Ossendar: Book Two of the Resoration Series (19 page)

All three stones were pushed in, but nothing happened. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or upset. He started to smile, when he noticed a small crack appearing in the wall. The crack continued to get bigger, and he could see that it was in the outline of a doorway, with a sinking feeling, he realized he had found the secret entrance into the hidden hallway. He stepped to his right, as the door swung silently outward.

The passage beyond the door was dark, but it was still light enough that Flare could make things out. The passageway stretched out away from the doorway, and light filtered down through small cracks and holes in the roof and in the walls.

He took a step closer to the entrance, and leaned in to take a good look, resting his hand on the right side of the doorway. He half expected to be grabbed by a skeletal arm, but nothing happened as he leaned in. The dust lay thick inside, indicating that nobody had used the passage in quite some time. The opening of the door had stirred up some of the dust and Flare sneezed almost as soon as he put his head through the door. With a start, he realized that the hallway perfectly matched the hallway from his dream. He could just barely make out the two benches in the hallway, and the one on the left was even faded, just like in his dream.

He stepped through the door and started slowly moving down the passageway. If his dream had been accurate in his vision of the hallway, then what if the rest of his dream was correct? Was he about to run into an evil rotting specter? He pushed the thought away, as it wouldn't do any good to think that way.

He had taken about four steps when he heard a soft click behind him near the door. He whirled around, just in time to see the secret door close. He jumped toward the door, starting to panic, thinking that he was locked in with no chance of getting out. He only panicked for a moment, because he noticed that this side of the door had a latch which could be used to open the door.

He laughed at his own fear, but the sound of his laugh made him cringe. It was dead silent in this hallway; it made him think of a tomb as his laugh reverberated off the walls.

He swallowed, and the stirred up dust almost made him cough, before he started down the passage. He walked slowly, looking around judging how precise his dream had been. He was amazed at how accurate the details from his dreams were, even down to really small details.

He reached the first turn, and slowly he rounded the corner. The hallway continued on, just like in his dream. The light which filtered in through the cracks on Flare's right, seemed to be dimming. He realized that it was starting to get dark outside, and that soon it would be dark in the hallway. He quickly spoke a word of magic, and bright light filled the hallway.

Flare continued down the hallway, past the suit of armor and the family banners from his dreams, until he reached the intersection. Almost ignoring the other two hallways, he turned to his right and entered the small anteroom. His heart was racing, and his stomach seemed to be doing flips, but he continued forward, albeit slowly.

He reached the far end of the room, and stopped in front of the door. Taking a couple of deep breaths to steady himself, Flare reached out and turned the knob on the door, pushing the door open.

The room beyond looked exactly as it had in his dream, right down to the bookcases and desk. Holding his sword in front of him, he stepped into the study.

Wasting no time, he turned to his left and looked for the torch holder that he had dreamed about. Finding it, he stepped forward, depressed the button on the arm of the torch holder and turned it to the left. The bookcase squeaked as it swung away from the wall, exposing a dark narrow passageway.

Unlike his dream, the light from Flare's magic spell showed that the other side of the secret door was a small room. Resting his hand on the right side of the wall, he looked through the doorway. The small room appeared to be a secret study. Light filtered through a narrow crack in the roof, which was enough for him to see the room's furnishings. There was a desk and chair, and the walls were lined with bookcases, a red plush rug was on the floor. The thing that caught his attention though, was a mummified skeleton sitting in the chair behind the desk. The chair was pulled up close and the skeleton arms rested on the desk. The skeleton was covered in cobwebs. A knife, stuck into the desk, stood upright between the hands of the skeleton. The knife had been rammed into the desk pretty hard, judging by how far it had penetrated the wood. The desk, although covered in dust, had a dark stain that radiated out from the knife.

Flare studied the room for several moments, and then slowly placed one foot inside the doorway. When nothing happened, he followed with his other foot. Now completely in the room, and with his heart beating loudly, he waited patiently. For what, he did not know. All he knew was that he had been drawn to this room.

He stepped closer to the desk to study the skeleton.

“I have waited a long time for your coming.” A voice said from behind him.

Flare jumped at the voice, whirling around and nearly screaming. His sword hand was shaking as he pointed it at the speaker. Apparently, the dreams had him frightened him more than he had thought.

The speaker slowly moved out of the shadows and into the dim light. It was a man, middle-aged, and slightly pudgy. He had shoulder length reddish brown hair and a full beard. The speaker was wearing a dark blue shirt and light tan pants. He took several steps toward Flare and then stopped. He tilted his head to one side and smiled. “So, are you going to kill me, or not?”

Flare, his hand still shaking, opened his mouth to speak. It took several tries for him to get anything to come out, “Who, Who are you?”

The man raised his hands, palms out toward Flare. “Calm down. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm actually here to help you.” The speaker paused for just a moment, “And as it turns out, I'm also helping myself.”

“Help me. How?”

“I'm supposed to guide you and answer some of your questions.”

Flare lowered the sword, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “What are you talking about? Who are you, and why are you supposed to guide me? None of that makes any sense.”

The speaker took a deep breath, “I know that it must be confusing, but let me explain. My name is Wyndon and I was once King of Telur.”

Now it was Flare's turn to smile, “Your King Wyndon? Now, if I know my history, he's been missing for some two thousand years. You look pretty good for someone that old.” As he spoke, he raised his sword back up.

“Actually, my physical body doesn't look all that good.” He pointed at the skeleton sitting at the desk, “That is all that remains. That wouldn't even have lasted this long, except that I was cursed and the curse has helped preserve this room and the contents.”

Lightening quick, Wyndon jerked his left hand out and grabbed the sword by the blade. Blood gushed from his hand as he ripped the sword out of Flare's grasp. He then wrapped his right hand around the hilt, holding the sword up to examine it. With a start, Flare realized the blood that had gushed from Wyndon's left hand was gone, as were the wounds on his hand.

Wyndon examined the sword momentarily, and then handed it back to Flare. “Put that away and listen. It's time you start listening to and trusting me.”

Flare slowly reached out and took the offered sword and then slowly put it away. “All right. Say what you have to say.”

“My name is Wyndon, and I was king of Telur almost two thousand years ago. I have been in this room, waiting for you, ever since I committed suicide.”

“Suicide!” Flare repeated, surprised.

Wyndon raised his hand, “Please let me finish.” He waited for a moment, and Flare nodded his head for Wyndon to continue. “It was shortly after the demon-lord wars. Telur was in a place of dominance, having scarcely been touched by the wars. The kingdoms to the south had been devastated and I chose to send my armies south into Dalar. Your forebear, King Osturlius forced me to withdraw my forces and I took it as a personal affront. There were other powerful leaders who felt that King Osturlius had overstepped his authority, and I formed a secret alliance with those leaders to remove the threat that he had become. I lured him into a trap, and then I had my best troops ambush him. My troops were wiped out, all except one soldier. The soldier was driven completely insane, his name was Kelcer.”

Flare flinched at the name of the soldier who had written the Kelcer prophecy.

Wyndon continued on without even noticing. “Now that Osturlius was out of the way, I arranged for a minor noble to have an 'accident' along the border of Dalar, and that was all the excuse I needed to invade. Dalar was still trying to recover from the devastation of the demon-lord wars and my troops just swept over them like a wave. My generals were ruthless, and it wasn't long before the war was over and I annexed over half of the country. The celebration didn't last long, however. A horrible plaque swept through Telur, killing or maiming many. I blamed the plaque on the country of Ontarin and used it as an excuse to invade.”

Wyndon paused, and Flare thought for a moment that he had a tear in his eye. “My whole reason for living was my son Almon. He was my light and my joy. Unfortunately, the plaque claimed him. It absolutely broke my heart and I lost all interest in the war or in running the kingdom. I sunk more and more into depression. I just couldn't go on living without my son, so one day when I was in my study, I went into my secret room and cut my wrists.” He was talking so fast, that the words seemed to trip over one another. “I bled to death hoping to be reunited with my son. However, I was not so lucky. I was punished for my transgressions by being locked in this room for the last two thousand years. I have been locked in here waiting for you. I think that by helping you resurrect the Dragon Order, I can somehow atone.” He paused and seemed to be lost in thought, staring at the floor.

Flare took advantage of the pause to speak up. “You said you were locked in this room, waiting on me, but who locked you in here?”

Wyndon pulled his gaze off of the floor, “I don't know. When I died, I just woke up in this room, knowing that I couldn't leave until I completed this task. It was then that I realized that I had done something horribly wrong, but it was over the last two thousand that I have come to realize the enormity of my sin.” He shook his head and once again his eyes had tears in them. “The last two thousand years have been a horrible punishment for me. I have remained in this room, never sleeping, never resting, just dwelling on my errors. It's enough to drive you mad.”

Flare leaned back against the desk and just watched Wyndon. He was struggling with the things that Wyndon was saying. He seemed to be telling the truth, but how could he tell? “What was the horrible thing that Osturlius did that caused the curse on the elves?”

Wyndon shook his head, “What? Oh, Osturlius did nothing wrong.”

“What?! The gods cursed the elves two thousand years ago. A statue came alive and spoke to an elven priest. The statue said the king's sin was so despicable that all elves would be punished, and now you say that the king didn't do anything wrong?” Flare said incredulously, now starting to doubt the words of Wyndon.

“Wait, let me finish. Osturlius did nothing wrong. When the statue spoke to the priest, Osturlius was already dead and therefore he was not the king anymore. Osturlius' son Andillious was the king at that time.”

Wyndon's words caused a feeling of dread to grow in Flare's stomach. “Then what was the horrible thing that Andillious did to curse the elves?” A gnawing suspicion was starting to grow in his mind.

Wyndon was slow to answer, “He was part of the conspiracy to kill Osturlius.”

The words hit Flare like a blow. “How could a son help kill his own father?” Flare asked.

Wyndon dropped his eyes to the floor, “I bribed him into joining the conspiracy, and doing so, I doubled the curse on my family.”

Flare shook his head in disgust, “What am I supposed to do about these things? They happened two thousand years ago. They are ancient history!”

“These things have been done and they cannot be undone. You do not need to worry about them. You need to continue on the path you are already on, continue to pursue the re-establishment of the Dragon Order. You are to replace Osturlius, and restore his light into the world. If you are successful, then you will cleanse our family of my sin. You will also cleanse the elven royal family of their sin as well.” A smile lit up Wyndon's face as he spoke.

Flare made eye contact and held his gaze. “And if I fail?”

The smile quickly disappeared from Wyndon's face. “Most things are hidden from me, and I do not know what will happen. But this is a battle between good and evil.”

A feeling of dread settled on Flare's shoulders. “So if I understand what you're saying, if I fail the world will fall into evil and the good things that exist will disappear. Is that right?”

“Well, not exactly. The battle between evil and good does not hinge on you. The war between evil and good does not hinge on one battle. One side may gain dominance for a period of time, but the other side will return. There is a balance in this war between evil and good, and this balance may fluctuate but it should not tip completely one way or the other. It is the nature of the battle. The battle between good and evil in the world is a mirror of the battle that occurs in every person.”

Flare took a deep breath, “Okay, so what do I have to do?”