The Making of a Mage King: Prince in Hiding Read online

  The Making of a

  Mage King

  Prince

  in Hiding

  ANNA WALLS

  Copyright ©2012 by Anna Walls

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.

  eBook

  Credits

  Editor: Crystal Clear Proofing

  Cover: Bruce A. Sarte

  Bucks County Publishing

  202 North 7th Street

  Bally, PA 19503

  http://www.buckscountypublishing.com

  Dedication and

  Acknowledgement

  I would like to offer my very special thanks to Dave Mushovic, who plays the part of Master Mushovic, and the little voice in the back of Sean’s mind in this book. He was instrumental in helping me to achieve a better understanding of the many aspects of swordsmanship. Because of his expertise, I was able to include information about teaching and learning the skill. I also learned about the different blades as well as some strategies with them that would have been missing without his help.

  Dave is a founding member and the head coach for The Anchorage Fencing Club, the oldest fencing club in Alaska. Dave coaches foil, epee, and saber, but he has fought and taught with a variety of blades from the rapier to the battle-ax for over 30 years. His love, however, is the epee, with which he will continue to compete until he dies, hopefully, on his feet, and with a blade in his hands.

  (www.anchoragefencingclub.com)

  The Making of a Mage-King * Anna Walls

  BOOK ONE

  

  Prince in Hiding

  ~~~~~~~

  First Magics

  Sixteen-year-old Sean stood in the queue, waiting his turn to compete with the saber. He looked up at the bleachers. He had no problem locating his dad; his parents sat in the same place every time. His dad was talking to their flat mate, Gordon. His mom couldn’t make it this time – she had to work. Every year since Sean’s first tournament, his parents gave him a choice. Since the tournament and his birthday were generally only a few days apart, Sean got to pick which event his parents would attend, since it was impossible for them to get both days off from work. Sean thought of a compromise. He really wanted them to watch him compete, so, as a birthday present of sorts, they could take him out for a special dinner afterward.

  When Sean, Gordon, and his father returned home that evening, they were greeted by a squad car waiting in front of their apartment building.

  “Sorry sir,” the officer said as he met them at their taxi. Sean’s father was a sergeant with the mounted police. The officer looked uncomfortable talking in front of Sean and Gordon.

  “Go ahead, officer. We’re family,” said Elias.

  “Sorry sir,” the man repeated. He hastily took off his hat and gripped it in his fists. “Sir, you need to come down to the station. It’s your wife, sir. She…she’s dead. You need…”

  Sean didn’t hear anything else. The monotone voices of his father and the officer no longer translated into words. He found the hood of the police car and leaned on it, his sword case hitting the pavement with an audible thump.

  Gordon wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, I’ll get you inside.”

  When school started two weeks later, Sean didn’t go; he still wallowed in a fog, aimless and lost. Elias was no better, though perhaps more animated. He went from brooding in his chair for hours, to pacing the floor furiously. If he spoke, it was generally one version or another of the same thing. “Analeace was found dead at the door to the tower where she worked, and no cause could be found. They say it was as if she had simply stopped living. People here don’t simply stop living. They’re not looking hard enough.”

  After Elias was allowed to go back to work, Gordon took Sean to school and then spent hours helping him catch up on what he’d missed. He was also there to keep him going – quite a difficult task at first.

  Between relentless lessons with Gordon and those with the sword, Sean slowly started functioning again. When Master Mushovic decided to include the claymore in his sword lessons, he discovered it to have a very satisfying weight with which to work out his emotions.

  For an entire year, Sean struggled at every turn. The vacancy left by his mother’s death haunted him. His grades slipped, but Gordon made sure they didn’t slip too far. He wanted to quit his lessons with the sword, but his father wouldn’t hear of it. It helped that every class left him feeling like he’d won something, though he couldn’t identify what.

  On the anniversary of his mother’s death, Sean and his father visited her grave. They stood there, not speaking, with their hands in their pockets, wishing it wasn’t raining.

  Ten days later, Sean found himself back at the cemetery, this time standing over his father’s grave. Killed in the line of duty was all he knew. The particulars of the incident had not been released, nor had the results of the investigation – Sean was still a minor and Gordon wasn’t family.

  With the first anniversary of his mother’s death only a few days old, Sean felt so lost; he just wanted to stay in his room. He stopped going to school and even skipped his sword lessons. Not even the Sword Master’s heavy claymore could ease this pain. The fact that he suddenly didn’t have time was the only thing that kept him from falling apart completely.

  The day after his father’s funeral, Gordon took him to the bank and they opened his parents’ safety deposit box. Inside, Sean found several leather pouches containing an assortment of gold, silver and copper coins of a completely unfamiliar minting. Among the pouches were two stones. Sean remembered the one he had been given nine years earlier. A kindly old man from another era, dressed in armor and bleeding to death in an alley, had given him a sword belt and a pale blue stone. It was identical to these two in shape, but their color was very different; one was red, and the other blue, but it was a much darker blue than the one he had. He remembered thinking at the time that if he’d had more of those stones, he’d have a blue orange. He’d liked oranges then, but ever since that day, he hadn’t been able to look at an orange without seeing the bloody hand that had given him the stone. He took up the stones and fit them together. Well, now I have half an ‘orange’. He thought of the soft rabbit pelt he’d wrapped that stone in. He hadn’t opened his treasure box since then either; he’d stowed it deep in his closet, in his favorite hidey-hole, and never went there again. The sword belt, he’d stowed under his mattress; it was a wonder his mother never found it, then again, he’d never looked to see if she had.

  Gordon pulled an envelope out of the box and handed it to Sean. Thoughts of the past vanished. His name was written on the front in his father’s bold hand.

  With hands that threatened to tremble, he opened the letter and read.

  My dearest son of my heart;

  If you are reading this letter, it means that I too have died. It is my hope that Analeace and I were able to teach you everything you will need to know in the days to come. In case Gordon is not with you either, I must tell you that you were meant for greatness – but not in this world. Gather the six stones to you. They are your blood-right and you must learn to use them as you learned to use your sword. They will be your protection from now on.

  I am so very proud of you, and I wish with all my heart that you could have been my son in truth,
but that was not to be. You are my rightful king, though such a title is only so much air here.

  Ferris and Cisco have two more stones and Gordon has another one. I hope they have been able to find the last stone; it has been missing for several years now, but even so, they will teach you how to begin to use them. Go to them with what else rests in this box. They will be expecting you.

  May the Lord of Light

  guide you.

  Your most loyal guardian,

  Elias Moselle of the Royal Guard

  Sean looked at Gordon, who had read the letter over his shoulder. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “Put that and the stones in your pocket. Let’s go see Ferris and Cisco.” Gordon scooped up the pouches of coins and followed.

  As they walked back to the apartment building from the bus stop, Sean felt like he was walking on wet ice. Everything he knew about his life was slipping out from under him. There were six stones after all, and they were supposed to be of some use. The man and woman he had known all his life as Mom and Dad, were not. If Elias isn’t my father, who am I? Air for his lungs seemed difficult to come by. He was a king – somewhere ‘not in this world’. “If I…” His voice failed him. “If my name isn’t Moselle, what is it?”

  With a sigh, Gordon answered his question. “Your name is Seanad Éireann Barleduc-Ruhin, and as soon as you can wrest your crown from your Uncle Ludwyn, you will be king, and rightfully so.” His voice sounded strange. “Two of your protectors are now dead, and though the circumstances might be seen as pure dumb luck, we must assume that you are no longer safe here. You must learn everything about who and what you are – it can’t be put off any longer. Then we must find a way to take you back.”

  Questions refused to organize themselves into coherent words; questions about his family, the stones…questions about everything…flung themselves through Sean’s head like a tidal wave, or perhaps a frag grenade.

  At their building, they didn’t go all the way up to their apartment; they stopped on the fifth floor and proceeded down the hall to Ferris’s apartment. Sean had been there a million times; they had been up to the Moselle apartment many times as well. Ferris and Cisco had been close friends with the Moselles and with Gordon; they had attended both funerals, but what did they have to do with this?

  Cisco invited them into the living room with a wan smile. She still grieves for Elias, and for Analeace too, I suppose. I envy her. I wish I could wallow in grief for a while too, but it seems I’m not to be allowed the luxury.

  Ferris stood to offer them the couch, and when they were settled, he and Cisco each produced another stone. The one Ferris laid on the coffee table was shiny black and the one Cisco produced was gleaming white. Gordon then set another one on the table; his was green. As Sean added his parents’ two stones to the collection, Cisco said in a soft voice, “The red stone belonged to Elias, and the dark blue one had been Analeace’s stone. We lack only the element of air, Seanad. Your Uncle Clayton carried that stone, and he has been dead for nine years now. We were never able to find the stone he carried. It is an unfortunate loss, but at least you will not be completely defenseless.”

  The muscles in Sean’s stomach began to quiver, but he tried to keep his head and ask the right questions. He had just learned a very unsettling piece of information. A man with kindly eyes, wearing studded armor, sitting in blood-splattered snow, kept flashing through his mind. “What’s the difference?” he asked, “without the sixth stone?”

  Ferris leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Each stone is a focus for one of the elements of magic. Here is earth, fire, water, light and dark.” He pointed at each stone he described. “With all six stones together, they create a whole far stronger than any one alone. Once you learn how to make use of each one of the magics, combining them in twos and threes is the next step. As soon as you master that, you will begin to use the stones to magnify and focus your skill. With these stones, even if you only have a little of one or more of the magics, the stones will help to fill the gap.”

  “The difference is,” said Cisco, “without all of them, wielding them as a whole, is impossible. The whole is far more powerful than any part, and if you happen to be weak in air magic, the other stones will not help you to fill the gap. Without air magic…”

  “I…have the sixth stone,” said Sean. In his head, he had fit them all together into the fist-sized orb their shapes would make. The size had been right, but the colors were very different.

  Gordon, Ferris and Cisco all looked at him with open astonishment.

  Sean clenched his hands tightly in his lap to hide their unsteadiness. “I found this man in the alley one day. He was dressed funny; he wore armor and a cloak, but I didn’t know that then.” Sean gasped for more air and plunged on. “He was bleeding. He had killed someone. I never knew who he was. He never gave me a name. He gave me a real pretty blue stone, just like these. He told me to keep it secret and safe.” Once again, he felt the old man’s cold and bloody hand.

  Sean ran from the room as his uncle’s words echoed in his mind. ‘It is valuable, very valuable, so you must keep it safe and never give it to anyone, no matter how pretty she is.’ Tears were streaming down his face, and he was young enough to be unable to control them, and old enough not to want anyone to see. My parents are dead. My ‘parents’ aren’t even really my parents. That thought was so much worse than the fact that they were dead. And now, on top of everything else, he learned that the man he had watched die had been his uncle. My uncle died right there in front of me, and all I did was run and hide.

  Sean didn’t know how long he lay there on his bed, but the room had grown dark.

  Gordon came in once, but Sean ignored him and he left without saying anything.

  Eventually Sean drifted off, but his sleep was filled with scenes of death, both real and imagined. His mother walking up to a door in a dark parking lot, and then just crumpling like a broken doll. His father riding through Central Park, and then some junky shoots him in the back. His uncle sitting in that alley, blood splattered everywhere, staring at him with gentle eyes that had suddenly gone empty.

  That last scene woke him with a start. He remembered the weight of the sword belt in his arms, the blood-slick stone clasped hard in his fist. He’d hidden that belt under his mattress. He remembered how hard he’d worked to wash all the blood off and then to make sure his mother would never find it when she made the bed; it had been the only place big enough to hide it.

  He flipped the light on and shoved the mattress to the floor. The sword belt looked a lot smaller than he remembered. He picked up the belt and pulled each blade from its sheath. The long sword’s long, straight blade was three and a half feet long; a bit longer than the sword he used in his fencing class. The short sword had been carefully made to match, but its blade was only two feet long. The dagger was nearly eighteen inches of evil, slicing edge; looking like a miniature scimitar. Obviously it would come out of its sheath only when the fighting got up-close and personal.

  After looking each one over carefully, he slid them back into their sheathes and wrapped the belt around them, remembering the last time they had been wrapped like that. Then he dug his long-unopened treasure box out of the back of his closet.

  He fingered through the things that had been so important to him when he was little. There was a shiny white skull that might have belonged to a small dog. It was only missing a few teeth; one of them he could remove himself. There was a braided string; it was about a quarter-inch wide and maybe six inches long, woven of red, white, green, and blue threads. He’d stashed other little things in the box too, odd buttons, a piece of a zipper he had learned how to take apart and fix again, a wooden spool of orange thread that was almost empty, a short telephone cord, (the kind that goes from the receiver to the body of a phone). Left for last, he unwound the tattered white rabbit pelt, rolling into his hand the blue stone.

  Setting aside the box, he held the stone up to the l
ight. What kind of gemstone is pale blue? He could see no impurities within the grain; in fact, he could see no grain at all. It could have been a carefully shaped and polished piece of glass for all he knew. He fisted it, painfully aware that it was no longer slick with blood. Then he scooped up the sword belt and went in search of answers.

  Gordon sat in the unlit living room, staring at his hands, or perhaps staring at nothing. He looked up when Sean came in. A look of sincere pain crossed his face when he saw the sword belt.

  Sean set the stone and the sword belt on the coffee table. “Tell me about my family,” he said as he took a seat across from Gordon. The question echoed heavily in the empty room.

  Gordon sighed. “Your father was Crown Prince Deain Ruhin. Your mother was Lady Kassandra Barleduc. Your father had two younger brothers, Ludwyn and Clayton.” Gordon shook his head sadly. “Ludwyn’s personal magic was almost exclusively black magic. He had no interest in developing any of the others, though he could use the stones. No one knows exactly how it happened.” Gordon sighed again. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and scrutinized his hands. “It was discovered that Ludwyn had a penchant for blood and torture, so King Lardeain had him locked away in a tower; he couldn’t bring himself to punish him as the laws demanded.” He sighed again, but the breath was shaky. “In his isolation, Ludwyn must have figured out a way to reach one of those stones guarded by the crown, or perhaps out of desperation, he developed his own ability. The hinges on his door were…melted. The next anyone knew, Lardeain and your father were dead. Clayton succeeded in getting your very pregnant mother and the family treasure away, along with the rest of us. Elias and Ferris were members of your mother’s personal guards, and Analeace was her personal maid. Cisco was with her too at the time, and I was merely in the right place at the right time. Others who had been loyal to Lardeain and Deain were either already dead, or making their own escape.”