“It’s been nearly two thousand years since there was a member of the Dragon Order. I’m attempting to be the first, to restore the order.”
“Two thousand years,” the man repeated. “Has it truly been that long?”
“Yes,” Flare replied, even though he felt the question wasn’t exactly intended for him, but rather the man had said it in introspection. A brief silence stretched out between them and Flare waited until he thought it was appropriate to speak again. “My name is Flaranthlas Eldanari, but I’m called Flare.”
“Forgive me,” the man said. “My wits seemed to have fled me. My name is Jacob.”
“What are you to teach me?”
“I will teach you how to use Wizardry with Sorcery,” Jacob replied.
The answer confused Flare. “But I’ve already been taught both Wizardry and Sorcery.”
Jacob motioned for Flare to walk with him and he talked as they walked. “Yes, you know both arts, but I will teach you to use them together.”
“Together?”
“Yes. I will build upon the instruction of your previous masters.”
“But what types of things will you teach me?” Flare pressed.
“Have you ever heard of sending?” Jacob asked. Flare shook his head and Jacob continued, “By combining summoning with sorcery, you can project your spirit through one of the elemental portals.”
Flare knew from his training with Mortimer the wizard that each of the five elements could be summoned through, each element used for a different purpose. Summoning through an element created a doorway. Wizards used fire to summon demons, water to summon dead spirits, air to summon another location, useful for traveling from one location to another. Spirit was used to summon visions, typically of the future or past, and earth was used to summon life energy, transferring it from one person to another. Never had he heard of projecting his spirit through one of the doorways before.
“For what purpose?” Flare asked.
“Well, combining summoning through air and earth, one can project one’s spirit to another person, even though that person is far away. Air is used to create the doorway to another location, and earth is used to attach the end of that doorway to the person you seek.”
Flare frowned as he thought about this new information. “But what about if the person is in a location where you’ve never been?” He knew that was a drawback of using wizardry to travel; a wizard could only travel to a location that he’d been to before.
“Doesn’t matter,” Jacob replied. “Since the doorway isn’t used to actually travel through physically, you can create the doorway to another person and then project your spirit through.”
As they walked, they approached a doorway in the wall that lined the roof. Jacob barely paused before opening the door and stepping through. Flare followed right on his heels as they descended a circular flight of steps.
“Can these doorways be created with the other elements as well?” Flare asked.
“Of course,” Jacob answered, but he stopped on the stairs and looked up at Flare. “But, and this is very important, you must never project your spirit through a doorway that is created solely by summoning through spirit.”
Flare nodded, hearing the urgency in Jacob’s voice.
“To do so would be the end of you,” Jacob said. “No one who has ever tried it has survived. Your body continues to live, but your spirit will never return. Do you understand?”
If he told the truth, the answer would probably be no, but that wasn’t what Jacob wanted to hear. Besides, he did understand never to project his spirit into a doorway made solely of spirit. He swallowed hard as a new thought occurred to him. “Does that mean we can project our spirit to the plane of the demons?”
Jacob nodded and then turned, continuing down the stairs. “Yes. In fact, I’ve done it before, but it’s very dangerous. Many have tried and most of them did not survive the attempt. I was there for only a handful of heartbeats and I barely escaped with my life. I do not suggest you try it if you wish to keep on living.”
Flare was only half-listening as a sudden thought just occurred to him. “When we project our spirit through a doorway of air and earth, you said we could communicate with a person far away?”
“Yes,” Jacob said. Once again he stopped, sensing that there was more to Flare’s question than just curiosity.
“How do we appear to the person we’re communicating with?”
“Interesting question,” Jacob said, appearing impressed. “The projection of your spirit is,” he paused, searching for the right word, “hazy. It’s transparent. It’s really more of an outline of your physical form than a duplicate.” He cocked his head to one side. “Why do you ask?”
Flare nodded to himself, remembering the way Zalustus had appeared to him while he’d been on watch. Zalustus had been transparent, appearing barely there, perhaps he hadn’t really been there, perhaps it had only been a projection of his spirit.
“I think I recently saw a projection. My rival for restoring the Dragon Order appeared to me in the forest. He remained in the shadows for most of the conversation, but when he moved into the light, I could see through him.”
Jacob nodded. “Yes. It does indeed sound like a projection.”
“But,” Flare said, suddenly liking this less and less, “that means he can spy on me whenever he wishes. He could hide in the shadows while I plan for battle. He could know my plans as soon as I make them.”
Jacob snorted. “Only if you’re a fool.”
Flare’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “I don’t understand,” he said simply.
Jacob turned and began descending the stairs again. “There are certain precautions that one can take to prevent what you’re describing from happening. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. First you must learn to project your spirit, before you learn to hide yourself.”
Flare was not pleased with this answer in the least. He wanted to know the answer, and he wanted to know now. But he felt that pressing Jacob on the issue would be futile.
Jacob led them off the stairs and down a long hall. It was opulently decorated with magnificent paintings hanging on either side. They walked about halfway down the hall in silence before Jacob stopped. On their right were several steps leading up to a double door. The door was covered in gold and was beautiful.
“Jacob,” Flare asked, “what is this place?”
“This was once the king’s palace,” Jacob replied. His words sounded as if they brought great sadness to him. “This is where I ruled my people. Unfortunately, I was away, fighting in the Great War and could not join them in death. I lived to see what the goblins did to my home.” Flare didn’t reply and after a moment, Jacob continued, “I will sleep in this room, as I did in life.” He motioned to a smaller door on the other side of the hall, farther down and on the left. “You can sleep there.”
“Aren’t we going to continue the lesson?” Flare asked.
Jacob shook his head. “No. Not now. I find looking at the city taxing. I wish to rest a while and then we’ll start again.” Jacob turned to enter through the double doors.
“One more thing,” Flare said quickly.
Jacob stopped and turned back. “Yes?”
“How long will this training take?” He dearly hoped it wouldn’t be centuries.
Jacob smiled, apparently sensing the reason behind Flare’s question. “Not long. Depending on how fast a student you are, we cold be done in as little as ten years.”
“Ten years?” Flare repeated, surprised. “I don’t think I’ve had a journey to Sha’al that was so short.”
“It all depends on you.”
“And are there ways that sorcery is mixed with magic?” Flare asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“And wizardry and magic?”
Jacob nodded. “There are indeed many different combinations.”
“And each combination has its own master to instruct me?” Flare asked. His spirits sank at th
e sheer number of visits it would require to complete his training. He had hoped he was nearly through visiting Sha’al.
“Yes,” Jacob answered. He smiled, apparently guessing the reason behind Flare’s grim mood. “There are still plenty of masters for you to visit.” He motioned on down the hallway. “Now, go get some sleep. Tomorrow you will begin your training in earnest.”
It took just over a decade for Jacob to teach the subtle intricacies of combining wizardry with sorcery. There was precious little time for resting as they spent nearly all of their waking hours together, training.
When at last the training was complete, it was with a heavy heart that Flare reentered the pool that sat upon the rooftop. He’d grown fond of Jacob, but it was now time for Jacob’s spirit to return to the realm of the dead. They said their goodbyes, and then Flare dipped below the surface of the water.
He broke through the surface of the water and immediately noticed the smell. The pool upon the rooftop in Sha’al had been clean and clear; the lake made by the beavers smelled dank and nasty. He wasted no time in emerging from the water and hurrying up the shore. Then, he shook like a dog, hoping it would get most of the foul water off his clothes and out of his hair. The shaking may have had little actual effect, but it did make him feel better.
That was when it hit him. He’d expected a doozy of a headache, but he felt fine; no pain, no soreness, nothing. Although pleased, he was also somewhat worried. Every time he’d gone to Sha’al in the past, he’d always returned feeling like his head was about to split open.
Perhaps I’m getting used to the trips, he thought, but that didn’t feel quite right. Something was off and he wasn’t sure what.
Carefully, Flare sent his spirit outward, searching for any other people in the vicinity. Two things quickly occurred to him. One, his head didn’t hurt from using sorcery and that was unusual after a trip to Sha’al. The second thing he noticed was that there was only one person anywhere nearby, and that was at their camp.
Flare blinked in surprise as he realized Keenan was awake. Uh-oh, he thought, I hope I didn’t do anything to wake him when I left.
Dismissing the issue of his missing headache, Flare turned his steps to their campsite. It wasn’t far and he reached it quickly. Sure enough, Keenan sat on this side of the fire, wrapped up in a blanket, with his back to Flare.
“Keenan,” Flare began, “why are you awake? Your watch doesn’t start for several hours.”
The figure turned to look, and it was then that Flare realized it was not in fact, Keenan.
Chapter 25
The figure in the blanket turned out to be an elf in a cape with a hood. The elf’s piercing blue eyes were shocking, almost glowing in the darkness of the night.
Flare took a step backward and dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword. “Who are you? he demanded.
The elf didn’t answer right away, instead he slowly climbed to his feet. He turned to face Flare and lowered his hood.
There was something unusual about him. Flare had grown up around some of the most powerful elves in the world, but they seemed like children compared to this elf. He was tall and muscular, and his hair was as white as snow. Strangely, he didn’t seem old, at least not in the manner that Flare normally thought; he seemed aged, but still young. He took a step toward Flare, which caused Flare to take another step backward.
“I said who are you?” Flare demanded again. “And what have you done with Keenan?”
The elf stopped and regarded Flare. Finally he spoke. “The human prince is fine.”
There was something about that voice. Flare was sure he’d heard it before, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d never met this elf in his life. “Where is Keenan?”
The question brought a smile to the elf’s face. “Right where you left him,” he said.
Flare narrowed his eyes, squinting against the firelight; he was quite sure that Keenan was no longer in his blankets. He turned his attention back to the elf. “Tell me your name,” he commanded.
The elf smiled again. “Am I your servant, to be ordered about as you please?”
Flare drew Ossendar a foot out of its sheath; most of the blade remained in the sheath, but not all of it. “Tell me,” Flare repeated.
The elf’s eyes dropped to the sword. “Would you use my own sword against me?”
“What? What did you say?”
The elf’s eyes rose to meet Flare’s. “I asked if you would use Ossendar against me, after I gave it to you?”
Flare blinked in confusion. He suddenly dawned on him where he’d heard the man’s voice before. He’d never laid eyes on this elf before, but he’d heard his voice. It was the same disembodied voice that had guided Flare through the years.
The elf nodded. “Yes, I’m your great, great, great, grandfather,” the elf said. “By attempting to restore the Dragon Order, you seek to follow in my footsteps.”
Flare was confused beyond belief. It was true that he recognized the voice, but it still seemed impossible for King Osturlius to be here. For one thing, he’d been dead for nearly two thousand years.
A suspicion crossed Flare’s mind, and he immediately spoke without thinking, “Where are we, then? Have I returned to the Eternal Forest?”
“Good,” Osturlius said, nodding. “No, you have not left Sha’al. You guessed correctly. I needed to speak with you, and this was the only way that it was possible.”
Flare swallowed hard and slowly removed his hand from Ossendar. It suddenly occurred to him why this elf looked so powerful, so menacing; he was from before the curse. The elves had been cursed around the same time as Osturlius’s death. The elves had long believed it was something that Osturlius had done, but Flare had learned that it was not Osturlius but his son who had brought the curse upon the elves. His son had conspired in a plot to kill his own father; truly it was one of the worst sins in the eyes of the elves.
“King Osturlius,” Flare said, bowing his head. “My apologies, but I did not recognize you.”
“How could you?” Osturlius asked. “The only time you’ve seen me is in poorly done paintings. I would not expect you to know me.”
“So I’m still in Sha’al,” Flare asked. That explained why his head hadn’t hurt when he returned from Sha’al; he hadn’t returned.
“Yes,” Osturlius said. “You will go back shortly, but there are a few things we need to discuss.”
Flare sighed deeply, sure that whatever it was that Osturlius had to tell him, it would be bad.
Osturlius smiled again, recognizing the reason behind Flare’s sigh. “Time grows short and you will not be returning to Sha’al before you face Zalustus.”
Surprised, Flare cocked his head to one side. “So my training is complete?” he asked.
“No,” Osturlius answered slowly. “But it is complete enough that you will not be able to return until after the coming battle.”
There was silence for a moment and then Flare rephrased Osturlius’s statement. “So, if I defeat Zalustus, then I will have more training, but if I fail, then it doesn’t much matter. Is that correct?”
Osturlius looked uncomfortable. “Uh, that’s a way of saying it,” he agreed. “But I think the important thing to remember is that you’ve completed all the training you need to restore the Order.”
Flare nodded. “Well, that’s good,” he said slowly, “but surely there’s more to it than that.”
“Yes,” Osturlius agreed. “I had to warn you. Tomorrow the Elven Guard will come for you. You must not resist them; you must not resist anyone until you once again see someone you know.”
Flare stared at his ancestor, trying to decipher the meaning of the warning. It reminded him vaguely of Phillip’s warning. “And once I’ve spotted someone that I recognize?”
Osturlius shrugged. “Then you are free to do as you wish.”
“And if I resist before then?”
“Then the road you must follow will be even more difficult,” Osturlius s
aid. “I do not know how it will turn out. It’s possible that you could ignore my advice and still succeed in restoring the Order, but it will be painful.”
Flare ground his teeth for several moments, fighting the anger that was welling up within him.
But Osturlius was no fool. “Why is it that you are angry?” he asked.
“Because you give me riddles and you call them advice. I have no way of knowing what they mean until it’s too late. It’s almost the same advice that Phillip gave me.”
Osturlius frowned at the mention of Flare’s former fellow Guardian. “That was unfortunate. He should not have told you what he did.”
“What does it matter?” Flare asked. “I understood him no more than I understand you.”
“Still, he should not be speaking of forbidden things,” Osturlius said. He wore a sour expression. “He tries to atone for his betrayal by helping you in things he cannot understand.”
Silence greeted these words; Flare found the whole business irritating. It seemed to him that if Osturlius had something to say, then he ought to just say it, in plain, understandable words.
Flare looked down at where Ossendar rested against his hip; a new thought was gnawing at him. “If I don’t resist,” he said, “then Ossendar will be taken from me.”
Osturlius shrugged. “It’s not important. What is important is that you must not resist. You must go along meekly.”
Flare nearly growled at that. Meekness was not his strength. In fact, meekness was not a trait that many warriors excelled in.
He took a deep breath. “I will try,” he said.
Breaking through the water, Flare knew he had, this time, returned to the actual Eternal Forest. Searing pain erupted across the front and back of his head. It felt like his eyes were about to pop right out of their sockets and he nearly screamed; but instead he merely gasped at the agony. It felt like someone was hitting him on the head with a blacksmith’s hammer.
He staggered from the murky lake, not even noticing the smell this time. He crawled up the bank and just lay there, hoping for a quick death so that the pain would go away.
A Gathering of Armies Page 25