Finally, Machai struck out with his blade and there were no more soldiers to fell. He glanced around for the doorway, and he barely heard his men cheering behind him to celebrate their success. Machai rushed down the tunnel, past all of the bodies and his own men, until he found the entrance that he needed.
The archway loomed before him, a small break in the smooth stone wall of the tunnels. He hurried to it, ducking slightly to slip through the opening, and he slid to a stop on the platform inside. Looking around quickly, he noticed a wide ramp leading down into the darkness off to his left. Before he could descend, he needed to know what he was rushing into. Machai moved slowly and quietly to the edge of the stone ledge on his hands and knees and peered down into the well. His breath caught in his throat at what he saw.
Dredek stood in the center of the well. Scores of bodies were strewn about on the stone floor around him, and Dredek held a wand in each hand. Machai was surprised to see that the bodies were whole, not the bones and decaying flesh he had feared he would see, and if he didn’t know better he would have thought the caldereth were merely sleeping. Dredek began to tremble, but he kept his arms aloft with the wands gripped tightly in his hands. Sweat gleaned on his pale skin, and Machai could only imagine how much magic he was channeling through his body while standing in the Well of Strands.
Machai pushed himself back from the edge and tore his gaze from the wizard. He hoped that whatever Osric had planned would happen soon, because the bodies that filled the well looked as if they could awake and rise up at any moment. Machai knew that if Osric failed, no one other than himself would be standing between Dredek and an army of caldereth. He gripped his axe in one hand and his wand in the other and headed for the ramp.
Machai stayed close to the wall, wanting to get as close to the bottom of the well before Dredek could have a chance to see him and lash out with his magic. He hoped that the wicked caldereth wizard would be too deeply engaged in the spell he was casting to notice a dwarf sneaking down the ramp toward him.
Before he had made it a third of the way down the ramp, Machai encountered the first of the caldereth bodies laid out on the stone. It seemed that the floor of the well had not been large enough to contain all of the caldereth corpses that Dredek had brought with him. Machai stepped around the head of the body, pressing his back against the smooth stone that encircled the well. His progress was slow, as he feared that disturbing any of the bodies was likely to draw Dredek’s attention. He placed his feet carefully, stepping over or around each of the still, dead caldereth as he made his way deeper into the darkness. He could see nothing but shadows and the faint outlines of the bodies near the wall at the bottom of the well. Had he been able to get a clear view of a safe place to conceal himself, he could have just traveled by spell and waited for the opportune time to attack Dredek, but the only way to stay out of sight of the wizard was to stay far enough toward the wall that his height and the ramp concealed him from view.
Machai was two-thirds of the way down the ramp when he froze in midstep, his back pressed against the wall. He could see the top of Dredek’s head if he leaned forward, and if he descended any further he would be exposed, but that was not what made him stop. The caldereth at his feet, a pale man with thinning hair and sunken cheeks, took a shuddering breath as Machai stepped around his feet. Machai stood rooted to the stone, scared to move or even to exhale, and the man took another labored breath. The other bodies above and below Machai on the ramp also began to breathe. Their muscles twitched beneath their glistening skin, their fingers moved against the cold stone, and their eyelids fluttered open. It was happening; Dredek was bringing the caldereth back to life, and Osric hadn’t stopped him.
Machai stepped forward from the wall, risking discovery by Dredek, but he could not just stand on the ramp in the midst of an undead army and wait for them to notice him and call out. From the edge of the ramp, Machai could clearly see Dredek still standing in the well, but he saw nowhere that he could travel to that would put him close enough to strike at the wizard without Dredek seeing him coming. Some of the caldereth along the ramp and on the floor of the well were beginning to stir, trying to push their long-dead bodies up from the cold stone. Many of them clutched at their chests, groaning or grimacing in pain. Machai finally saw what he was looking for; a large wooden chest sat open in the shadowy recess where the wall met the underside of the original stairs that Dredek had covered with the ramp. Machai could not tell if the chest was empty, but he spoke the traveling spell out of desperation. “Eo ire itum.”
Machai appeared inside of an empty chest that smelled like fresh-turned earth. As he peered up over the rim of the chest, he felt a deep rumble in the stone beneath them. The ground shook, knocking Machai down into the chest. He heard the sound of stone rending, a cracking boom so loud that it made his ears ring. Then, the stone stilled and all fell silent. When Machai pulled himself back up and looked out at the well, Dredek lay in a crumpled heap in the bowl at the center of the room. He saw a caldereth woman with long, black hair crawl across the floor to the wizard’s body with tears spilling down her cheeks and a forlorn wail emitting from her lips.
The caldereth were rising from the floor all around the well, but Machai leapt from the chest brandishing his wand and axe. Dredek might have fallen, but he had succeeded in raising his people before he had collapsed. Machai needed to make sure the wizard was dead and keep the caldereth people from continuing his reign of terror against the irua.
Before Machai could cross the distance to Dredek’s body, caldereth surrounded him. They were naked and unarmed, but they stood more than twice his height and they had a severe advantage in numbers. Machai cast shielding spells around himself, trying to stay alive for long enough to fight his way through to Dredek. He swung his axe in a wide arc, forcing several caldereth to fall back a step to avoid the blade. In response, three of the caldereth cast out their hands toward Machai, and the expressions of confusion and dismay on their faces told Machai that they were as surprised as he was when no magic abilities lashed out at him. He wasn’t sure what the caldereth had tried to attack him with, but he was relieved to see that they were not capable of using their magic. When repeated attempts yielded no results, the cladereth who surrounded him began to look worried and hesitate in confronting him and his large axe.
Machai formed a ball of fire and sent it spinning slowly through the air in the direction of Dredek’s body. Machai followed it closely, and the ring of caldereth shifted to allow the fire and Machai to pass. The woman was clutching at Dredek’s robes, sobbing loudly against his chest. When Machai approached, she scrambled back in fear of the fierce dwarf with his weapons and fire. He reached down and placed two fingers against Dredek’s neck, but he could find no pulse. The wizard was dead, and the caldereth were alive but somehow incomplete. Machai didn’t know what had happened, but he knew that he must keep the caldereth contained until Osric arrived and the Aranthians could form a plan to handle the new situation.
Machai gripped Dredek’s arm and whispered the traveling spell, appearing with the body on the platform at the top of the ramp. He would take Dredek’s corpse to Osric, but first he must contain the caldereth. Machai moved to the edge of the ramp and looked down, smiling at the sight of over one hundred caldereth staring wide-eyed at the center of the well, where he had just vanished from sight. Machai cast a spell over the bowl in the center of the floor. If the caldereth recovered their magic, he did not want them to have access to the amplified power of the well. Then, he laid a line of flames across the top of the ramp and sent them slowly spilling downward toward the bottom of the well. He heard the caldereth gasp when they saw the flames moving toward them, and soon all of the caldereth were standing together on the floor of the well. Machai stopped the flames from spreading, but he left them burning on the ramp. He didn’t want to hurt anyone if he didn’t have to, but he would not allow the newly risen people to move freely out into the world. He would keep them contained here until Os
ric could be found.
Machai grabbed Dredek’s robes behind the wizard’s neck and dragged the body through the archway and out into the tunnels of Angmar.
* * *
With the spell completed and the Well of Strands cut off from its source of magic in Archana, Osric cut off the flow of strands and lowered his hand. His arm ached in the joints but felt numb and disconnected everywhere else. The muscles in his chest and shoulder were spasming, causing his arm to twitch and his hand to tremble. He could feel a sharp, searing pain in his neck and he feared that the strands had torn through his nerves the same way they had blasted through the rock and sand of Archana. His head was throbbing with his pulse, causing his vision to waver with every beat of his heart. Osric staggered over to the steps and sat down, cradling his head in his hands. He hadn’t felt fatigue like this from the overuse of magic in a very long time.
Bridgett rushed over to him with concern creasing her brow and waves of worry washing over him as the Empath ability regained its active state. Osric didn’t bother trying to temper the gift’s effect, but he had little energy left and he barely noticed the emotions of his companions. His own feelings were muted and vague, his exhaustion settling over his spirit like a dense fog.
Bridgett worked quickly and silently, using a variety of her new gifts to evaluate his condition as she administered care. She dabbed a sweet-smelling oil on his temples and another with a heady floral scent to the pulse on his neck. She mixed several different herbs and a bitter, black paste into a small tin of water, heating it with a spell until it began to steam.
“Breath the steam for seven breaths, then drink it down. And don’t make that face you make when don’t like something. I know how it tastes, but it will make you feel better. Your grimace will only make you drink it slower.”
Osric smiled at her words, amazed that she could speak so harshly, but her tone and her kind touch made it feel like she was whispering endearments in his ear. She had come to know him so well since they had first met—standing with a hornless unicorn between them as Osric muttered awkwardly, awed by her beauty and her… well, everything about her. He took the warm mug from her and obediently inhaled the vapors rising from the dark liquid. At first it smelled sweet like honey wine, but the sweetness took on a spicy note like cloves that warmed the lining of his throat. By the seventh breath, it smelled like the acrid smoke that rises from red-hot coals when apple cider spills over from the mulling pot. Osric quickly choked down the liquid before it could grow any more bitter from the steeping herbs. He handed the empty mug back to Bridgett, who smiled in appreciation of his cooperation. She reached out and wiped some of the herbs from his lips, laughing.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring a strainer along. You may want to rinse your mouth with water and clean your teeth,” Bridgett said. Osric grinned playfully, displaying his teeth full of greenery.
Gus made a rude sound that combined clearing his throat and scoffing at their silly charades.
“I realize you likely feel like you were just crushed by a rockslide after that impressive display of magic, but you should probably come look at this.”
Osric struggled to his feet and shuffled the few steps to where Gus was standing on the small table. The hole that Osric had blasted through the wall was just above the tabletop, and Gus jumped up into it without much difficulty. The tunnel left behind by the blast was just large enough for the prairie dog to stand at his full height, and he scampered down the small passage until he reached the point where the mountainside fell away and Gus could see out across the rocky expanse of land north of the ruins that stretched out to the sea.
Although he dreaded the cost of using more magic, Osric grudgingly engaged his Stone-Sight ability and cast his gaze out through the stone to see what damage he had done with his spell. He heard Gus’s voice echo back to him through the tunnel.
“You made a new lake, over there, where those hills are.” Gus pointed his small paw due north, though he was obscured from view by the expanse of stone between him and Osric.
Gus was right. The land rose up into jagged hills just before it reached the sea, and Osric’s ray of strands had bored a hole right through them. Seawater was pouring out from the hole on this side of the hills, pooling in a small valley and forming a shallow lake where the land was lowest.
“How far did that beam of light go, boy?” Gus came running back to the tower and hopped back down onto the table. Osric was leaning heavily on the top of the narrow table, lacking the strength to support his own weight as he projected his vision back across the water toward Angmar. He expected to see a hollow tunnel through the stone on the south end of the Irua Realm, but instead he saw a perfectly round underground river. Water flowed into the passage on that continent too, and Osric grew more anxious as he pushed his sight further to see where the water was flowing to and what damage it might be doing.
At the point where the solid stone ended and the sand began, Osric was stunned to see that the water was flooding the sandy terrain. Several animals were already stuck in the resulting quagmire, slowly sinking into the soft, sucking sand. Osric’s vision showed him that the area of saturated sand was growing quickly, and he gazed at it in horror. He had completely altered the terrain of a large portion of the realm, and he had no idea how extensive the damage would be to the ecosystem. Thousands of people and animals could potentially wander into the region before it became widely known that the desert was now essentially a swamp. Osric cut off his Stone-Sight and closed his eyes, unable to face the hazard he had caused. He needed to get some men out there to reinforce the land or to at least build a safely traversable road. He would be cleaning up this mess for years, if not decades, to come.
In halting, emotionally choked words, Osric explained what he had seen. Gus just stared at him, speechless, and Bridgett wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. She didn’t know what to say, and she only hoped her embrace would convey her support for him. Osric let her hold him for a moment, allowing his whole being to focus on her warmth, on her solid, physical form, which could distract him from the rest of the world. But he couldn’t stand in the well, an ocean away from his war, and ignore his responsibilities. He took a deep breath, smelling the faint aroma of lavender that clung to her skin and her hair like wildflowers on a mountainside. He still felt shaky and weak, but an army was depending on him—half of the world was depending on him—and he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t try to come through for everyone who needed him.
“We have to go to Angmar. Bridgett, do you think you can take us there? Is there anywhere within the tunnels you think it would be safe to travel to? Somewhere that is likely to be empty even with the tunnels overrun by fighting soldiers? We need to get as close to the Well of Strands as possible, because I don’t know if I can fight my way through from the outside.” Osric looked down at her, her arms still wrapped around him, and she felt the burden of his responsibilities pressing down on him with crushing force. Tears filled her eyes, but she held them back and nodded.
Osric glanced over at Aridis, expecting to see a congratulatory smile on the man’s face, but he was greeted instead with red-rimmed eyes and the same look of shock that he had worn when Osric sensed his intense feelings of worry.
“Aridis, what is it? Is everything okay?”
The old man was trembling, obviously supporting his weight on his heavy staff, and his skin was more pale than usual.
“I could not resist the opportunity to use my gift with such a great deal of power to feed it, but I fear it was a grave mistake to do so.”
“What do you mean? What did you see?” Bridgett stepped over to him and slipped a concerned arm around Aridis’s trembling frame, offering him support and compassion.
“I don’t think I can explain the potential devastation that I have witnessed, as I am not sure I will be able to sort through the various paths or their origins with any accuracy. Rest assured, darker times than any caldereth conjuror can summon are sweep
ing toward us, and that shall have to be enough for you to understand at the moment.” Aridis began climbing the stairs slowly, his staff striking the stairs, causing an echo in the well that sounded like a battering ram colliding with stone.
“Aridis, wait. Where are you going?” Osric started up the stairs, reaching out for the old man’s arm to stop him, but his hand froze at the icy expression Aridis turned on him when their eyes met.
“I will not be accompanying you to Angmar, High-Wizard. There is much I must see in the stones if I am to make any sense out of what I was shown here this day.”
Osric’s hand dropped to his side at the cold disapproval on his friend’s face. Aridis continued up the steps, leaving his three companions staring after him in confused alarm.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but shouldn’t we be making sure that that blast took off Dredek’s head?” Gus stood there for a brief moment, glaring at the retreating form of the cryptic Obcasior. Then, he glanced back at the hole in the wall and shook his head, grinning and muttering about magical marvels.
“You’re right, Gus. I wish I knew what Aridis saw, but we must hurry to Angmar and ensure that this fight is finished.” Osric gripped Bridgett’s hand and drew her attention back to him. “Bridgett, do you think you can travel that far with the three of us?”
“I can, but where do you want us to arrive? I don’t feel confident that any location in the tunnels I am familiar with will be clear of fighting.”
“We will just have to hope that Machai or Pendres can be reached, and they can let us know where it would be safe to travel to.” Osric pulled out his wand, but after using his Stone-Sight again so soon, even the small amount of magic required to link wands for a conversation seemed daunting. Gus shook his head and smacked Osric’s hand.
The Weaving of Wells (Osric's Wand, Book Four) Page 42