The Weaving of Wells (Osric's Wand, Book Four) (35 page)

“If De’assartis was left alone, what events could you get caught up in?” Osric questioned him gently.

Shrad sighed heavily. “The first thing was the way the trees seemed to speak. At first it was almost musical, seductive even, but the closer we got to the source, the more it seemed to bring on waves of emotion. We were saddened beyond any rational explanation. Our whole group wept for days on end. That was what got us discovered, but we couldn’t control ourselves; the forest’s call was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.”

“When they found us they kept saying that the mother had told them where to find us, that help was on the way. You see, they worship the trees. They thought that their mother, the trees, told them we would help, and I suppose we did. At first we were only allowed to help with some small things, like packaging fruit and bread to be sent to groups of survivors. We collected water in corked husks of a fruit the elves use as canteens. We spent days bundling bandages and medicines together, and then they began sending us to help, once they felt they could trust us.”

“You should have reported to us. We could have sent more help.” Osric leaned in. Shrad’s emotions were starting to affect him, and Osric could sense the most intense emotions were yet to come.

“Like I said before, we got swept up in everything that was happening. We traveled with them to several small villages that were almost completely destroyed, but part of the mother was always near the survivors.” Shrad shook with some hidden memory.

“We saw families weeping over unrecognizable, burnt bodies. Lines of them were laid out, hastily wrapped in linen. They just kept bringing more and more bodies, some alive and some not, from different places across the realm. I remember one boy; he was burned beyond recognition on his right side and only a small, blistered, black nub hung from where his arm used to be. The smell was just…” His face contorted in horror.

“I think I’ve heard enough.” Osric motioned for him to stop. “Is there anything we can offer? There must be something we can do.”

“Right now, what they need are healers, and medicine, and food. But the elves have a strictly vegetarian diet, which may seem strange but it actually tastes pretty good. With that in mind, I don’t think sending them things that we eat will be of any help, and it may actually hurt in the long run.”

“They fear that many of the things that we grow and eat in our climate may infest their grounds, taking over ground cover and choking out much of the natural vegetation that grows in the area. They have many plants in that area that are essential to their way of life, and their habitat is very fragile.” Shrad emphasized his final words.

“So, what should we bring?” Osric was beginning to understand how difficult the relief effort could be.

“They need manpower. It’s really that simple. We could send medication and healers straight away. But they would need to train our people on the proper ways to gather many of their more fragile crops. Then, they also have many cultural beliefs surrounding the mother that extend into cultivating and farming of crops as well. It would take several days, or longer, for them to trust us to send our own men out to perform the tasks. This is no small project we would be getting ourselves into.”

“Do you think they would allow me to come and see things for myself before I commit our overwhelmed resources to the cause.” He didn’t know what he was doing, but portent was leading him in this direction. If they were to face Dredek with the five hundred dwarves Machai was supposed to be bringing back with him—and he had already sent Aranthian troops to help bolster the Vigiles in Rowain, and even more to the Elven Realm—he wasn’t sure there would be enough men for them to be able to stop Dredek. In spite of Osric’s misgivings, his Portentist ability hadn’t misled him yet. He was inclined to follow the pull from the gift out of sheer experience, with or without the support of logic.

“I’m certain they would,” said Shrad. “One thing they would frown upon is dozens of our men showing up at once. There are very few elves available to train them in gathering food, so the fewer the better the first time we go.”

“I’m not sure how many we can offer, but there will be help sent.” And then Osric had a thought. “I think Bridgett and I will accompany you to the city. We can decide from there what to do with the rest of our efforts.”

“Great, sir.” Shrad stood up with relief and drew his wand. “I’ll let them know we are on our way.”

“I’m sure I won’t have to talk Bridgett into going back, but I don’t want to speak for her. We’ll depart later this morning, after I talk to her and see to some things here.” Osric nodded and stood up to leave the room.

* * *

After a short wand conversation with Landin, enough to give Osric his bearings for the traveling spell, the three Aranthian troops arrived under a canopy of trees. A cool mist was in the air, as if a storm had recently passed through the area. Gad, Landin, and Asram stood in front of them with a dozen elven archers training their bows in their direction. Osric could sense it was purely for security reasons and none of the elves intended them harm, though their nerves were understandably on edge. He smiled at seeing the three men again, entirely ignoring the weapons surrounding them.

“Shrad, it’s good to see you’ve brought help.” One of the many warriors stepped out from the shadows, suddenly becoming visible behind the rest of the elven archers. “And the High-Wizard, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yes, this is Osric. I think you’ll find he is everything we told you he is.” Shrad inclined his head and motioned to the other three men.

“I’m Elisad, commander of the eastern gates.” He was tall, with dark hair, a spotless brown and green tunic to match his breeches, and he trained a vivid pair of silver eyes on Osric as he stepped through the crowd and held out his hand in greeting.

Osric stepped up and grasped his arm just before the elbow. “I sent some of my best to discover what was happening after Bridgett departed, and I hear things are dire for much of the Elven Realm.”

“I am sorry to report that the stories are true. One mighty, black beast of a dragon has burned seven of our villages to the ground.” Elisad’s voice was low and heavy with remorse.

“Velien, is Velien still alive?” Bridgett strode forward with a confidence that commanded attention.

“Velien?” Elisad stuttered. “I’m not entirely certain.”

“He worked this gate before the dragon attacks. He’s half a head shorter than you with wide, curious eyes and the same color hair as you.” Bridgett held his gaze firmly with her own.

“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.