Victory and Defeat: Book Five of the Restoration Series

by Williams, Christopher

  “Why?” Trestus asked.

  “Because it’s in the place of honor, and it’s the most regal shield there,” Derek said.

  Kara and Trestus shared a look. “That seems like a guess,” Kara said after a moment.

  Derek nodded, ignoring the look of agreement on Leela’s face. “I know, but I don’t see any other way for us to proceed. None of the shields will have Ocklamoor written across it, and we don’t have a description of it to look for.”

  “Is there a library in Elem?” Trestus asked. “Perhaps we could do some research on Ocklamoor. A description would help immensely.”

  Derek shook his head, tensed at the pain that burst through his neck. “No, there isn’t a library in Elem, and I doubt the church would have allowed any books with a description of Ocklamoor there to begin with.”

  Kara glanced at Leela. “Any ideas?”

  Leela didn’t answer but to shake her head.

  “What about the chief priest?” Enstorion asked.

  Derek looked at the elf in surprise. It was unlike him to offer advice. “Dalin Olliston?” Derek asked.

  Enstorion shook his head. “No, I mean the local chief priest. Perhaps he would know where the shield is and what it looks like.”

  Derek was silent as he considered Enstorion’s suggestion. The local chief priest might know where Ocklamoor was, but it was doubtful. And besides, if they kidnapped one of the priests, any chance of sneaking into the abbey was gone. Not that they had much chance of doing that anyway.

  “Perhaps,” Kara said quietly, “but I rather doubt it.”

  “Agreed,” Trestus said, “but what other options are there?”

  “If we kidnap the chief priest, then, at best, we’ll have only a few hours before the alarm is raised,” Kara said.

  Derek marveled at how much the priestess had changed. There had been a time when she would have taken up arms against anyone who suggested kidnapping a priest or priestess of Adel. It seemed that time had passed.

  “Can you identify him?” Derek asked.

  Kara shook her head. “I don’t know his name or what he looks like.”

  “Could you identify him if you saw him?” Derek persisted.

  Kara hesitated and then nodded.

  Derek smiled grimly. “Tomorrow, you and Keenan will go back to the abbey.”

  Kara sighed deeply and nodded again.

  Derek turned to Enstorion, “Got anymore of that potion?”

  “No, but I can make some more tonight,” Enstorion answered.

  Kara’s eyes widened as she realized what that meant. Tomorrow, it was her turn to take the vile potion again.

  Chapter 12

  Flare could see the guards from the corner of his eye, but he kept his head down. Most of the pilgrims were paying little heed to the temple guards and he was trying to remain unnoticed.

  They had been in Elem for a little less than a week, waiting patiently for this summer festival to start, and it was now well into its second day. Flare had decided to skip the first day of the festival as he felt the guards might be more alert and wary. He hoped they would do what most guards did — get bored with their assignments.

  There was another reason today was such a good day to approach the abbey; it was raining. The rain had been falling steadily all day, but it hadn’t deterred many of the pilgrims; there was a long line of them ahead of Flare, each working their way along the path that led up the hill to the abbey. Most of the crowd, including Flare and his companions, wore a cotton overcoat that had been coated with oil; the combination helped to repel the rain and keep the wearer dry. Flare particularly liked the overcoats because the hood helped to hide their faces.

  Heather trudged along on Flare’s left and Mikela on his right. They both wore overcoats as well and Flare was trying to muddle their appearance with sorcery. Of the three, he would be the easiest to recognize, but his long, artificially darkened hair would help hide his identity, or at least that was his plan.

  The pilgrims were making camp all along the hill, as the flattened grass, abandoned campfires, and small tents attested, but there wasn’t a sign of their camps within thirty yards of the abbey walls. It was easy to imagine why; the guards wanted the area kept clear. The clear space would make spotting a nighttime intruder that much easier.

  There were two groups of guards, one on either side of the gate. Each group consisted of ten or so men. He saw more guards in the small tower at the southeast corner of the abbey; they were the lucky ones, as the tower roof shielded them from most of the rain.

  There was a momentary surge of fear as they neared the gates, but they passed through unmolested. They stepped into a large, open courtyard and they looked around unimpressed. It looked like a lot of storehouses and small living quarters surrounding a rough-looking temple. Flare knew that sometimes things were not as they appeared, but in this case he had a horrible feeling that things were exactly as they seemed.

  Heather and Mikela were both watching the temple. “What do you think?” Heather asked. “Surely it has to be in there.”

  “Perhaps,” Flare agreed. “I certainly can’t see anywhere else it might be.” A thought occurred to him, and he suddenly found himself fighting off a nagging suspicion. “I certainly hope that the priest didn’t lie to us.”

  Mikela and Heather both glanced at him; their lack of surprise told him that they too had considered the possibility.

  “I’m going to take a look at the temple,” Heather said, breaking the silence.

  Flare considered sending Mikela with her but decided against it; the two of them might be more recognizable than just the one.

  As Heather headed toward the temple, Mikela laced her arm through Flare’s and led him toward the southern wall. There was a row of what looked like small houses, probably intended for important guests, and a handful of guards stood clustered on the edge of the courtyard. It was obvious that the guards were intending to keep the pilgrims away from the houses.

  Flare and Mikela walked along the edge of the courtyard and stopped just to the south of the temple. They watched as Heather climbed the temple steps and then disappeared through the open doors, then they went back to looking around the interior of the abbey.

  Along the northern wall were low, almost ramshackle storehouses. While it was possible that Ocklamoor might be hidden within such a building, it didn’t make much sense. The collection of small living quarters appeared equally as unlikely. If the shield wasn’t in the temple, they wouldn’t have a clue where to start looking.

  Heather passed through the temple doors and looked out over the heads of the crowded temple floor. It seemed that a service was about to start and the benches were packed full, as were the central aisle and the two aisles along the sides of the temple.

  The pilgrims looked thrilled to be in the temple, even though most of them probably should not have braved the rain. Quite a few of them were coughing; they barely looked well enough to walk to the abbey, and the rain surely couldn’t have helped.

  The back of the congregation was in constant fluctuation as people packed in to the rear of the temple, realized they couldn’t get a seat, and then exited again as they preferred to try a later service.

  Heather looked both left and right, and then glanced at the priest’s perch at the far end of the temple. Seeing nothing that suggested a shield, she turned to go. But something drew her eyes skyward and she froze at the sight of a line of shields running along the top of the temple.

  After a moment, she started moving again, turning in a tight circle and staring up at all the different types of shields. There were square shields and round shields, there were even a few that were irregularly shaped. Some of them were plain, little more than the worked metal, while others were ornate, with gems of all types adorning their surface. There wasn’t the first clue as to which one was the one they sought.

  She was pulled from her reverie as two guards began pulling the doors closed. Several disgruntled patrons slipped
out through the narrowing gap and Heather rushed to follow, just making it before the doors slammed shut.

  Flare breathed a sigh of relief as Heather rejoined them. He and Mikela had quickly decided that the shield was in the temple or it wasn’t here. Aside from the storehouses and living quarters, the only other thing of interest was the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. A soaked-to-the-skin priest was blessing cupfuls of water from the fountain and dumping them over anyone willing to make a donation; Flare found the whole thing a bit disgusting.

  “Well?” Mikela asked as Heather arrived pulling her hood farther down to keep the rain out. “Did you find anything?”

  Heather smiled in answer and leaned close. “The walls of the temple are decorated with shields,” she said, “must be a hundred or so.”

  Flare took a deep breath as he considered what that meant to their chances of finding Ocklamoor. On the one hand, Belgil the Dwarf accompanied them and he should easily be able to identify the correct shield; however, getting the dwarf inside the abbey would present a problem.

  “Let’s start back toward the gates,” Mikela said quietly.

  “Problem?” Flare asked, resisting the urge to turn his head and look.

  “No, but we’ve been standing here for a long time,” she answered.

  Flare nodded and the three of them began walking slowly toward the gates.

  When they reached their inn, Belgil wasn’t in his room, but, as he wasn’t considered an outlaw in Telur, he was free to come and go as he pleased. He tended to spend a great deal of time with a tankard in his hand.

  They gathered in the room that Flare shared with Enton. It was small, made even more so by Enton’s enormous bulk. There were two small beds, one on each side of the room, and a single table and chair.

  Enton sat on his bed with his back against the wall. He held a glass of wine and, judging by the dull look in his eyes, it wasn’t his first glass.

  Mikela and Heather took up seats on Flare’s bed and he sat on the lone chair. They had hung their oiled cloaks on a stand in the inn’s entryway.

  There was a brief silence, and Enton looked from one to the other. “Well?” he finally grunted.

  In answer, Heather took a deep breath. “There are probably a hundred shields in the temple, and the only way to pick the right one requires us to get Belgil in the abbey.”

  “We can’t sneak in after sunset,” Mikela said slowly, “and I don’t think dwarves usually attend the summer festival.”

  Heather shook her head. “No, they don’t, and with,” she pointed at Flare, “everything he’s done, the guards will undoubtedly be on the alert. Something as unusual as a dwarf entering the abbey will certainly be noticed.”

  “Has to be a way to get inside,” Mikela said, more to herself than the others.

  “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Enton said. His brow was pulled down in confusion and he stared around at the others.

  “Obvious?” Mikela repeated. “What’s obvious is that you’ve had too much to drink. The wine has gone to your head and it’s affecting your ability to think.”

  Enton raised his glass like he was toasting her, managing to make her frown and spill a bit on his shirt at the same time. “Maybe you should try a glass or two as you’re missing a simple solution.”

  Mikela didn’t respond right away, instead she just studied the big man. After a moment, and with a knowing grin, she nodded. “All right, enlighten us. What’s this simple way to get inside the abbey?”

  Enton grinned and pointed at Flare. “If he can take us from Saprasia to the West Road, then he should be able to magic us inside the abbey.” He smiled and once again raised his glass in mock salute.

  Heather, Mikela, and Flare just stared at Enton, completely flabbergasted that they had missed such an easy solution.

  Mikela turned her stunned gaze toward Flare. “Is he right? You’ve been there before, so you should be able to take us to right outside the temple. Is that correct?”

  Flare nodded, a smile growing across his face.

  “Probably be a lot safer to appear inside the temple,” Enton said and punctuated the comment with a belch.

  Flare’s smile slid away as he considered Enton’s words. “We can’t. I didn’t enter the temple, so the closest I can get is the steps.”

  Heather sighed. “And as soon as we step out into the courtyard, the guards will be all over us, even if we go in at night.”

  Mikela turned to Enton. “Are we missing any simple solutions this time?” There was just a touch of sarcasm to her words.

  Enton was silent for a long moment and then he grinned. “Not that I can think of, that is, unless Flare went back to the abbey tomorrow, and this time he actually goes into the temple. Then he comes back to the inn, and tomorrow night he magic’s us into the abbey; right into the middle of the temple.”

  Mikela just stared at Enton and Heather burst out laughing.

  Enton focused his eyes on her. “What?” he asked.

  Flare grinned over at the two ladies. “I have made a decision. Tomorrow I’m going back to the abbey. Which one of you wants to go with me?”

  Heather and Mikela shared a look and then they turned to Flare and shrugged.

  He grinned. “Fine, I’ll take Mikela.” He was still grinning when that familiar feeling of need came back. The smile disappeared and was replaced by a frown. It had been about a week since his last trip to Sha’al, and it seemed awfully quick for a return trip. Luckily, none of the others were watching him, so no one saw his frown. He climbed to his feet and said, “If you’ll excuse me, it’s early, but I’m going to take a bath.” No one looked at him twice as he stepped from the room.

  It took Flare only a few minutes to find a maid and have a tub filled with warm water. When the method for traveling to Sha’al had been explained to him, he had been warned that the interval between trips might vary from time to time. He still got the occasional headache, which he associated with visiting the land of the dead.

  Despite the maid’s rather overt attempts to wrangle an invitation to remain in the room, Flare chased her out and began undressing.

  The washroom wasn’t much. The inn had two such rooms. Each room had plain wood-plank paneling, a small tree stand for hanging one’s clothes on, and a small wooden bench. Most of the available floor space was taken up by the wooden tub.

  Flare climbed into the tub and let himself sink under the waters. This time he didn’t wait at the bottom, but instead just shoved himself back to the surface.

  Flare broke through the water and gaped around in surprise. Each of the three times that he had been to Sha’al, he had emerged in a different body of water, but they had all been outdoors — once in a lake, once in a river, and once in a spring. This time, he emerged indoors inside a pool. Unlike the inn’s tub, this pool was made of stone.

  The walls and floor were also stone, and stone arches met high in the air over his head. In between the stone arches were windows placed high up. It was daylight outside, and the light that filtered in was enough to banish the shadows from the room. A small semi-circular bench sat along one wall of the room; a woman sat on the bench.

  Flare blinked in surprise. Never before had the master been waiting for him when he arrived. The second thought that rushed through his mind was that he wore only his soaking wet smallclothes.

  The woman stood up from the bench, a smile playing across her face. She was older with a dark complexion. Black hair that was streaked through with gray fell to her shoulders. The gray hair was the first clue to her age; the lines around her eyes were the second.

  She nodded her head, “Welcome. My name is Aracelle MaMirus.” She paused and studied Flare’s face. “Do you recognize my name?”

  Flare shook his head. “I’m sorry, but no.”

  She smiled slightly and continued. “No matter. History has not been kind to women such as me. Tell me,” she said slowly, “have you heard of my husband, Senna Mirus?”

  Flar
e blinked in surprise. He did know the name of Senna Mirus. “He was a famous general in the Second War of the Races,” he said. “I studied some of his battle strategies in the Guardians, and it’s been thousands of years since those battles were fought.”

  Aracelle nodded her head. “I’m glad you know his name, even if you have the history wrong.”

  Surprised, Flare was smart enough to remain silent.

  “You see, my dear boy, my husband was a fool. If not for me, he would have led the entire human race to a quick defeat.”

  “For you?” Flare asked confused.

  “It was not my husband’s tactics you studied; rather, it was my tactics.” She paused again, but still Flare didn’t say anything. “You see, the armies would not have followed a woman such as me, so I planned the battles and my husband executed my plans.”

  Flare nodded, even as he wondered just how much of history was wrong.

  “Now, are you going to get out of the pool?”

  Flare glanced down and then back up.

  Aracelle chuckled. “Are you so bashful? Would you prefer that I leave the room?”

  Flare shrugged and climbed up the steps that led from the pool.

  Flare returned from Sha’al, emerging from his wooden tub, sputtering and hacking. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned; it seriously felt like his head was about to split open.

  He continued to hold his head for several moments, focusing on just breathing. After a bit, the pain began to subside, and he began stretching his neck. He hoped he would not feel the need to return to Sha’al for some time. He had enjoyed his strategy lessons with Aracelle, but he needed time for his body to recoup.

  He finally summoned the energy to climb out of the tub and dry off. He sat on the small bench for nearly half an hour, and the pains in his head receded to a dull throb.