It was Cassandra that spoke. "Run!" she shouted, climbing to her feet and staggering towards the door. "They're here."
Heather most definitely wanted to ask who they were but she was having issues thinking. Her head felt heavy like after a night of drinking ale.
Enton had opened the door to the hallway and Heather stumbled through. She stopped in surprise. The hallway that had just been empty a moment ago was now completely full of soldiers. The nearest soldier to Heather raised a quarterstaff and brought it down on her head.
Heather fell to the ground hard, her head throbbing. Opening her eyes she could feel a warmth running down her face and somehow she knew she was bleeding. She looked up at the soldiers, just in time to see one pull back his foot to kick her. Luckily the blow knocked he fught">
Heather awoke to someone rubbing cool water on her face. The water was soothing, which was good since her head was throbbing. Her eyes blinked open and she realized it was Mikela who was washing her face.
Mikela smiled a worried smile at Heather, "Welcome back."
"Back?" Heather asked groggily as she forced herself up to a sitting position. "Where did I go?" Her hand moved up to rub her aching head.
"You've been unconscious for most of the day and that's a nasty cut you have." Mikela's eyes moved upwards and studied a spot on Heather's face. "I was getting worried."
Heather moved a hand up and felt the painful wound where her hair met her forehead. It was sore and swollen. She opened her mouth to speak but the sight of the bars in front of her completely drove all the other thoughts away.
She was sitting on an old and rather smelly cot. It was one of two in this cell. The cell had a back wall made of solid stone and the other three walls were iron bars that ran vertically from floor to ceiling. The cell was small, maybe ten feet by ten. To their left was another identical cell. Cassandra sat there watching them.
There was another cell to their right but it was empty. There were three more cells on the other side of a small walkway. The far left one contained Atock and Enton, Aaron was alone in the center cell, and Dagan was by himself in the last cell all the way to the right. They were all watching her.
"What happened?" she asked. Her mind was still felt foggy, but the rising panic was helping to wake her up.
"Magic." Mikela answered simply. She looked worried.
"Yes, some sort of sleeping spell." Cassandra said through the bars. She didn't get up, just spoke at them from her place on the bed. "I sensed it, but it was too late."
Heather nodded, remembering the heavy feeling that had settled on her just before she was knocked out. "Who caught us?"
"Obvious. Isn't it?" Dagan said quietly from his cell.
"Haven't you seen anyone?" Heather asked and Mikela shook her head.
As if on cue, the sound of a heavy bolt being drawn back caused them all to turn their attention to the wooden door that stood on the left end of the walkway. Heather hadn't noticed it before, but the door was solid wood, reinforced with iron straps. It would be hard to get through that door, even with an ax.
A man stepped through the door into the gloom of the prison cells. There wasn't much light as there were no windows and only four torches to light the whole area. It was hard to see the man who entered, but he moved to the center of the walkway where the light from the torches illuminated him. Well dressed and clean cut, he had the look of someone used to authority. He was tall and lean with a dark complexion. His short hair was black and curly and he surveyed them with a fierce determination.
"The King has been notified of this," he paused searching for the right word, "incident. He is most displeased. So displeased, in fact, that he is coming here himself."
"That doesn't sound good fdiv>t, ." Heather said, moving over to stand against the bars.
The stranger smiled. "No. It's not good. I have been ordered to leave you alone, but I think that's so the King can see the interrogation himself."
Heather's breath caught in her throat at that. Torture! she thought, her spirits sinking even lower.
"Who are you?" Cassandra asked.
The man's eyes flicked to the magician and then back to Heather. "My name is Myrus. Lord Myrus of House Brightstone and I am one of the King's councilors. It would go easier on you if you tell me where the item you stole is located."
It took a moment for the words to sink in and Heather shook her head trying to clear the fog. "I don't understand." She said looking over at Dagan. For the first time since she awoke, he was showing some interest. "What are you looking for?" she asked, knowing better than to admit anything. She also knew that once their captors started with the torture, they would all talk.
The stranger studied her for a moment. "Do not insult me. We recovered the Kelcer prophecy in your room. Do you deny stealing it?"
Confused, Heather considered for a moment. "If you have it, then why did you ask us where it was?"
The man smiled. "I was not talking about the prophecy. I want to know where the helmet of Ashteroth is." He studied their blank faces and then took a step closer to Heather's cell, stopped, and then stood there clinching his fists. "Tell me where the helmet is. What did you do with it after you stole it?"
Heather blinked in confusion and tried to decipher his meaning. She looked at Mikela, who was staring at her with an equally blank expression. She opened her mouth but for several moments no sound came out. "I don't know what you're talking about. We most certainly did not steal the helmet."
"Really?" Myrus asked, taking a deep breath and smiling a very unfriendly smile. "So you broke into the treasure room, took the Kelcer prophecy, and left. But somehow the helmet was stolen at the same time and you had nothing to do with it?"
"I did not say that we stole the prophecy," Heather said, disliking this man more and more.
"Oh! My apologies." Lord Myrus said in feigned apology. "So you somehow acquired the Kelcer prophecy which just so happened to have been stolen from the treasure room, but you did not have anything to do with the helmet being stolen?" He shook his head. "I suggest you come up with a better story before the King gets here. He will not be so understanding." He stood there for several heartbeats looking at each of them in turn. Then, without another word, he headed back out the door.
Silence hung in the room, just long enough for the door to close, and then everyone started to talk at once. Everyone except Heather. She was confused by the day's events and she needed answers.
She raised her hand and pounded on the cell bars. It did absolutely nothing but make her arm hurt. "Quiet!" she shouted, while rubbing her sore arm. To her surprise, they obeyed. The noise cutting off reminded her of someone closing a thick door on a noisy party. They all looked at her and waited.
Taking a deep breath, Heather turned her attention to Dagan. "Any ideas what he's talking about? Why does he think we stole the helmet?"
Dagan shrugged. "I do not know. Perhaps this Lord Myrus is taking advantage of the situation." Seeing all the confused looks staring back at him, he hurried on. "What I mean to say is that if you wanted to steal something from the treasure room, then you couldn't ask for a better opportunity than when someone else breaks in and steals something. He could have taken the helmet and blamed it on us."
"Yes," Heather agreed, "he could have." Something didn't seem right about that. She didn't know this lord but if he was acting then he was a master. She dismissed thoughts of the helmet as something else occurred to her. "Dagan, can you use sorcery to open your cell?"
The others looked hopefully at Dagan but he only shook his head. "This cell has been heavily warded by a sorcerer." He pointed to a spot in the middle of the walkway. "All the wards were done from that spot and anyone who tries to undo them has to be standing right there."
Cassandra's head snapped up from where she had been studying the floor. "Could it have been the Church? I mean we all know that they wanted the prophecy but I bet you they wanted the helmet more. Maybe they think that by possessing the helmet
they can guard it and keep the prophecy from being fulfilled."
"Perhaps," Dagan answered, "but I doubt it." He left the cell bars and sat down on the edge of his small cot. "I imagine the Church knows the true meanings of the prophecy better than we do."
"What's that mean?" Heather asked.
"I told you that the common tongue prophecy is a horrible translation, but I didn't get the chance to explain. I was focusing on the helmet of Ashteroth at the time but there's so much more. In addition to wielding Ossendar and Ashteroth, Kelcer says two more things that are of interest at the moment. The common translation says that in addition to wielding Ossendar and having a halo of fire, the destroyer will be clothed like the shadows of the night and even the stones will flow in front of him to protect him."
"I take it that not exactly the original meaning," Heather said. She was staring intently at Dagan, wondering what new bit of bad news he was about to drop on them.
"Those meanings aren't even close," he paused, muttering to himself.
"What did you say?" Heather asked. "We can't hear you."
"I just thought of something," Dagan said. "These translations are terrible but the reason may not be intentional. It's possible that the translators simply didn't know these obscure bits of history."
"How obscure?" Mikela asked. It was the first thing she had said in a while.
"Ancient history," Dagan answered. "The Wars of the Races were fought thousands of years before the Dragon Order was destroyed. The meanings could just have been an honest translator trying to make sense of something he didn't understand."
"But you understand these meanings?" Heather asked.
"Yes, but only because I have spent my life studying ancient history," Dagan an fthe
"So what does being clothed with the shadows and the stones flowing in front of him mean?" Heather asked, glancing at Cassandra. The woman's earlier comments about 'being clothed with darkness' now made more sense.
"The actual translation is that the destroyer will be clothed like the Night Shadow and will be protected by the Flowing Stone. Between the first and second Wars of the Races, there was a human king named Lysander. His kingdom was little more than the capital city but they were a proud people. When a black dragon began terrorizing the surrounding countryside, Lysander and his best knights rode out to fight the beast. They laid a trap and killed it although everyone of the warriors except the king was killed. He was badly wounded but survived. He had the skin of the dragon made into a suit of armor."
"Armor?" Atock asked surprised. "How strong was it?"
"Supposedly, it turned away every sword, arrow, or lance thrust at it and Lysander became known as the Living Shadow because of his black dragon armor."
"What became of it?" Atock asked.
Dagan sighed. "The city was sacked during the Second War of the Races and not rebuilt. The armor remained in the family. One of Lysander's descendants named Rayner was sent to help defend the faerum city of Saprasia in the White Mountains during the Third War of the Races. The city was captured and apparently so was the armor."
"So you think that this armor is another sign of the restoration of the Dragon Order?" Heather asked.
"Yes." Dagan answered firmly. "The armor became known as Nerandall, which when translated means Night Shadow."
Now it was Heather's turn to sigh, there seemed to be a pattern here. "And the bit about the flowing stones? Let me guess it's an ancient ogre's shield or something."
"Dwarven shield, actually," Dagan said smiling, "called Ocklamoor which means Flowing Stone. It was supposedly given to the dwarves by their creator Orrik. The dwarven people as a whole wept when it was lost."
"How was it lost?" Heather asked. She wasn't sure if she believed all of this, but they had trusted Dagan to this point. Judging by their current situation, perhaps that was all the more reason not to believe.
Dagan frowned, "I'm not exactly sure. I think the Dwarven King was attacked while travelling in the mountains and the whole party was wiped out." He smiled, "The shield was never found."
"That's all great, but it doesn't really help us in our current situation," Enton said. He was sitting on the cot, his head in his hands. "How do we get out of here?" he demanded.
No one answered for a moment and then Cassandra said, "We have to figure out who could have stolen the helmet."
At that moment, Aaron gasped. It wasn't a gasp of pain but of sudden inspiration. "I think I know. It must be," he trailed off, his eyes were wide and his mouth open.
"What?" Heather demanded. "What is it?"
"The other thieves. I think I know who they must be."
"I fquo'm going to sleep," Enton growled. He still hadn't raised his head from his hands. "If Aaron decides to enlighten the rest of us, then someone wake me up."
Aaron swallowed hard, not bothered by Enton's grumpiness. "Do you remember me saying that I thought I saw one of the Zalustus' lieutenants in the library?"
Heather leaned her head against the bars. She did remember him reporting the sighting, but none of the others had seen anyone from Mul-Dune and they had been warned to keep watch for them. "You think they stole the helmet?"
"It makes sense," Atock said quietly, "Zalustus himself came after Ossendar."
Chapter 11
They entered the small village just before sundown and Flare was not pleased. The village would provide them shelter for the evening, but, undoubtedly, Abner would insist on staying there for a couple of days. That had been the pattern of the last two weeks.
The first several days had gone slowly as Flare was exhausted from his ordeal of climbing over the mountain, but he had gradually worked his way through. He was pleased that there hadn't been more issues with his using sorcery, and he still used his spirit to check their surroundings on a daily basis. The last thing he wanted was to get caught by surprise by any soldiers.
On the third day of travelling on this side of the mountain, they had come across their first village. The first night had been wonderful, friendly company, warm lodgings, and good food. It hadn't been until the next morning that Flare learned that Abner intended to stay here for three days and a rather heated argument had ensued. Flare had insisted leaving immediately and Abner had completely refused. He had been packing his things to leave on his own and Abner seemed to care less, when, of all things, Sadah stepped in and got the two men to compromise. Between the three of them, it would have been difficult to decide who was the most surprised by the turn of events. In the end, they had stayed a day and a half. Leaving just after midday on the second day in the village.
The argument had strained Flare's relationship with Abner. The old man took his role as backwoods priest very seriously. In truth, the old man was so much more than just a priest. He also was a merchant, doctor, courier, messenger, and a host of other things besides. Only after watching the priest interact with these people did Flare begin to have the first twinges of guilt. These people really depended on the old man and he in turn really seemed to care for them.
The guilt about the fight occasionally gnawed at Flare, but the anxiety and worry about the soldiers was also constantly with him. How would these villagers fare if the soldiers found them helping him?
This village was their fourth so far, but this was one was also the largest. The main street was a muddy stretch of land that separated the row of houses on the left from those on the right hand side. Small alleys led to other groupings of houses farther back among the trees. The houses were made of wood with steep roofs, each one had a chimney and every chimney was pumping out smoke. Even though it was warming up, it was not exactly warm yet; here and there, small patches of snow were scattered around in the shadows. A wooden walkway ran along the side of the muddy road and people were gathering to watch the newcomers stumble into town.< fees. /p>
Fully expecting to be sleeping on someone's floor, Flare was quite pleased to see a small inn. It was certainly nothing fancy, but the thought of his own bed cheered him immense
ly.
"That's the first time I've seen you smile in days," Abner said.
Flare nodded. "I think that's the first time you've spoken to me in days."
There was a pause and he was beginning to think the conversation was over when Abner grunted. "I hate being rushed through these towns. These are my people."
Flare let that go. Probably wasn't any point in discussing this again. Besides, something else was occupying his attention. "Is that a pub?" he asked pointing to a small building next to the inn.
Abner smiled, "Yes. Do I understand that you like to indulge?"
"Yes," Flare answered simply, already eagerly anticipating his first drink in weeks.
Flare had remained with Abner and Sadah out of a mixture of fear and curiosity. His first thought, after Abner had mentioned this Valley of the Ancients, was that it was some kind of trap, but that didn't seem right. In his limited experience with the old man, Flare found him to be trustworthy and kindly. He couldn't imagine this backwoods priest leading someone into a trap.
He had never heard of this valley before and he wasn't sure what to think of it. Could this valley be linked to the Dragon Order? Was it a coincidence that he met Abner or was it something more? Could it be some sort of divine influence? He still didn't entirely believe the whole story, but he would find out soon enough. They were getting close and he should know within a week or two. It also didn't hurt that this valley was in a direction that allowed him to get even farther from Telur. He still hadn't decided where to go next.
Upon entering the inn, there was a shriek of excitement. An old couple, both of whom were equally short and fat, came rushing over to greet them.
"I'm so glad you're here," the lady, whose name was Eunice, said. She gave both Abner and Sadah a hug and to Flare she gave a look of mistrust.
Eunice's husband, Judoc, was even less trusting. "I only have two rooms. You'll have to sleep on the floor near the fire," he said in way of greeting to Flare.
Valley of the Ancients: Book Three of the Restoration Series Page 14