The Weaving of Wells (Osric's Wand, Book Four) (56 page)

“Let them think what they will. I am happy!” Gus smiled up at Osric, slapping the stone floor of the balcony for emphasis.

Moments drifted by in silence as they both listened to Pebble shout barely audible orders in a cheerful tone. Even though he was working, the young prairie dog still bounced in his typical manner as if he were playing.

“He’s a good kid.” Osric turned his gaze back to Gus and nudged him playfully with his left hand.

“Yes he is. I’m starting to wish Eublin could have his way and that we would find an alternative to the hunt.” He nodded.

“Gus! You too?” Osric was so startled by the revelation that he leaned back, looking at Gus with new eyes.

“I know. I know. But I can imagine no better life than watching my son’s. With his mind, can you imagine all the marvels he could discover, or create? He just had his fifth birthday, and he understood everything about the wand and your power nearly a year before the thought of it entered any of our minds. This is exciting!” Gus was grinning.

“Yes, but you’ve been one of the harshest critics of Eublin’s ideas about the hunt.”

“I don’t even fully understand this change in me, but I am fine with not understanding it.” Gus shrugged and then leaned toward Osric with wide, serious eyes. “I haven’t belittled a hunter since you woke up. Do you know how odd that is for me?”

“What?” He tipped his head to the left and looked Gus in the eyes, confused.

“You haven’t noticed how I treat hunters? Most of my life I’ve been trying to anger them enough that they would hunt me out of spite.” Gus looked up at Osric, a bit ashamed of the admission.

“That’s crazy, even for a supporter of the hunt.” The thought of someone trying to force another person to kill them, for any reason, seemed absurd to Osric. Why would someone try to incite a man to kill and eat him?

“Well, I agree, but it seemed better than the alternative. Now, I think the alternative might not be as set as I once thought.” Gus’s eyes grew distant, but hope radiated from his mind, mingled with worry.

“What could be worse?” Though Osric was genuinely curious, he did suspect he knew which direction Gus was going. He suspected that he was about to learn something that many had jokingly speculated about but that Gus himself had never revealed.

“Rotting alone under an avalanche of stone, fire, and mud in a place where no one can find me, for one.” Gus sighed deeply and his shoulders sank.

“What gave you the idea that that would happen?” Osric encouraged Gus to continue, knowing that Gus needed the relief of sharing his fears even if Osric already knew the answer.

“It was a vision I was given by a Seer during my first year away from home while studying wandcraft. The words he delivered told me of fame, fortune, and mastery of my craft, but an ultimately undesirable end. I watched as flame and stone showered over a much older version of who I was then. The fire or the stone killed me, I don’t know which. But then I could see through the stone, and I watched as time passed and my body decayed. I was horrified to watch what was left of my fur peel away, sticking to the rocks surrounding me with the help of the little fluid left inside my body. I don’t know how much time passed, but eventually a thick layer of mud covered the stone, dried, and then cracked.” Gus hung his head.

He remained in his solemn pose for several long breaths. He shook ever so slightly, and his eyes remained closed. Then, suddenly, Osric felt a calm wash over the old prairie dog. Gus hadn’t moved, but the mood of the sheltered balcony seemed to shift. Serenity replaced the heavy weight that had pressed in on the two, and Gus looked up with calm acceptance in his smile.

“I’ve been present when you thwarted prophecy in the past. You kept the paun from killing us all, even though the vision had depicted our deaths. But I died in two prophecies that I know of, so maybe my luck will hold for the death I was shown as well. Being buried below the pillars of our training grounds after a natural death, where at least my memory can serve to nourish others, seems more appealing than my other choice. Besides, I seem to inspire inaccuracy to even the most experienced hunter, and I’m getting tired of serving as practice.” Gus laughed and patted Osric’s leg. “But enough about me. What news do we have from Angmar? I know we didn’t stop Dredek, but I have a hard time believing there wasn’t more to his plans that we don’t know about.”

“Well, we may never know what his plans were, but the caldereth don’t seem to have any knowledge other than their native language. Even the Common they spoke on the stones seems to have been wiped from their memory over the centuries. They don’t pose any danger to us now, as far as we can tell.” Osric let him divert the conversation, but he intended to ask more at a later date.

“Humans were responsible for their extinction. Do they have any knowledge of the battle that led to their deaths?” Gus asked the question on the minds of nearly every Aranthian posted at Angmar. They hadn’t had anything to do with that battle, but the caldereth wouldn’t know that, and if they did they may not care.

“Thankfully no,” Osric replied. “But once they were revived it took a couple days for them to remember their own language. Who knows how long it will take for them to remember that we were responsible for their deaths.”

“Their last days were very itinerant, long and grueling marches, day after day, having left their home in search of a miracle in a distant land. Or maybe they were looking for power and wealth. Who knows? My point is that the days leading up to their deaths were probably horrible, especially the day of the slaughter, so perhaps their minds will reject those memories out of mercy for their sanity. Maybe humans killing their race will be the last memory that comes back to them. We could have time to prove the Aranthians trustworthy before they remember.” Gus’s tone was almost too hopeful.

Osric laughed. “To be honest, I’m more worried about dragons attacking than I am about the caldereth. I hope we can focus our attention on that front before we have to deal with something unexpected—I haven’t had the chance to devote a lot of time to the dragon problem as it is. And, for now, the irua seem to be content letting the caldereth remain isolated to a small portion of Angmar until we find them a safe place to live.”

“So, they haven’t developed any magical abilities yet?” Again, Gus’s tone was hopeful.

“No. They show no sign of a connection to Archana—at least no connection derived of magic. But, you can never discount the emotions of a race, so maybe their connection will run deeper than ours, and they may never regain memories more than the instinctual ones.” Osric tried to echo his outlook, but something kept him from committing fully to the investment.

“It’s going to be difficult to find a place that is safe for them if they can’t use magic. Drogma are fairly prevalent across Archana, and they can get through a lot of structures that aren’t reinforced by some magical means. Maybe the caldereth could benefit from our aid in magical craft? I think our economy could afford sending several dozen to help build fences. We could check on them from time to time.” Gus was thinking out loud, but he looked up at Osric expectantly.

“I suppose we could, but we need to find a place for them first. I’ve sent out scouts already. They seem to favor colder climates, so most of our attention is focused north near where the Grove of the Unicorns used to be.” Osric took in a slow, deep breath and his brow creased with worry.

“Why do you look so morose? You just defeated the most experienced wizard on all of Archana, and he had mastered more gifts than even you.” Gus nudged Osric’s left thigh with an encouraging swat of his paw.

“It’s actually defeating Dredek that is bothering me,” Osric replied.

“I can’t understand you sometimes. Why would you let yourself be bothered by accomplishing your goal? It seems that would be a reason for celebration.” Gus leaned against a rail, looking up at Osric with concern.

“Don’t you find it strange that Dredek didn’t bring weapons into the Well of Strands? There was nothing more than a few crates of food waiting for the caldereth when they awoke.” Osric looked back at Gus, his lips pressed in a thin line and worry creasing his brow.

“I find a lot of things he did troubling. Why would that choice bother me more than the others?” Gus answered.

“He spent decades planning everything. Every last detail was explored. But there was no way for him to know we would be able to overpower him because he was the only multi-gifted life on Archana until the unicorns created a wand that would do the same for me. I just find it troubling to think that he had no more plans after this event.” Osric spoke slowly, considering his words carefully.

Gus could feel how much the thought troubled Osric, but he couldn’t see the issue. “What if he didn’t plan further than bringing them back? I don’t see how that would make a difference. I mean, we still had to try to stop him because he has proven himself an untrustworthy sort.”

“That’s just it.” Osric shook his head. “His entire race was killed, and he stopped at nothing to bring a couple hundred of them back, only to have no plan for after he accomplished that task?”

“And?” Gus shrugged.

“His plans stopped. Don’t you see it?”

“See what?” Gus squinted his small eyes, unsure of the direction the conversation was heading in.

“He had to see it. I see it.” Osric spoke with troubled eyes. “What would have happened after he raised them? He had an army that had been reduced to nearly half its original size from their attack on Angmar. If we could have coordinated a dual front attack with the irua, there is no way they could have succeeded in holding us off. He couldn’t hold off our forces, and we came at him from one side. He would have known this.”

“Okay, then the irua would have destroyed them, or we would have. Bridgett says they don’t tolerate outsiders. It seems to me he simply overlooked one important part of the plan.”

“I don’t think he did.” Osric sighed. “I think he planned to turn himself over to us as leverage. Hold the guilty party responsible in order to let the race survive. I can’t see any other course of action that would fit the facts.”

“All right, so what if that is the case. We may never know now, but so what if that was the plan?” Gus was feeling the familiar tug of his old emotions returning, but he suppressed them in favor of a sly smile.

“My worry is that if an ancient mind could plan the toppling of an ancient power and the resurrecting of a long-dead race, only to surrender when it was accomplished rather than defeat our men, then maybe we should have put our time and resources toward other endeavors.” Osric hung his head. “He couldn’t have foreseen my use of the other wells, but it still shouldn’t have been that easy to defeat him. What if he didn’t plan to keep on fighting, to keep on killing? What if I killed a man who wasn’t a threat?”

“Wasn’t a threat? Are you mad?” Gus’s frown turned from inquisitive to stern. “Let’s just get one thing straight. Even if Dredek surrendered himself to let the caldereth live, he would have been executed for his crimes. He was, by any interpretation of the word, a threat. With his crimes known, very few would have indulged him enough to offer a trial. He was a threat. Don’t you ever doubt that fact.”

“Maybe.” Osric’s grimace deepened. He looked out at the center of the Aranthian habitat, and even the sight of Pebble searching through the wooden rubble left from stumps, playfully giggling and sorting through the mess, did nothing to bolster his mood.

“Ha!” Gus’s scowl faded quickly into laughter once more, and he was glad to have shed his foul nature of former years. Life was far more enjoyable without the headache caused by a creased brow. He smiled as he looked up at the tortured face of his friend. “Look at yourself! You look to be attending a feast where Kenneth is offered up as the meal. You won! Now even I recognize your genius. In fact, I’ve set out to find the most inexperienced Portentists as students to my trade. The strand-sight device, and the other objects we’ve been working on that will allow anyone to manipulate strands, can open up the trade to many creative young minds.”

Gus stared out at the scene in the yard below, but he turned back to Osric suddenly with wonder and excitement in his eyes. “Can you imagine James with a wand that helps to bring out the flavor of food? I might die from happiness if he could make the food taste even better!” Osric looked at Gus, unsure of what to make of this shift in the conversation, but Gus continued. “I don’t think I ever told you about Miss Carrion. Her meat pies could bring me to tears. That is the one thing that made me strive to be great in my early years of wandcraft: food!” He smiled.

Osric laughed at the change in his demeanor. “What?”

“Ah, yes. Food!” Gus nodded. “But of all the food I have ever eaten, Miss Carrion served up the best meat pie! It had the best butter crust; a thick, creamy sauce; carrots, leeks, onions, garlic, and herbs; and the most delicate dove or lamb I have ever tasted.” Gus closed his eyes and swallowed, a speckle of drool in the corner of his mouth. “She made it both ways: lamb or dove, depending on what she could locate at the market. She ground the meat with pork fat, to lend it moisture and flavor.” Gus tipped his head up, his eyes closing as he sighed. “Oh, I can’t begin to tell you how much I loved that pie. The field outside her home may be the cleanest field in all of Archana. I would gather sticks in that area just for the hope of that smell. In my early days”—he leveled his eyes at Osric—“I even made her a spatula wand, or six, because she wore them out over the years, just to encourage her to keep making it!”

“What?” It was the second time in as many attempts that he had chosen this word, but nothing else would enter his mind in the midst of such an amusing story.

“Oh, I know I came across as a nuisance, but I was only that way to men who could hunt, or attempted it, for that matter. Miss Carrion was a woman who could inspire me to create wands of any shape or size. I would have made her a wand of silk if she would create another culinary trap for my tongue. Ah, yes.” Gus sighed.

Osric laughed. There was so much of Gus’s behavior that was unfamiliar yet welcome. Gus’s face contorted in all of the usual ways, but for entirely different reasons.