying their pride in the Aranthian name and directly at Osric.

  “We don’t lie.” Landin completed the four-man formation.

  “Pride in who we are aside”—Osric parted the group and extended his hand—“my father always taught me not to oversell yourself. He taught me that honesty yields better results than false promises. I can offer you aid. I cannot promise that we can stay within your guidelines at all times, but we will try.”

  Elisad took his hand. “Let’s get you to De’assartis and see what help you can offer.” He turned to lead the way, then stopped and turned back. “I know you have a way to cover great distances with magic. The trip there with such magic would not violate any of our accords and would speed things along greatly.”

  Bridgett stepped forward with a sorrowful expression. “There are too many unknowns with that spell and this many people. If we arrive in a location with new growth—or worse yet, another living being— both the person and the unseen obstruction would die. We take precautions at our base to avoid these issues, so we cannot attempt it here until we have a chance to prepare. It was already a danger for us to arrive here without the protections in place. For the time being, we will have to walk in order to ensure that we all arrive safely.”

  “As you wish.” Elisad turned and led the small group of six into the trees.

  As they walked, Osric began to sense the emotions behind Bridgett’s uncharacteristic display. He was in awe at the way trees grew together, as if they were all one tree, but Bridgett was filled with relief at their sight. Inclines were adorned with steps formed by rectangular roots, perfectly placed and measured, with sharp corners and no sign of workmanship or cuts from saw blades.

  As they walked further, ever closer to the city, more signs of life emerged. Osric began to sense eyes watching them from somewhere in the canopy of trees. He kept looking to his left to see Bridgett smiling at his observation of the world they had entered. Then he witnessed the most amazing thing. As they entered the city, entire homes appeared to be grown out of a single tree, and the handrails on the walkways that crossed the expanses between homes were grown from a single branch. There were no signs of intertwined branches or workmanship of any kind. It was as if both trees on either side were the source of the extending branch, and the footpath was the same. In between the rail and the path, vines connected and acted to stabilize the structure, but once again there was no indication that tools of any kind had manicured either of them.

  Bridgett was filled with even more relief as they entered the city. Not only was the relief evident in waves of emotion from the Empath gift, but her shoulders also began to relax and her walk was less rigid, less pressing, and less forceful. As she took his hand, Osric knew that the fear that had prompted her outburst at the gate had faded, though there was still the persistent worry over Velien, whom Osric had heard about many times. He hoped Velien had survived. He felt he owed him for looking after her while she was in De’assartis, and he wished to thank him for what he had done.

  The heart of the city was far from the veiled canopy of life and hidden eyes peeking from the shadows that he had seen on the outskirts of De’assartis. As they began to climb the perfectly grown steps at the center, Osric began to see just how densely populated the elven city was. Hundreds of wounded elves rested along the mountainside under the shadows of the Mother’s leaves. Healers were tending to many, and others who were capable were lending a helping hand by bringing food and water or cleaning another’s wounds with clean cloths. Osric’s stomach twisted into knots when he saw how many elves were suffering injuries from the dragon attacks.

  As they went higher up the mountainside, a low, sad sound filled the air, growing louder the further they traveled. It was almost a hum, and Osric thought it sounded as if an endless breath were playing some wind instrument. Was this the mother singing? The Mother in Bridgett’s stories? Osric quickly shook off the thought. There was too much emotion behind the tone for it to be controlled by a tree. Whatever it was, it created a somber feeling in the air itself. The
music was colored by sorrow and mourning, and Osric felt the emotions welling up inside of him as the sound reverberated in his mind.

  They continued up the mountain. A mist followed them as they traveled, lending its aid in disguising the tortured elven figures along the sides of the path. Some were merely blistered, but many others were burned beyond recognition, littering the hillside. Osric started to get an idea of the type of people he should send in their first wave of relief. He did his best to look at the path and the trees, but the music continued to draw his attention to those surrounding him. Bridgett and the other three Aranthians made no such attempt, and tears fell freely from their eyes as they took in their surroundings.

  As they walked, Osric noticed that many of the people tending to the wounded were not elves. They were a much shorter race of elvish-looking creatures covered in a layer of tan fur. No doubt they were related to the elves in some way, but whatever had caused their lineage to yield this result was beyond him. His first thought was there must be some ancestor that shared both dwarf and elf parentage, but they had traits that looked distinctively catlike as well. Osric recalled Bridgett describing the girl who had served at the inn she stayed in, and he realized these creatures must be the nieko. He wondered why he had never heard of them before in the Human Realm.

  As they walked, Osric made a mental list of the resources that seemed to be lacking, and he agreed with Shrad’s assessment that manpower and supplies for the healers should top the list. He attempted to keep his emotions in check so that he could focus on the daunting responsibility before him, but even without the Empath ability, it would have been nearly impossible to block out the tragedy surrounding them. Osric kept his thoughts busy with the preparations that would be needed to supply men and women with the necessary items once he knew exactly how he could help the elves the most.

  They continued up the mountainside until a large hall was visible before them. A steady light filled hundreds of windows. Osric was beside himself wondering how such a building could be grown, but there was the telltale lack of planks, panels, carvings, or joints—anything that would indicate work done by hand or tools. The building appeared to be a large, hollow trunk, with many different levels. The size of the entire dwelling rivaled that of any castle or palace he had ever seen. Bodies moved in the windows as elves went about their routine, but on the bottom floor stood dozens of red-haired figures with somber faces. They wore long black robes that covered all but their faces. Osric looked to Bridgett and she shrugged.

  “They were chanting when I was here last.”

  “We have no songs when the mother is in mourning. Now is the time to reflect.” Elisad hung his head for a moment and then ushered them into the hall.

  When they entered, the line of robed figures remained in solemn pose with their heads bowed and hands tucked inside their sleeves. Signs of life were everywhere, from pillars to walls, ceiling to floor—even the steps leading to the raised dais crawled with vines. On twelve thrones adorned with vines sat eleven imposing figures looking down on them with pleading eyes. The central figure stood up and stepped to the edge of the platform.

  “Osric, I presume?”

  “I am. To whom am I speaking?” He inclined his head.

  “I am Lord Aveloc. The High Lord is away.” He bowed to each side, showing respect for those who sat to his sides. Each of the figures who sat on the dais bowed their heads in acknowledgment of the gesture.

  “Lord Aveloc, it is a pleasure to meet you. I can assure you that allowing us to aid you was a good decision.” Osric reciprocated the respectful bow.

  “Of that we have no doubt. We had a visit from a Seer after Bridgett departed. Our concern is that our culture may suffer from a large influx of outsiders.” Lord Aveloc stood stoically at the edge of the platform.

  The news was unexpected for Osric, but the presence of a Seer failed to trigger his Portentist gift, so he continued. “I can understand your concern, but I assure you that we will try to minimize the interference. I was thinking we could send a couple of healers first. We have been able to make some impressive gains in magical understanding of the healing process. They shouldn’t cause any interference in your culture with the magic they practice.”

  Osric had only recently been caught up on the advances that the healers in the Aranthian crew were making. Though he didn’t have knowledge of healing himself, Bridgett had assured him that they were significant advancements in instances of disease and tissue damage. All of these advances would be useful in aiding the elves in their current predicament.

  “The healers’ help would be welcome. We could also use help securing our borders and gathering food, if you could spare the resources for such a venture.” Wide eyes looked at Osric and his crew with uncertainty.

  Osric was taken aback by the swift admission that the elves needed help securing their borders. How much damage had the dragons done?

  “I’m not sure how many we can spare, but we will send what we can offer.” Then Osric hesitated, looking to his companions and back again at the dais. “I suggest we send in six-man teams to be trained alongside your men, at first. Then, after a few days we can send in twelve to be trained by our men and work alongside yours. This would allow you to supervise all of the training that takes place, and to be able to see that the instruction is up to your standards. All of this with the understanding that we are currently battling a superior force and we may have to withdraw the majority of our men at any moment.” He wasn’t at all sure how the proposal would be received.

  “A wise step in the right direction. I can see that you have given some thought to meeting our needs.” Aveloc nodded with approval. “And I can assure you we are well versed in your need for men at this time. Any help would be appreciated.”

  “I share your concern for your realm, and I am happy to offer any aid that is within our means.” Osric attempted to express his surprise that the elves were so openly and tactfully admitting their need for help. “I’m glad that you are willing to accept the assistance of our people.”

  “We were not confident that you would offer aid, High-Wizard. After all, our last meeting with Bridgett did not end well, as we were less than receptive to your needs.” Lord Aveloc looked to his chaired compatriots. “It is necessary that we be cautious in our negotiations with other realms. Yet, our encounter with the Seer has reassured us of the prudence of this alliance.”

  “There is no evidence that your decision to deny aid in our time of need has caused us additional hardship,” Osric replied. “If you had granted our request, your situation may be even more dire today. We can be forgiving for the mistrust of yesterday, and grateful that prophecy has paved the path for our future negotiations.”

  “Kind and wise words.” He bowed. “Now I will leave you to plan with your men, and I will see to arrangements for the arrivals.” Aveloc turned toward his throne, pressing his forefinger to the emerald on his headband.

  Osric turned back to see surprised faces on all four of the men who had been living with the elves for some time and a searching gaze on Bridgett’s face as she surveyed those gathered. He could feel the nervousness coming off of her in waves. Then, he remembered why.

  “Lord Aveloc.” He whipped back, interrupting the telepathic conversation made possible by the headpieces they wore.

  “Yes, Lord Osric?”

  “I am no lord,” he said, correcting the mistake. His men snickered behind him.

  “My apologies, High-Wizard. What can we do for you?” Aveloc arched an eyebrow in annoyance.

  Osric realized he was testing Lord Aveloc’s welcome by interrupting and correcting him, but Bridgett’s peace of mind was worth pushing the boundaries of political formalities. “We wish to know the fate of an elf by the name of Velien. He looked after Bridgett on her last trip here. Could you tell us, is he still alive?”

  “Velien?” Aveloc gazed down at Osric with narrowed eyes. “I have no knowledge of his death, but you have more urgent matters to
concern yourself with at this time, do you not?”

  “Of course. Please forgive my inquiry, but his well-being is of particular concern to myself and Bridgett.” Osric squeezed Bridgett’s hand in his own and held Aveloc’s stare.

  “He is at the western gate. I received a report on their status just this morning.” A woman on the left side of the dais stood up and rested her fingers lightly on Lord Aveloc’s arm. Her long blonde hair was adorned with the same array of delicate leaves as the rest on the dais. Her smile lent an air of elegance to her slight features. She wore a long green dress that cascaded down her throne and lay perfectly across the floor before her.

  “Is there any reason he couldn’t be brought back to work with us? Familiarity goes a long way toward establishing trust among humans.” The request was more for Bridgett’s benefit, but Osric earnestly wished to thank him for the time he had spent with her.

  “His rotation is nearly complete. I will bring him back to serve as our liaison to the troops reinforcing our borders,” the woman affirmed with a nod. Aveloc raised his brow, waiting to see if Osric would be satisfied or ask further favors of him.

  Osric looked to Bridgett with a slight smile and turned back to the dais. “Thank you,” he said. Then as the group walked back out the door, Osric reached for his wand to initiate the communication spell and summon the first of the three men, but he wanted some space to talk freely. They continued down the path to a large open space free of trees and prying eyes. There were still some magics he didn’t want to share at this time, and he didn’t know who might be watching or listening.

  Before he could initiate the spell, dust billowed from the rock-strewn ground as two eagles landed in a rush of wind and feathers. The eyes of the larger eagle peered at the group with dignity and respect. The smaller one, with brighter, black feathers and white atop its head, looked to the other with searching uncertainty.

  “Ero!” Bridgett shot out from the group and ran across the distance.

  Osric, surprised to see his wand outstretched in a defensive posture, lowered and resheathed the newly created treasure. His heart thumped vigorously but it took only a small amount of effort to regain his control after being startled.