Into the Wastelands: Book Four of the Restoration Series

by Williams, Christopher

  Kappie snorted. “He knows better than to sick up on my deck. He knows I’d have made him clean it up himself.”

  Chapter 7

  Flare woke with his whole body hurting. Yesterday, early in the afternoon, he had tried to use sorcery for the sixth time since he had been captured. The medallion around his neck still prevented him from using sorcery and the punishments were getting worse.

  The first time he had tried, there had been an excruciating pain that ran through his body for nearly an hour. He had been unable to walk for a while and he had been sore for several days. Each time he tried to use sorcery, the pain increased.

  After his aborted attempt yesterday, he had endured a quarter of an hour of the most intense pain he had ever felt in his life. At that point, he, mercifully, had blacked out. When he awoke, he felt like someone had taken a club and beaten every square inch of his body.

  He had been awake for nearly half an hour now, and the soreness of his muscles was growing. Laying there on his side, he watched the sun climb over the mountains to the east and his thoughts ran furiously over his predicament.

  He had been captured by agents of the Church of Adel. They viewed all warriors who used magic or sorcery as abominations and they had a deep desire to execute him publicly. In all honesty it was strange. They hated magic-using warriors but had created their own such secret order. An order that used magic and sorcery while they carried swords. By their own definition, these men were abominations, but they viewed it as a necessary evil. The leader of those who had captured him was such a man. Thomas seemed like a genuinely likeable person, albeit a zealot. Flare had no doubt that Thomas would cheer Flare’s death and then willingly allow himself to die.

  There had been a time when Flare had feared that he was a bit of an abomination and that perhaps he was the Destroyer that Kelcer had foretold. The problem was that he no longer believed that. It had been explained to him that the Kelcer prophecy was miss-understood. He now believed that Zalustus was the Destroyer and it was Flare’s responsibility to restore the Dragon Order before Zalustus could. The problem was that the medallion was a bit of a hindrance.

  Shuffling noises came from behind him and Flare rolled over to see who was approaching. They had made camp in a small clearing that was surrounded by towering trees. The undergrowth was quite thick here and it was causing some problems for them as they worked their way south. However, it terms of the camp, the bushes and shrubs helped by shielding their camp from view. Flare lay off to one side. He was close enough to be seen by his captors, but not close enough to be warmed by their fire. The tops of the mountains rose above the trees to the east.

  One of the two soldiers approached him warily. Flare didn’t know either guard’s name and he really didn’t care. The strange monk, Thomas, was civil and he treated Flare with all the respect due a prisoner, but his two soldiers were neither civil nor respectful. When Thomas was in sight, the men ignored Flare. When Thomas was not to be seen, well, Flare’s body was covered with bruises and scrapes. A good number of the bruises had been caused by the soldier’s boots. Their anger towards him was understandable. After all, he had killed five of their comrades. If he had lost five of his friends, then he would be – angry – as well.

  Thinking of his friends hurt, as it always did. He didn’t even know how many of them were still alive. And of those alive, he could only hope that none of them were rotting in a dungeon somewhere. How had things got so messed up? Despair threatened to crash down on him and he fought hard to remain hopeful. It wasn’t so easy anymore.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a hard kick to his right side. Flare grunted hard and looked up at the soldier who glared down at him. The soldier was near thirty years old and that marked him as experienced. Fools died quickly in the army. Those that lasted long tended to be good at what they did. He had short brown hair and a week’s growth of beard. His clothes had seen better days and he even had some food stains down the front. The worst thing about him was his eyes. They looked black and dead.

  “Now listen up,” the soldier said. He kicked Flare again. “You cost us nearly four hours of daylight yesterday. Don’t try that sorcery bit again. Understand?” He paused but Flare didn’t reply. He kicked Flare hard again and said, “I asked you a question? Do you understand?”

  “Jordan!” a voice called out sharply. Thomas strode into view. His eyes were hard and his hand rested on his sword hilt. The soldier, whose name was apparently Jordan, backed quickly away from Flare. Thomas stepped in between Flare and the soldier and he glared towards Flare’s tormentor. “I have told you not to torture the prisoner,” Thomas said slowly and quietly. There was an unmistakable deadliness in his tone. “Explain yourself.”

  Jordan dropped his eyes to the ground. “My lord. I was just trying to make sure he wouldn’t try to use any more sorcery. The delays are getting longer.” He kept his eyes on the ground while he spoke but there was a definite anger in his tone.

  “So,” Thomas said after a moment’s pause, “you are worried about the time it takes to get Kelcer’s Destroyer back to Telur? Tell me, would you like to explain to Dalin Olliston how you managed to kill the prisoner by kicking him to death?” Thomas paused again, but the soldier had gone pale at the words. “Dalin himself told me to bring him back alive, at all costs. Would you like to tell the High Priest that you disobeyed his direct orders to save some time?” His voice rose and he was practically shouting by the end.

  “No,” Jordan said and he looked like he meant it. He was even more flushed now and despite the nice cool morning, he was covered in sweat.

  “No, I don’t think you want to either,” Thomas said after a moment. He turned his back on the soldier, “Leave us.”

  Flare watched Thomas as Jordan hurried to make his escape. It was true that the medallion’s punishments were slowing them down. They had no horses so Flare was being compelled to walk to his death. When he was incapacitated, they were unable to continue their journey. They needed him able to walk.

  He had fled Telur and traveled northwest to the Az’ha’rill Mountains. In the far north, this mountain chain formed an enormous V, with the mountains running both to the northeast and northwest. With great difficulty he had climbed the eastern part of the mountain chain. He had been pursued and captured while still inside the V of the mountains. The quickest path back to Telur was to retrace Flare’s steps back over the peaks. It was an extremely difficult climb and not a climb that he could have done with his hands bound. Refusing to untie his prisoner, Thomas had decided to take them west through the easier part of the mountain chain and then turn south to Mul-Dune. From there, his plan was to travel east to Telur.

  That had been nearly two weeks ago. At first they had made good time. The going was easy and the weather favorable. Flare had first tried to use sorcery the night after their first day of traveling. The pain had been unbelievable and it felt like every nerve ending in his body was on fire. The next day, although sore, Flare had been able to walk and they had continued westward. It wasn’t until his third attempt to use sorcery that the pain made him unable to travel and cost them several hours. The punishments were weighing on him to the point that the medallion was slowing them down even on days that he didn’t attempt to use sorcery.

  Several days back, they crossed the western part of the V and entered the wilds of Cail dar’mack. This heavily forested and largely unexplored territory ran from the Az’ha’rill Mountains to the ocean in the west. It was a dangerous forest, full of wild animals and beasts. Fort Mul-Dune had been built in the only gap of the mountains that was large enough, and safe enough, for a group to travel through. The primary purpose of the fort was to protect the western side of Telur from attack. In addition to animals and beasts, the forests were known to be the home of goblins, trolls, and the like.

  “That medallion will kill you,” Thomas said.

  Flare had been adrift in his thoughts and had forgotten that the man was still watching him. “Ole Dalin wouldn
’t like that very much.”

  Thomas clinched his teeth and Flare could see the man’s jaws moving. “You should show some respect to the High Priest of Adel.”

  “Even when he’s wrong and refuses to see it?” Flare asked.

  Thomas took a deep breath and ignored the question. “That medallion will kill you. Each time you try to use sorcery, it’s getting worse. How much more do you think you can take?”

  Flare pushed himself up onto an elbow, it was rather difficult when his hands were tied together. “So?” he asked. “If I die here or in the middle of a square in Telur, what does it matter to me?”

  “Well, there’s the lives of my men. If, like you say, you’re so noble, then that should matter to you.”

  Flare laughed out loud. “So I should go willingly so that you and these bastards can keep on living?” He shook his head, “No, I don’t think so.”

  The monk stared at Flare in silence for several moments and then asked, “Surely you know that the Church would never have allowed you to restore the Order. They would never have allowed it.”

  “It’s up to the Gods and not the Church,” Flare said with a shrug.

  Thomas snorted, “And you think Adel would want that Order restored?”

  Once again Flare shrugged, “Perhaps. We’ll see.”

  Thomas kneeled down next to Flare. “That sword isn’t the only weapon mentioned in the prophecy.”

  Confused, Flare didn’t respond. He just watched Thomas.

  “Kelcer also mentioned three other items that would mark the one who would restore the Order.” He poked Flare in the shoulder with a finger, “Bet you didn’t know that.”

  Flare shook his head, not sure if he even believed the monk, but thinking it best to play along. “What items?”

  Smirking now, Thomas leaned in even closer. “The helmet of Ashteroth is the first item, and it’s supposed to be a golden helmet.”

  Flare’s breath caught at that. Golden helmets were considered an abomination and no one would wear such a thing.

  “There’s also armor made from the skin of a black dragon. It’s called Nerandall, and it was lost millennia ago in the Faerum city of Saprasia, during the Third war of the Races. The last item is a dwarven shield called Ocklamoor and you never would have found it.” He poked Flare in the shoulder again, “So you see, the Church has had this planned out for quite some time. You were doomed to failure.”

  “Like I was when the Church agreed to send me after Ossendar?”

  The smirk disappeared from Thomas’ face. “Accidents happen,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Well, maybe more accidents will happen,” Flare said. “It’s still a long way from here to Telur.”

  Thomas, still gritting his teeth, started to stand up. At that point, a rather interesting idea occurred to Flare and he acted without thinking of the consequences. He reached out to take control of his spirit, and thereby use sorcery. The pain set in immediately. There was a humorous moment where Thomas jumped forward, although Flare had no idea what the man meant to do, and then the blackness took him.

  When Flare awoke next, it felt like his whole body was resting in a furnace. Every square inch of his skin burned and he was afraid that he might be sick at any moment. He couldn’t focus his eyes and everything seemed to be swaying. It took a moment, but he finally realized that he was draped across Jordan’s shoulder, as the soldier staggered along under Flare’s weight.

  Flare struggled to lift his head, causing shooting pains to run the length of his body.

  “Sir,” Jordan called out, “he’s awake.”

  Apparently, someone called a halt to their march, but Flare was too busy fighting the urge to vomit to pay much attention. After a few moments, Jordan lowered him to the ground and he lay there, gasping for breath.

  The sun was up, directly over them, and it seemed to be blindingly bright. Then, someone leaned over him and shielded him from the brightness of the sun. It was Thomas.

  “Nice trick, but it didn’t work.”

  Flare could hear the words but he couldn’t quite figure out what they meant. “Huh?” he finally managed to get out.

  “You used sorcery again, expecting that we would have to wait there while you recovered.” Thomas paused and studied Flare. “That was your plan, wasn’t it?”

  Thinking back, Flare couldn’t quite remember what his plan had been. All he could think about was the agony that was his skin.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. Keep using the medallion, if you want to,” Thomas said with just a touch of bitterness. “Pass out all you want,” he leaned in closer, “regardless, we keep moving forward. If you die, then it will be on your own head and not mine.”

  Mercifully, the blackness chose that moment to once again come for Flare. He mercifully surrendered to its warm embrace.

  Flare spent a couple of days flitting in and out of consciousness. At least he thought it was just several days, it might have been more. He awoke numerous times and his situation was always the same. During the day one of the two guards carried him. It was never pleasant to wake at one of these moments. His body still hurt from the last time he had tried to use sorcery and bouncing along on a soldier’s bony shoulder wasn’t his idea of recuperating.

  At least waking at night wasn’t so bad. Waking in the cool night air and staring at the nighttime sky was more pleasant. But he still didn’t maintain consciousness for long, and when he did, he always felt like he had been on a drinking binge.

  He awoke one morning and felt like he might remain lucid for awhile. It was early, maybe an hour before dawn and he didn’t recognize their camp. He could see the sleeping forms of two people and a third was standing watch.

  He rolled over and pushed himself to a seated position. Immediately he wished he hadn’t moved. He broke out in a cold sweat and felt an overwhelming urge to vomit. He didn’t move for several moments. Instead he sat there, willing himself to be okay. After several moments the nausea passed and it was soon replaced by an unbelievable thirst. He considered calling out to the guard, but he could see that it wasn’t Thomas standing watch and he really didn’t want to draw the attention of the other two soldiers. They would all be awake soon enough and he would ask for water then. The nausea was passing quickly and being replaced by hunger. He wasn’t sure how many days it had been since he had tried to use sorcery but obviously the guards hadn’t gone to great lengths to feed him.

  Desperately, thoughts of escape flooded his mind. There had to be a way. Flare tried to find a way out of his situation, thinking of multiple different ways to escape and then dismissing them one by one. There had to be something he had missed.

  He sighed deeply. One thing was certain, continuing to try and use sorcery wasn’t helping. He was beginning to suspect that the medallion might actually kill him, and besides it wasn’t really slowing them down all that much. Another thought occurred to him. If he was delirious for days, then he might miss an opportunity to escape. That thought made the cold sweat come back. What if he had missed his best chance to escape because he had been unconscious? Right then and there he decided to stop trying to use sorcery and find a different way to gain his freedom.

  Still thinking desperately how to escape, Flare watched the sun slowly rise in the east.

  They continued working their way south. The going was slow, due mainly to the rough terrain. The undergrowth was thick and kept forcing them to backtrack. In addition to the vegetation, there were bogs, gullies, and such that also kept them retracing their steps.

  Flare didn’t mind the delays. The soreness from trying to use sorcery gradually eased over several days and his strength returned. The first several days he had a ravenous appetite and Thomas indulged him as a healthy Flare was easier on the two guards.

  Regardless of whether he was eating, trudging along behind his captors, or lying in camp, Flare constantly watched for any chance to escape.

  Regardless of what the group was doing, the two guards and Tho
mas watched Flare with a paranoia that never seemed to relax. Several times he caught Thomas watching him with a knowing look that bothered Flare. Thomas had to suspect why he hadn’t tried to use sorcery for some time. Undoubtedly Thomas had warned the two guards to keep their eyes on him.

  After nearly two weeks of this routine, Flare could tell the guards were beginning to relax and he knew why; they were nearing Mul-Dune. The very thought of reaching the fort nearly made him panic. His chances of escaping diminished a thousand fold once they went through the fort’s gates.

  Despite constantly backtracking and retracing their steps, their journey through the forest had been surprisingly easy. They had spotted abundant wildlife but nothing that would bother them. The few animals that might have been dangerous had not been close enough to trouble them. It certainly hadn’t been anything like the stories that Flare had heard about this country.

  It was late in the day when Thomas ordered a stop. He and the other two guards put their heads together, although they kept their eyes on Flare. They were in a small oblong clearing, having entered it from the northwest. All around the clearing were thick forests and the mountains towered over them to the east.

  “Sir,” Jordan said, “we’re close. If we walk through the dark we can be there in several hours.”

  Flare’s ears pricked up at that. Close? Did he mean they were several hours from Mul-Dune? A cold numb feeling settled in on him. He couldn’t willingly go through those gates.

  Thomas considered what to do for a few moments and then shook his head. “No. We’ll make camp here. I do not want to give the prisoner a chance to escape in the dark.”

  Neither guard said a word, but their shoulders slumped. They were both eagerly looking forward to reaching the fort.

  They made camp in their usual military precision and Flare was soon lying near the fire. Since he had given up trying to use sorcery, the guards had moved him closer to their camp. It wasn’t a reward, they just wanted him closer so they could watch him better.