The King's Defense

by Shawn Robert Smith

  Contents

  The King’s Defense

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Copyright

  About the Author

  For a full-size image of this map, please visit my website at shawnrobertsmith.com.

  To my Dad

  CHAPTER ONE

  Day 1 — Morning

  "Stay back!" Linette exclaimed, pulling Winthrop two steps toward her, causing him to bump into Markus. "Never cross the path left behind by a Decayed."

  The three of them walked towards the village square, a horse-drawn carriage had overtaken them on the dirt road. Winthrop looked at the space she referred to and then to the carriage. Behind it, a wagon carried a master of the Decayed order. He was kept locked inside of a cage not large enough for him to stand.

  Winthrop, Markus, and Linette coughed from the cloud of dirt kicked up by the horses, mimicking the clip clap sounds made from the animal’s hooves. The debris stuck to their skin, sweaty from the summer heat.

  Winthrop humored Linette by avoiding the space behind the Decayed, but he knew it was harmless. He moved next to her, brushing against her shoulder. She flinched and moved closer to Markus. Winthrop guessed he’d managed to press against the latest set of bruises from her father.

  He’d been working all day for the past few weeks helping plant crops for the summer which left no time to think about his upcoming magic test. Now, he couldn’t think of anything else. He hoped to make the memory of his father proud by joining the same magical order: The Ox. It’d also provide him with an advantage over Linette’s father who lacked any magical talent.

  "You don't believe those scary stories your parents told you as a young child," Markus said, rolling his eyes.

  "They say if you cross the path of a Decayed, you'll catch an illness. You could catch a cold that will leave you bedridden for weeks or something much more sinister," Linette said as she crossed her arms against her chest. Her face bore a serious look; the one Winthrop adored since they first met ten years ago.

  “That’s not true,” Markus said.

  "My dad said so. His mom crossed one and died a week later, she did," Linette retorted. She kept her blond hair in a ponytail, revealing her grass-green eyes. Her face glowed like a firefly in the night. Winthrop's knees weakened, but he hoped not enough for anyone to notice. He let his smile drop when she looked to Markus for reassurance.

  "Do you think any of us will join a magical order?" Winthrop asked, changing the subject. They’d discussed it before, but today it weighed on him like a bag of flour on his shoulder.

  Tomorrow, a master wielder from each order will test all children who had turned seventeen within the past year. That included Linette, Markus, and him.

  "Absolutely," Markus said. "I'll wield magic from the Order of the Lion and rule the empire within eight years. Be sure to stay on my good side, and I'll keep you from starving." His lips formed a devious little smile.

  Winthrop punched him in the arm, and then shook it out, struggling not to express his pain. While he and Linette’s eye level matched, they both looked up to Markus. His arrogance and big heart mixed together, creating a charm that most girls found desirable. Had Winthrop worn the same tight clothing and forgot to shave, people would think him poor and lazy. Yet, on Markus it only made him look rugged and strong. He won every tournament in their small village, beating out grown men with ease. Markus was someone even Winthrop would follow into a losing battle.

  "If we have the talent, I want us to match. Foolish, I know, but I like your company," Linette said.

  "We are more likely to all have no talent than join the same magical order," Winthrop said. Linette frowned.

  The Creator blessed some with magical talent and the rest with boring skills like baking, blacksmithing, or farming, their likely professions if they have no magical ability.

  “I can't decide which I like best. I'd be happy with any of them...Anything to help me escape my father," Linette said.

  Winthrop clenched his fist.

  The carriage pulling the Decayed stopped. Winthrop looked at the group of magicians and focused in on the Decayed.

  Twenty years ago, before Winthrop was born, something happened to the Order of Man. Somehow their powers of decay, a natural process in the world, turned against them and poisoned their souls. Many referred to their betrayal of the other orders as the Night of Sorrow. They murdered all members of the Council of Orders and took control of the castle in Mapleglen. Within a few months, thousands of innocent lives were taken, commoners and magicians alike. It took five years to take the castle back. The Council of Light was formed with the three remaining orders and they called for the death of any current members of the Order of Man, now referred to as the Decayed. That is, with a few exceptions. They kept three to use for testing future generations of children. If you passed the Decayed test, you were given the option of death or the removal of both middle fingers. Without fingers, one can’t produce magic. Yet, those without those specific appendages were often shunned.

  Two light magic wielders--a man and a woman--jumped out of the wagon and surrounded it, their blue and white robes billowing in the wind. The third stood next to the cage and wore a red robe and bore a thick beard that resembled a lion's mane. Winthrop squinted his eyes when a bright red sphere formed in the man’s hand. The master moved his hands in a pattern, and a small lightning bolt shot out and struck the dark magic wielder. The sound of thunder filled the town square, stealing the attention of the entire village. The prisoner grimaced and moaned in pain through his gag. The red-robed wielder jumped down, causing the wagon to creak and to rise several inches.

  The villagers leered at the spectacle, and Winthrop managed a better look at the dark one. His face looked like he had climbed through a chimney, covering him in ash. Dark lines surrounded his eyes, spreading out in every direction like a cracked window. Winthrop recalled the patch of dead grass he’d found after last year’s test. The other masters had kept him in one spot overnight and his dark magic did its work.

  The stout wielder shouted at the prisoner, "Don't talk to anyone. I won't have you spreading your malicious lies to this nice village. You'll do your task and return to your cell at the castle."

  "Must they bring a Decayed here?" Linette asked. Her shoulders shifted against her neck.

  She squirmed. Winthrop began to grab her hand but refrained when she looked to Markus again.

  "They need him to test us for dark magic tomorrow,” Winthrop said. “The first time you use magic, you need help from a master. That’s the only reason they keep him alive. If you pass the Decayed test, they remove your middle fingers, stopping your ability to perform dark magic.”

  "I don't want him spreading his evil cooties near me," Linette said, wiping her hands on her white dress.

  Winthrop hoped that tomorrow he'd discover a magical talent, as long as it wasn’t dark magic.

  #

  The knock on the door to Winthrop's house thundered. He awoke, his mind running like a pair of pack horses at the start of their journey. He dressed, falling over twice, trying to put his pants on. The visitor knocked again.

  BOOM. BOOM.

  He opened the door to one of the wielder’s from yesterday. She almost needed to duck when entering their seven-foot door frame. She wore a dark blue cloak wrapped around her with a modest "V" cut neckline.

  "Winthrop?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "My name is Zyadrin. I'm her
e by decree of our King to test your ability in magic. Please come with me."

  He paused as she loomed over him. His body trembled, his nerves twitched in anticipation of what today meant. He gathered himself and followed her. As they walked, her curvaceous figure pulled his attention to her, allowing her movements to hypnotize his seventeen-year-old mind. When she glanced at him, he captured a memory of her face, yet dared not stare for more than a few seconds. It had a bronze complexion, and her luscious red lips contrasted with her black eyes. She looked at him again, giving him a smile that beckoned he smile in return. It startled him and he hoped she couldn’t read his mind.

  "Do not fear, child. At each test, attempt what we ask. We look forward to seeing what skill you have. I'm curious how much you take after your father.” Her melodious voice slowed his heartbeat, his body slackened.

  As they approached the forest, he noticed a flower along the path that looked wilted and black. Winthrop tried to push it from his thoughts, but it felt ominous.

  They reached the other masters, including the Decayed who remained imprisoned in his cell. The smell of death surrounded him, forcing Winthrop to cover his nose. The forest stood silent. Even the constant hum of bugs disappeared. A calm wind flew past Winthrop, filling his nostrils with the smell of wood and blowing pine needles against his ankles. He looked at the masters of magic, the morning light dimmed by the density of pine trees. Each wore a colored robe--white, red, blue, and black.

  Knilin, who stood to his far left, stepped forward. Winthrop knew him from prior visits. "Winthrop," Knilin began, "there are four types of magic. Each of us represents one type. You already know that I am of the Order of the Eagle from my time in the village. Darius, Order of the Lion, stands next to me. Then, Zyadrin who belongs to the order of the Ox. In the cell, we hold Atwix from the Order of the Decayed. Today, we test your ability in each form. Some people lack any talent; the rest claim the ability to become proficient in one of them." He paced back and forth, moving without disturbing the blanket of pine needles and forest debris. Knilin had the build of a someone who spent much of his time running long-distances.

  His white robes glowed like daylight. "I will demonstrate the hand motions that you'll need to mimic for the first test. Don’t be alarmed when I push magical energy toward you. Without any training, you'll need some assistance with your first attempt."

  Knilin approached a pine tree and motioned Winthrop to draw closer. "For this test, I will command a pine cone to fall from around fifty feet. Attempt to use magic to slow its descent or even stop it if you can. Let me demonstrate."

  Knilin turned toward the tree, reached out his hand, and formed a glowing white sphere. The brightness of his magic lit up the forest, scaring away a pair of squirrels. A pine cone fell, and he pulled his hand in a left-to-right motion, extending the sphere into a straight line. He pushed the line to the space above the falling pine cone like a rope, linking the pine cone to the sky. It hovered five feet from the ground.

  "First, gather an emotion of confident hope. For it to work, believe it will work. Second, open your dominant hand and imagine that confident hope resting there. If you make it that far, move your hand in the same motion I made, and push it toward the pine cone. Let me know when you want to begin."

  Winthrop approached the tree and thought of something he hoped for, and almost knew would happen. He imagined himself coming home to his foster parents, bringing them the good news of his magical abilities. "Ready." Winthrop opened his hand but knew at that moment, that he lacked confidence. No white ball materialized. The pine cone dropped with a thud and rolled a few paces away. Winthrop looked at the ground, avoiding the master's eyes.

  "Don't despair, Winthrop. Let's try the next test," Knilin said. Darius led him fifty feet to a campfire. The flames reached a foot higher than the tallest piece of wood. He felt the heat on his shins and the fire crackled with delight. Darius’s stature made him look taller. His muscular chest added to the image of a strong, fierce beast. Darius reminded Winthrop of a soldier, but his red robes declared he hailed from the Order of the Lion.

  "The second type of magic revolves around power and greatness. It can create and manipulate fire and lightning. Focus on thoughts of loyalty or devotion. Copy the motions I show you to move the flames."

  Darius created a sphere like Knilin's, but red in color, and performed his magic. The flames moved as if a strong wind blew them to one side, but the air around him remained still. Winthrop slumped over. His mouth tasted bitter. He had no strong loyalties yet. His parents died over a decade ago, his two friends would move on with their lives after today, and he didn’t know if he’d pass any of these tests. Regardless, he shot his hand out before him and focused. Nothing happened.

  "Before we move on, how do you know that without more practice, I won't succeed?" Winthrop asked.

  Knilin approached and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "When we lend you assistance during each test, it is enough to bring about any power you possess." Winthrop nodded and took a deep breath of burning wood.

  Zyadrin waved her fingers, and he followed her to a small dam in the river that provided water to their village. The wooden dam leaked in several places, defeating its purpose as a barrier. "The Order of the Ox provides strength and stabilizes things. Focus on your resolve and copy my hand motions."

  Zyadrin filled both hands with blue light and moved them in a mirror image of each other. The wood made creaking and snapping noises as her magic reinforced one of the holes. The water ceased flowing at that point, but other spots remained damaged.

  Winthrop’s body tingled with excitement and his mouth watered. Ever since his childhood, he dreamed of magic. He'd slay monsters and protect the kingdom. He'd help the unfortunate and bring peace to all lands. He'd save Linette from her father and shower her with love and gifts.

  He’d fulfill his goal of honoring his father.

  This emotion felt strongest to him. Winthrop opened his hands and two blue spheres formed. His hands vibrated like lightning bolts striking him again and again. Tears dripped down his face, redirected by his smile. He felt powerful. He pushed the ball toward the dam and it made similar noises. He closed off one of the leaks. Refusing to release his magic, he reinforced the rest, making the dam functional again.

  "I did it!" Winthrop exclaimed and let the spheres disappear.

  The three magicians beamed at him. The Order of the Ox would invite him to train with them, to learn real magic. Zyadrin smiled at him, momentarily forgetting about Linette. The conflicting emotions threw him off balance.

  "Winthrop, you still must take one more test," Zyadrin nudged.

  "But why? I thought people only claimed one power. I've shown my ability in one."

  "For completeness, we test all four powers. Come this way."

  This last test determined ability in dark magic, which caused decay and death. Both were part of the natural order of things, but the Decayed perverted it, using their magic for selfish reasons and evil purposes.

  She led him down a path to the carriage. They jumped in and took off, leaving the other two masters behind. It seemed odd that Zyadrin left them behind when they planned to let the Decayed out of his cell soon. He looked back and saw them taking a short-cut through the forest, calming his fears.

  "What do you know of your father’s death, Winthrop?" Zyadrin asked

  ”The Council of Light told me that he encountered a group of Decayed on his journey home. As they ravished a village, my father formed a defensive shield around them. It protected the villagers long enough for reinforcements to arrive. Yet the spell cost him his life, turning him into a statue. One day I’ll travel there to see him.”

  "I see. Did the Council mention why your father traveled to that village?”

  “No, just that he was passing through on his way home.”

  “Did you know that magic users sometimes show some ability in a second form of magic?"

  "No, Knilin mentioned we could beco
me proficient in one."

  "Proficient in the stronger of the two, but you may have an ability in another."

  Winthrop felt like Zyadrin was trying to lead him somewhere besides the next test. "You think I'll pass this next test." A statement.

  "Yes. The Council of Light lied to you, Winthrop."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Your father wielded dark magic as his dominant form."

  Why did she tell him this? His father saved a village of people. The King included his story in the Book of Legends. In a seated position, the movement of her hips could no longer hypnotize him. He saw cracks in her skin and a darkness in her eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. Her smile turned from seductive to stern.

  "Let us finish this, son. We have others to test," Knilin said, when the rest of the group caught up with them.

  "Is it true? About my father?" Winthrop asked.

  Knilin looked at him and then shot a glance at Zyadrin. "What are you filling his head with?"

  "Nothing, I thought he should know his family history, given what I expect will happen during the last test," Zyadrin said.

  "It's not passed down from father to son," Darius said, moving behind the carriage. He made a wheezing sound with each breath.

  Zyadrin's comment irritated Winthrop like a splinter stuck in his hand, blood flowing around and through the piece of wood like a broken dam.

  Zyadrin bated him. "Even now they fear to tell you the truth, Winthrop. Your father belonged to the Order of the Decayed, not the Ox."

  Her comments hit him like a mallet in the chest. "You lie! My father saved a village from the Decayed, and he used magic from the Order of the Ox to do so."

  He spared a glance at the other two masters. They glared at Zyadrin. Their bodies faced her and away from him. Did Zyadrin speak the truth?

  "But the Council of Light told me to my face that he belonged to the Order of the Ox," Winthrop said.

  Darius turned to him after another nasty glance at Zyadrin.