Ossendar: Book Two of the Resoration Series Read online

  “But summoning is dangerous. Horrible things can be unleashed on the world,” Flare said, a knot of doubt growing in his stomach.

  Dagan picked up a steaming cup off of the small end table that was beside the chair. “Many things are dangerous. A sword in the hand of an idiot is dangerous, or a sword in the hand of a master swordsman is also dangerous. A warrior who uses magic is dangerous.”

  The words hit him like a slap across the face. 'A warrior who uses magic,' now why did Dagan say that? Does he know about me? Flare struggled to not show the fear that was blossoming in his stomach.

  Dagan just sat there, sipping his drink and watching Flare.

  “Warriors are not allowed to learn magic, Dagan. What would make you say something like that?” Flare asked. The knot of doubt in his stomach was turning into a knot of fear.

  A smile crept across the face of Dagan. “Why are warriors not allowed to learn magic?” the old man asked; answering the question with a question.

  Feeling too nervous to remain seated, Flare stood up and paced back and forth while saying, “It has been that way since the demon-lord wars. Ever since my grandfather, king Osturlius’s fall, actually he is my great, great, great, grandfather. Anyway, his fall caused a curse to be placed on all elves by the gods, and since then warriors have been forbidden on pain of death from learning the magical arts. You know all of this, so why do you pretend not to know?” Flare was trying to conceal his nervousness, but he knew that he was doing a terrible job. Perhaps he could pass it off as being uncomfortable about talking about his grandfather.

  Dagan paused for a moment to collect his thoughts before he spoke, “Flare, I have heard that king Osturlius did something horribly wrong, and that he died for it. I have also heard of a curse supposedly put on the elves, however I do not know what king Osturlius is supposed to have done, nor do I know why the curse was placed on the elves.” Flare had stopped pacing, and was staring intently at Dagan. “Perhaps, Flare, you can explain these things to me.”

  Actually the last thing he wanted to do was continue talking about these things, but he didn't see how to get out of it now. He had after all started the conversation. “King Osturlius was away from Solistine, which was not unusual, since he was a member of the Dragon order. All I know is that something he did drastically offended the gods. A stone statue came alive in the elven temple, and spoke to a priest. It condemned the king's actions and pronounced a curse on all elves. King Osturlius was never heard from again, and it's still a mystery as to what happened to him.”

  Dagan nodded his head in agreement, “That pretty much the same story that I have heard. I knew that a priest had said that the gods had placed a curse on the elves, but I did not know about the talking statue. Tell me, do you know if just the one priest saw the statue?”

  Flare shrugged his shoulders, “I believe it was just the one priest, but remember that priest has been dead for a long time. Why do you ask?” He returned to his seat as he asked the question.

  Dagan bit his lip before continuing, “I have a tendency to question things that are told to me. In this case, King Osturlius was condemned by the words of a single man, uh, in this instance, I guess he was condemned by the words of a single elf.” He scratched his chin before continuing, “It's not any more believable than the church saying that wizardry is a black art, if you can't give me an irrefutable reason, then I question it.”

  “Don't you believe what I have told you,” Flare asked. He felt somewhat offended.

  “I believe you told me the story as you heard it, but just because somebody tells me something does not mean I believe it. Stories and so called truths are affected by the people that tell them. The story you just related to me may have been changed over the years by the people telling it. Most of the time they don't mean to change the story, but their beliefs are involved whether they want them to be or not.”

  The two men sat there for several moments in silence, until Dagan spoke up, “Tell me Flare, how long have you been practicing magic?”

  Dagan's words staggered Flare. How did he know? What did he know? He realized that his mouth was hanging open, and he shut it with an audible snap. Quickly, he said, “What are you talking about?” Then, trying to think fast, he added “We were talking about my grandfather, not me.”

  The old sorcerer studied him for several moments, and Flare fought hard to match the man's gaze. Failing, he dropped his eyes to the floor, his pulse racing. “Flare, I know you have been practicing magic. During the weeks of our training, I have touched your mind.” Seeing the look of surprise that crossed his face, followed quickly by anger, Dagan quickly added, “At first it was completely accidental, but what I saw when I touched your mind intrigued me. I can see your guilt over using magic, and actually that's what caught my attention first. Oh, by the way, one thing that sorcerers can do is tell when somebody is lying.” Dagan smiled, as he continued in a quiet voice, “Right now you are lying to me.”

  Flare could hear his heart beating loudly while he stood in front of Dagan's chair. When did he stand up? The last that he remembered, he had been sitting down in the chair. “I suggest you not make accusations like that again, I am a prince of two realms after all.” He said with all the authority he could muster. He knew it still came out sounding kind of weak.

  Dagan waved a hand at him, “Flare, I have no intention of publicly accusing you of anything. In fact, I agree with what you are doing. Like I have been telling you, I disagree with restrictions being placed on us because of what other people believe. All that people remember is the fall of king Osturlius and the Demon-Lord wars. They don't remember that before those events, the Dragon Order protected the innocent for thousands of years.” A small laugh escaped him, and Flare almost echoed the laugh, but he knew that his laugh was because of panic. “Flare, you are a free man, and you are entitled to pursue whatever you want to pursue, but if you are caught then you will suffer the consequences. However, I will not be the cause of you being found out.”

  Relief flooded over him like a wave. He probably shouldn't believe the old man, but he found himself hoping that the advisor wasn't lying. “How do I know that you aren't lying,” Flare asked.

  Dagan smiled at him and leaned closer to Flare. “Well, I guess you will just have to trust me, won't you.”

  Flare smiled in return, “Or kill you.”

  The comment wiped the smile from Dagan for a moment, but then the smile came back bigger than before. He leaned forward, “I do like that spirit, but I don't suggest you try it.” Flare could hear the not so veiled threat in Dagan's words, and the words seemed full of power.

  “I don't plan to, but please don't betray my trust.” He didn't add that the only reason he was trusting Dagan was that he had no choice, that was probably best left unsaid.

  “Don't worry my boy. I will not betray you.”

  “Is there anybody else in the court that can do what you do?” Flare asked.

  “No, there are no other sorcerers in the court, of that I am sure. I would have felt their presence.” Dagan answered. “So you don't have to worry about another sorcerer touching your mind like I did... Well, at least not in Telur.”

  Flare sat there quietly trying to think what he should do. He did not like anyone knowing about his secret magic use, but what could be done? Dagan apparently had known for some time and he still had not told anyone, perhaps he could be trusted. A thought occurred to him then, “could you teach me to prevent a sorcerer from touching my mind the way you did?”

  Once again, Dagan smiled. “Flare, warriors are not allowed to learn sorcery.”

  Flare returned the smile, “Why are warriors not allowed to learn sorcery?” He asked, in imitation of Dagan's earlier questions.

  The smile faded from Dagan's face, as he studied Flare. “I have no objections to teaching you, in fact I rather like doing things that I am not supposed to, but we will have to be careful. There are many people close to the throne who view you as a threat, and if th
e church found out that you were practicing magic and sorcery, then it would be a painful slow death for you, and probably me as well.”

  The words had a calming effect on Flare. He had always known that death was the punishment for learning magic, but he never expected to be caught, and he never expected to be tortured to death. “Would the king allow the church to torture one of his sons to death?” He asked of Dagan.

  “The king would have no choice. The church has tremendous influence over the people, and if the king refused to allow them to exercise the law on you, then he most likely would face a rebellion of the people. Flare, you do not understand how the church works. They have spies everywhere and even the nobles are scared of them. The church has always been miss-trustful of non-humans.”

  Flare realized that Dagan had not corrected him when he said 'one of the king's sons'. Just how much did he know? Did he suspect that the king was his actual father and not just his adopted father? He pushed that thought away for the time being, and turned his thought back to the church.

  “But Kara, she was the priestess in my squad, didn't seem to hate or mistrust me.” Dagan's words made him doubt her, and he didn't like that at all. “In fact, I would trust her with my life and actually she has saved my life before.”

  Dagan shook his head, “Not all of the church believe as I have described, but the leadership does. The leadership is the group that establishes the beliefs and direction of the church. They may even be the minority, but the rest will follow their orders. Watch yourself around her, Flare. If the church hadn't taken notice of you before the king adopted you, they most certainly have since...”

  Aaron slowly walked the hawker's road toward the merchant quarter of town. His steps were dragging, and he wished he didn't have to make this trip. In the five weeks since their return from Mul-Dune, he had found a place for Elona to stay. It wasn't much, just a little bedroom over the stables of an inn, but it still cost him plenty. Unlike some, he didn't have the rich family to fall back on, so he alone had to bear the costs.

  At first, Elona had been ecstatic, but that had passed quickly. Now, all she seemed to notice was the dust and noise that filtered in the lone foggy window. Once she had greeted him with smiles, but now she seemed to want to see him as little as he wanted to see her.

  He was jolted out of his thoughts by a large travel stained man bumping into him. A head taller than Aaron, his clothes were coarse and covered in dust, and he had a scruffy beard that was matted.

  “Hey! Watch where yer going!” The big man growled. His nose had been broken at least once before, and he wore a cudgel at his belt. The cudgel marked him as a guard or wagon driver, and he dropped his hand to rest on the handle. Aaron was wearing nice clothes and people often thought he was a man of means, but he never wore a uniform when he came to see Elona. The uniform caused the merchants to swarm around a man. Several of the big man's friends stood behind him with growing grins on their faces.

  Perhaps the correct thing to do would simply have been mutter an apology and keep going, but he was not in a correct kind of mood. He drew his sword and set the tip in the dirt before him. The merchants and shoppers had created a little clearing around the men, giving them plenty of room. Some had stopped to watch and others had already started placing bets. Aaron said not a word as he stared back.

  The big man got a good look at the sword that Aaron was holding. It wasn't a fancy sword that a merchant or lord would carry, instead it was a rugged sword that was worn from much use. A cudgel wasn't much good against that. He glanced up and caught sight of Aaron's eyes. They were cold and unflinching, just waiting.

  Knowing he was in trouble, the man with the cudgel swallowed hard. He had puffed up thinking that the smaller man would run from the fight, but he hadn't. Now, he faced a fighting man who was better armed, so he did the smartest thing he could think of; he touched his right hand to his forehead and turned and walked quickly away.

  Aaron watched the man walk away with a regret, which was quickly followed by guilt. Sheathing his sword, he knew that he shouldn't want to fight the man, and besides it wasn't even about the other man. It was really about Elona.

  Sighing, he walked on. He had convinced a seamstress to take her on as an apprentice, but Elona had lasted only half a day. The girl had actually slapped a customer! Aaron shook his head just thinking about it. Then the girl had blamed it on him and said that she didn't want to be a seamstress, she wanted to be his wife. He cringed thinking about that. He liked Elona and all, but the last thing he wanted was a wife. She had seemed a sweet girl and he had genuinely wanted to help her escape her former life, but he didn't want the responsibility of taking care of her forever.

  He turned onto the walkway that led to the inn and smiled as he noticed the inn keeper sweeping the front porch. The inn was called the Dragon's Fire and had been nice once. Now it was still nice if a little run down. The inn keeper, whose name was Davin, worked from sunup to sundown just to maintain its current condition.

  Davin stopped sweeping as Aaron neared. A slim man in his middle years, he had bought the Dragon's Fire because he couldn't pass up the bargain, it hadn't taken long before he realized that he hadn't got the best end of that deal. His back ached as he straightened up from the sweeping; he had charged a little more to let the young girl stay, but then again he figured if the lordling wanted to keep his mistress set up then he should pay for it. Of course, discretion also cost money and what could he say since he didn't even know the lordling's name. He nodded to Aaron, “She's not here.” No need to be more specific.

  Aaron stopped dead in his tracks, halfway up the stairs to the porch. “When did she leave?”

  Davin started sweeping again, “I don't rightly know, but I do know that it was sometime yesterday.”

  “Yesterday!” Aaron exclaimed in surprise, “You mean that she didn't come home last night?”

  “That's what I mean.”

  Kara was sitting in the temple park when they came for her. She wasn't even sure how they knew that she was there, all she had been doing was sitting on a bench and meditating. Promptly in the middle of her meditation, a young priest in a dark brown robe had approached. She was so involved that she didn't even notice for several moments, until the young man cleared his throat.

  Kara blinked at him, clearly surprised to be interrupted. “Can I help you?” As she spoke, she noticed the two other young priests standing back at the edge of the park.

  The young priest took several steps closer, “My apologies for interrupting you, but we were ordered to find you. You have been summoned to appear before a special tribunal tonight.”

  Kara stood up, unease gripping her. “A tribunal? What for?”

  The priest smiled comfortingly, “I'm sorry, but I do not know. I was only told to inform you that you are to be at the temple at sundown.” He smiled at her one more time and then turned and left her to dwell on the words, unease growing in her stomach.

  Mikela was wandering through one of the lesser crowded streets in the merchant district. It was less crowded because the shops that lined the old road sold magical items and ingredients. There were far more people who shopped for cloth than reagents.

  She had always loved shopping, but now she couldn't seem to stop since she possessed more money than she ever had in her life. Looking up, she read the sign above a small shop, The Enchanters Cupboard. She looked back down and sniffed. The paint was peeling and one of the window panes was cracked. Even though she wasn't sure what to expect, she stepped inside. Sometimes the best bargains were in the worst places.

  Stepping through the door, the first thing that she noticed were bins of reagents lining the wall to her left. She didn't even give them a second glance as she had never enjoyed alchemy or potion making. When she had been in school, she had been forced to learn the basics. Since graduating, she hadn't thought twice about brewing a potion. The only reagents she used were the everyday ones that her spells required.

  Turning to the ri
ght, she moved towards the shelves, which were littered with magical items. Most of the items did not interest her, but she kept scanning the shelves anyway. What she really wanted was old magic books, anything that seemed to contain old or lost magic.

  She strode through several rows quickly, not finding anything of any real interest. Turning one corner, she found her path blocked by two men wearing a black uniform with deep burgundy splashes down the sides. Both men had short neatly trimmed hair, but the taller man on the right sported a mustache. The man on the left was fair, while the man on the right was dark with eyes the color of coal. Both men had swords strapped to their hips.

  Mikela came to an abrupt halt in front of the two men. Her mouth dropped at the sight of the uniforms. “What are you doing here?” She asked, forgetting all pretext of manners in her surprise. She knew who these men were. Based on the uniform, they had to be magi guards and magi guards only worked for the local magi council. Most larger cities had a magi council to help govern the local magicians and interface with the local government. Most magicians felt that it gave them a buffer between themselves and the non-magical rulers.

  “We are here to escort you to the magi council.” The fairer guard on the left said.

  “Why?” asked Mikela, fear growing in her.

  The darker guard smirked, and he spoke with a lisp, “Unfortunately, our masters did not waste their time telling us what this was about. Their orders were clear; find you and escort you to the council.” His tone implied he meant to follow those orders.

  Mikela looked from one to the other, anxiety growing. Then a strange thought occurred to her, 'Of course, they want to give me their congratulations.' The unease seemed to disappear at once. “Okay then. Lead on.” She said simply.