The High-Wizard's Hunt: Osric's Wand: Book Two (3 page)

Cowald frowned down at the water. It looked so refreshing and cool, he wanted so badly just to kneel down and quench his thirst, but he had orders. He quickly turned and resumed his search; the sooner he found a way to carry the water, the sooner he could drink himself. He walked into the woods in a different direction, carefully walking from tree to tree in a straight line away from the stream so he could find his way back. He combed through the underbrush, diligently looking for the hollowed shell of a pike nut. The pike trees were common enough near the ruins at the base of the mountain, so Cowald hoped he could find one nearby. If not the tree, perhaps he could find the discarded shell that an animal had left behind. Pike nuts were nearly the size of his head, although they were more of a fruit than a nut. The hard outer shell was the only thing he could think of that would make an effective container. He really wished he had his wand. He could have made a pot out of clay from the stream bed and cast a spell to harden it. Cowald thought he should probably make a couple anyway before he left. They would take a day or two to harden, but at least they would be able to collect water easily later on their journey. His thoughts were interrupted when his foot splashed down into water, and he jumped back startled.

Confused, Cowald stared down at the five blue stones. He was certain that he had not turned around and headed back toward the stream. It seemed impossible that he had returned to the exact same place three times, but even more unlikely that the star pattern of stones was repeated. There was something strange about the small stones. Their color was so bright, almost pulsing with a luminescent blue light, and they were so perfectly round as to seem unnatural. Cowald bent down to get a closer look. He tried to lick his parched lips, but his tongue felt like gravel in his mouth. He was so thirsty. Perhaps just one drink would be all right, to slacken his thirst before he resumed his search. Cowald paused, troubled. He couldn’t seem to remember what he was looking for.

The blue lights grew brighter in his vision and his thirst was overwhelming. Kneeling down at the edge of the water, he leaned forward to see the stones more clearly. He placed his hands in front of him to steady himself, his palms flat on the sandy bed of the stream, the water lapping at his wrists. The blue stones appeared to be moving, slipping further out into the current away from him. Cowald suddenly felt very anxious that the stones would wash away and he may never understand their mysteries. He shifted his weight and leaned farther out over the water to keep them in sight.

The blue lights floated with the current, shifting and dancing, but never quite changing position. Cowald stretched his hand out to try and grasp one of the stones, but it was just out of his reach. He crawled out into the water but couldn’t seem to close the distance between himself and the blue stones. As he drew his hand from the water to reach for them again, he noticed that the water rose with his arm and encircled his wrist as though his hand was still submerged. It was a strange experience to watch the water cling to his skin like a child at its mother’s skirts. He turned his hand over and stared in awe as the water twirled with his movements.

A winged shadow passed over him, and he heard a distant roar. As adrenaline coursed through his veins, he glanced up at the sky in fear. He caught sight of a dragon through the foliage and froze, eyes closed and heart pounding. As he broke eye contact with the blue stones, clarity flooded his senses and suspicion crept into his mind. Something was wrong; water doesn’t cling to skin. Cowald panicked. He tried to lunge backward and get away, but he could not tear his hands from the water. It felt as though there were chains around his wrists, but no metal cut into his skin. He felt himself being pulled toward the middle of the stream. He scrambled for purchase with his knees, to no avail. His arms were jerked out from under him and his face plunged into the cold water. He was able to lift his head from the stream long enough to scream before tendrils of water coiled up his torso and wrapped around his neck, pulling him down toward the five blue stones.

An Odd Departure

The sudden bitterness of the cold met Osric’s face and hands when he appeared at the field in Lothaine. His thoughts drifted as he pondered Bridgett’s journey to the Grove of the Unicorns, wondering what mysteries Gus might be able to uncover. He fondly recalled how Gus had finally begun to treat him with respect, and the last few moments he had spent with Bridgett, looking into her eyes and kissing her hand as he held it in his own. He had to shake off the feeling of loneliness that hit him suddenly as he gazed out at the snow covered landscape.

“Don’t tell me the warmth of Braya turned you soft?” Kenneth slapped Osric’s shoulder with a smile.

Osric turned and grinned back. “No, I guess I just wasn’t prepared for the suddenness of the change,” he said quietly, thankful for the excuse the cold provided.
Focus,
he berated himself. Holding his hand up to shade his eyes and squinting at the brightness of the snow, he scanned the landscape. He caught sight of what he was looking for a fair distance to his left and behind them. Greyback popped her head up, gazing at the two of them in joyful surprise.

“Oh, Osric, it’s so nice to see you and Kenneth again!” Greyback greeted them with a familiar, frightful smile. Her cheerful voice echoed between the nearby trees.

“We’re glad to see you too.” Osric smiled as he turned to walk toward Greyback. He appreciated the friendly greeting. Thinking through the possibilities for their near future, it would be nice to have friends, and he couldn’t have asked for greater allies than the dragons.

“How’s the wing?” Kenneth smiled as he made his way toward the massive dragon. He reached up and held Greyback’s wide face between his hands and took a good, long look at her. “You look healthy as a hatchling. You seem to have a bit more color in your scales as well,” Kenneth said, glancing back at Osric with a wink.

“Oh, you really are too kind.” Greyback batted her eyes and smiled again. “I have been eagerly awaiting your return.” She gazed, almost timidly, between the two. “Thank you for freeing my kin. You will always have an ally in us, for as long as you live.”

Osric decided that the look was not timidity, but gratitude and joy. Greyback was having a difficult time dealing with her emotions.
A dragon welling up with tears? I hope things turn out that well for our kind when this is all over,
he thought, as he reached his hand over and patted her neck.

“Half of Archana would have done the same had they known that you were all enslaved,” he assured her, trying to break the tension. “But we have to get back soon, or they will know who did it. We have a lot of work ahead of us, too. Archana willing, the hunt will take us,” he motioned at Kenneth, “before our hides decorate the chambers of those responsible for enslaving the dragons.”

“The hunt,” Greyback said solemnly, “will never take you, if the dragons have anything to do with it.”

Osric furrowed his brow at Kenneth, who shared his apprehension of dying of old age. He shrugged in Greyback’s direction and smiled. Osric pondered the thought of aging, and the horror of it danced through his head.

He pictured himself sitting alone, with wrinkled hands shaking with the weight of a cup, sitting next to a fire for warmth. His grim imagination painted pictures of his eye’s white with age, and nobody to talk to as he wasted away. A silent end to a life of hunting, with no last wishes, and the thought that his death would mean nothing to the world. There would be no nourishment for others by his body, and he would be left to decay in the ground.

No, I’ll go hunting drogmas alone before I let that happen.
He shook the uncomfortable feeling as the thought entered his mind. Drogmas were vicious creatures, unable to speak or wield magic with intent, but death at their claws was preferable to a slow, painful demise. Although, being a lower species, they would not offer him a last request, but at least his death would serve the purpose of food rather than decay. Osric turned his thoughts to the matters at hand. Besides, the thought of dying from old age was a moot point. Their current mission would probably lead to his death anyway. By the time he discovered who was attempting to start a world war on Archana, he was bound to have generated some powerful enemies.

Greyback asked them to tell her about the fight to free the dragons. Although she had heard of their freedom telepathically from the elder dragons who had been held at the volcano, she wanted to hear it from the heroes’ perspective. Kenneth was more than delighted to relate the events for her, so Osric sat silently, listening and thinking about the future. They spent most of the day near Lothain, talking of recent events and enjoying the company of friends. Osric was unsure of what to expect when they arrived back in Stanton, so he preferred waiting until evening when there would be fewer people out and about. He thought about the implications of the attack on the palace and how much his life had changed since it occurred.

Osric did not completely understand all of the changes he was undergoing or how he was able to perform such extraordinary feats of magic. He was confused and frustrated; although he didn’t really feel any different, he knew he was changing. He still longed to be a simple Vigile, serving his community and returning to his modest home each night. He doubted his ability to achieve anything great, and responsibility was being thrust at him faster than he could adapt to it. His wand’s power was still a mystery, but he felt as though it was only a small part of why he could feel the power within himself growing.
If it was just the wand, then wouldn’t my wand spells be the only magic affected by it? That doesn’t explain how my spoken spells seem to share the same power, or why no one else is as affected by Bridgett’s amulet as I am.

Kenneth nudged him on occasion for support when Greyback questioned a part of the story. Osric chimed in with a, “That’s what happened,” or, “It wasn’t really that impressive,” but hearing it told by another with all of the intonation of a great fire telling made the events sound rather impressive, even to him. Kenneth described Bridgett’s selfless mission to distract the guards so the rest of them could get inside the volcano unseen. There were undertones of guilt in his voice as he explained how she had been captured. He waved his arms in the air as he described the timely arrival of Stargon, Ero and the other eagles. Hatred could be heard in his tone when he told Greyback how Thom had crushed the crystal key that was used to unlock the cages and they thought all hope was lost. Kenneth’s tale faltered as he tried to explain how Osric had made his first wand. It was clear that he still did not really understand what Osric had done. Osric was pulled from his thoughts by Kenneth shaking his shoulder. “Os, you will have to take it from here. I have no idea what you did or how you did it.”

“Honestly, I don’t really know how to explain it. It was Gus’ idea. He thought that maybe I could draw the strands from a source other than Archana, and sort of unravel the spell. I used the concept to draw magic from the gifts of our friends and make a wand, to see if it was even possible. I guess it has never been done before, but it worked,” Osric said with a shrug.

“You
unraveled
a spell? I didn’t think that was possible. Especially not one as complex as the vile barrier that confined my kin!” Greyback sounded like she was in awe, and more than a little frightened, of the power that Osric must wield to have accomplished such a feat.

“I guess I did. I really don’t know how it worked. I just wanted to free your elders.” Osric glanced up at the sky and rose to his feet. “We should probably be heading back to Stanton now.” They gathered what little supplies they needed and rigged the flying gear on Greyback.

Soon Osric found himself with wind blowing through his hair and Archana stretching far below. It was a beautiful sight with snow blanketing the trees and fields and glistening streams trying to wear away at the thin coat of ice. He felt lucky to be flying back to Stanton and seeing the horizon from such a height.
Traveling
by spoken spell had its advantages, but the view and time spent in peaceful reflection on dragonback is something he appreciated more than ever before. Hundreds of strides above the world, he felt things slow down for the first time in what seemed like forever, but he knew it would not last.

Osric was thoroughly enjoying the flight when the city of Stanton appeared on the horizon. Though he had rarely seen it from the air, his hometown was easily recognizable. Their journey had only taken them away for a short time, but the city looked smaller than he remembered. The last few rays of sunlight turned the snow on the rooftops to gold and shadows stretched toward them as they approached the edge of town. Greyback circled above the dragon platform, and they could see men unloading supplies from the backs of several dragons. One small dragon, on the far side of the platform, cried out as they approached. It looked as though she would leap into the air to greet them.

Osric spoke quickly, “Greyback, tell the dragons that they must not acknowledge that they know who I am. If they make a scene, it could get me killed. No one must know that I released the dragons from their imprisonment until we find out who was behind it!” Instantly, they could see the dragon calm. Greyback swooped away from the platform, passing time until there was room for her to land. The city sprawled out below them and Osric took a deep steadying breath. He was relieved to be home, but things had changed since he was last there. He had changed. For a moment, he wished everything could just go back to the way it was before the attack on the Ratification Ceremony. Life was simple before he had been promoted to Contege of the Stanton Vigiles. He had been happy with his quiet life patrolling the city, never wondering if there was more to himself than his Portentist gift and his swordsmanship, and not having to think about the politics and potential repercussions of war and conspiracy.