Ossendar: Book Two of the Resoration Series (74 page)

He proceeded slowly to climb the tower wall, a couple of stones at a time. He paused every so often to rest, always letting his left arm hang down. It ached constantly now. He only made the mistake of looking down once, after that, he kept his eyes on the stone wall, even when he rested.

Even in the snowy weather and leaning against ice cold stones, he was soon covered in sweat. Even with the sweat covering his body, he never slipped once. The black leather gloves that Jared had provided prevented any slipping. He said another silent thank you to the gods for Jared. The man really knew his craft.

He lost track of the time during the climb. All of his attention was focused on the climbing. This wasn't something you could do while you daydreamed. Several times, he checked the location of the moon, trying to gauge how much time it was taking. Finally, he gave up on the breaks, because time was getting short.

After what like seemed forever, Flare reached the bottom of the balcony. His mouth was dry, and his left arm was on fire. Both legs ached from the strain of the climb, and they had just started shaking from the exertion.

Reaching up with his right arm, he grasped the bottom rail of the handrail that lined the balcony. The handrail was made of two horizontal stone rails, joined every few feet with a vertical stone bar. Using the last of his energy, he pulled himself up and between the rails and onto the floor of the balcony.

He collapsed onto his back, and lay there panting. His left arm and shoulder throbbed, and his legs were on fire, but he had made it to the balcony. The coiled rope dug into his lower back, but he ignored it.

Slowly, his breathing eased up and the pains started to ease as well. Flare sat up, his arms and legs felt tight and they were still shaking a little. He hadn't realized just how tough the climb would be. The balcony wasn't very large; maybe ten feet across, in a half circle. Two double doors were opposite Flare, at the other end of the balcony. The doors had glass panes in the middle of the door. There was light coming from between the curtains that covered the glass.

He stood up and pulled the rope over his head and dropped it quietly to the ground. He pulled the two metal rods from his boots, and quietly set them down too.

He had not brought a weapon with him, as he thought the extra weight might slow him in the climb. But now, looking around at the empty balcony, he regretted not having anything with which he could defend himself.

Just then voices came from the other side of the doors, and Flare crouched over and moved up to the right side of the doors. The voices were muffled and hard to clearly make out. Shuffling his stance, he moved closer to the door, and put his ear to the glass.

“Why do I have to spend two days in this musty old tower?” A young man's voice whined. The voice belonged to Barrett and was easy enough to identify.

“Because it is tradition!” An older man snapped. The voice was harder to hear than Barrett's, as he seemed farther away from the doors. Barrett mumbled something that Flare didn't catch and the older man spoke again. “Listen to me! You are about to be made the crown prince. You have been given Ossendar and engaged to the princess of Ontaria. It won't be hard to arrange for accidents for her brother and other sisters. Then you will be in line for two thrones. Just be patient!”

The man was speaking low and was still harder to make out. Flare had to strain so that he could barely make out the words. He shook his head. Barrett wasn't even the crown prince yet, and he was already planning to usurp the throne of Ontaria. Well, in truth, Barrett's friend was planning the usurpation, but Barrett was intimately involved.

“Well, can't I at least have a woman brought up?”

“No!” That one word was an angry bark, louder, but still not loud enough to make out the speaker. “All you have to do is be patient for two days!”

Barrett grumbled something inaudible, and the old man mumbled something right back.

“I have to go now,” the older man said, the angry tone was still there, but he was trying hard to cover it up, “So that no one but my guards sees me leave. Be patient, and I will try to come back tomorrow night.”

There was a squeaking sound followed closely by the sound of a door slamming shut. The door had barely closed, when Barrett let out a rather colorful curse. Flare was surprised. Where had the high born prince heard language like that?

Flare waited, listening intently to the sounds coming from the room. Barrett was moving around in an angry mood. Sounded like Barrett kicked something, and then something crashed and broke.

Shaking his head, Flare stood up from his crouch, and his eyes fell on the handrail. On this end of the balcony, where the handrail met up with the tower, the vertical stone rail looked loose. Stepping over, he reached out and shook it. The rail moved, barely. Smiling, he began pulling on the rail, and with a quiet crunch it came loose in has hand. It was heavy, and would do great as a club.

Stepping over the door, he put his left hand on the handle, and listened quietly. There was no sound coming from inside, and he had no idea where Barrett was in the room. He did not have the time to listen long. He had to get moving.

Sighing, Flare turned the handle and slid the door open a crack. Barrett sat in a chair with his back to the doors. He was facing the fireplace, where a crackling fire was burning enthusiastically. Ossendar lay across the bed.

Acting quickly, he opened the door wide enough to slip inside. He quickly stepped up behind Barrett's chair. “Hello, Barrett.”

Barrett's head whipped around, his face obviously surprised. “What?”

Flare held the rail at the ready. “Give me the sword.”

Confused, Barrett actually sneered at him. “No.” He produced a knife from somewhere and lunged.

Flare instinctively deflected the knife with his left arm, and flicked the stone rail. The stone connected with the side of Barrett's head.

There was a solid thunk and Barrett collapsed limply to the ground. Blood flowed freely, but not overly so.

Flare knelt down over his half-brother, and felt his neck. There was a slight pulse, not overly strong but not weak either. The boy would live. “Lucky bastard.” Flare mumbled, immediately feeling bad as soon as he spoke.

Moving quickly, he dropped the stone to the floor, and then tied Barrett's hands and feet, and then gagged him as well. Grabbing Ossendar from the bed, he hurried back out onto the balcony, strapping the blade on as he hurried.

Coming out of the doors, the cold air was like a wall, but it was refreshing after the heat coming from the fireplace. There wasn't much time, so he moved quickly. He crossed the balcony in a hurry and stopped next to the coiled rope. He bent over and unwrapped the end of the rope and tied it to the stone rail. Then he threw the rest of the rope out over the balcony. The rope uncoiled and fell out of sight.

Flare leaned over the rail and looked down. He knew it was a mistake immediately. The cold stones of the tower ran downward to the far distant ground, and snowflakes whirled in the deep shadows of the tower. His knees got weak, and he quickly looked away. He swallowed hard, his hands suddenly damp with sweat. He looked upwards, breathing slowly.

He knew that he didn't have time to stand here, so he forced his attention to the rope. The black rope had knots tied about every foot, so as to help in climbing.

He took another deep breath and reluctantly climbed over the rail. He grasped the rope with a death grip, and slowly eased his feet off of the balcony. He had climbed ropes when he was being trained for the guardians, but they had never climbed something this high. However, he was careful to keep his eyes on the rope and the stones in front of him. He never let his eyes drop.

The first couple of feet were the hardest, but then he loosened up and got into a rhythm. He concentrated on climbing from one knot to the next, and after a few moments, he was relaxed and moving quickly.

It turned out that the climb down was much easier than the climb up. His pace was quick, and the knots, and consequently the feet, just flew by, but he still had not looked down again.

In the very act of lowering himself to the next knot, Flare paused. He could hear a rustling sound. He looked around, but saw nothing. Then he dropped his gaze to the ground and he froze, his breath catching in his throat. He was close to the ground. In fact, he was no more than twenty feet above the ground. Beneath him, a little to the left, a guard stood in the bushes. Flare could see him quite clearly, his elven eyesight coming in handy. The guard was not looking up, but was watching the ground. Had he dropped something? Had he given himself away? The guard had his hands in front of him, and he made a shaking motion and the he fumbled with his clothes.

Flare had to suppress a panicky chuckle as he realized the guard was relieving himself in the bushes. He started breathing again, knowing the guard would be gone in just a minute. But then he saw the rope was less than five feet to the right of the guard. All it would take was for the guard to spot the slight movement of the rope, or if the lighting was good enough, he might spot it, even if it wasn't moving.

Forcing himself to breathe slowly, Flare held on to the rope with his left hand, and slowly dropped his right hand to his belt knife. He didn't draw it, afraid the blade would be seen, even in the tower's shadow, but he held on to the hilt so that he could draw the blade in a moment's notice.

The guard had finished with his clothes, and turned, forcing his way through the bushes. The shrubs pulled at his clothes, and the guard cursed, ripping his arms away, but he didn't look around. He walked on, still cursing.

Flare breathed easier, his muscles relaxing. He made himself do a slow count to thirty; just to make sure the guard did not come back. Then he quickly finished climbing down, dropping the last several feet to land in the bushes, but he was careful not to land too close to where the guard had just been standing.

He moved quietly away from the tower, working hard to stay in the shadow of the tower. Stopping frequently, he looked and listened for guards, but finding none, he continued moving. He didn't want to rush, but time was getting short.

Pausing again, he waited behind a small shrub and scanned the grounds for movement. In the early morning hours, the moon had gone behind a cloud and the grounds had gotten darker. Seeing no movement, he started to rise, but he froze as a scrunching sound reached his ears. Trying not to move a muscle, Flare looked around for the source of the sound. Whatever it was, it had to be close. There wasn't much in his immediate vicinity. The nearest object big enough to hide a person was a six foot statue. Actually, it was two statues portraying two men sword fighting.

While he stared at the two statues, someone moved behind them. He hadn't noticed before, as the statues had shielded the person from his sight. Once again, his hand dropped to the hilt of his belt knife.

A guard stepped out from behind the statues, stretching his back as he looked around the grounds. He looked right at Flare's hiding spot, but he gave no sign that he had seen anything out of the ordinary. The guard slowly moved away, seemingly in no hurry.

Flare continued to remain perfectly still, while the guard moved away. Finally, the guard moved off behind some small trees and Flare relaxed. His whole body slumping as the tension fell away. His heart was pounding; it was so loud that he would have sworn the guard should have heard it. His legs shaking a little, he moved in the opposite direction of the guard.

It took Flare almost two hours to get out of the palace and through the city. He left the city threw the hidden sewer gate that they had used almost two months earlier. He was relieved that the pipe had been dry this time; he would have hated to be wet in this cold weather.

Emerging from the pipe, he smiled at the sight of the horse tied to a nearby tree. Packed saddlebags were a welcome sight.

“Thanks Jared,” Flare said, barely audible. The spy master had come through for him again. He had been worried that the horse might not be here, or maybe that Jared might even betray him. He had half expected a squad of guards to be waiting for him at the top of the Royal tower.

Untying the reins of the horse, he led it quickly and quietly away from the city. He wanted to get out of sight of the walls before he mounted up.

He walked for about twenty minutes along the western road before he climbed into the saddle. Then, he dug in his heels and they charged ahead.

Five miles down the road, a smaller road turned north.

Flare paused and looked back to the east, towards Telur. He couldn't see much, but it still twisted his guts. He had come here hoping to find a home where he could fit in, but now he was fleeing a traitor.

His thoughts wondered for a few minutes, lingering on his friends who were gone now. Sighing he pulled his eyes upwards; the sun would be up soon. Not yet ready, but knowing he had to; Flare turned his mount onto the smaller northward road. He dug his heels in and started off at a gallop.

He rode for almost an hour until he came on a small stone well beside the road. Dismounting, he watered his horse first. The animal was in good shape, but he had ridden it fairly hard, and it would probably get worse before it got better.

Standing there, as his horse slurped water, Flare watched the eastern turn red. It was a new day, and that thought was not all that comforting. He refused to allow himself to think of Telur, his father, or most of all his friends. They were behind him now, and it was probably in their best interest to stay away from him.