The Weaving of Wells (Osric's Wand, Book Four) (11 page)

“I can’t help you. I’m not a soldier anymore.”

“I do not know what role you are to play,” Stargon spoke carefully but with little patience, “but prophecy has cast you in it, with or without your cooperation.”

“I’m done with war, and with prophecy, so you should just be on your way.” Pendres glared up at the dragon.

“I was sent a very long way to find you, and if the High-Wizard’s success rests on your shoulders, you will be returning with me. You can come willingly, come along unwillingly, or I can just eat you now.” Stargon growled through curled lips.

“If only it were that easy, I would drape myself across your teeth. I would experience all of the pain but fail to gain the welcome release of death; otherwise I would encourage you to eat me.” The man had a strange expression of longing and disgust on his face. “Now, tell me more about this High-Wizard.”

“He is powerful, but humble. He freed my kin from the cages on Mount Braya, and he defeated the Kallegian to defend his home and his people. Even the unicorns are in awe of him.” Stargon hadn’t thought about what he would need to explain to this strange hermit, as it had been a long time since he had come across a human who hadn’t heard the stories of Osric and the feats that made the High-Wizard a household name. The only signs Pendres showed that he was impressed with what he heard was a slight tightening of his jaw and a narrowing of his eyes. Stargon continued, “Nearly every walker that I respect in the slightest rallies around him, aiding him in his mission, but they are outnumbered and lacking the experience and skill of the enemy. Still, Osric is more powerful than any other, and he will win. Somehow, you are going to contribute to his victory. It has been foreseen.”

Pendres slipped the straps of a small pack from his shoulder and then rifled through the bag. He pulled out a fruit that resembled an apple with white skin, and he took a bite as he listened to Stargon speak, juice dribbling into his thick beard.

“And the war? What is worth the bloodshed and destruction of war?” Pendres asked.

“The turgent of the Human Realm has launched an attack against the irua in their home city. The turgent has taken Angmar.”

“Angmar?” Pendres sounded shocked and he viewed the dragon suspiciously. “The Well of Strands?”

“They are hoping you can help them understand the well, among other things.”

“I fought that war once already. I never want to be there again.” Pendres shook his head and turned to walk away from the great creature.

“The man who sent me here to find you believes he knows why you are still alive. He said to give you a message if you declined the request to aid him. He said that he knows how to end time for you.” Stargon called out the message from Aridis clearly, although he was quite sure his mission would fail. Pendres turned back slowly, expressions of anger and pain flashing across his face.

“Who sent you here?” Pendres’s voice took on a vicious edge.

“An Obcasior. I would be glad to take you to him and introduce you.”

“Yes, you will take me to him, but I wouldn’t bother with the introductions.”

“If you attempt to harm him, I will eat you after all.” Stargon narrowed his swirling eyes with suspicion. “Slowly, and more than once if necessary.”

“I won’t harm him unless he gives me reason, but I have some questions for him. I never intended to be sought out again.” Pendres used the lowest bone of Stargon’s wing as a step and launched himself onto the dragon’s back. “Where exactly are we going?”

“A city called Stanton. Have you ever been there?”

Pendres said nothing in return.

“Don’t you need to gather some things? Humans always travel with so much stuff.” Stargon swiveled his neck to allow him to see his passenger. Pendres adjusted the straps of his pack and glared back at the dragon’s swirling eye.

“I have everything I need.”

* * *

Stargon landed on the Stanton platform the next day with a travel-weary passenger on his back. He had waited until Pendres had fallen asleep late at night as they flew to travel most of the way back to Stanton by spoken spell. Although he had to spend much of the morning dodging questions about how they had made the journey so quickly, Aridis had made it clear how urgent it was to return swiftly. Pendres had finally let it drop and resumed his brooding silence. Aridis was waiting on the platform when they arrived.

“Pendres, thank you for coming. I realize my summons was likely unwelcome.”

“Your friend here, and your cryptic message, left me little choice.” The man swung himself down from Stargon’s back and approached the dragon’s head. “I have had no need for coins in a long time. I have nothing to offer but my gratitude. I do not hold you responsible for my presence here, but I do thank you for delivering me here safely.”

Stargon’s lips curled away from his massive teeth in a fearsome smile. “Your gratitude is sufficient, so long as you remember what I have said.”

“I remember.” Pendres nodded at Stargon. His expression showed no fear of the dragon eating him, but it was obvious he held a great respect for the creature. He turned toward the old man who had sent for him, studying the appearance of the Obcasior in one long look. His crooked frame, draped in tattered cloth and leaning heavily on a tall staff, seemed unimposing. His grey beard hung nearly to his waist, strangely contrasting his bald head. However, his eyes glinted with ancient knowledge and a quick wit, and Pendres silently vowed not to underestimate the man. “So why am I here?”

“That tale is long and complicated, and you have traveled far. Let us go and speak somewhere more comfortable.” Aridis led him away from the dragon platform toward the market district of Stanton. Aridis needed to know more about the man than he could learn from his gift or from old stories before he would present him to a Trust. He wasn’t even sure the man would pass the test and be invited into the Aranthian sanctuary. Pendres followed him silently, observing his surroundings in the new city and contemplating his own thoughts.

The market was bustling with people shopping and gossiping, trading and haggling, or just enjoying the autumn sun and a mug of mead. Aridis smiled and waved to many, and exchanged brief pleasantries with a few, before slipping into a small inn just beyond the market. He greeted the woman behind the bar warmly and she waved him through with promises of warm food and rulha to follow. Aridis led Pendres to a small room in the back of the bar with a rough table and chairs. There were no windows in the room, and the only decoration was a small dingy tapestry depicting a drogma hunt hanging above a plain ewer and basin on a shelf in one corner. Sconces on the walls containing small, cool flames provided light. Pendres noted that there must be a Fire Elementalist on the premises, or else one made the rounds each day to light the sconces in the local establishments. The men took seats at the table and Aridis broke the silence immediately.

“I wouldn’t have sent for you if there were not a great need for your aid.”

“You got me here, but that doesn’t mean I will aid you.” Pendres eyed Aridis grimly. “Who are you?”

“I am an old man tangled up in the paths of prophecy and the ugliness of war. I suppose one could say the same about you.”

“How did you know where to find me? How did you even know to look for me?”

“The
how
is far less interesting than the
why
. It was a combination of obscure books and my Obcasior gift.” Aridis spoke casually, pausing to respond to a soft knock at the door. A girl brought in two mugs of warm rulha, bowls of thick vegetable stew, and a plate of cheese and fruit. He paid generously and sent the girl away with a smile. “Are you familiar with it?”

“I have known a few over the years. Though certainly none who could use the pathways to find someone like me. Is your gift varied, or just that powerful?”

“I have had a long life to learn its particularities, though that probably sounds silly to you. I have only known one other Obcasior, and his gift worked the same as mine, if not quite as efficiently,” Aridis said. Pendres nodded, but he did not comment on the reference to his age. They sat in silence for a while, eyeing each other and eating the simple but flavorful fare of the tavern.

“And these books you speak of—they mention me?”

“Not exactly.” Aridis spoke slowly, enjoying his meal. “Prophecy speaks of you.”

“I have no interest in prophecy,” Pendres said.

“That does not keep it from being interested in you.”

“So why me? What do you know?”

“Ah, not as much as I would like. I know you were a soldier in the war when the Well of Strands was created. I know you are still alive, and there are many stories and myths which attempt to explain why, though I doubt any are accurate.”

“If that were all you knew, you would not have brought me here.” Pendres finished his meal and sat sipping his mug of rulha.

“In times such as these, that would be enough. However, it is true that there is more to it than that. I know little about you because there is no way for me to know if what I have read is accurate. Yet, I have reason to believe that my suspicions are correct, even if I cannot say it is knowledge.”

“So what is it that you suspect?” Pendres eyed Aridis suspiciously, growing tired of the word games.

“I suspect that a spell was cast upon you during the war, though why and by whom eludes me. If I am correct as to which spell was used, then I suspect I know how to break it.” Aridis steepled his fingers before him and leaned in, his voice growing softer even as it gained intensity.

“Go on.” Pendres leaned forward in his chair, his interest obviously piqued for the first time since the conversation had begun.

“I have found references to a spell sold by a Seer in the time of your war, in the proper region, that likely would have been available to those who knew you before you left to fight. If cast properly, with sufficient power and motivation, it would guarantee the survival of the subject until the end of the war. It would ensure that you could return from the fighting. Was there someone who would have had the desire and ability to cast such a spell?” Aridis’s voice held compassion as well as curiosity. Pendres’s eyes narrowed as pain flashed hotly across his features. The expression confirmed Aridis’s suspicions, and he did not pressure the man for a response. “I do not fully understand why it is so, but I believe the spell is still working. It seems most likely to me, based on my research, that the spell should have ended when the war ended. The only reasonable conclusion is that the war did not end.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Pendres shook his head as he spoke, attempting to understand what Aridis was saying. “The war ended. The well did what it was supposed to do.” Pendres spoke with conviction, although Aridis could sense a nagging doubt, and the reference to the well’s purpose caused Aridis’s eyes to widen slightly with hope.

“Do you know what it was the well did? Why it is worth a war that could last hundreds of years?” Aridis asked. Pendres did not acknowledge the question, although he now knew what Aridis wanted from him.

“Even if the war hadn’t ended after the well was built, the caldereth were wiped out over three centuries ago. I was there for that war too. Or did your prophecy fail to mention that? Surely if it wasn’t over before, it would have ended when the last caldereth died. Not only is the war over, it has been long forgotten along with an entire race of people. What on Archana are you talking about?”

“I believe that the wars you were fighting in then, both of them actually, are the same war that we are fighting now. The paths of history, as well as those of prophecy, indicate that events played out in the proper order and direction so as to keep the war active over all of that time. I realize it doesn’t seem to make sense, but I think my companions and I can explain. I would like to present you to a Trust.” Aridis watched him closely.

“I am finding it increasingly difficult to trust you, so I think I will pass.” Pendres glared coldly at him.

“You have been given little reason to trust me, but if I am correct, you have nothing to lose. Well, nothing but an eternity of uncertainty. Or perhaps you may prefer to watch the world burn down around you until the inevitable end of the war arrives and you are finally released from the spell.” Aridis glared back at him. “But wouldn’t you prefer to help determine which side wins?” Pendres said nothing in return.

Aridis rose from his seat and leaned forward until his beard nearly brushed Pendres’s knees.

“The man who should win is looking forward to meeting you. What shall I tell him of you?” Aridis asked. Pendres sat for several moments in silence with a contemplative look.

“I wish to consider what you have said for a while before I meet anyone else who may call you friend. Does your demand for my presence afford me a night’s sleep in this inn?”

Aridis nodded slowly and a small smile touched his lips.

“Your room has been prepared, and any meals you need are already credited. I will send someone to greet you in the morning and receive your decision.”

Pendres nodded silently and Aridis left the room.

7 — Future’s Walk

Serha walked up to a door she had never approached so early in the morning. It was time, she knew it. Before she could raise her hand to knock, Aridis opened the door and greeted her with a wounded smile while wiping at his wet cheeks. She didn’t want the day to be any more difficult than it already was, so she spoke with as much strength in her voice as she could muster.

“I feel like taking a nice walk before the day gets too hot, and I could use some company. Would you please escort a feeble old lady for a trip outside?”

Aridis nearly broke, but her glare forced him to remain resolute. His lower lip trembled as he smiled.

“I would walk with you another hundred days.” His voice trembled.

“You are a sweet old man. Come.” Serha held her thin, strong arm out and took Aridis’s hand in hers.

They passed through the hallways in the barracks in silence. Not a soul moved in the halls, save for Eublin, who was already too engrossed in his books to be aware of his surroundings and took no notice of the two. It was an almost bitter silence, but Serha welcomed it.