The Weaving of Wells (Osric's Wand, Book Four) (40 page)

“Kenneth does have other duties. I can see how having more hands to hold Legati could be useful.” Osric nodded in agreement. “But my abilities have changed as new gifts have developed. It will do little good to have dozens of people with dozens of gifts if no one can use any of them.”

“That’s true, but it shouldn’t be difficult to shift some training time toward learning to use the new abilities. Most of the gifts granted by the sword should be represented somewhere in the Aranthian population, so we just need people to spend a little time teaching the use of their own innate abilities. Eventually, we could train everyone in all of the gifts.” Gus’s ear was twitching as he grew more excited about the idea.

Osric grinned, the possibilities finally lifting some of his pessimism. “All right, Gus, you make a good case. Now, if we could come up with a plan for helping Eublin, creating more troops for our battle with Dredek, or dealing with the dragon situation, I would consider this one of the best meetings I have had in a long time.”

Gus patted the blade. “I’m still not sold on changing the hunt, and the dragon issue is a priority.” He motioned for Osric to put Legati away. “But I think it will have to wait until we finish with this Dredek business. And as for recruiting the troops we need for our upcoming assault—”

“For that, ye be needing me and me kin.”

As they looked up from the sword to see who had interrupted Gus, a grin greeted the two.

“Machai!” Osric rejoiced as the thought of over nine hundred dwarves filled his mind. They would be familiar with both dual wielding and close-quarter combat in tunnels below ground. He couldn’t imagine a greater moment for his old friend to arrive, but there was so much to catch him up on. He stepped around the table to greet him properly. “I can’t begin to tell you how happy we are to see you.”

“I have to admit, even I am thrilled to see your grisly-bearded face.” Gus laughed.

“I be glad to be seeing that smirk on yer face hasn’t fled.” Machai ruffled the hair on Gus’s head and then held his hand out to Osric. “And I be seeing ye be busy during me absence. Ye still be looking as strong as ever, but there be far fewer men than when I be leaving. What trouble be ye placing me students in?” He smiled and grasped Osric’s wrist in greeting.

“Actually, the boy has been rather wise in his allotment of men, given the current issues he’s been dealing with. Even you would be proud of the way he has been handling things.” Gus nodded respectfully.

“Aye, I be always proud of the High-Wizard’s command of me Aranthian brothers. Be ye having many new problems arising?” Machai spoke the word
Aranthians
with pride, letting it linger on his tongue a bit longer than the word would normally elicit in conversation. “Who be earning our scorn this day? Me kin be longing to be part of the Aranthian fight.”

“Our men are out on duties that extend beyond battle,” Osric replied.

“Aye, then it be relief efforts that be taxing yer mind? We be seeing dragon attacks even on the shores of me realm.” Machai’s guess was correct.

“Yes. I’ve just committed nearly all of our healers and tradesmen to helping the elves. Though some are still trickling in due to cultural requirements,” Osric answered with a quick nod of his head.

“Aye, demand for aid in dragon attacks be causing a bit of frustration for me as well.” Machai grinned. “Do ye be having plans for me brothers in arms already? Or be we having time to train in spells?”

“Well, I’m afraid that the assignment of Aranthian troops doesn’t end there.” Osric’s expression was apologetic. “We have also sent all but a few remaining healers and tradesmen to Rowain to help them deal with a dragon attack that nearly destroyed all lineage that could take back the Turgent throne. We are taxed beyond our breaking point. If it weren’t for your nine hundred, I fear we would have no chance at defeating Dredek. Even now I fear it may not be enough.”

“Perhaps ye be underestimating me determination to be easing yer burden. Me troops be gathered on the ground. Will ye be kind enough to be greeting ’em?”

“I don’t see why not. We’re finished here for now, right Gus?”

“I think so, and I’ve had my fill of James’s fine soup. Let’s see if more of his kin have the same scraggly beard, why don’t we?” Gus almost swaggered when he jumped down from the table and headed for the door, looking back at Machai with a mischievous grin.

“Ye be testing me patience, ye cuddly rat.” Machai grinned as he traded insults with Gus.

“Ah, patience shouldn’t be a problem for you, dwarf. You move so slow on those stumpy legs of yours, surely you have developed great patience over the years,” Gus replied, picking up the pace as he scampered on four legs.

Gus continued to lead the way, scurrying up the stairs. He chose a path that led to the balcony overlooking the training grounds in front of the barracks. Osric knew it would be an excellent location to view the recent arrivals and discuss the ways to use the troops wisely, without the interruption of Machai’s men wishing to meet him and discuss whatever rumors had been circulating in the Dwarven Realm. He had had enough of that sort of talk in Stanton alone, and Osric knew how the dwarves were famous for telling stories. Human legends paled in comparison to the drunken stories told by dwarves.

Osric gazed out over the balcony railing, taking in the sight of the mass of dwarves gathered in the yard. He had expected a large group, but the crowd filled the entire training grounds, the field surrounding them, and the path that led to town. More were appearing every moment as the Aranthians who had been sent to retrieve the dwarves traveled into the protective spell that secreted the headquarters from the outside world. Over a dozen wagons were lined up along the west boundary of the property, loaded to the brim with weapons, armor, supplies, and large casks of what Osric assumed was mead. The scene overwhelmed Osric.

“Machai,” Osric said, “I don’t know how to thank you for coming through for us with so many men. Honestly, I wasn’t sure you would be able to recruit the five hundred you went for. I know there was tension between you and Thenar the last time you were home. How did you pull it off?” Osric gazed out at the ranks of well-armed dwarves with renewed hope for their cause.

“Aye, tension be an understatement, but I be telling ye ye could be counting on me.” Machai grinned widely, but Osric could tell that the expression masked much darker emotions. The smile faded quickly from the dwarf’s face. “It be a difficult task to be accomplishing. Me kin, from FireFalls, willn’t be returning home after yer battle. Thenar be banishing us from the clan walls. Ye be gaining nearly two hundred new recruits for the Aranthians.”

Osric’s eyes went wide at the news, and he looked between Machai’s sorrowful expression and Gus’s astonishment. “I’m so sorry, Machai. I never intended for you to lose your home.”

“Aye, but I cannot be following a clan leader that be turning his back on the needs of Archana in bitter greed or wretched pride. This be me home now, and ye be the man I be choosing to follow.” Machai’s gaze was on his kin gathered below them, but when Osric gripped his shoulder in appreciation of his loyal words, he nodded.

“There has to be at least seven hundred ugly buggers down there.” Gus attempted to break the solemn mood, though both men largely ignored his attempt at humor.

“Nearly nine hundred, once they all be arriving, from seven different clans. We’ll be telling ye the story of the gathering once we be settled in.” Machai looked out over the gathered dwarves with bittersweet hope. Many of them may not make it out alive from the battle with Dredek. His own clansmen would not be going back to the Dwarven Realm at all.

“I don’t have the words to tell you how grateful I am for this.” Osric looked down at Machai with a weak smile.

“Let’s just be hoping we be having time to be preparing them before we be moving out. They be able fighters, down to the youngest and weakest of the bunch, but they be not a fighting unit. A bit of motivation from the High-Wizard may be a good start to uniting ’em and readying ’em to be fighting for ye.” Machai looked up at Osric expectantly.

Osric looked out at the men gathered and realized how difficult it must be traveling that far from home in the blink of an eye. Many of them would never lay eyes on their loved ones again. That alone lent an air of finality to their fate. But he would ask them, in due time, to accomplish an impossible task that could not be accomplished by any other means. Machai was right, they deserved to be welcomed into the place that they had given up everything to be a part of. He looked out over the crowd and couldn’t help but wonder if their sacrifice would bear fruit.

“Welcome, Aranthians!” Osric began, but his voice broke under the weight of what they had to forfeit to be where they stood.

Osric dropped his head as he attempted to regain some strength and composure. It took him longer than he had hoped because of the emotions that escaped the crowd of dwarves as they gathered closer to the balcony. He nearly shut off the Empath gift to escape the flood of uncertainty from their minds, but slowly other emotions began to overwhelm the initial doubt. Hope, pride, and an unyielding desire for justice assuaged his despair. Not only did they want to help deal justice, but in many of them there was also a desire to accomplish their task in the quickest, safest manner and then return home victorious. And Osric could sense a keen intellect in most of the minds standing below him.

“I realize how much you have sacrificed to be here today, and how much you have pledged to sacrifice in the coming war. It would be arrogant and inconsiderate of me to attempt to equate your commitment with my meager words, but I cannot do more than tell you how grateful and humbled I am that so many of you have arrived to fill out the ranks of this army. You have been Trusted and welcomed into this arena of hope for the future, and I wish for you to know that you are welcome in every sense. While you are here, this is your home and your family, and we will accept you here as equals and as an integral part of the system we have designed. What is ours is yours. For those of you who choose to stay, these terms will remain for as long as you call yourselves Aranthians and reside within our boundaries. For those who choose to leave, after the war is over, know that you will always be welcome here if you wish to return. I cannot begin to express my gratitude, and I vow to commit myself to your safety and well-being, just as you have committed yourself to the well-being and security of Archana. If you will follow me to the ends of this world to secure the future of Archana, I will do my best to lead you well. For now, however, I imagine you are hungry. If I am correct, our kitchens are well prepared for your arrival. Would you all do me the honor of joining me for a meal?”

Loud cheers rose from the crowd, and as the crowd began to move toward the large doors of the barracks, Osric caught the trailing words of one dwarf: “He be good at talking, but we’ll be seeing if he be good at drinking.”

And the retort: “Aye, I willn’t be following a man who cannot be holding his drink.” Osric smiled and prepared himself for a raucous evening welcoming his new troops.

25 — Broadening Options

The night had been filled with a great deal of extraordinary food. The dwarves were so impressed with the kitchen’s ability to turn out fast, delicious food that they offered the kitchens the entirety of the stores they had brought with them. David had been so overwhelmed by the effort of cooking for the lot and attempting to find a place to store the vast quantities of supplies that he called James out from the duplicate dining hall outside the barracks to aid in the effort. It took nearly the entire staff of both facilities combined to undertake the task of properly storing the resources, and they were forced to use the supply rooms in both kitchens to accomplish the feat.

They ate and drank well into the night. Osric listened to all of the stories about the gathering a dozen times, and each time it took on different attributes that became more flamboyant as the night progressed. Machai humbly objected each time the teller recited his version of the final speech that swayed the last remaining opponents. Yet, even he bowed his head in sorrow when they arrived at the part of the story when hundreds of dwarves were forced to choose between honoring the outcome of the contest and being able to ever return home.

In spite of the solemn outcome that had brought them to join Osric’s troops, shortly after the storytelling had ended, the mood quickly returned to joyous celebration and drinking. The dwarves truly understood what it was to commemorate a moment in time with a gathering of their own. As they indulged, they filled the dining hall, all of the halls throughout the barracks, and even large parts of the training grounds. They stood on tables and sang lighthearted chants about beautiful women, legendary weaponsmiths, epic battles, and drunken revelry.

They were a rowdy bunch of miscreants half bent on gluttony, but in spite of their jubilation, when all of the drinking had ended for the night not a single glass was broken, not a chair or table sat askew. They were a respectful crew, and though many rested in tents until suitable arrangements could be made, the only complaint about their behavior came from a new cook who insisted the food needed no alteration when one dwarf seasoned his own food liberally from a personal stash of spices. It was as great of a first meeting as Osric could have hoped. He even received several comments about how well he could drink. By the time he tumbled into bed, he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of drinking with dwarves, but he felt they had all built a rapport and trust that would unify the troops as they began training together for the coming battle.

It was far later than he had planned to wake up the next morning when Osric forced himself out of bed, his head pounding and a horrible taste in his mouth. However, after a warm bath and an herbal concoction that Bridgett laughingly called “too-much tonic,” he was more or less functional and ready to go. Despite the residual throbbing in his head and a slightly upset stomach, Osric was still in a surprisingly jolly mood from the night of jubilation, and he trudged on to meet Pendres in the hopes of finding a way to utilize the wells. When Osric arrived at his office, the old recluse was waiting patiently, engrossed in a large book he had borrowed from Eublin.