Ossendar: Book Two of the Resoration Series (6 page)

He approached the front door of the tavern, noting as he did so that it was called The Wench's Kiss. He was almost to the door, when he heard someone calling his name. Turning quickly, he felt somewhat disappointed to see Enton and Atock hurrying toward him.

Atock nodded over Aaron's shoulder at the tavern, “Can't you find a better place than this to drink? Besides, isn't it a little early?”

Aaron grimaced, “I'm not here to drink. I'm looking for Elona.” He quickly launched into the story of where the girl had been staying and also the fact that she hadn't come home last night. “I feel burdened by the girl, but I don't want anything to happen to her.”

Atock and Enton glanced at each other, but it was Enton that spoke. “What are you going to do with her?”

Aaron sighed and looked miserable, “I don't know. I wanted to help improve her life, but I wasn't looking for a wife. She's like a burden weighing me down.” He shook his head, “I don't know what to do.”

Atock nodded, “You gave the girl a chance, but you can't force her to take it.”

Aaron said nothing, he merely nodded.

“Anyway,” Enton began, “We'll help you try and find her.”

Aaron opened his mouth to protest, but Atock spoke quicker. “Besides, we have seen the girl before and we'll recognize her. And you don't have many volunteers.”

Aaron was quiet for a moment and then nodded. “Yes, that would make things easier. Thanks.”

Enton smiled and clapped his hands together, “Good. Let's get started.”

Kara sat in a small anteroom shortly before sundown. Normally, she loved to visit the church in Telur. There had been a church in this location for the last two thousand years. In fact, this is the very spot where the god Adel had handed down the law to High Priest Byron Nock, the very first of the high priests. The church had grown much since those early days, and now its influence was felt across most of the known world. She loved to visit the church as it was unbelievably beautiful, but she had ignored the decorations and adornments and walked right past them this time without so much as a glance.

This church was called the Holy Site of Origination, referring to the god Adel personally instructing the young priest on this very site. However, a more vulgar name for it was the golden church, which was used by commoners to denote the colossal amount of gold that was on display.

She had been led by a young acolyte to this small waiting room, where the boy had left her. That had been over half an hour ago, and now she was afraid that perhaps she had been forgotten. Well, perhaps it was more like she was hoping that the tribunal had forgotten her. She didn't like this, being summoned to appear before a tribunal couldn't mean anything good. It was true that a priest or priestess that served in the guardians was outside the direct control of the church, inevitably they would one day return to the clergy. So, even though the church had limited power over her now, that would not always be true.

She fidgeted in her chair without noticing. While most of the church was lavishly decorated, this small room was notably austere. Three small wooden chairs, not counting the one that Kara sat in, and two small end tables were all the furniture in the room. Two small wooden doors were the only entrances, she had entered through the door on her right, but she closely watched the door to her left.

Kara was jolted from her thoughts, as the door to her left burst open. A tall man stood in the doorway watching her while he smiled. He had a friendly face, which reminded her of someone's kindly old grandfather. His appearance was finely groomed. His graying hair was cut short and brushed back and his beard was cut into a goatee. He wore a long sleeve white robe that covered everything except for his brown leather shoes. A purple belt that seemed to be made out of rope or cord hung tightly around the man's waist.

Her eyes bulged at the sight of the man. Only a small group of priests wore the white robe and purple belt, the outfit was the badge of honor worn by the Arch-Bishops. The Arch-Bishops were only a small step below the high priest in terms of power and influence. If the high priest was the king of the church, then the Arch-Bishops were the princes.

“Please follow me.” The man said quietly but with authority, this was a man who was used to being obeyed. Without waiting to watch Kara, he turned and walked back through the doorway.

She bounded to her feet and hurriedly followed. It felt like her heart was going to beat right out of her chest. An Arch-Bishop! What could a man like him want with her?

Kara hurried through the doorway into the dark room beyond. She immediately slowed down, due to the dimness of the room. She could just make out a rectangular table with five chairs on the far side of the table. Four of the chairs were occupied, and the Arch-Bishop that had led her into the room was just now sitting down in the fifth chair. She moved closer to the table, and then with a sinking feeling, she noticed that all five men appeared to have on the white robes and purple belts.

“Welcome Kara Elba,” said the man in the middle. He was a fat balding man with soft hands that were not made for hard work. “This must be such a joy for you, I mean to return to this holy site after being gone for so long.”

“Uh, yes. Thank you.” Kara stammered, still confused and wary about why she was here.

“And to return a hero as well. I must say that you have done the church proud.” The fat Arch-Bishop was talking quite fast, and Kara was concentrating hard to make sure she didn't miss anything. “You are only the eighth member of the clergy to ever have won the golden dagger, and the other seven were awarded posthumously.”

“Cecil, I hate to interrupt you,” the grandfatherly Arch-Bishop who had led Kara into the room began, “but I'm sure that Priestess Elba would appreciate knowing why we have summoned her here tonight.”

The fat Arch-Bishop, who was apparently Cecil, blinked and looked around. “Oh, of course. You are right, Simon.”

“Priestess
Elba
,” an Arch-Bishop to the left of Cecil began, “We have a directive for you.”

“A directive?” Kara repeated. As she spoke she glanced at the Arch-Bishop that had just spoken. He was middle-aged man with hard and cold features. His hair was black, except for his sideburns, which were starting to go grey. His nose reminded Kara more of a beak than a nose, and she couldn't help thinking that the man's face wasn't suited to smiling.

“Yes, a directive.” He answered gruffly. “Although you are a member of the guardians and are therefore somewhat removed from our control, you still must follow the orders of the church.”

Anger welled up within Kara at the man's harsh words. “I have never refused to follow the orders of the church.” She shot back. “I am a loyal follower of the
church
of
Adel
.”

“Good.” The gruff Arch-Bishop said, “Then you won't have a problem keeping watch over Flaranthlas Eldanari for us.” He pronounced Flare's name in such a way that it almost seemed a curse.

It took several moments for the words to sink in. “Watch over him?” She repeated slowly, a nervous feeling settling into her stomach. “What do you mean?”

It was the grandfatherly Arch-Bishop, the one that Cecil had called Simon who answered, “You know of the Kelcer prophecy?” It was more a statement than a question, as all priests and priestesses of the church were taught about the Kelcer prophecy. They were also taught to keep a watch for any warriors who had suspicious talents. At Kara's nod, the Arch-Bishop continued speaking, “There are some who think that he is the one prophesied about, especially now that he has been adopted by King Darion.” He grimaced at his own words, “A foolish move that was. It only added to the paranoia of some.”

“But, I know Flare and he's a good man. He's not evil.” Kara said quickly, when Arch-Bishop Simon paused.

Simon glanced back at Kara, “Oh, don't worry young lady. We do not think that Flaranthlas Eldanari is the one that Kelcer was talking about. Many parts of the Kelcer prophecy are confusing and hard to decipher. However, one part is quiet clear. The person who will try to restore the Dragon Order will be born under the sign of the Prince, and it is quite well known that Flaranthlas was born under the sign of the Tree.” He paused momentarily and glanced down the row of Arch-Bishops, “However, some are worried because of the apparent closeness of the half-elf's life and the events mentioned in the prophecy.” He motioned to the other four Arch-Bishops, “We agreed to order you to watch him and report to us simply to placate the fears of others.” He smiled at her as if that explained everything.

“But, isn't it treasonous to spy on a prince of the realm?” Kara asked, all the while hating what the men were asking her to do.

Simon laughed and leaned back in his chair. “We're not asking you to spy on him, just keep track of what he's doing.”

Sounded like spying to her, and she opened her mouth to say so, when the gruff arch-bishop interrupted her.

He slammed his hand down on the table, which made Kara jump. “You will do as you are told, without questioning your superiors.” Kara kept her mouth shut, though she did glare hatefully at the old man. “Leave us now. You will be contacted when we wish to hear your report.” The mean old man leaned forward, “And don't disappoint us.”

Chapter 3

The cloaked man walked through the streets of Telur without much fear of a cutpurse. Instead his fear lay in being recognized, as there were far worse things than having your throat cut. His hood was pulled up and his face was buried deep within the shadows. It made it harder to see where he was going, but the anonymity was worth it.

He stumbled on the hard packed dirt of the street and stifled a curse. There were too many people about, and besides he was well known for his cursing. If he started cursing now, he might as well throw back his hood and avoid stumbling.

Coarse language and a woman's answering giggle made him pause. But it was nothing, just a whore and her man of the hour. He stood there for a moment waiting for his heart to calm down and listened to the people entering and leaving the taverns and inns that lined the street. This was far from the best part of town, but he liked it better than the more affluent locations. This section of Telur always seemed to be alive; here the people indulged their vices.

Finally the man moved forward again, heading toward a quieter part of the street. Here the taverns were not as busy and the inns seemed deserted.

He turned down a side street and walked between two small inns. He barely glanced at the names on the signs that swung over the front doors. On his right was the Demon's Dagger, which was an absolutely stupid name. Why would a demon need a dagger? The other sign was little better, it showed three unrecognizable figures sitting around a small fire with the words The Goblin's Den beneath the drawing.

Shaking his head, the man moved past the two inns and approached a doorway. The doorway opened into an old empty warehouse. He paused just inside the door, letting his eyes adjust to the light and listening for any sounds that shouldn't be there. The warehouse was old and the cracks and chips betrayed the age of the brick walls. The dust seemed to fill the entire room and he fought back the urge to sneeze.

Hearing nothing, he moved forward toward the back right side of the warehouse, the floorboards creaking as he walked. Here the shadows were the darkest, but still nothing moved. In the very back of the corner he found the stairway that he knew was there. It was an old metal stairwell that spiraled up to the second floor. He climbed the stairs quickly but quietly, trying not to make the metal ring with each footstep.

Reaching the second floor, he moved away from the stairs. He grimaced at the sound his feet made on the floorboards. The boards didn't get much use and they were creaking with every step. This floor was also mostly empty, but a doorway lay just to his right. A glow outlined the door; he stepped up and knocked softly twice.

“Enter,” a muffled voice called out.

He turned the handle of the door and pushed it open without so much as a creak. The room beyond was dimly lit by four or five candles that were spread out along the walls of the small room. Five chairs were positioned in a semi-circle. Four of the chairs were already filled, and the man sighed, realizing that he was last again. He bowed and moved to fill the last empty seat.

“What have you learned?” A voice asked quickly, not even waiting for him to sit down.

He paused halfway down, surprised at the urgency in the voice. This secret order had existed for almost two thousand years and patience was one of the order's cornerstones. He lowered himself on down before he answered. “Quite a bit, actually.”

“Well, are you going to tell us or should we guess?”

The man frowned; the questioner seemed excited or perhaps angry. Either way it didn't seem to fit. “The boy is learning magic and sorcery.”

Several gasps betrayed the surprise that this statement caused, but a woman answered in a calm voice. “We knew that he was learning magic, but are you sure about the sorcery?”

“Yes,” the man answered quickly, “but how did you know about him learning magic?”

“It's not important.” The questioner's voice snapped. “What is important is that you assured us he was not the one prophesied about. How can this be? How can we have been so wrong?”