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.”
Chapter 20
____________
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 t
ogether 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.
“Bridgett, I…”
“Hush.” Her tone was soft, but serious. “Let me finish.” He nodded in apology, and she continued to speak. “Eublin contacted me. He told me what he knew, only that you were in the Grove, unconscious, and Fallon wouldn’t allow you assistance. Gus retrieved you and brought you here. You have slept through an entire day and night.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t contact you. I was at the end of my strength, and I had to end the fight or lose. It was my only option.”
“I know.” Her smile was genuine, but strained. “Fallon will come to see that as well.”
“Are you upset with me, too?”
“A bit,” she gazed at him intently, “but not for the same reasons.” Pain flashed across his expression at the thought of causing her to be angry. “I am angry with you because you continue to make rash decisions. I am furious with you for placing yourself in situations where rash decisions are necessary.” He looked up at her in confusion, trying to sort through the meaning behind her words.
“There isn’t always time to think of the possible consequences of an action during a battle. I had to act.”
“I know. You did the right thing,” she raised her hand to stop his protests, “but I am terrified of what might happen next. I have spent most of my life in a safe, little bubble, protected from the woes of the world. I have seen sickness, and I have been devoted to curing it. I have seen death, but I have never seen such brutal, wasteful death as I have seen since meeting you.” Osric sat in anguish at the implications of her words. She was in pain, and it was his fault for including her.
“I never meant for any of this to happen. I am so sorry.” She leaned forward and pressed a finger to his lips to silence him.
“That’s just it. I should be furious with you. Yet, all I can think about is the fact that I only feel safe at your side. I should yearn for the protection of the Grove, but I can’t stand the thought of being away from you for a day.” She tore her gaze from his eyes and stared down at the floor. “Osric, I am angry because I am scared. I’m scared of the way I feel and of what it means.”
His head was sent reeling by each additional sentence that tumbled from her lips. She looked so fragile, and yet she was the strongest woman he had ever seen. The weight of her words finally hit him in full force, and he sank to his knees before her. Reaching out with a trembling hand, he caressed her cheek and raised her chin. As their eyes met, a single tear rolled down her cheek, and a lump rose up in Osric’s throat at her blatant vulnerability.
“I never meant to cause you pain. From the first time I saw you, I was destined to love you. My need to protect the people of this city, and to stop this war, pales in comparison to my desire to protect you. My thoughts ever return to you, whether we are near or far.”
She pressed her finger once again to his lips, and she whispered, “You can have that kiss now.”
*
Toby traversed the dark hallways in frustration. The palace had been rebuilt in a rudimentary way, functional, yet lacking the trappings and majesty it once held. Two days since the Vigiles had won the day, and nobody had heard a peep from the Ryhain. Stanton’s once glorious leader had been locked in his chambers since the palace was restored enough to be utilized. The last time Toby had made his report, the Ryhain had looked tired and distant, but his health seemed to have been recovered after being dug out of the palace rubble. Yet, for the past week, Toby had not seen or heard a word from his superior. It wasn’t only the Ryhain’s lack of communication since the victory that bugged him, but the blatant lack of interest in the people of Stanton as they recovered from the initial attack on the palace. That, more than anything else, caused Toby’s mind to fill with rage. Then, suddenly, Toby had received a summons to report to the Ryhain’s chambers.
His steps were filled with purpose as they echoed through the pale, stone hallways. He had no idea what the Ryhain wanted with him, but he planned to make him answer for his lack of concern for his charges, the people of Stanton. He yearned to demand that the Ryhain emerge from his chambers and attend to the people he was responsible for. He could not be allowed to continue ignoring his people. Toby rehearsed the words in his head to remind the Ryhain of his previous honor and diligence in leading his people.
Toby was surprised, like everyone else, to discover that Konsult Dredek was behind all of the unsettling events. He had been even more surprised to hear the news from people outside of the Ryhain’s normal channels. Toby had grown accustomed to hearing all of his intelligence from spies and informants working for the Ryhain, but all had been disturbingly silent in recent months. The Ryhain’s circle of loyal subjects that fed him news and rumors alike was normally a hive of activity, but as of late there had only been a few reports a month. Toby was beginning to get impatient with the normal channels of information and more impressed with the progress that was being made by Osric and his companions.
Focused as he was, Toby hardly noticed the busy servants passing him in the halls on their respective errands. He was of one mind; he wanted answers. Toby rounded the last corner on his way to confront the leader he had served for years. He had always had a great respect for Ryhain Domnall, which is probably
why he was so upset about the man’s recent performance of his duty. Toby thought back to how things were before the attack on the Ratification Ceremony and the destruction of the Stanton palace. Life had been so much simpler. He trusted and respected his superiors. Thoughts of treason and conspiracy had been far from his mind. He had been able to enjoy his job as Profice to the Stanton Contege, even when they promoted an inexperienced youth like Osric to the position. They had asked Toby to serve as Contege on many occasions, but he refused the position every time. Grasping for power was never his goal. He wanted only to serve his people and survive long enough to see his own grandchildren.
Toby shuddered at the thought of making the wish public knowledge, as he would be shunned and humiliated. Yet Toby could imagine no greater honor than to grow old surrounded by family and friends. The consequences of such dishonor would haunt him and his family for ages, but he truly wanted to have the simple things in life. He wanted the joy of bouncing a grandchild on his knee, not the power, not the prestige, and certainly not the responsibility and risk that came with an elevated position such as Contege.
Toby slowed his gait as he approached the door to the Ryhain’s quarters. He did not know what to expect, but he knocked softly. There was no answer, so he knocked again, louder.
A weak cough echoed in the room, and he entered cautiously watching for any sign of distress. He saw nothing; no movement, no light, and no sound. Pulling out his wand, he dimly lit the tip as to not disturb the Ryhain if he were sleeping. The morning sun was shining brightly, yet no light penetrated the heavy drapes drawn over the Ryhain’s windows. Irritation reared again in Toby that the Ryhain was still abed.
“Ryhain Domnall,” Toby spoke softly, “you sent for me?” Toby heard rough and ragged breaths coming from a bed to his right, filling him with concern. A quick flick of his wand, and every lamp, torch and candle in the room came alive with flame.
What he saw shocked him to his very core, and all remnants of anger fled at the sight. The room’s windows were layered in thick, black fabric that shut out all light. All signs of the normal maintenance that maids and servants carried out were absent. A chamber pot near the bed was overflowing, and rotten food, riddled with flies and maggots, lay scattered across the small table. Domnall lay in his bed, heavy quilts pulled up to his chin. His hair was stringy and dull, splayed out on the pillows in mockery of his once impeccable image. His skin was a pale gray, and his eyes were yellowed and sunken deep within their sockets. The stench of urine and stale sweat assaulted Toby’s nostrils, and he rushed to the side of the bed.
The High-Wizard's Hunt: Osric's Wand: Book Two Page 23
