Keeper of the Flame
Second in Command Series - Orrick
Elizabeth Rose
ROSESCRIBE MEDIA INC.
Copyright © 2019 by Elizabeth Rose Krejcik
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual organizations or persons living or deceased is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without the author’s written permission.
Cover created by Elizabeth Rose Krejcik
Edited by Scott Moreland
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
From the Author
About Elizabeth
Also by Elizabeth Rose
Chapter 1
Blake Castle, Devonshire, England 1386
Immortality should have been a blessing, but for Orrick Pendragon, it was naught but a curse.
As he caressed the smooth glass of his gazing orb, Orrick stared deeply into the foggy depths, lost in thought. Anxiety coursed through him causing a bead of sweat to form on his brow.
It had been a very long time since he’d used the orb to look into his past. Mayhap he should have left things as they were, but lately he had a longing he couldn’t control. Something inside him seemed to challenge his every thought. It caused him to feel that black void of emptiness tinged with guilt. The feeling was stronger than ever lately. Surrounded by a castle filled with people, Orrick shouldn’t be so lonely. Yet, he felt like a deserted isle as he continued to live a life that no longer held purpose.
His memories of her should have diminished by now, but they hadn’t. Some memories never died . . . just like him. Common sense told him not to stir up old feelings, but his heart convinced him that he had to see her once again.
Orrick’s pulse sped up when the cloudy crystal cleared and he saw his late wife within it. It had been too long since he gazed upon her angelic face. One hundred years ago today is when she died, and he still felt as if he were to blame.
Lady Petronilla of Canterbury smiled up at him as if she had never left his side. Orrick watched the vision unfold as his younger self held Petronilla tightly in his arms, kissing her and protecting her from all evil. He had been so gullible thinking his powers would be enough. Orrick had been a knight at the time, and felt invincible. He believed his strong skill with weapons combined with his natural powers of magic could protect his lover from any harm or danger.
Sadly, he found out how wrong he was.
With no one to guide him, Orrick hadn’t considered that his strongest asset would also end up being his biggest foe. He’d kept it a secret that he was really a sorcerer at first, thinking all his powerful ways would bring him the love and happiness he sought. Damn his need for love! And bid the devil, he’d been so foolish that he had no idea how much hurt would come from his decision.
Orrick’s arrogance mixed with self-importance was the beginning of the end for everything and everyone he held near and dear to his heart.
Being invincible, Orrick was always victorious in battle. He held the power of immortality and could not be killed. Of course, no one knew it. No enemy could harm him, no foe could strike him down dead. Unfortunately, this didn’t hold true for Petronilla or for Orrick’s friends. Being immortal was a double-edged sword. There was an enemy that even he could not defeat when it came to protecting those who were close to him. This enemy was none other than old age and death.
Lifting his hand to stroke his long, white beard, Orrick watched the vision of himself in the globe, almost forgetting that he was once a man with a spring to his step and a passion for life. He’d been a lady’s man, handsome and dashing. Aye, he was someone that every soldier and knight wished to be. But not anymore.
Orrick remained in his shapeshifting guise of an old man for the last hundred years by choice, ever since he lost Petronilla. It was mainly because he never wanted to fall in love again.
Aye, Orrick wished he were any man but himself. What he wanted more than anything was to be able to die. He’d welcome death over the pain of watching others grow old and perish. He was tired of feeling as if he’d cheated death when others more worthy than him deserved to live and didn’t.
“Orrick?” came a small voice from the door.
Startled from being in deep thought and not aware someone approached, Orrick quickly moved his hands away from the gazing ball. With it went the vision of the only woman he had ever loved. Loneliness returned even stronger than before. He released a breath of air from his mouth, turning his head slightly to see Lord Corbett Blake’s six-year-old ward, Noah, standing at the open door to his chamber.
“What are you doing, Orrick?” asked the boy curiously. He never tired of asking questions – most of them being ones that Orrick could not, or would not answer. Still, he enjoyed the company of the lad because Noah reminded him of himself at that age.
“It’s nothing, Noah,” he said, not feeling good about lying to the boy since he felt as if he didn’t want to have secrets from him. Noah’s innocence was refreshing, and Orrick wished it would last forever. Sadly, that would all change once the boy grew up and learned not to trust others after all.
In a way, Orrick felt like he was the boy’s mentor, and that was the only spark in his life right now that kept him going. “Come in,” he said with a nod.
“Lord Corbett doesn’t like it when I visit you in the tower,” Noah reminded him, but hurried into the room anyway.
“Lord Corbett was once a young boy like you and I remember it well,” Orrick answered with a chuckle. “Did you know that I mentored him when he was just about the same age as you are now?”
“Mentored? Do you mean Lord Corbett was learning to be a powerful sorcerer like you?” Bright blue eyes, the same color of his guardian’s stared up in awe.
Orrick chuckled again and patted the boy on the back. “Against his will, he was. He fought it with every fiber of his being. He didn’t want to be a sorcerer’s apprentice the way you do. The only thing Corbett ever wanted to be was a knight, a lord, and one of the best warriors that ever lived. He longed to follow in his father’s footsteps – that is, in everything but matters of the heart.”
“What about you, Orrick? Did you always want to be a sorcerer?” The curious boy crossed the room and lifted the lid of a humpback trunk with two hands, stretching his neck to see the contents inside.
“I thought I did, but now I’m not so sure.” Orrick walked over and gently removed Noah’s hands from the lid before closing the trunk again.
“I think it would be wonderful and exciting!” Noah looked up into the air, staring into the space as if he were daydreaming. “I wish I was a mighty sorcerer like you.” He climbed up on a stool next, leaning closer to the small wooden table. Putting his hands on the crystal orb the way he’d seen Orrick do, he started to rub his palms over it.
“Nay, you don’t want to be a sorcerer like me. Believe me, you don’t.” Orrick snatched the globe away from the boy and headed over to one of the higher shelv
es that the child couldn’t reach. “Besides, I was always a sorcerer. I was born that way and didn’t have a choice.” He looked back over his shoulder. “What did you want, Noah? Why did you come to my tower room against Lord Corbett’s orders?”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” The boy humorously slapped himself on the head. “The steward sent me to fetch you.” When he smiled, Orrick could see the empty spot where the boy had recently lost a tooth.
“He did?” Placing the gazing orb carefully onto the high shelf, Orrick ran a reverent hand over it, still thinking about Petronilla. “Whatever for?” He turned partially and glanced over his shoulder at the boy. “Is someone sick or wounded? Do they need my healing skills? I’ll get my ointments and herbs at once.”
“Nay, that’s not it at all,” said the boy, reaching for some frankincense that Orrick had burning on a small wooden pedestal that was carved like a raven. “I like the raven,” said Noah, becoming distracted easily, running his fingers over the carved wing of the bird as if he were petting it. “I wish I was a raven.”
“Nay, you don’t!” snapped Orrick. “Don’t ever say that.” A shudder went through him, because he knew better than anyone that no one should ever want to be that dirty bird.
“Why not?” asked the boy, always dreaming and curious and pretending to be something or someone he wasn’t.
“It wouldn’t be fun to be a raven, just trust me on that one,” Orrick told him. “Now, stick to things that you can do. Like being a knight someday. Of course, first you’ll have to start out as a page. You’re the right age for that right now. I’ll ask Lord Corbett if you can start your training right here at Blake Castle.”
“Nay, I’d rather be a wizard like you.”
“Sorcerer,” he corrected the boy, never liking the connotations behind the word wizard. “I’m a sorcerer,” Orrick repeated, looking at all his jars of magical potions on the shelves.
“What’s the difference between a wizard and sorcerer?” Noah asked in his high, childlike voice. He slid off the stool and ran over and jumped onto Orrick’s bed next. It was a raised platform with a thick, stuffed pallet hanging from ropes above it, stuffed with straw. Surrounding the bed were long, velvet, purple curtains hanging all the way down to the floor.
“The difference, I guess you could say, is that a wizard isn’t born with magic. He learns it. A sorcerer, on the other hand, is born a certain way and can do nothing at all to change it. Magic is a part of us, whether we like it or not.”
“I wouldn’t want to change anything about me if I was a sorcerer,” said the naïve child.
“Things aren’t always as they seem, Noah,” explained Orrick. “Sometimes they start out good but can end up being very bad.”
“I don’t understand. What is so bad?” Noah jumped up and down on Orrick’s bed. The ropes holding the mattress suspended over the dais creaked under the boy’s weight, swaying the pallet slightly. “What do you want to change about being a sorcerer?”
What indeed! Orrick wished he could change everything about himself right now. But how could he even start to explain it? The boy wouldn’t understand. No one would.
“Get off of there,” Orrick grumbled, walking over and pulling the boy to the ground. “Now tell me, what is my message from the steward?”
Before the child could answer, Orrick heard a female voice from behind him.
“I’m here to see the old wizard,” a woman announced in a haughty-sounding voice.
Orrick turned around slowly, cringing at being called a wizard, not to mention old. “I’m not a wizard, I’m a sor . . . cerer,” he finished, his eyes fastening to the vision of loveliness standing just inside his door. With delicate features and thin bones, this young woman had long, blond hair that was loosely woven into a braid that reached all the way down to her waist. She looked like an angel standing in his doorway. Big, brown eyes looked so innocent and alluring all at the same time. Never had he seen such breathtaking beauty. Not since Petronilla. This stranger, in a way, reminded him of his lost love.
“Lady Hope,” called Harold, the steward, running up the stairs after her. “You cannot enter the tower room, and especially not without an escort!” The steward stopped in the doorway, huffing and puffing. He was an older, larger man that had never once climbed the stairs to the tower in all his years, as far as Orrick could remember. “I’m sorry about this, Orrick,” the man apologized. “I sent the boy with the message, but he never returned.” Harold dabbed at his receding hairline and stuck the cloth back into his pocket.
“Who are you?” Orrick asked the woman curiously, his interest piqued. Normally, he didn’t react like this to strange women, but she intrigued him. Somehow, a part of him wanted to believe this was Petronilla come back to life. He found himself wishing that by looking into his past he’d made that happen. However, he knew it was impossible and naught but wishful thinking. Aye, something about this woman held his interest and he needed to know more about her since she could not possibly be his lost love.
Curiosity ate away at him, just like it always did to the boy. Orrick found himself having to know why she’d be bold enough to show up at his doorstep unescorted. “Why do you want to see me?”
“I am Lady Hope Threston and I’m in need of someone to conjure up a spell,” she told him. “I heard you are a sorcerer, so I figured you could do it.”
“Hope,” he repeated her name, muttering to himself. This only made him think about how he’d given up hope of ever falling in love again. “Why do you need a spell?”
“I’m searching for something and I think you might be able to help me. I’m willing to pay whatever you ask, of course. My father is Earl Hubert Threston III of Woodcreek Castle in Norfolk. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. He has a lot of money.” She strolled into the room without being invited in, drinking in her surroundings with wide, curious eyes, not unlike the mischievous boy.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m not in the habit of hunting down missing people,” he told her, feeling uneasy that she’d entered his private place as if she’d been invited in. Her presence there unsettled him greatly. “Perhaps a mercenary would serve you better.” Orrick tried to gently dismiss her in a kind nature without being too rude. Even if the woman didn’t care how rude she was being by walking around the room, he didn’t make it a habit to be disrespectful to women. She continued her perusal of her surroundings by looking at his books, trinkets, gemstones, and anything she could lay her hands on. He ran over and snatched a leather-bound book of spells from her clutch, not wanting her to look inside it and start spouting off the words within. Not that it would matter since she was only mortal, but it was none of her business and he wasn’t eager to share.
“Thank you, Orrick,” said Harold from the door. “I told her you wouldn’t be able to help her, but she wanted to hear it straight from you. Sorry to have bothered you. Come, Lady Hope. I’ll escort you back to the great hall.” The steward held out his arm without entering the room, but the girl did nothing to venture toward him.
“Aye, do stay for a bite to eat before you travel back to Norfolk. Our cook is very talented,” said Orrick, hoping she would get the hint to go.
“I’m not leaving,” she protested, shaking her head.
“I’m sorry, but as I said, I cannot help you.” Orrick tired of her stubbornness but not of her beauty. “You’ll have to go.”
“I see,” said the girl, wetting her lips with her tongue, obviously not believing him at all that he couldn’t help her on her mission. “You don’t want to help me,” she stated. “Why couldn’t you just say that, instead of lying to me?”
Her long blond braid hung over one shoulder. Her gown was purple and made of the softest velvet. The tippets of the sleeves looked to be constructed from fine silk and lace. As her brown eyes scrutinized him, it made Orrick feel as if she were looking right through him. She held her chin high and proud as if she could conquer the world if she so chose. She was certainly doing her b
est to conquer him and she’d almost made a hole in his resolve. He didn’t like anyone staring at him, because he felt ugly in his shapeshifting form of an old man. How he longed for a girl to gaze at him in that manner but when he was in his young and handsome form instead.
“So sorry to have bothered you,” she said flippantly, turning sharply on her heel.
As soon as she moved away from him, Orrick suddenly felt as if he didn’t want her to go. Intrigue filled him, bringing him back to life. He had to know more before she walked out of his life forever.
“Who is this person you seek?” he blurted out before she made it to the door.
She stopped and turned slowly, a half-smirk on her face as she met his gaze once again. It was almost as if she’d purposely been throwing out a lure and he unknowingly took the bait. The wench was bold enough to look him in the eyes without dropping her gaze.
“I never said it was a person I sought,” she told him, fully turning around. “As a matter of fact, it isn’t a person at all. What I am searching for is an object. I’ve heard wondrous, mystical stories of it and also the legends that surround it. I want it and will not stop looking until I find it, no matter what it takes.”
“Find what?” asked Noah, running over and standing at Orrick’s side.
The girl’s eyes darted down to the boy. “Who are you?” she asked with a half-smile.
“I’m Noah, ward of the lord of the castle, Lord Corbett Blake.”
“Really,” she said, and Orrick could just see her devising a plan in her head to use the boy to get what she wanted. “It seems we have more in common than I thought.”
Keeper of the Flame: Second in Command Series - Orrick Page 1