Valley of the Ancients: Book Three of the Restoration Series (6 page)

Dagan smiled, "My dear girl. The Church believes that Flare will now try and resurrect the Dragon Order and they are most determined to see that he fails. As his most trusted friends, all of us would be," he paused, searching for the right word, "encouraged to help them find him. I'm quite sure they will not believe us when we say we have no inkling where he went."

"The Dragon Order?" Heather repeated quietly. She was beginning to feel as sick as Mikela looked. "Surely that's not what he's doing!"

Dagan did not answer immediately, and Atock and Cassandra dropped their gazes. It was answer enough.

Mikela sat down, rather heavily, on the wooden bench. Heather leaned back against the tub. She was feeling more and more like she might be sick.

"Listen to me ladies," Dagan said in a commanding tone. Both women looked up at him. "Do either of you think that Flare is some kind of madman or that he is a sadistic killer?&quheiot

Neither woman answered right away, finally Mikela shook her head and Heather said, "No."

"Neither do I," Dagan agreed with a somewhat passable smile. "Until he gives us a reason to do otherwise, we have to trust Flare to be the person we all know he is."

After another moment, both women nodded. Heather took a deep breath, "So we'll meet you in Arnum?"

"No." Dagan answered, causing Atock to glance questioningly at the old man. "We'll come to you in Eled Aminor."

Chapter 3

It was late in the day when Flare pulled his horse to a stop in the shadow of a large tree and looked back the way he had come. He sat there for several moments, first watching and then he closed his eyes and listened. Nothing. He was sure that he was being followed; he just wasn't sure how close his followers were.

It had been nearly three weeks since he had stolen the sword and fled Telur. In all that time, he hadn't spoken to a single person. He had avoided villages and towns, even the farmers in their fields. Any person he spoke to would remember him and inform his followers.

His pursuers had to be getting close, despite his best efforts to lose them. All the false trails that he had left for them would only work so long and besides they probably had remounts, meaning they didn't have to be as careful with their horses as he had to.

Sighing, Flare turned around and kicked his horse forward. The poor beast had been through hell over the past several weeks and had carried its burden admirably. Regardless, the horse should be free of him soon. He glanced up at the sight of the Az'ha'rill Mountains looming over him, the very same mountains where Fort Mul-Dune was located.

After fleeing Telur, Flare traveled northwest until he hit the Dark Forest. After skirting westward around the edge of the forest, he had turned more northwards and was now quite a bit north of Mul-Dune. His escape plan hadn't been all that well thought out. After stealing the sword, it seemed logical to flee in the direction that they would least suspect and that had been northwest. Everything would still be fine, as long as he could find a way through the mountains quickly. If it took him too long to find a path, then the Telurian soldiers would undoubtedly catch him.

He was completely undecided as to what he should do once he got to the other side of the mountains. It was a topic he tried not to think about very much, because it always came back to one thing; it seemed like he might be the destroyer of Kelcer's prophecy. True, he did carry the sword, but that was only one piece of the prophecy. He simply refused to believe that he could be the vile murderer that Kelcer had spoken of.

Unbidden, the face of a young soldier floated up from his memory. It was a face he knew well, he saw it frequently when he closed his eyes. It was the face of the young man whose throat Flare had cut in the middle of a packed mess hall. The boy had been trying to flee the battle and take as many other soldiers with him as he could; Flare had responded by killing him.

Without a doubt, he was a killer, but never in cold blood. Even the boy, whose throat he had cut, could be blamed on Flare simply doing his duty. If the boy had managed to lead a sizeable number of soldiers away from Mul-Dune, thenhe v the fort surely would have fallen. By killing the soldier, Flare had done his duty and kept the men at the fort. They had even managed to hold the fort against the overwhelming numbers long enough for reinforcements to arrive, but still the face haunted him. No, he was a killer but he was not a murderer. He could not believe anything else.

He leaned forward in his saddle as his horse struggled up a particularly steep slope. He was nearing the mountains now and the low lying plains were well behind. Also, the trees were changing as he climbed closer to the mountains. He hadn't seen an oak in days, just more and more evergreens. He was unfamiliar with this particular type of tree, but it was rather tall and skinny. He was thankful for the cover provided by the trees, as they would help shield him from being spotted as he climbed the slope. That thought made his shoulders itch. He knew the followers had to be getting close.

Outcroppings of rock were scattered around and becoming more common. Here and there were little piles of snow, hidden away in the shadows where the sun had not reached them.

Several times he had been forced to go farther north than he wished, as the path had been blocked, twice by rock slides, and once by a gorge. He had not even really reached the mountains yet, and already he was being forced to scramble around to find a path.

A sudden gust of wind swept off of the mountains and Flare shielded his eyes with one hand while pulling his cloak tighter around his neck. That brought a new worry to mind. Would his clothes, warm as they may be, be sufficient to get him over the mountains?

"Got to get there first," he muttered aloud. A long time ago he had learned not to over plan things. Half the things that he would plan for would not occur, and numerous things he had not anticipated were bound to happen.

Glancing up, he looked for the sun but the mountains were already shielding it from view. It would be dark soon. He desperately wanted to keep going, but that was foolishness. If he tried to climb the mountains in the dark, either his horse would break a leg or he would break his neck. As much as he did not want to, he knew he needed to find a place for camp.

It took nearly a quarter of an hour to find a suitable place, but he was pleased with the spot he ultimately chose. One side was a ten foot tall outcropping of rock and the other side was a mess of fallen and half rotten trees. It appeared that a rock slide had made a huge wall of trees maybe ten feet from the outcropping. It was perfect, the outcropping of rock and trees would shield him from most of the wind and they would also hide a small fire.

The fire was the important thing, already the temperature was dropping and the sun wasn't even completely down. It was going to be a cold night.

Sighing, Flare dismounted and began the tiresome chore of setting up camp.

In the middle of the night, Flare lay asleep in his small blanket next to the fire. It was a light sleep, something to which most soldiers were accustomed. Since he was traveling alone, he had known that he would be vulnerable when he slept. Fortunately, he was able to put something that Dagan had taught him to good use. Before he went to sleep, he set wards around his camp. It was a simple enough thing for a sorcerer to do, even as poor a trained one as Flare.

The fire had all but died out, the remaining warmth coming from the glowing red and orange embers, when sf aomeone crossed one of his wards. His eyes popped open but he didn't move. Movement sometimes gave one away quicker than sounds.

Breathing silently, he closed his eyes and listened. Someone was approaching from behind him and seemed to be following the wall of trees. The wall did not run straight, but was more haphazard. Maybe ten yards to the south, the wall curved back around to the east. Whomever was approaching, could not yet see him or his fire.

Silently, Flare climbed to his feet and drew his sword. He backed up against the wall of trees and prepared to strike. The sounds he had heard did not sound like a full squad of soldiers, so it must be only a scout. He would have to take him out quickly and quietly.

His heart was beating quickly in his chest and he took several deep calming breaths.

Everything seemed to happen at once. A man rounded the curve of the trees and stopped, spotting the fire. The man was not a soldier; he was old with white shaggy hair and dark tanned skin. He wore a thick fur lined cloak and leaned on a staff. His clothes poked out from under the cloak and were made from deerskin. The staff seemed to be more for appearances as the old man gave the impression of immense vitality.

A tingle ran up Flare's spine and he knew something was wrong but it took several moments for him to discern what was bothering him. The old man had been silent in his movements and was, in fact, completely still now, but Flare could still hear the noises caused by someone or something shuffling through the brush.

For the briefest of moments, Flare thought the old man was leading a cow or another type of pack animal, it was the only reason for the immense amount of noise. But the noisemaker rounded the corner and turned out to be a young girl. The girl was maybe fifteen years old and slim. She had long brown hair and very pale skin; she might be cute one day, but now she still looked like a kid. She also carried a staff, but she held her staff with her right hand and balanced it on her shoulder. She seemed oblivious to her surroundings and nearly walked into the back of the old man when he stopped.

Whereas the old man moved silently, the girl seemed to step on every dry leaf and dead twig in her immediate vicinity. Flare could only imagine that she was trying to make that much noise.

The old man had spotted Flare, but he had not, as of yet, reacted.

The girl stopped, tensing up and then she too spotted Flare. "Get behind me, master." She shouted, pushing her way past the old man.

Flare blinked in surprise at the very idea of being attacked in such a manner. In other circumstances it would have been funny.

"Sadah, no!" The old man called out but the girl ignored him.

"Wait," Flare started to say, confused at exactly what was happening.

But the girl didn't wait. Sliding to a stop in front of him, she whipped out with the staff. She moved it blindingly fast and too late Flare realized the staff was for protection and not to lean on. The end caught him on the right wrist and his whole forearm went numb and his sword flew from his hand. She reversed her swing and caught him in the stomach.

He crumpled to his knees, as the girl raised her staff for another blow. Anger swelled up in him then, anger and frustration both. An immense pressure was building up in his chest and it felt like it mucinst explode. He channeled that anger and used his spirit like Dagan had taught him. Directing his spirit outward, he grabbed the staff, wrenching it from the girl's hands as she tried to swing at his head.

The girl slipped and fell to one knee in surprise. The staff hung unsupported in the air halfway between her and Flare. She couldn't know that he had used sorcery to take it away from her.

Still on his knees, Flare directed his spirit and the staff smacked the girl's shin. She gasped in pain and grabbed her leg.

Feeling a little guilty at hitting the girl so hard, he directed the staff to push her over, but a little more gently. She hit the ground and lay there, both hands on her leg.

Flare turned his attention to the old man, the staff moving over to hang in the air between them. His sword, Ossendar, flew through the air at the same time. Catching the blade with his uninjured left hand, he pushed himself to his feet, still watching the other man.

The old man was still standing in the same spot but he had shifted his position into a fighting stance and one of the ends of the staff was pointed directly at Flare.

"Why did you attack me?" Flare asked. His voice sounded hallow in his own ears. The feeling that he might explode was gone, but there was still an overwhelming sense of power, more power than he had ever felt using sorcery. Oh, it had been too long since the last time he had embraced his spirit.

The old man lowered his staff and rested one end on the ground. He bowed his head momentarily, "My apologies but my pupil is extremely rash. She thinks she is my protector, when in fact, I must strive to keep her out of trouble."

Flare glanced down at the girl, who had pushed herself into a sitting position. She was glaring up at him, a dangerous look on her face. "I believe you," he said to the old man, "she looks to be a dangerous one." With that, Flare let the staff fall to the ground and released his hold on his spirit. Immediately, the soreness and exhaustion rolled back over him and he sagged under the weight of it all.

"My name is Abner," the man motioned to the young girl, "my pupil's name is Sadah." He still watched Flare closely. "You carry a sword and yet you use sorcery?" He spoke quietly.

Cursing silently, Flare tightened his grip on his sword. He hadn't thought these two would know sorcery, not in the mountains, but he had. Abner also knew that a swordsman should not be able to do what Flare had just done. Several things occurred to him at that moment, lying, denying, or running, but he dismissed them. He was through with denying himself. "My name is Flaranthlas Eldanari. I am descended from the last member of the Dragon Order, and I carry Ossendar, which marks me as the next member of the Order."

For a moment no one said anything. Flare glanced from Abner to the girl and then quickly back. The girl was staring at him like he had just grown a third arm or something. Her mouth was hanging open and she seemed to have forgotten about her sore leg.

The old man was studying him intently, but he seemed the less shocked of the two. Flare decided he was the one to watch.

Flare wasn't sure what to expect. It was a rather profound pronouncement to blurt out like he had. Sadah was obviously dumbstruck but Abner seemed more thoughtful than scared.

"Are you now?" Abner asked, still watching Flare closely. "That sword is Ossendar?"