The High-Wizard's Hunt: Osric's Wand: Book Two (29 page)

Osric felt a wave of uncertainty wash over him, and he wavered slightly for a moment but continued to hold the spell. He felt the strength of his spell drop, and it caught him off guard. Still holding onto the thought that carried this new spell out in a wall of fire, Osric looked to his left and saw Machai and the others standing with their hands at their sides. Fear adorned their scowls where they stood. Osric reached out with his mind to feel their intention and find out why they were no longer utilizing their gifts.

Helplessness filled each mind he touched, and as Osric looked around, he noticed that every face wore the same sense of doom. The ominous hum of the Kallegians echoed and reverberated in a strange and violent tone as it suddenly varied in pitch. The visage of each villager changed to pain, and Osric dropped his wand.

He scanned the crowd with the Wand-Maker gift and noticed orange waves crashing into each person, enveloping them and pressing against their bodies with ever increasing speed.

Osric turned again to peer at the Kallegians with his gift. He watched the lines of men who had not yet encountered the wall of flames as the reverberating tone of magic flowed from their mouths. He could not begin to make sense of what was happening. Stranger still was the fact that he was completely unaffected by the magic. He lifted his hands quickly through the air and saw the copper ring, given to him by the boar he killed in his last hunt, absorbing all of the magic that attempted to crash against his body.

Osric looked into the sky, feeling completely inadequate. He was the only hope of the inhabitants of Stanton, but even if he waded into the Kallegians with his wand and blade, he could not cut down their entire force by himself. Osric needed help, and he knew it. He closed his eyes, thinking to call for Greyback, when he heard an echo in his head.

We are coming; all of us are coming!

Osric shook himself, briefly stunned by the invasion into his mind by unexpected magic, and screamed, “Greyback, now!”

His sword cleared his scabbard and Osric charged into the heart of the enemy’s line. To his surprise, the Kallegians no longer fought as timidly as they had in the streets by themselves. He found himself confronted by swords fully drawn and ready to attack, and he had to take a step back as an attack from two chanting men nearly caught him off guard. The faces of the Kallegians seemed to be even more shocked that Osric did not suffer the ill effects of their chanting. Yet, he was still in trouble as a group of men encircled him.

Osric took out his wand, inspiring startled expressions from his enemies. If they had never engaged with an enemy that fought with sword and wand, it would only be to his benefit. As quickly as the confusion had hit their faces, it vanished as they charged in on him. Two men lunged in with swords, barely missing Osric’s arm as he raised a shield charm just in time.

The onslaught of attacks came with alarming speed and consistency. When Osric pushed a man down with his wand, another would take his place, and they quickly adapted to the rhythm of the attack. Osric was left fighting fresh men without a break in deflecting the attacks. Though only moments had passed, he quickly began to feel the strain of fighting eight men at once. Even with the amount of power at his command, he knew he would not last long enough to defeat the entire army and save the inhabitants if help did not arrive soon.

A crash sounded in the distance, and a boulder was dropped behind the Kallegians to one side of Osric. He jumped out of the way as it rolled toward the circle of men, landing awkwardly on top of one of his would be assassins.
The eagles? And not a moment too soon!

Osric looked up at the sky and confirmed his assertion. He was shocked as a burst of amber flames shot out in an arc across the front lines of the Kallegians.
The dragons are joining, too?
Osric wondered, noticing Greyback land in front of him on the ground, bellowing a tremendous roar.

Dragons filled the air in a fearsome display. The few Kallegians who had found and saddled horses were swallowed whole where they sat. There was an awesome vengeance in the beating of their wings as hundreds of dragons descended into the square. From every direction, Osric could see the sheen of thick, bony scales lit by torch light. Crimson, gold and sapphire blazed through the dark, as each dragon added its own signature to the panicked plea from the Kallegians.

It was a spectacle unlike any Osric had witnessed before. The dragons moved with a terrible grace as they flew, twisting and turning in a controlled symphony of movement. Vicious efficiency drove the winged attack, until finally the Kallegians halted their chanting in favor of retreat.

Osric quickly looked back and watched as the dwarves, Vigiles, and the throngs of onlookers all joined in the attack. The Kallegians were putting up a fierce fight in tightly packed groups, but they were frequently thwarted by the stones dropped from the sky and dragon fire raining down on them. The Kallegians had no chance, constantly being pushed back by an assault that came from all sides. Each wave pressed the Kallegians further down the road and out of town, but they did not dare turn to run.

“No!”

Osric heard a scream from on top of a cart behind the departing soldiers. He looked, but in the low light he could not make out who was shouting. Yet, the voice sounded disturbingly familiar.

“Osric, I will have your head for this!” Aron’s scream was full of wrath.

Osric considered raising his wand, using the
traveling
spell to transport Aron a thousand strides into the sky, and simply dropping him. He could watch, satisfied, as Aron tumbled helplessly through the air. Aron deserved to be unable to stop himself, forced to see his own death rapidly approaching in the form of the solid ground beneath him; but no, that would not do. Osric needed to dispatch Aron himself. He wanted to show him that he was wrong, that he had joined the wrong side of the conflict. He needed Aron to realize that he had been beaten by an enemy that he never took seriously, to make him feel the pain that he had to endure while watching Kenneth be beaten in their cell.

Osric’s attackers gave him the opening he needed when they turned to flee from the dragons and eagles. He did not want any more deaths on his hands, and Aron would kill anyone in his path to reach Osric and force him to fight. So, he ran with as much speed as he could muster toward the cart, and all the while, Aron watched him approach.

Osric was slowed by the need to dispatch a few more men as he waded through the crowd in order to cut a path, but he kept an eye on Aron. Swords clashed all around him, and he ducked to evade an occasional burst of flames intended for the Kallegians. Weariness was pressing in on his mind and body from a day of battle, and several more without sleep, but Osric pressed on until at last he stood before Aron.

“You worthless traitor,” Aron held his sword up, pointing it at Osric’s chest, “I swear you will give up your secrets tonight!”

“Never,” Osric spat in reply.

“Oh, you will tell me.” Aron jumped down from the cart, swinging hard with his sword. Osric cast a shield to block the strike, and the follow through had Aron fighting to keep his balance as the sword’s momentum carried him to the left.

Osric kicked Aron with a heavy boot, shoving him down to the ground. To his surprise, Aron rolled over quickly and kicked Osric’s hand. His fingers were numb from the cold winter air, and Legati flew from his grasp as the shock settled into the broken bones of his hand. Osric cast a shield spell as he was forced to turn his back to Aron and lunge for his sword. Aron dove forward and caught Osric by the ankle, sending him sprawling into the frozen, muddy slush of the road. Osric’s elbow slammed into the ground, flinging his wand from his hand. He fought to suck air into his lungs, sure he had cracked several ribs. Osric craned his head to look back at Aron, filled with a sense of doom. Aron laughed sinisterly, rising to his feet, but Osric was relieved to see Aron’s blade also lay on the ground several strides away.

Aron stood over him, still chuckling, and reached behind himself. “Who would have thought it would have come down to this. You without any of the weapons you depend on, and me with one remaining.”

Osric saw only a glimpse of a wand in Aron’s hand before he launched himself forward, grabbing hold of the lowered arm that held the magical implement. Aron rammed his head into Osric’s, causing his vision to display flashes of yellow and orange. Yet he held tight and brought a knee up quickly into Aron’s ribs.

They continued to scuffle in close quarters, fighting over the one thing that could decide the victor. Aron spat and shouted obscenities into the night sky as they rolled on the ground, each trying to gain the upper hand in the fight to possess the wand.

“Tell me how you sent me here with only a word!”

Osric felt every ache and pain in his body as he tried to pull the wand free. Fatigue and stress were taking their toll, and he did not have much strength left. He dug deep for motivation and inspiration as he was knocked back against a cold wall alongside the street. He had only one hope as Aron pointed the wand directly at his right eye.

“Eo ire itum.” Osric appeared beside Aron and jammed his elbow down into the angle of his neck and shoulder, stunning the nerves of his hand. Osric slammed his fist down hard against Aron’s hand while it was numb, causing him to lose his grasp on the wand. Furious, Aron grappled with him and drove the larger man toward the ground with as much force as he could manage. Osric grabbed his shoulders and twisted them both in mid-air. Summoning all the power and strength that he had left into his arms, he landed on top of Aron and struck him in the face. He leaned in close to the bloody face that stared back at him and whispered again.

“I will teach you the words if you must know,” Osric punched him again, feeling a cold shiver deep inside of him inspired by his memory. He arched an eyebrow questioningly at Aron. “Are you sure you want to know?”

Aron’s limp body nodded in the affirmative, and his swollen eyes almost begged for the knowledge. Osric did not spare a moment of consideration for the destination, nor sympathy for the end he knew Aron would meet upon his arrival. He leaned forward and whispered the words into Aron’s ear. Aron’s eyes were wide with anticipation as he leaned in to hear.

“You need to think of a destination. Hold that destination in your mind and then speak these words,” Osric grabbed Aron’s arms and leaned even closer, “Eo ire itum.”

Osric felt a lurch and forward momentum, then found himself on the familiar, unseasonally green grass of the Grove of the Unicorn. He rolled off of Aron as the protection spell swarmed in on him. Footsteps ran quickly toward the two of them, but Osric let the warm breeze cover him where he laid. He closed his eyes as he heard Aron gasping for air and fighting for his life. He knew they would not, or could not, extend this man an invite into the Grove. The spoken spell would be safe with him and the few whom he had trusted with it. He had won, yet the costly victory did not fill him with joy. He needed to get back and end the fight, and he hoped that one of the people that were rapidly approaching had a potion that would give him the energy to return to Stanton.

Osric turned to see Aron struggling beside him. “It’s over,” he sighed at Aron’s effort to overcome the pain, “you’re dead.”

Love and Treachery

Osric awoke in his own bed for the first time in what seemed like years. He gazed up at the ceiling, trying to piece together his memory of how he got there. He clearly remembered Aron’s last, dying gasps for breath, but after that everything was hazy. He seemed to recall seeing Fallon glaring down at him as he lay on the warm grass, but he couldn’t be sure it was actually the Head Maiden. He sat up and pushed the covers from his bare chest.

Osric looked around his humble room, and his eye fell to the overstuffed chair in the corner. Bridgett lay sleeping under a pile of furs in the chair, her auburn hair sprawled across the cushioned arm. Osric smiled at the sight of her resting peacefully, and in his bedroom no less. He rose from the bed, relieved to find he was still wearing his breeches this time. Osric picked up his wand from the bedside stand, exactly where he always placed it before retiring for the night. He padded across the cold, wooden floor on bare feet, wary of waking Bridgett, and made his way to the kitchen. He used a simple spell to heat water in the kettle, steeped two cups of rulha, and arranged some fruit and cheese on a plate before returning to the bedroom. He knelt down beside the chair and brushed a rogue strand of hair from Bridgett’s cheek.

She smiled when she opened her eyes and then blushed shyly at the sight of his bare torso. Her crimson cheeks only made her more attractive, and Osric set down the plate and mugs to free his hands. As she stood from the chair, he pulled her close to him and wrapped his arms around her tightly.

“I am so glad you are safe,” Osric gasped as pain from his broken ribs coursed through him like lightning when she returned his embrace.

“Thanks to you, we are all safe for the moment.” Bridgett looked up into his eyes and smiled gently. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got kicked by a horse, er, maybe a herd of horses.” He smiled through the pain and hugged her tighter. Bridgett backed out of his embrace and stooped down to retrieve the mugs and food. She reached into a pouch at her belt and removed two vials. She unstoppered the containers with deft, experienced fingers and sprinkled some herbs into one of the cups.

“Drink this,” she offered him the doctored rulha, “it will ease your pain and speed the healing.” As much as he regretted having to let go of her, he took the mug gratefully and sat back on the edge of the bed. Bridgett sank back down into the chair.

“I don’t remember how I got here,” Osric admitted awkwardly.

“Well, when Fallon saw what you had done, using the protection spells of the Grove to commit murder, she was furious.” Bridgett eyed him with a curious expression. “She forbade the Maidens from assisting you, and you must have passed out from exhaustion. When you disappeared with Aron, we weren’t sure what to think. We didn’t know if you were still alive, if you were fighting somewhere else, or if you had
travelled
by accident. Eventually, when you didn’t come back, we feared the worst.” Her eyes were moist as she related the tale.