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

by Jack D. Albrecht Jr.

  When the moment was right, he would have only the shortest time to fulfill his plans and give life to the caldereth bodies. A surge of power would lend him the magic that he needed, but it would not decrease the difficulty of forging life strands for his people. Still, everything was going as planned, and Dredek knew he would be successful. Joy bubbled to the surface of Dredek’s mind as the impending reunion grew ever closer.

  He found that being reunited with the caldereth wasn’t the only thing raising his spirits. He had been too long at killing, and although it was necessary, killing had never been a task that he longed to perform. Now, his days of ending life were over. Decades of murdering innocents that stood in his way were at an end. He laughed and let the tears stream down his face as a weight lifted from his chest. In his mind, he was finally able to take back some of the death he had caused, and it felt good.

  28 — Wielding the Wells

  Osric stepped toward the swirling pool of strands that the Aranthians had labored tirelessly to create. Bridgett had used the seven symbols repeatedly to create a larger opening in the stone above them, allowing the light of day to pour in and illuminate the cylindrical space. The golden sunlight was a welcome reprieve from the dark of the night and the insufficient glow from their wands, and they continued their work until nearly mid’day. But now, with the work finished, Osric and his three companions basked in the creation of a true wonder.

  The chamber still looked very much the same as it had before they started. Earthy tan and light-brown stone surrounded them from the walls, and the crumbling dome of the ruins could be seen through the gaping hole in the ceiling. Daylight spilled down the stairs and across the floor, brightening the area and allowing Osric to clearly see the bowl in the center of the circular room.

  Bridgett had described the Well of Strands in detail over the long night. From the description they knew that this was a very similar design. The sloped stairs led up and out of the hollow to the right, but there was one difference that Osric thought he could use to his advantage when the time came. Though the Well of Strands was massive in comparison, once the strands reached the top of the bowl they erupted into the air and cascaded in a bright display, climbing the walls and stairs and spreading out over the large space. Here, in the much smaller tower, the strands were so dense as they swelled up from the bowl and poured down from the walls that they pooled in the room and remained concentrated and collected.

  The only significant differences between the appearance of the room before their alterations and now were the several veins of quartz, granite, marble, and limestone that jutted from the outer wall below the stairs and from all sides. The strands that flowed along these dense veins of rock poured into the well like vibrantly colored waterfalls of light and now filled most of the room to the fifth stair. In the center of the room, the wide bowl of stone still held the densest concentration of strands, as if the concave surface were designed to keep the strands contained. There, the mass of strands swirled and entwined so tightly that it was impossible to discern individual strands.

  As the pool deepened, the mass of strands in the bowl swirled faster. Soon, Osric could see a whirlpool of strands forming as Archana attempted to regulate the influx of magic in the location. Osric held his breath, fearing that the stone floor may crumble beneath them to allow the strands an exit, but it wasn’t long before the system balanced out. Rather than striving to contain the strands, the stone of the central bowl softened as Osric looked on with amazement and relief. The softer stone allowed the strands to pass through more easily, and it quickly reversed the slow flow of strands in the center of the room. Where magic had previously bubbled up into the bowl, now the strands slowly seeped out through the floor. For now, the strands were spilling into the room from the stone veins in the walls faster than it was leaving, but Osric knew he would need to use this incredible source of power soon if he was going to succeed in stopping Dredek from using the Well of Strands.

  Osric stepped into the pooling magic. The moment he entered the flow of vividly colored strands, he could feel the entire night’s fatigue drain away. The feeling reminded Osric of standing below a waterfall as the cool water washed over his skin. Not only was it a revitalizing sensation, but he also found that the flow that washed over his legs bordered on being visible to the naked eye.

  “I think this may be a larger flow than the Well of Strands. It’s hard to say, since it doesn’t shower down on us like it did at the Well of Strands.” Bridgett sat watching with awe.

  “I…” Gus looked on, ears twitching and eyes wide.

  “You’ve said that for the last span. Could you come up with something original?” Osric looked over at Gus, wagging his legs in the pool from where he sat on the stairs, with a smirk.

  “I understand your lack of words, Gus.” Aridis sat upon the steps looking down into the chamber. “Though I do not fully understand what you are seeing when you look upon this stone, I can feel the incredible influx of power. Whatever you have managed to do this night, Osric, you have truly altered the flow of magic from Archana. I am catching flashes of the paths of the future without even having to wet the stone, though it is almost too overwhelming to read.”

  “It’s too bad you can’t see this, Aridis. It’s truly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Bridgett smiled widely as she cast her gaze around the room.

  “I just can’t get over it. That has to be one of the most remarkable things I have ever witnessed. You actually moved the soil below our feet to create a larger well.” Gus looked up at his three companions, amazed.

  “Actually, he moved the veins of stone that ran below the soil.” Bridgett joined Osric at the center of the room. A soft white glow was visible around them where they stood. She leaned in and kissed him. “A far more impressive feat.”

  “I love the enthusiasm that all of you are showing.” Osric took Bridgett’s hand and turned toward Gus. “But all I did is direct the ones who could perform the task. Most of my labors were spent bringing the tired back to a well to recover from their efforts.” He shrugged in an attempt to dismiss their elaborate praise. “Our Elementalists did more than their share of the work last night.”

  “You know, sometimes your humility can be truly annoying. I am not known for compliments, so when I hand them out frequently someone should take notice.” Gus chuckled, then jumped down into the pool and took in a deep breath. The breath was more a reflex of his senses than a necessity. Once inside the flow of strands, Gus relaxed and regained his composure. He hadn’t dove feet first into water, after all, but he had sat for so long gazing at the pool of swirling strands that his body had reacted as if it were liquid that flowed over his head as his paws hit the floor. “Even if you didn’t do the work, I can think of no other mind that would have thought of such an absurd undertaking.”

  “Absurd?” Osric looked down at Gus with a hurt expression.

  “Well, it was absurd, but I’m still impressed.” Gus paused, and then he added. “Extremely impressed.”

  The sun was nearly directly overhead when Gus smiled with a quick nod of his head, then panic rose as all three looked to the northeast. Portent had flared dramatically from far away, and the strands that pooled around them flowed through their gifts and amplified the reach of their abilities. There was no doubt what had been the cause of their sudden awareness of important events so far away. Dredek was attempting to bring the caldereth back from the dead.

  With a quick flick of the wrist, Osric had his wand out and Machai’s image hovered above the tip. “Machai, it’s time to attack Angmar. Gather the troops and go. He’s already initiated the spell to bring the caldereth back!”

  “There be several hundred properly trained in the traveling spell. All me dwarves and every able bodied Aranthian’ll be there faster than ye can be drawing yer wand.”

  “Good. Move fast. You try to stop him from inside and I’ll try to stop him from here.”

  * * *

  Machai lowered
his wand and looked out at the field. Since the Aranthian base wasn’t yet large enough to train nearly a thousand dwarves effectively, they had been training wherever they could find an opening in the forest outside of Stanton. Looking at the swatch of forest that had been cleared for them to train in, he knew that he could mobilize the dwarves quickly.

  “Gather ye wands, gather ye blades!” His voice echoed off of the surrounding trees and every face turned. “It be time to be stopping a crazy necromancer!”

  The units of dwarves moved quickly and efficiently into place, joining the Aranthian troops that were also heading into battle in Angmar. A few wide-eyed youngsters still had fearful expressions as if they had no idea what to do, but they moved with their units and ended up in the proper position with little intervention from their leaders.

  A thin man in a blue robe moved through the ranks blowing a pinch of a tan powder in the faces of the troops. The alchemists had finally stabilized the formula for the stuff, promising Osric and the others that the powder would stave off the exhaustion brought on by the excessive use of magic. It was no Enduro gift, but it would allow a man to travel as far as Angmar by spoken spell, with four or five others in tow, and still be in good enough shape to fight all day. For those less experienced fighters, it would let them utilize their innate abilities, their wands, and their blades all at once throughout the battle without the typical nausea, headache, or blackouts associated with strand-fatigue. They had been testing this blend for the past month, and the only side effect reported was severely aching muscles after it wore off for those who used far more magic than they normally could have tolerated. The effects lasted anywhere from two to four days depending on the person, and the muscle aches lasted up to a week. Machai just hoped that they wouldn’t end up in a long engagement with Dredek’s army, or his men would be in trouble when the powder wore off and they still had to fight. Whatever Osric was doing, he needed to do it fast and well. Machai waved the young blue-robed alchemist past, knowing the Enduro ability would give him the same benefits without the side effect.

  Once everyone had been dosed, Machai instructed those who had been trained in the traveling spell to hold the location image firmly in mind and to link hands with the men they had been assigned to transport. Each man knew his place in the sequence, timing the spell so that the arrival location was never dangerously full. The execution of the plan went off perfectly, and soon over one thousand dwarves and well-armed Aranthians were standing on the hot sand near the capital city of the Irua Realm.

  The army had chosen the location because it was close, but not so close that they would likely be in sight of any enemy troops when they arrived. Machai sent scouts out immediately to determine the positions of Dredek’s men, but a strong wind was blowing sand horizontally across the desert. Gritty sand stung Machai’s skin, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut. He pulled a thin piece of fabric across his face, but it was still difficult for him to see his own army; he feared that his scouts wouldn’t fare much better at seeing the enemy guards over such a great distance.

  He was right. The scouts came back with little to report, for the most part. One of the recently recruited Aranthians had more to say, however. He was an Air Elementalist, so he could keep the wind and sand from touching him. He had gone further than the other scouts, and he reported that the entrances were heavily guarded but there were few troops outside of the protective shelter of the doorways. Machai thanked him, and he spent a few moments trying to decide if it would be better to use the storm as cover and attack while the army was under shelter, or if they should wait until the storm settled so that his men could see. He decided it was likely that Dredek’s men were packed into the tunnels just inside the entrances, and there wouldn’t be a better time to catch them unaware. He worried that it would be dangerous to attack during the sandstorm, but he also knew that Osric needed him to get to Dredek and the Well of Strands as swiftly as possible; they just couldn’t wait for the winds to calm.

  “We be marching on foot or we be dying!” Machai shouted to his men. “Grab what courage ye may. There be no traveling today! Their gates be guarded by many men, but none be matching the spirit of the Aranthians, and none be matching the cave experience and might of me dwarven kin!” As the words flew from his mouth, he hefted his axe above his head and motioned for all to follow as he turned in the direction of the entrance and sprinted on short legs.

  Above the whipping winds and abrasive sand on his face, Machai could hear the sound of more than a thousand warriors at his back. Their march, muffled by the coarse sand below, still carried along with their battle cry. Blade clanged against blade as his brethren pounded one sword against another to instill fear in their enemy. The uproar sent chills of excitement through Machai as he led the way.

  He crested the first dune and sand assaulted him with even greater vigor, but the thrill of battle—either death or survival—urged him to continue at a quickened pace. His feet continued to kick through the softened upper layer of sand until he could finally make out the shape of the entrance through the storm. At least a dozen soldiers stood around it with a mixture of fear and fortitude in their eyes.

  By the time he had gained his vantage on the entrance, many of the Aranthians had overcome his position and had engaged the enemy with surprising deftness. They wielded both wand and blade with such skill that many of the enemy faltered, watching with mouths agape.

  Machai turned, sensing the pause, and addressed his kin. “Don’t be letting ’em steal all the glory!” He turned back and, with a shout, charged headlong into the fray.

  Humans had nearly always been easy opponents in battle. Machai had watched them battle dwarves on many occasions. Predictably, they would swing for the head of any dwarven opponent, attempting to end the fight at its start. Humans had rarely respected his kind for their prowess and had rarely fought them as equals, but rather they had seen dwarves as inferior due to their stature. Whether it was luck or some kind of prophetic intervention was a question one never asked on the battlefield, but Machai’s first foe was one who hadn’t learned from the folly of others. Machai easily ducked under the attempted beheading.

  With a quick spin and heft of his axe, Machai removed the legs from below the fool. The man let out a scream as Machai turned to face whatever was before him. Before he could swing his axe for a killing blow, two men stepped forward with the tips of their swords held low, but they were wary and careful in their approach.

  Machai smiled, as these two respected him for both his stature and his skill. They wore worried expressions as their eyes followed him. Holding their swords low would keep him from rushing in like he had with the last soldier, but he knew more tricks than just dodging a fool’s sword strike.

  He held his axe as if he were going to smack a rock across a field and whispered the traveling spell under his breath. Machai appeared between the two men, and he could see the shocked looks on their faces as their guts spilled out with one well-timed sweep of the axe.

  He had dispatched three of Dredek’s men, and as he turned he could see dwarves rushing into the entrance just a few strides away, with several of Dredek’s men and one of his brothers lying dead in their wake. He allowed himself a moment’s regret for the dwarf who had fallen a short distance away, but then he followed the line of soldiers into the vast empty dark that lay ahead.

  The main corridor led down at a slow slope but continued its descent for a great distance. As they proceeded down the tunnel, their eyes adjusted quickly to the lack of sunlight, and dim globes of light bloomed brighter along the wall as more men approached. The stone floor and walls were smooth, forcing the Aranthians into combat in the tight, unfamiliar quarters. After seeing the efficiency with which Osric’s men fought, the FireFalls dwarves took up a deep, rumbling chant. “Aranthians, Aranthians, Aranthians.” Machai smiled through his blood-splattered beard, cheering as his men embraced their new position among Osric’s ranks. Most of the dwarves from other clans joined in, and
the chant grew louder. The sound echoed from the narrow walls of the passage and became a thunderous roar that preceded them down the tunnel. By the time they reached the bottom, where the tunnel widened out and joined other passageways in a large, high-ceilinged chamber, Dredek’s soldiers were struggling to maintain their positions as the wave of intruders crashed into them.

  Although their training together had been incredibly brief, the discipline of both groups allowed the Aranthians and the dwarves to fight together more effectively than Machai could have hoped. Pendres led the Aranthian troops with firm efficiency, calling out single syllables that translated into elaborate orders which could be yelled back through the ranks without interfering with a fighter’s focus. The dwarves had picked up the code quickly, and all of the units moved together to keep the enemy contained as they pressed firmly into the depths of Angmar. Machai stayed close to Pendres, awed by the man of myth who fought as well in life as he did in stories.

  Pendres moved like a machine, his face clear of all emotion and his grip perfect on his sword and wand. His blade carved a smooth arc through the air, only making contact often and long enough to immobilize his target. He never allowed the sword to get caught up in the armor of the enemy. He used small spells from his wand to clear his path—a blast of air here, a tangle of roots from the ground there—and he kept himself shielded to help deflect the few stray blows that made it past his own blade. Many times Machai thought Pendres would be struck down, but the limber old man moved or blocked attacks that Machai thought it was impossible for him to even see coming. The worst he suffered was a few shallow cuts that he didn’t bother deflecting.