The Guardians: Book One of the Restoration Series

by Williams, Christopher

  Finally the king looked back up. “Flare, I knew your mother, and she was a caring and honest woman. For her sake, if not for yours, I will make a pact with you. I will allow you to take the entrance test, and if you are accepted into the guardians, I will allow you to stay.”

  Relief washed over him like a wave; at least he had a chance to join the guardians. A smile started to form on his lips.

  King Darion noticed the smile, and quickly continued, “But If you are not accepted, then you will agree to return to the elves willingly. Do you agree to my terms?”

  Flare had a huge smile, as he accepted the king’s terms. “Sir, will I still get someone to help me?”

  “Yes, but you will have to work very hard if you really want to get in. And once you get in, it will only get harder. Are you sure that you can handle this? If you are accepted, then you will be trained to fight, kill, and possible die for Telur. In battle, people are maimed and die horribly. Are you willing to kill or die for the people of Telur? Remember, most of the humans here in Telur will not accept you any more than the elves did. In fact, the resentment toward the elves is so strong; you could be at risk from the very people you are training to protect.”

  The king’s last comment caught Flare off guard, and dispelled his earlier elation. He had expected some possible resentment from the human nobility and commanders, but he had expected to eventually be accepted by his fellow soldiers. After all, elves joined the guardians from time to time. “Are you saying that I might be in danger during the training?”

  The king leaned back in the chair, and propped his head on his right hand. “Elves have served before, and are currently serving in the guardians, but none of them are elven nobility. I do not believe anything would happen to you, and if I thought there was any real danger, I wouldn't even consider your request to join. I believe that it will be fine, but you will need to remain on guard.”

  Another thought occurred to Flare. “Sir, how will this affect human and elven relations?”

  The king smiled a humorless smile. “Flare, there has not been a human allowed in the eternal forest in thirty years. I believe the only reason the elves keep an ambassador in Telur is so they can spy on us.” The king paused. “Since the fall of the elves, they have not had the power to wage war against the combined might of the humans. If the elves were to march on Telur, it would be their undoing. You see Flare, right now the humans are divided, and we frequently fight amongst ourselves. But if an elven host descends on Telur, it would unite the human cities in a fashion that has not been seen since the demon lord wars, some two millennia ago.”

  Flare didn't like the sound of these words, the thought of elves fighting against Telur had not seriously occurred to him. The elves had not marched outside their forests in millennia. Although the elven troops had been marshaled and ready to go to war thirty years ago, but the human ambassadors had been dispelled, and the troops disbanded. He was intimately aware of this, since his birth had been the driving factor behind the near war. He knew that the elves were weak and that they couldn't wage war outside of their kingdoms, but he also knew that they were plenty capable of defending those very same forests. That thought troubled him, having fled the elven forests; resentment was the last thing that he wanted to feel toward his new home. Troubled, he held his tongue and said nothing.

  The king paused briefly, watching Flare, “Now, what are we going to do with you?” Without waiting for an answer, the king continued, “How soon do you want to start preparing for the tests?”

  Flare did not even hesitate in giving his answer, “As soon as possible, Sir. How soon can I start?” A feeling of elation replacing the earlier melancholy.

  “I know just the person. His name is Sergeant Wellmann, and he is one of our finest soldiers. I will contact him tomorrow.” The king paused a moment, smiling, “Now, unless you have some more surprises for me, I really must go now. It has been an interesting evening, Flare. I hope that you succeed in your endeavors.” The king rose to his feet, and walked around the desk, “I will send in the ambassador, I think you need to talk to him. When he leaves, I will instruct Nathaniel to find you lodging for the night.” He smiled at Flare, “Tomorrow, you will have an escort until Sergeant Wellmann is ready.” He stood looking into Flare’s eyes, as if searching for something. Finally, he spoke again, “Well, if there is nothing else, I must leave.”

  “Your highness, I will do my best in your service.” Flare said, a small knot forming in his throat.

  The king grinned at Flare, “I hope you make it.” The king turned and walked through the door.

  Henotairin came back into the room. He looked expectantly at Flare, waiting for him to speak. Flare was slow to respond, and he burst out, “Well, what did he say?”

  Flare tried to smile, but at best he managed a sickly grin. “He will allow me to compete for a spot in the guardians.” Flare took a deep breath.

  “What is the matter?” Henotairin asked.

  “I have not been exactly honest with you, Henotairin. My grandfather did not give his blessing on my journey. In fact, he forbade it.” He was looking at the ground, feeling like he had betrayed an old friend.

  When he looked back up, he was surprised to see Henotairin calmly regarding him. “I'm sorry. I lied to you and betrayed your trust.” Flare added.

  Henotairin put his hands on Flare’s shoulders, “I knew that you were not telling me everything, but I did not suspect this. When you arrived, alone, obviously trying to avoid scrutiny, I knew that you were hiding something. I thought that perhaps you had left without the king’s blessing, but it never occurred to me that you would leave after the king forbade it. Why did the king forbid it? Did you make it your life choice?”

  “I was not allowed to. I was told that I would not be allowed to leave if that was my decision, so I pretended to go on a hunting trip, and then I fled. But if I do not win my way into the guardians, then I will be forced to return.” Flare said quickly, the words tripping over each other they came out so quickly.

  “If those are your options, I would urge you to make it into the guardians. I don't believe that you would want to return, at least for some time.”

  Flare nodded, the lump in his throat had returned. “I will do my best, and the king said he will have a sergeant help me prepare for the trials.”

  Henotairin seemed surprised, “He must have been impressed by you, Flare. He is showing you a lot of favor by assigning you a tutor. Do not betray his trust.”

  “I won’t.” Flare hesitated a moment, before asking a question that was troubling him. “Henotairin, will you suffer because of this?”

  Henotairin half laughed, “I do not think so. After all, I was just helping the king’s grandson.” His mirth slowly drifted away, “I can handle myself Flare, but you must watch yourself. Never lower your guard and always pick your friends carefully.”

  “I will be careful, and Henotairin, thank you for your help.”

  “Flaranthlas, I have done very little for you. I wish I could have helped you more.” He sighed and said, “I must be going now, but always remember to be careful.” And as if a thought just occurred to him, he added, “Flare, another thing you may want to do is be careful of to whom you divulge your identity. Elves are not popular among humans, and you could be in physical danger.” He paused briefly, “Well, good-bye and may fortune smile on you.”

  Flare watched Henotairin leave, feeling a profound loneliness.

  A few moments later, Nathaniel entered. “Sir, I am to escort you to a room, for the night.”

  Flare was led deeper into the palace, through several long hallways, and up two flights of stairs. The block hallways were relatively unadorned, which led him to think that this was the more rarely used part of the palace. The lighting had gotten dimmer, but he hardly noticed. He was much too nervous to more than glance at his surroundings; he kept contemplating having to return to the elves. As he thought of facing the elven royalty, he felt a renewed sense of deter
mination to win his way into the guardians.

  He was so deep into his worrying, that he almost bumped into Nathaniel when the young guard stopped.

  “Sir, this will be your room for tonight. Dale here, will guard the door, and be your escort if you wish to leave the room.” Flare had not even noticed that the second guard had followed them. “Have a good night, Sir,” Nathaniel said, walking back the way they had come.

  Dale took up his position next to the door, and Flare went in. The room was austere in its decoration. The walls and flooring were made of a grey block, with about half of the floor covered by a reddish-brown, oval rug. The bed was along the wall to his left. There was a small window in the far wall, which was covered by dark brown curtains. There was also a small dresser and chair in the corner to his right. Also to his right, was a closed door, which upon further inspection led to a small bathroom.

  Whether, because of Flare having already slept in the afternoon, or due to the fact that he was so nervous, he took several hours to fall asleep.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, the young guard led Flare to the kitchens for breakfast, and then took him to meet the king. He had not been able to see very much of the castle the previous night, and he was not impressed. The elven castle was open and airy, full of life, both animals and plants. The human castle was closed in, with smaller windows and less life. The walls had been built out of enormous blocks of stone with torches mounted about every ten feet. There were large paintings and murals depicting great kings and courageous heroes. He tried to observe as much as he could, but it quickly became overwhelming.

  They soon entered a grand hallway which had two main exits. For the first time today, Flare was impressed. Small windows had been placed above the doorway and the windows flooded the hall with sunlight. The windows had been designed to reflect the light toward the upper half of the hall, and the effect was stunning. The walls were painted showing the deeds and battles of generations of the Telurian army. The ceiling seemingly had been painted in the far off distant past, and showed not just the great deeds of the Telurians, but also of the elves, dwarves, and other races. Flare recognized several great elven kings and warriors, including his own great, great, great, grandfather King Osturlius.

  King Osturlius had possibly been the most powerful elven king of all time, but had died in disgrace some two thousand years ago. Osturlius had helped win the Demon lord wars, but had later done some evil deed, which had caused the gods to curse the elves. The legend did not tell what Osturlius had done, but the gods had spoken to a priest in the temple, and cursed all elves because of the king’s actions. The king, who had been away from the city, was never heard from again. The curse had been evident almost immediately. Before King Osturlius’s fall, the average elven life span had been between seventeen and eighteen hundred years. But now, an elf was considered old if he reached the age of eight hundred years, and each generation’s life span continued to shrink.

  The hallway was lined with small benches and chairs, apparently for those, who like Flare, were waiting to see the King.

  As they approached the massive wooden doors at the end of the hallway, Flare was surprised when Dale turned to his left and approached a small hallway set back in the corner. Two guards were stationed on either side of it, and a fifth guard was in front of the hallway. The guard in front was outfitted more fitting a noble than a common guard. He was wearing red and brown silks, which poked through the joints of his chain armor. The armor was made of thousands of rings of some metal that Flare was not familiar with, and he wore a sword attached to his belt, that although it looked rather plain, appeared well used. He wore no helmet, but had long brown hair flowing past his shoulders. He challenged them as they approached.

  “Who would enter the king’s presence?” His voice was deep.

  Dale halted and answered, “Captain, I am a member of the griffin squadron of the castle guard. I was told to bring Flaranthlas to the king’s council.”

  “King Darion had informed me of your visit; however, he is not ready to see you, Prince Flaranthlas. I apologize, but you will have to wait.” He motioned them toward a door which led to a small waiting room. “If there is anything you need, please let me know.”

  “Is he always that abrupt?” Flare asked Dale, as they entered the waiting room.

  “Most officers are abrupt. But actually, he was fairly respectful towards you. Probably because you're royalty. If it had been just me, he would have just barked orders.” He paused, and looked around the room, “I must leave you now. I have stood guard all night, and I really must get some sleep. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “No, but thank you for everything,” Flare managed.

  Dale smiled and said, “Think nothing of it; I was just doing my duty. Luck to you.” He turned and left the room, closing the doors behind him.

  Time slowly passed. Flare although a little anxious, was more accepting of what was to come.

  He spent the morning waiting for the king’s summons. Finally the door opened, and a young squire came in.

  “Prince Flaranthlas, King Darion will see you now.”

  Panic and anxiety fought to settle on him, but he pushed them away. He followed the squire from the room. He paused momentarily, taking a deep breath, before entering the king’s council room.

  The room was in the shape of an octagon, and was exquisitely decorated. The walls were made of a stunning, red wood, which seemed to darken the room. There were magnificent blood-red draperies placed at several various points on the walls. There were no torches placed on the walls, but the room was still brilliantly lit. Flare could not see from where the light was coming. Around an octagon shaped table, sat a large number of finely dressed men, each wearing a different crest. Each crest was the sign of a different house. Most of the men were older, with graying hair.

  As Flare entered the room, the scowls on the king’s councilors deepened.

  The young squire stopped in front of the table, and addressed the assembly. “Prince Flaranthlas, ninth in line for the elvish throne.”

  Flare scanned the various faces, looking for a friendly face. But what he saw did little to ease his anxiety. The friendliest faces were simply indifferent, but most of the faces wore angry scowls. He moved forward and stood where the squire had been standing.

  The king was sitting in his chair, with his arms folded in his lap. “Welcome Flaranthlas, I hope you slept well.” His mood was entirely different than the previous evening. He seemed tired today, whereas the night before he had been more animated.

  “I slept fine, thank you.” Flare said quietly. He was rather intimidated by the stern counselors. The anxiety was threatening to overwhelm him.

  “Flaranthlas, I have discussed your request to enter the guardians with my counselors. They wish me to deny your request, and return you to the elves. However, I have decided that you will be allowed to enter the competition. If you pass the competition, you will be allowed to enter the guardians, but if you lose, you will be sent back to the elves. Do you understand this?”

  “Yes sir. May I ask when the entrance competition is to begin?”

  The king looked to one of the men sitting to the king’s right. “When is the competition?”

  The young man responded, “It is on the first day of summer, some thirty days from now.”

  The king turned back to Flare, “Will you be ready?”

  “Yes sir, but you had suggested a sergeant to help me prepare.”

  The king turned to a young squire, who was standing behind and to the right of the king. “Summon Sergeant Wellmann.”

  The squire left and returned through a door that was in the wall behind the king’s chair. When he returned, he was followed by a soldier. The soldier was an older man, who had short, graying hair. Chain mail showed through several openings in his brownish-red tunic, and his skin was brown and wrinkled, from being in the sun too long. He entered the room and stood rigid, awaiting the king’s
attention.

  The king did not keep him waiting long, “Sergeant Wellmann, I have an assignment for you. Prince Flaranthlas has been given my blessing to compete in the guardian entry competition. I want you to work with him and help him prepare. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir,” the sergeant snapped quickly. “I will do my best.”

  “Yes sergeant, I’m sure you will.” The king turned back to Flare, “I want you to listen to everything he says. Preparation is your only hope of getting into the guardians.”

  Before Flare could respond, one of the counselors spoke up. “Sir, I must object to his presence.” Flare realized it was Duke Angaria, the one that Henotairin had warned him about. “Sir, it is bad enough that elves are allowed into the guardians, but a member of elvish royalty. You are allowing a poison into our midst. I urge you not to do this.”

  Several of the other men at the table opened their mouths to speak, but the king spoke first. “Angaria, your opinion of my decision is well known. Your advice is welcome, but I have made my decision.” His tone was final.

  The king turned his attention back to Flare, “It is my opinion that this will be a turning point between humans and elves.” He paused, sighing. “I’m trusting you.”

  “Thank you Sir,” Flare said, walking around the table to where sergeant Wellmann stood.

  The two exited the room together, and Flare slumped noticeably, relieved to be out of the council’s presence.

  “Sergeant, thank you for your help. When can we begin?”

  “We begin immediately. We leave this afternoon,” was the gruff response from the soldier.

  “Leave? Where are we going? And what about horses and supplies?” Flare asked, startled. He had expected to remain close to the palace.

  “No horses. We walk and we take only what the two of us can carry.” He stopped, turning towards Flare, “Listen to me. I don't want this job. I'm used to teaching soldiers who have already passed the competition, not coddling elven princes. I'll do what I can, but I only do it because my king has ordered me to.” He moved closer, “While I am in charge, you will do what I say without questioning me. Do you understand?”