The Prince of Warwood
and
The Sword of the Chosen
J. Noel Clinton
Copyright© 2013 by J. Noel Clinton
All rights reserved by the author. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
ISBN: 978-0-9773115-2-1
LCCN: 2013902927
The Prince of Warwood
and
The Sword of the Chosen
J. Noel Clinton
Chapter 1
The Trek
Dublin Minnows was dead! He was dead, and it was all Xavier’s fault. It didn’t matter how many times his father tried to reassure him that there was nothing he could have done. The fact of the matter was that his father and the prophet had lied to him. He knew without a doubt that he could have saved Mr. Minnows. Surely somewhere deep inside him he possessed an ability that could have prevented his murder. After all, with the prophet’s help, he called upon such a power to save his uncle. His ability to heal Mike when no healer could only confirmed Xavier’s suspicions. Dublin Minnows had died for nothing.
Xavier Wells stumbled up the mountainside as his gaze flickered repeatedly toward Robbie walking solemnly next to her mother. Robbie had been his best friend since kindergarten. She had always been there and stood by him, but now that he was responsible for her father’s death, she despised him and hadn’t spoken to him in over two weeks. Heck, she wouldn’t even look at him. She hated him. God! Robbie hated him.
At this thought, his chest tightened as regret clamped its cold, clammy hand around his lungs, leaving him shivering and gasping for his next breath. Tears flooded his eyes, and as he hastily swiped them away, his foot snagged on a root. His body pitched forward, and he nearly landed face-first into the trunk of a large beech. His father’s strong hands caught him inches from the tree.
“Whoa! Easy now. Take it slow.” His smooth, deep voice steadied Xavier’s reeling emotions.
He looked up at his father’s rugged, stubble-covered face and nodded.
“How’re you holding up, son?” he asked.
He shrugged. He couldn’t very well tell his father that he still felt responsible for…well, everything. His father wouldn’t understand. He would only talk and talk and talk, trying to convince him that he wasn’t responsible and that it wasn’t his fault when everything in Xavier’s gut told him differently.
Dublin Minnows wasn’t the only death on his conscience. His mother had been killed by the same sick psychopath. Julia Wells had been searching for him when William LeMasters took her. LeMasters was hell-bent on causing misery for his father through any means necessary, and when he hadn’t succeeded in doing that through Xavier, he kidnapped and butchered Julia. But, it never would have happened if Xavier hadn’t run away from home following an argument with his grandparents.
From the moment he was born, his grandparents had loathed him. For years, he never understood why. Then, about ten months ago, he learned the truth. He was an empowered human with supernatural, magical powers. But even in this amazing world, he was still quite extraordinary. First, he possessed an unusual number of abilities for a boy his age. Most twelve year old children had one or two abilities whereas he had five, well six if you counted the dream premonitions. Furthermore, Xavier Wells was the future ruler of Warwood, a kingdom full of these special humans. He’d never known popularity and fame like he found in his father’s world. In Warwood, he was a celebrity, and since he was the spitting image of his father, his white curly hair was a constant beacon of his status. He received little relief from the constant stares, revered whispers, and general attention that being the Prince of Warwood brought with it.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” his father questioned, interrupting his thoughts.
“Yes, sir. How much farther to the next campsite?” he muttered, trying to change the subject.
“Another mile, two at the most,” he answered.
“Sire?” A tall, muscular man with blond hair jogged up to move into step next to the king. “Have you heard from Henrick and the men gathering supplies in Bern?”
“Yes, Loren. I contacted them yesterday. They’ve gotten the supplies and are already on their way to King’s Mountain. We should expect them in a few days,” Jeremiah responded.
As the men’s conversation drifted to setting up and running their new home at King’s Mountain, Xavier looked at the group of thirty silently following them. It was sad to think how they had ended up here. Just three weeks before, they were all nestled happily in their own homes, safe and warm. Now they were refugees, and LeMasters had control of their kingdom. With a heavy sigh, his eyes fell on Lana Applegate, and his guilt rose to new heights as his thoughts drifted to her daughter, Maggie.
Mr. Minnows and his mother had both died protecting Xavier whereas Maggie Applegate had died senselessly. A faithful servant of William LeMasters had released a deadly virus, killing Maggie and nine other children of mixed lineage, children who had both a common and an empowered parent. Of the eleven children infected, Xavier had been the only survivor, and he felt guilty for that. If it hadn’t been for his father, he would have died as well. In order to save him, his father had broken the law and used the King’s Key, to provide himself with healing powers. Afterwards, he had been arrested and endured a royal caning for misusing the magical staff. This brutal punishment was just one more thing to add to the growing list of things he felt guilty about.
He looked at Mrs. Applegate again. She walked apart from the others, and to Xavier, she looked lonely and depressed. Leaving the men to their conversation, he drifted back into the crowd until he fell into step beside her. She looked down at him with surprise before smiling. His gut fluttered madly.
“Hi,” he muttered. “I just thought that maybe you’d like to have someone to walk with.”
“That would be nice, Your Highness. Thank you,” she replied, draping an arm over his shoulders. “How are you doing, Xavier?”
He shrugged. “Okay, I guess. How are you?”
“Well…it’s hard sometimes. I don’t have any family left now,” she answered softly, tears swelling in her eyes.
Xavier took her hand and whispered, “You’re not alone…you have me…I’ll be your family. I know it’s not the same, but without you, Dad would have faced a lot more than a caning. He could have gone to prison or…worse.”
“The boy’s right,” Jeremiah added smoothly as he stepped into stride with them. “I owe you my undying allegiance, Lana.”
Her cheeks deepened in color as she responded softly, “I only did what I thought was right and just, my king.”
Near sunset, the group finally reached the last campsite on their journey to King’s Mountain. Most of the group simply collapsed on the spot, exhausted.
“Come on, son. Let’s help with gathering firewood,” Jeremiah suggested hoarsely, patting Xavier’s shoulder.
Once the campfire was ablaze, the group began unrolling their sleeping bags around its warmth. Rations of trail-mix, beef jerky, and water were distributed among the group as they settled around the fire. Other than a few soft conversations, the group was extraordinarily quiet.
It didn’t escape Xavier’s attention that Robbie settled on the opposite side of the fire with her mother and the Jeffersons. She was still doing her best to avoid him, and he couldn’t blame her. He deserved everything she dished out and more, but he wasn’t sure how much more of her silent treatmen
t he could handle.
“Son?” his father coaxed gently from beside him. “Try and get some rest; you look exhausted.”
“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, snuggling down into his sleeping bag.
Lana’s sleeping bag was next to his where she sat motionless, staring into the fire as if in a trance. In many ways, Lana reminded him of his mother. Her hair was long and dark like his mother’s had been, and she had an easy smile that made him feel special and that nothing mattered to her more than to be in his company. But, also like his mother, her eyes were terribly sad, and whenever she smiled, he didn’t know whether to smile back or cry.
Unable to tolerate the haunting despair on her face any longer, he grasped her hand and whispered, “Goodnight, Mrs. Applegate.”
She dragged her gaze from the fire and stared blankly down at him. For a moment, she didn’t seem to recognize him. Finally, she smiled her sad smile, leaned toward him, and kissed his cheek.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
Xavier slept fitfully. Nightmares continued to plague him. Long gone were the nightmares of his mother’s torturous death. The nightmares he had now were usually of his father’s caning or Dublin Minnows’ assassination. However, this night, he dreamt of Robbie.
He found himself in a damp cell, chained to the wall with lead shackles. Even though he was drenched in sweat, he shivered, and his entire body throbbed as though he had been beaten by a metal pipe. Then, the cell door swung open with a groan, and Robbie entered the room, smiling.
“Oh! Thank God! Robbie! Robbie, please, help me!” he pleaded.
But Robbie didn’t move and didn’t answer. She continued to stare at him with the same peculiar smile.
Befuddled, he questioned. “Why are you smiling, Robbie? Look, you need to hurry; they’ll be back any minute. Please, unchain me!”
Finally, she moved forward but stopped just feet from him. The strange grin fell from her face as anger and malice shadowed over her delicate features.
He shivered again and stammered, “R…Robbie?”
“Murderer!” she hissed.
“No, Robbie! It wasn’t my fault. I tried to…”
“MURDERER!” she screeched, pulling a long gleaming sword out from under her cloak and lunging at him.
Xavier’s eyes snapped open, and for an instant, he forgot where he was; then he remembered—the campsite. It was still dark and the fire was low. His father sat next to the fire stoking it and placing more kindling on the glowing coals.
“Sire, you really should get some sleep,” Lana whispered.
“I’m fine,” he replied quietly.
She studied him in silence for a moment before rising from her sleeping bag and moving to sit next to him.
“King Wells, you won’t be of any use to anyone if you pass out from exhaustion,” she told him, lightly touching his arm.
He looked at her then, and the couple sat in silence, simply staring at one another. Finally, he whispered, “I’ll be fine, Lana. How are you holding up?”
She blinked and responded hoarsely, “I…I’m managing.”
The king turned and grasped her shoulders gently. “Only managing?”
Lana turned away, and Xavier watched as her fire-illuminated face twisted into grief and her chin quivered. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she whispered, “It’s just that…when Peter died, I had Maggie to think about…I didn’t have time to grieve, you know?”
“Yes, I know,” his father cooed as he pulled her into his arms.
Her body shook as she fought to keep the sobs at bay, and she groaned, “But, now…now…I have nothing…they’re both g…gone!” Her valiant struggle over her grief was lost, and she simply broke down.
Jeremiah held her close as she cried. “Oh, Lana. I’m so, so sorry. I wish it all could have been prevented.”
The next day, the trek to King’s Mountain became more treacherous and difficult. The group made slow progress as they scrambled and climbed up the steep mountainside. At sunset, Jeremiah led them to a sheer wall of rock. The weary crowd gathered around him and watched in silence as he ran his hand over the rough surface. After a moment, the king stepped back and raised his hand. Suddenly, a loud crack pierced the air and a low rumble began to build deep inside the mountain, shaking the earth beneath their feet. There was a moment of alarm and the group huddled together like frightened deer. Then, slowly, the great mountainside opened, revealing a wide passage lit by torches. Jeremiah turned to the group with a wide grin.
“Welcome to King’s Mountain,” he announced cheerfully.
The group instantly relaxed and smiled.
“Come. Let’s take a look at our new home,” he called, ushering the group inside the mountain.
Once inside, King Wells waved his hand, and the mountain closed up behind them. The group made their way down the long, seemingly endless passage. Xavier wasn’t sure how long they walked, but at long last, they came upon a pair of towering metal doors, made of lead no less.
Again, with a wave of the king’s hand, the massive doors creaked and squealed open. The doors revealed a spectacular sight! An enormous corridor made of the strangest stone Xavier had ever seen stretched out before them. There was no need for torches in this chamber as the silvery-gold, granite-like stone emitted a soft light of its own. The unusual stone was polished smooth and jutting out from the walls stood a dozen or more towering stone figures, each wearing a cloak and a royalty sash with initials carved into it. The passage held a silent yet powerful energy that tugged and whispered at Xavier’s consciousness. The immense force of the room vibrated through him and burrowed its way into his soul, and he shivered.
His father’s hand grasped his shoulder with a gentle, reassuring squeeze as he announced, “Welcome to the Cavern of Kings, the entrance into King’s Mountain. These statues are replicas of all the past kings of Warwood. At one time, they stood at the entrance to the ruins, but when the ruins fell into disarray, the kings were moved here. Legend has it that in times of danger, the kings of old would light the way to safety for those loyal to Warwood. And, it appears that the legend is true.” He paused as the group responded in awe before adding sardonically, “Legend also says that when called upon by the king, the statues would rise up and smite the enemy.”
The group snickered.
“Have you ever tried it?” Xavier asked, staring up at the ominous figures.
“No son,” he snickered. “It’s only a story. The statues don’t really come to life to do the king’s bidding. But, if you open your mind and listen, they can talk.”
“Really? Have they ever talked to you? What did they say?” he questioned.
His father smiled secretively down at him. “Ah, my dear prince, what the kings of the past have to say to the rightful reigning king must never be repeated, but their message to me was invaluable. When you’re king, you will come and speak to them.”
Xavier looked up at the statues that looked more like real men frozen and held captive in time and shuddered. As the group continued down the corridor and drew closer to the figures, the energy filling the corridor intensified, leaving Xavier panting for breath. Anxiously, he peered up at the colossal men and staggered into his father. Jeremiah steadied him and peered down at him with fretful, questioning eyes. Xavier could only answer with a befuddled look and a weak shrug. Finally, they came upon a pair of doors made of the same strange stone as the cavern.
With a wave of his hand, Jeremiah muttered, “As King, I command you to open.”
The doors opened soundlessly, and Xavier found that his awe didn’t end at the Cavern of Kings. The doors led into the largest open chamber Xavier had ever seen. It was as broad as the Governing Hall and easily as high, but even more magnificent than the chamber’s dwarfing size was its detail. Columns as broad as twenty men jutted toward the ceiling, and the highly polished limestone walls glittered like the night sky.
In the center of the spacious room sat a gigantic crystal arboretum. Lush trees and
plant life strained against the transparent walls, and he could even hear birds chirping happily inside. But, what amazed him most was the sunlight flooding over the arboretum like a great spotlight.
“Dad? How can there be sunlight in here when we’re in the heart of a mountain?” Xavier asked, squinting up at the light.
“The sunlight is redirected through a type of ventilation pipe that uses special crystals to magnify and intensify the light,” Jeremiah answered.
“Cool. I didn’t know crystals could do that,” Xavier muttered, taking in the sight once more.
The king chuckled. “Yes, it’s quite ingenious. The entire level above us uses this lighting system to cultivate a series of gardens that will provide us with fresh produce. The mountain is very nearly self-sufficient. With the exception of meat and a few other odds and ends, the mountain has everything we could possibly need. Come, our people are waiting for us in the Grand Hall. We will celebrate our arrival with a hot meal,” Jeremiah announced, leading them through the chamber and into a broad corridor.
Chapter 2
Arrival
As the group approached the large oak doors to the Grand Hall, muffled voices and laughter grew louder, and a delicious aroma battered their senses. With a brief glance at the group, King Wells opened the door and entered the chamber, his back straight and his head held high. Instantly, the chattering stopped and hundreds of heads turned in their direction. In unison, everyone stood and began applauding and cheering.
Jeremiah reached for Xavier’s hand and led him past row after row of tables to where Ephraim and his family sat at the head table, elevated on a platform a couple of feet above the others. As they made their way to the front of the hall, a wave of bows followed them. Once they stood behind their seats at the head table, Jeremiah waved at the crowd, and slowly they grew quiet.
The Prince of Warwood and The Sword of the Chosen (Book 3) Page 1