Ossendar: Book Two of the Resoration Series (73 page)

Just then, the double ten foot high doors that were the main entrance, swung wide open. Even more light spilled out on to the crowd. A group of men were there, led by Prince Barrett. The two kings followed him, then Duke Angaria, and last came the young Princess Emily.

The crowd was momentarily taken aback at their sudden appearing, but they recovered quickly and began cheering wildly. Flare just shook his head, some people would cheer anything.

Barrett walked slowly down the steps toward the tower. He grinned and waved at the onlookers, even strutting a little. And in a sheath strapped to the boy's belt, was Ossendar.

Disgusted, Flare wanted nothing more at that moment, than to smack the boy on the side of his head. The sight of his sword hanging on that weasel's hip was almost unbearable.

The small group of nobles, led by Barrett, walked slowly to the entrance of the tower. There, they stopped and several of them appeared to speak to the crowd. Flare was too far away to make out what they said. Barrett then stepped up to King Darion, who gave him a hug, and then the cocky whelp entered the tower and the door was closed. King Darion turned a key in the door and then turned to address the crowd. After a few moments, the crowd cheered again loudly.

Flare patiently watched and waited; first for the nobles to leave, and then for the crowd to disperse. Knowing it would be hours until it was safe to go down to the courtyard, he went into Darion's chambers, and laid down for a brief nap. He had no worry about oversleeping. His years in the guardians had taught him how to catch some sleep when the opportunity presented itself.

He woke right at midnight, shivering and his teeth were chattering. It was simply freezing cold. He had forgotten and left the door to the balcony partially open. Rolling out of bed, his eyes were still blurry with sleep. He blew into his hands, trying to warm them. His breath made a foggy silver mist, and even the air from his mouth felt cold.

Emerging on to the balcony, Flare was relieved to see that the courtyard was deserted. At least he thought it was. The moon was over the castle, and the moonlight was bright enough to make the tower cast a shadow. He watched the grounds for a moment, and in the moonlight, he could see that two guards remained, stationed on either side of the entrance to the Royal tower. Two more guards were walking the perimeter of the grounds.

Flare swore. To this point, he had hoped to be able to sneak through the front door, but that was now out of the question.

Several minutes later, as he stood there racking his brains for an answer, an insane idea occurred to him. He stood there for almost another five minutes, considering. If he failed, then he would die, plain and simple. If he succeeded, then he still might die. After another couple of minutes, he nodded. He was decided on a plan. Sucking the cold air through his teeth, he made a list of the things he would need. The first thing he needed to do, was to speak to Dagan, he hoped the old man was still in the castle.

About half an hour later, Flare arrived at the doorway to Dagan's apartments. The trip had taken longer than it normally would have, but he had taken great care to avoid being seen moving around the castle at this time of night. He hoped the two guards, that had tried to follow him from dinner, were still watching his room. Nothing he could do about that now, though.

Flare pulled up short outside Dagan's doorway. The door was open, and someone was moving around inside. Pulling his knife from its sheath, he slowly peeked around the corner.

The room was a mess. Papers and books were scattered here and there, and some of Dagan's clothes had been left lying in a pile against one wall. There was a strange overpowering smell in the air. It reminded him of the oil that they poured over the ends of their torches. Flare registered the state of the room, but his interest was immediately drawn to the lone man who stood in the center. He stood there with his hands on his hips, surveying the scene. It was impossible to see the man's face, as he had his back to the door. However, the man was too tall and too young to be Dagan.

Walking quietly, Flare moved through the door and up behind the man. Grabbing him quickly, he thrust the point of his knife to the man's neck. “Not a word.” He whispered into the man's ear.

The man initially tensed up when Flare grabbed him, but he relaxed noticeably as the point of Flare's knife rested on his neck. The man swallowed hard, “Flare. Is that you?” He spoke quietly, but it was a voice that Flare recognized.

“Jared?” Flare asked, he liked the spy master, but he did not lessen his grip or move his knife.

Jared swallowed hard, “Yes. It's me.”

“What are you doing here?” Flare asked. “What did you do with Dagan?”

“Flare, I assure you that I have done nothing. The room was in this state when I arrived.” He swallowed hard again. “Actually, Dagan asked me to come here and make sure he hadn't left a trail. You know, nothing that could be followed.”

“Why should I believe that?” Flare asked. He wanted to believe, but he needed a reason.

“Because, Dagan and I have been friends for a long time.” Jared paused, and licked his lips. “He told me that you admitted to being the one, and that you asked him to get Prince Atock and Cassandra out of Telur.”

Flare thought about it for several moments, as he saw it, there were three options. One, Jared was telling the truth. Two, Dagan had betrayed him, which Flare could not let himself believe. Or three, Dagan had given up the information under torture. Flare didn't think it would be that easy to catch or torture the old man, especially not in just a few hours. That left option one, that Jared was telling the truth.

He lowered the knife, but still he prepared to lash out with his spirit, just in case.

Jared took a step away, and turned around to face Flare. He rubbed his neck; there were a couple of spots of blood where the knife point had broken the skin.

“Sorry about that.” Flare said, nodding towards Jared's neck. He still held his spirit ready, ready to lash out at a moment's notice.

Jared studied Flare for a couple of heartbeats. “So, you are the one.” He didn't say it as a question; instead he said it as a matter of fact. His eyes were wary, but not frightened.

“Yes, but I hope that you know better than to think of me as a monster.”

Jared shrugged. “Dagan knows better, and I trust him.” He looked around the room, “It's a good thing you got here when you did. I was about to torch the place.”

“Torch the place?” Flare repeated in confusion. “Why?”

“Because Dagan asked me to.” Jared explained patiently. He pointed to the bedroom, “I brought the corpse of an old man into the bedroom, I poured lamp oil all around, and now I'll start a fire to burn the whole apartment.” He shook his head, “No one will know that Dagan is still alive.”

“What about Cassandra?”

“She often goes on trips by herself for extended periods of time. No one will miss her for a while.”

“So Dagan is already gone?” Flare asked, his mood sinking.

Jared nodded, “About an hour ago. Why? Did you need something?”

Flare sighed, “I was hoping he could help me.” Now what to do? He had to get the sword tonight, but he couldn't see how.

“Is there anything that I can do?” Jared asked.

Flare's eyebrows shot up. “You want to help me? Even knowing that I am the one that the Kelcer prophecy spoke of.” That made no sense. Most people would run screaming if they knew who he was. Although, he could not understand how he was supposed to be this evil monster. Did Kelcer's insanity confuse the prophecy?

Jared smiled a sickly smile, a smile that disappeared quickly. “Dagan has assured me that you are not evil. In fact, he seems to think that you are Telur's only hope. He asked me to help you, if you needed it.”

“Did he now?” Flare was not overly surprised that Dagan had asked Jared to help, but the fact that Jared was actually considering it, that was amazing.

Jared dropped his eyes to the floor, “I know what you are thinking, but I have been and still am a loyal servant of Telur. I have been impressed by King Darion's skillful handling of crisis after crisis,” he paused, as if his next words hurt him to say, “Until now. Prince Barrett will be a disaster as king. And giving him the sword, that is sheer folly. The worst part is aligning ourselves with Ontaria, when we know that they will not keep their pledge. The whole thing is pure desperation.” He raised his eyes back to Flare, “Dagan said that you are the only hope for Telur, and Adel help me, but I believe him.”

Flare slowly released a breath, that he didn't even know he had been holding. “Fine,” was his answer, and then another thought came to him. “Was the king planning on having me killed when I came back? Were there soldiers in the columns of that room where the king and Angaria met with me?”

Jared dropped his eyes again, “I believe so,” he raised his eyes again, "But I wasn't sure.” He sighed, “And I probably would have let it happen anyhow, because at that moment I had no reason to do otherwise.” Jared looked up, “I told you that I am a loyal servant of the crown. I wouldn't be helping you now if not for Dagan.” His expression was mixed, defiant and scared. “So what can I do?”

“First, do not burn this room until,” he paused to think, “Until sunrise.” Jared nodded, so Flare continued talking. “Now, here are the other things I need.”

Jared's forehead wrinkled in confusion as he listened, but Flare was relieved to see that he kept right on nodding.

An hour later, Flare knelt in the shadows of a large shrub. For the past ten minutes, he had been slowly working his way across the castle grounds. He had circled around behind the tower, and was simply waiting for the two guards along the castle wall to turn around and head back the other way. It was doubtful that the guards would see him anyway, but he had to be careful. Jared had provided him with a loose pair of black pants, a black shirt, and a long black cloak. His boots too had come from Jared, as well the little pieces of metal in his left hand. A long coiled up black rope rested on his left shoulder and wrapped around his body. The effect, although not stylish, was to help Flare move through the grounds without being seen.

Finally, the two guards turned and headed back the way they had come. Like most guards on duty, they watched their feet more than they watched their surroundings.

Flare stood up and moved off toward the long shadow that was cast by the tower. He was still bent low, trying to minimize his chances of being spotted. He carefully avoided stepping on the small piles of snow, as the snow would crunch under his footfalls and possibly alert the sentries.

He came to a stop in the shadow of a small statue, careful not to breathe too loudly. Ten yards of moonlit grass was all that separated him from the tower's shadow. Peering first to his left and then back to his right, nothing moved that he could see. He popped up and sprinted across, expecting to be challenged every step of the way. But no one called out, no one shouted for him to stop.

Reaching the long black shadow of the tower had been the hard part, but now he moved quickly to the back of the tower. Bushes and shrubs ringed the tower, and he pushed quietly through them to the back stones of the tower. He paused for a moment and looked up. The tower was tall and smooth. Not so much as a window broke the smooth side of the tower. Way up in the distance was a balcony that overlooked the grounds. He had to get to the balcony, or die trying. He had passed the point where he could call this off much earlier in the evening. He cocked his head sideways and listened. The only sound he heard was the blowing of the wind.

Taking the two pieces of metal that Jared had carried with him, he bent over and inserted the narrow end into the end of his left boot. He turned it, and it clicked. He quickly repeated the process with his right boot. Now, both boots had a long horizontal blade emanating from the toe. The other end of the blade ran almost the entire length of the boot sole. The metal blades were supposed to be able to support his weight, but there was only one way to know for sure.

He drew two more blades and two black leather gloves from his belt. They looked like ordinary knives, but they were all black. Even the blade portion was all black. Jared had said these blades were made for climbing, and it wouldn't do to be spotted while using them.

Jared had paled considerably when Flare had told him what he needed, apparently Jared had reasoned out what Flare was about to do, but the spy master had provided exactly what he had asked for. He said a silent prayer that Jared would come through on the other things that he had asked him to do.

Taking a deep breath, he reached up with his right hand and slid the black knife in between the mortar of the stones. He had to work to get the blade in, but the mortar was ancient and gave way quickly. Stepping close to the wall, he lifted his left boot and shoved the blade in between two stones that were almost hip height. Then, balancing himself with his right hand on the blade, he pulled all of his weight onto the left boot. It worked perfectly. He was now standing a good three feet off of the ground, and only had another hundred or so feet to go.

He repeated the process with the blade in his left hand, but this was much more difficult. His shoulder was not healed from his fight with Philip, and it ached every time he pulled himself up with his left arm.