“Come on,” Fantin said quietly, “get this over with.”
The fighter had a resigned sort of tone in his voice, but Flare dismissed it automatically. They had just entered a new stage of the fight; his opponent was wounded and that meant that he could expect Fantin to try anything to save his miserable life. Byron had warned him of these types of situations as well.
“Why, I once had a man drop his sword and he began blubbering, begging me to spare his life,” Byron had said during a break in their swordplay.
“And what did you do?” Flare had asked.
“I lowered my sword and stared at the man in disgust,” Byron had answered honestly. “And you know what he did?” Flare shook his head, and Byron continued, “He pulled a knife from somewhere and nearly gutted me with it as I was considering sparing his life.”
“What happened?” Flare had asked.
“He sliced me across my stomach, and I just did jump back, or he would have spilled my guts on the ground,” Byron said, wrinkling his nose as he remembered the fight. “I nearly died because I fell for a desperate man’s poor acting. Never trust a swordsman, especially one who’s trying to kill you.”
Fantin’s arm trembled again, but Flare dismissed it as the poor acting of a desperate man. He continued to point his sword at Fantin.
For his part, Fantin could tell that Flare wasn’t lowering his guard and the panic began to rise up again. He had tried showing weakness in his arms and even resignation, but the bastard half-elf wasn’t believing the act. There was only one thing left to try.
Fantin pretended to lose his balance, dropping his left hand to the ground to steady himself, and lowering his head, pretending to be dizzy. It was, of course, just an act. Fantin propelled himself upwards and at Flare, pushing off the ground with his right leg, which had been bent up under him. At the same time, he threw the fistful of dirt he had just scooped up with his left hand.
It was the perfect ploy and he executed it perfectly, but his victim was not where he expected him.
As Fantin’s hand had dropped to the dirt and his head slumped, Flare had taken three quick steps backwards and to the left. The dirt that Fantin threw missed him by a wide margin, and he swung Ossendar at the now off-balance fighter.
Fantin tried to adjust his sword, but Flare was attacking from a location that caught Fantin by surprise and he couldn’t get his sword around in time. Ossendar bit deep into Fantin’s right side and across his back.
Fantin screamed and dropped his sword as he fell to the ground. The fighter writhed in the dirt and mud, while his blood gushed out into the stable yard.
As he had been taught, Flare jumped forward and drove Ossendar down through Fantin’s back, through his heart, and out the other side. Fantin gasped one more gurgling breath, and then his whole body slumped.
Flare stared at Fantin’s corpse for a moment, and then Mikela stepped around in front. “Flare, we have to go. The city guard should be here at any time.”
Nodding, Flare leaned over and put his right boot on Fantin’s back, and with a mighty pull, he freed Ossendar from the man’s body.
“How are you two here?” Derek asked. His voice sounded weak and confused.
“We don’t have time for questions,” Mikela answered. “Once we get away, maybe.”
Derek scowled a little at that but only a little. It made sense, even if he didn’t want to hear it.
Flare looked around and noticed, for the first time, that both Trestus and Enstorion were on their feet. They both seemed a bit disorientated and they watched him with wariness. He sighed, knowing they were not going to like this next bit. “Into the stables,” he said quickly. He was moving even before he finished the sentence, stopping only long enough to scoop up Fantin’s sword. His eyes fell on the unconscious mage and he paused. “Derek, can you carry him?”
Derek opened his mouth and Flare was sure it was to ask why, but he dutifully snapped his mouth shut and picked the man up. He staggered a little under the magician’s weight, but then he hurried on after Trestus and Enstorion. After about five steps, he stopped suddenly and turned back around. “My sword,” he said, his eyes conveyed a feeling of wildness.
“I’ll get you another one,” Flare said and started to move past.
Derek stepped over in front of Flare and was beginning to look obstinate. “You don’t understand. That sword has been in my family for generations, and I will not leave it behind.”
Flare sighed deeply and looked around. There was absolutely no chance that they could enter the inn and get the sword without getting caught. His eyes came to rest on Ziteul. The little demon was in the shadows of the stable, and he looked thrilled at the murder and mayhem that had taken place in the stable yard. “Ziteul,” Flare called out.
The little imp grinned and ran over, obviously hoping for more death. “Yes, Master?”
“What in the name of the gods?” Derek exclaimed, and moved away from the imp.
Flare sighed again and then he slowly said, “This is Ziteul. He’s a demon.” Flare turned from the wide-eyed look on Derek’s face and regarded the imp. “I need you to retrieve Derek’s sword for him.”
Ziteul grinned at Flare, and for a moment Flare thought the imp was actually growing fond of him.
Chapter 19
Heather sat on the side of Enton’s bed with her head in her hands. “What did we do?” she groaned.
Enton sat beside her, an ear-to-ear grin on his face. “I thought it was great,” he said jovially.
Heather shot the big man an evil glare, then went back to staring at the floor. They were both dressed, but their clothes were all askew and rumpled. “We can never do that again,” she muttered feebly.
Confused, Enton nudged her playfully in the ribs. “Don’t worry, you’ll get better with a bit of practice.”
Heather stood up and began pacing the floor. “No. We cannot do that again!” she said emphatically.
“No sex?” Enton said doubtfully. “You make it sound like we’re already married or something.”
Heather didn’t have the energy for another evil glare, but instead rushed from the room and back to hers.
Enton continued sitting on the bed for several moments, confused beyond belief by the female gender. He was still contemplating the events of the last half-hour when the air between his and Flare’s bed began to shimmer. It took only a moment for him to realize that something was happening and then he jerked his feet back onto his bed.
A section of his room disappeared, and he got a view of a dark stable. At least he caught a glimpse of the stable and then people began flooding through the wizard’s portal.
The first person through was Mikela, but the second was Derek. Enton’s mouth dropped open in amazement, and it stayed wide open as Trestus and Enstorion followed Derek through. Flare brought up the rear, and by then the room was getting fairly full.
Derek dumped something onto Flare’s bed — the form of an unconscious man. Enton barely noticed. His eyes were stuck on the sight of his three fellow Guardians.
The wizard’s portal disappeared. Flare glanced around the room and resisted chuckling at the sight of Enton staring open-mouthed at the new arrivals. He hesitated only long enough to put a ward on the room so that they couldn’t be overheard. With that done, he turned to see Derek and the other two staring at him. “Why are you in Elem?” he asked.
Derek didn’t answer immediately, but instead shared a look with Trestus.
“Are you here for Ocklamoor?” Flare asked.
Derek took a deep breath and nodded. “We have some questions for you.”
Flare smiled and nodded. “Of course you do. First of all, I am not Kelcer’s destroyer.” Despite his bold statement, none of the three new arrivals looked convinced.
“Really?” Derek asked. “And what did we just travel through to arrive here?”
He hesitated only a moment and then Flare said, “It’s called a wizard’s portal.”
“Wizard�
��s portal?” Trestus repeated softly. “So you know wizardry now?”
Flare nodded. “But I am not Kelcer’s destroyer.” They still looked less than convinced, so he continued, “Kelcer’s prophecy was about two men who are in a race to restore the Order. I am one and Zalustus is the other.”
“Zalustus?” Derek repeated, and Flare was relieved to see interest in his friend’s face. Perhaps he had a chance to convince them that what he said was true.
“Yes, Zalustus. If he wins, the world faces a millennium of darkness and despair, but if I restore the Order, it will be like it was before.”
“We believe him,” Mikela said quietly.
“It goes against everything I’ve ever heard,” Trestus said slowly.
Flare turned to regard the young man. “Trestus, you know me. Do you think I could do those horrible things that Kelcer describes?”
After a moment, Trestus dropped his eyes. “No,” he said quietly.
A brief silence ensued, broken this time by Enton. “Where is Kara?”
There was a brief moment where Flare feared the woman was dead. That moment stretched out and he was reminded vividly of Murleen and Callin; his two former squad members who had given their lives in defense of Fort Mul-Dune. He nearly slumped when Derek spoke again. “She’s at the abbey trying to figure out where that damn shield is hidden.”
“And how do you know the shield is here?” Mikela asked. Both Flare and Enton watched their fellow Guardians closely.
Derek smiled cautiously at Flare. “You remember a woman named Leela?”
Surprised, Flare nodded. “She helped us get through Dalar.” He paused briefly, before adding, “She’s a wildling and has some strange powers.”
Derek nodded. “After we escaped from Dahl-Rucka, we were pursued and nearly captured. We fled into the forests of Dalar, and Leela and her friends helped us.”
“Dahl-Rucka?” Flare repeated quietly. He had heard of the ancient fort, but he thought it had been destroyed long ago.
“Yes, and we owe our lives to Keenan,” Trestus added.
“Who is this Keenan?” Flare asked, looking perplexed.
Derek cleared his throat and spoke softly but steadily. “He was one of Zalustus’s men. Very regal looking. You probably remember him from Mul-Dune. Tall, muscular guy with shoulder-length blond hair. He is the Crown Prince of Tizen.” He noticed that both Flare and Enton reacted to the name Tizen. It was an ancient kingdom, but its people had fought on the side of Golterranth during the Demon Lord Wars. The people of Tizen had spent the last two thousand years living in the shadows. “We promised Keenan that you would help remove the curse from his people if he helped us.” He regarded Flare a bit anxiously. “He risked his life to save us from a horrible ending.”
After a moment, Flare nodded. “I’m not sure what I can do, but I will do whatever is in my power.”
Derek breathed a bit easier. “Anyway, the leader of the wildlings is a former archbishop. His name is Nathan Tanner. He told us the shield is supposed to be here, and he urged us to get it for you.”
“For me?” Flare asked, confused. “Why would he do that?”
Derek shrugged. “He seems to think Adel personally gave him an important mission, and he thinks that you’re tied in with it. So, he told us where the shield is supposed to be and he sent Leela along with us.”
“Leela’s here?” Flare exclaimed.
Derek nodded, “Yes. She and Keenan are with Kara at the abbey.”
“Please tell me you have some idea where the shield can be found,” Flare said as the excitement threatened to take over him.
Sighing, Derek shrugged. “The inside of the temple has shields all around the walls. There is one hanging over the podium which I suspect is Ocklamoor.”
“Why?” Flare asked.
“It’s the most ornate, and it’s in the place of honor,” Derek said, feeling less sure of himself with every word.
Flare didn’t say anything, but something didn’t feel right about Derek’s assumption. It seemed a bit too easy. He honestly expected the church to be a bit more crafty in its choice of hiding places.
The door was pushed open, and everyone in the room tensed.
Heather strode into the room. “Enton,” she began, but her words trailed off at the sight of Derek and Trestus grinning at her. Enstorion paid her no attention whatsoever. She blinked for several moments in surprise, then squealed, “Derek! Trestus!” She threw herself into their arms and there were hugs all around.
It took a few moments to get Heather caught up, and by the time they were done, the unconscious mage had begun to groan.
“Flare, if he shouts, he’ll alert the whole inn,” Mikela said quickly.
Flare shook his head. “No, he can scream all he wants and no one will hear. I’ve put a ward around the room to maintain the silence.”
Derek and Trestus shared a look, but neither said a word. It wasn’t easy to accept everything you’ve ever been taught is wrong, but they seemed to be coping with Flare’s use of sorcery.
“Why did we bring him along?” Derek demanded. “Why not just kill him when you killed Fantin?”
Flare blinked in surprise. Derek was a soldier and had done his share of killing, but he had never been so casual about it before. Flare took a deep breath and silently grieved at the changes in all of them. He cursed the day Kelcer was ever born. “We need information, and what better way to get it than to interrogate one of Zalustus’s trusted lieutenants.”
The mage’s eyes were open now, and he glanced around; his fear was unmistakable. His bound hands slid slowly down toward his left hip.
Mikela leaned over and slapped the man lightly on the forehead. “We took the pouch from you,” she said, as she held the leather pouch up for the mage to see. “You don’t actually think we’d leave you in possession of your magical tools, do you?”
The mage didn’t answer. He glared a bit at Mikela, but the anger quickly disappeared as he looked around the packed room. “What do you want from me?”
Flare nudged Mikela out of the way and leaned over the mage. The magician paled as he recognized Flare. “You can start by telling us your name.”
The mage hesitated for a moment, and then he quietly said, “Kaleb.”
Flare smiled and nodded. “Good.” He did indeed think it was good. Normally it was difficult to get a prisoner to start talking, but start them off by asking small things and then it was easier to push them to give up the larger pieces of information.
“Now, Kaleb,” Flare said in a friendly tone, “do you know who I am?”
Kaleb’s answer was a brief nod of the head.
Flare’s smile slid away. “What? I can’t hear you.”
Kaleb swallowed hard and nodded again. “Yes, I know who you are. You’re Flaranthlas Eldanari.” His eyes flicked down to Ossendar, which hung at Flare’s waist. Normally, Flare preferred to wear the sword strapped to his back, but it was easier to conceal the weapon on his belt.
“Yes, I am,” Flare agreed. “I remember you from Mul-Dune. Is that correct?”
Kaleb closed his eyes and nodded.
“I cannot hear you,” Flare said quietly. “The next time I have to tell you that, you will be in pain like you can barely imagine.”
Kaleb’s eyes shot open, and he looked up at Flare wide-eyed. “My apologies. Yes, I was at Mul-Dune.”
Flare nodded and hoped that he wouldn’t have to follow through on his threat. “Why are you here?”
Kaleb bit his lip and he stared back at Flare. “I-I cannot tell you. The Lord Zalustus will kill me if I talk.”
“And we will kill you if you don’t,” Flare said slowly.
Kaleb actually grinned at that. “Perhaps, but somehow I think Zalustus would make my death more painful than you can even begin to imagine.”
Flare was silent for a moment and glanced around the room. The Guardians were all watching him, and he knew what he had to do; he just hated what was necessary.
Looking back at Kaleb, Flare seized control of his spirit and gently reached out. Sorcery could be used for massive grand gestures, but it also could be used with extreme care. The job that Flare had in mind this time was one that took enormous care and control.
There was silence in the room as the assembled Guardians watched the strange interplay between Flare and the still-smiling magician. All of a sudden, the smile disappeared and Kaleb threw his head back and screamed.
Slowly, something small and pale floated up and hovered above Kaleb’s face — his fingernail.
Flare let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. He hated torture, was disgusted by it, but the Telurian army had taught him there were times when it was necessary. He wasn’t sure he agreed, not even now. He swallowed hard and then said the words he doubted he could ever manage to follow through on. “Kaleb, answer my question or I’ll continue with the other fingers, one by one.”
Kaleb looked horrible. His eyes were watering, snot ran from his nose, and he was drooling as he cradled the damaged hand to his chest. His breathing was fast and shallow, and he took several breaths trying to get enough air to answer. “I cannot,” he managed to gasp out.
Flare sighed, and reached out with his spirit and tugged gently on another fingernail. He didn’t rip this one out, and he hoped that he never had to do that again. By tugging on the nail, he hoped it would be enough to get the magician talking. He continued to tug for a few moments, but the mage looked resolute. Gritting his teeth, Flare used his spirit to grasp the nail and rip it free.
Kaleb began screaming and writhing on the bed. Flare moved back and stood next to the bedroom door. The other Guardians were not watching him, nor were they watching the mage; their eyes were on the floor. After a few moments, Kaleb’s cries subsided.
“Kaleb,” Flare said softly, “tell me what I want to know. Why are you here?”
In addition to the watering eyes and snotty nose, Kaleb now had blood on his lips. He had bitten his tongue while writhing in pain.
Kaleb didn’t answer, but instead he just forced himself to breath slowly.
Victory and Defeat: Book Five of the Restoration Series Page 19
