Ossendar: Book Two of the Resoration Series by Christopher Williams Page A

walls. The dust seemed to fill the entire room and he fought back the urge to sneeze.
    Hearing nothing, he moved forward toward the back right side of the warehouse, the floorboards creaking as he walked. Here the shadows were the darkest, but still nothing moved. In the very back of the corner he found the stairway that he knew was there. It was an old metal stairwell that spiraled up to the second floor. He climbed the stairs quickly but quietly, trying not to make the metal ring with each footstep.
    Reaching the second floor, he moved away from the stairs. He grimaced at the sound his feet made on the floorboards. The boards didn't get much use and they were creaking with every step. This floor was also mostly empty, but a doorway lay just to his right. A glow outlined the door; he stepped up and knocked softly twice.
    “Enter,” a muffled voice called out.
    He turned the handle of the door and pushed it open without so much as a creak. The room beyond was dimly lit by four or five candles that were spread out along the walls of the small room. Five chairs were positioned in a semi-circle. Four of the chairs were already filled, and the man sighed, realizing that he was last again. He bowed and moved to fill the last empty seat.
    “What have you learned?” A voice asked quickly, not even waiting for him to sit down.
    He paused halfway down, surprised at the urgency in the voice. This secret order had existed for almost two thousand years and patience was one of the order's cornerstones. He lowered himself on down before he answered. “Quite a bit, actually.”
    “Well, are you going to tell us or should we guess?”
    The man frowned; the questioner seemed excited or perhaps angry. Either way it didn't seem to fit. “The boy is learning magic and sorcery.”
    Several gasps betrayed the surprise that this statement caused, but a woman answered in a calm voice. “We knew that he was learning magic, but are you sure about the sorcery?”
    “Yes,” the man answered quickly, “but how did you know about him learning magic?”
    “It's not important.” The questioner's voice snapped. “What is important is that you assured us he was not the one prophesied about. How can this be? How can we have been so wrong?”
    “I don't think we were wrong. One of the few things we believe absolutely and without question is that the one of prophecy will be born under the sign of the prince. Flaranthlas was not, he was born under the sign of the tree. Therefore he can not be the subject of the Kelcer prophecy.” The man said, leaning back in his chair.
    “Well how can that be?” The questioner asked. “How can he not be the one if he is doing these things?”
    “I have been thinking a lot about that,” the man answered, “and I think that Flaranthlas may be a precursor to the one prophesied about.”
    “A what?”
    “A precursor, uh in this case a person that fits many parts of the prophecy but is not the one prophesied about. I think that Flaranthlas may be preparing the world for the appearance of the one who will restore the Dragon Order.” The man paused, but none of the others said anything, so he continued, “In fact, I think that we might see several precursors prior to the child of prophecy's appearing.”
    Silence greeted his words as the others contemplated this news. “Several others?” Some one finally managed, “You mean several more like him that are learning magic and sorcery?”
    “Well, yes.” The man frowned at the other person's words. Was that fear in his voice? This was, after all, what they had worked so hard for.
    “Thank you,” The questioner's voice said, although there wasn't much thanks in the tone. “You have given us something to think about.” A brief pause, “Keep an eye on the boy.”
    It took all his effort not to snort. Keep an eye on the boy? Of course he would keep an eye on him.
     
     
    Aaron, Atock, and Enton spent their evenings over the next week looking for Elona, but