The Guardians: Book One of the Restoration Series (10 page)

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?”

“Yes sir.” Flare replied, somewhat sullenly.

“Good. Do you have anything that you need to get?”

“Yes sir. I left my sword with the soldiers.”

“Get it, and let’s get going.”

As Flare retrieved his sword and pack, once again he thought, ‘What have I gotten myself into?’

Chapter 5

Flare was tired, wet, and miserable. He and Sergeant Wellmann had left Telur and traveled east for a day, each of them carrying a large pack on their backs as they trudged along through the slow falling rain. Wellmann set a pace that Flare thought would be easy to maintain, but as they walked, the pack on his back got heavier and heavier. The further they walked, the more his calves hurt, but he endured silently. He was determined to show Wellmann that he would not complain or demand any kind of special treatment. Wellmann probably expected him to ask that they slow down, but he just gritted his teeth and hurried to keep up with the sergeant.

They left Telur right after Flare's meeting with the King. He had been surprised that the two packs were already waiting for them when they left the meeting room. The cool morning air chilled him, but he knew that soon enough, the springtime sun would have him sweating. The guards at the gates hadn't looked twice at the two men and they passed quickly through to the shanty town that lay outside the walls.

Their passage set off a number of dogs to barking, and he thought that anyone who was still sleeping wouldn't be for long. Men and women with wary eyes turned from their fires to watch the two men pass. Several men moved closer to the road to better see them, but one look from Wellmann and the men turned and went on with their business. These men had experience judging who they should leave alone, and apparently Wellmann was such a man.

They followed the eastern road through the farmlands that lay all around Telur. The road was well maintained, and they made good time, despite the aching in Flare's calves.

They walked for hours until finally, Wellmann called a halt for lunch.

'Good thing,' Flare thought as he dropped his pack to the ground and wiped sweat from his face. His legs were throbbing and they were a little shaky. He stared upwards at the sky, judging how much daylight was still left by the position of the sun. It was an hour or so past high noon, and night was still hours away.

They moved off of the road into the surrounding grass to eat their quick lunch from the stores that Wellmann had ordered from the kitchen. All in all, the cheese and bread seemed like the best thing that Flare had ever eaten. He hadn't realized how hungry he had gotten; instead he had been focusing on putting on foot in front of the other.

He looked up and caught Wellmann looking at him.

“We'll slow our pace down a little this afternoon.” Wellmann said, his eyes studying Flare.

Flare was surprised; it was probably the last thing that he had expected the Sergeant to say. Was he showing respect for Flare's lack of complaining, or was he just taking pity on him? He nodded, “Okay. How much further do we have to go?” He asked, hoping that it wasn't far.

A smile seemed to flicker across Wellmann's face, but it was gone quickly. “We'll stop about an hour before dark, which will give us time to make camp before the sun goes down.”

They finished lunch in silence, washing down the cheese and bread with cool water from their flasks. All too soon, Wellmann stood up and motioned for Flare to put his pack on.

Flare was surprised when they turned northward off of the road. He had expected to continue to follow the eastern road, and he could still see farms off in the distance to the south and east. To the north though, the terrain was hillier and it appeared to be the beginning of a small forest.

With a sinking feeling, he realized why their pace would slow; it would be because of the hilly terrain. It didn't take long for him to miss the flat eastern road.

They made a camp in a clearing, located several miles into the forest. Wellmann seemed to know the area well, and was pleased with their progress. They set up camp quickly and then prepared dinner. Wellmann was quiet, only speaking to give orders.

After eating, Flare sat next to the fire and tried to stay awake. The combination of the hard march and now having a full stomach was making it difficult for him to keep his eyes open.

“Why don't you get some sleep?” Wellmann said, causing Flare's eyes to pop open.

He had almost fallen asleep sitting on a stump. He rubbed his head and nodded.
“Sounds good.
I'll see you in the morning.”

Wellmann watched Flare, “I'll wake you early tomorrow, and it will be a hard day. You will be exhausted tomorrow evening.”

'
I'm exhausted now!' Flare thought, but said nothing.

Wellmann continued to watch, and Flare flushed wondering if Wellmann knew what he was thinking. “Flare, we only
have
a few weeks. The training will be difficult, but if you do as I say then you will be as prepared as I can make you.”

“I will.” Flare said, “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me, thank the king. I wouldn't be doing this if not for him.”

Flare nodded but said nothing.

Three grueling weeks passed, slowly. Wellmann had been right, the training had not been easy and Flare was completely exhausted each day, but he was noticing an improvement. Each morning, they sparred and trained with the sword. Initially, Flare had thought
himself
proficient with the sword, but it only took one sparring session to prove him wrong. The sergeant had him bruised and bleeding from numerous minor cuts. After sparring, they worked to improve his physical condition. He would have to run for long distances, swim in the nearby river, as well as various other exercises. Later in the day, Wellmann would discuss topics that related to the guardians, such as geography, military strategies, and miscellaneous other subjects that he thought were important.