Ch. 3

 

3

As the High Mage watched the duo ride away on their new horses he chuckled as the horse dealer fell.

“My Lord, you shouldn’t do that, “Cubor whirled around when he heard the voice of his man servant.

“How many times must I tell you Alidore? Do not do that. Next time I will not be so lenient, you will be whipped.” Cubor nodded to Alidore’s mumbled apology and turned back to his scrying pool. His eyes grew large in distress when he found the body had moved, Neil was galloping away and Rosalyn was already out of sight.

“Sire, is something wrong? Should I call a physician?” in Alidore’s voice Cubor could hear the worry of his servant.

“No, I am fine my faithful man. Fetch the Arzwid Dia, I have yet another problem I thought I had rid of.” As Alidore slipped away Cubor gathered a hodgepodge of items that would be able to heighten his ability to channel greater amounts of power. Such items were known as Vigres fo Rowper and they required a good deal of preparation and concentration so Cubor didn’t notice Alidore whispering past the door to a new master, a better master.

“Master Maxwell, I have something you may want to know,” Alidore bowed deeply in the doorway before entering. Max was, for the most part, an unknown man in the eyes of the world, but he did hold power. Great power. He was unknown for a simple yet highly illegal reason, the High Mage wanted nothing more than to hold all the power in his hands and he could do this by denying Max his rightful place in the throne.

He was 16 years old and never in the Mage Rule did someone as young as Master Maxwell hold greater power than the High Mage himself. This did not concern Max though, his task was to save the young girl from his childhood, Rosalyn.

 When Rosalyn was only six she was removed from the games of kids and entered into her womanly lessons, leaving Max alone. For years he missed her, falling into his self and ignoring the other children that came and went. Then he turned ten.

He was ripped away from the simple life and thrown into an academy for boys where grown men would watch every boy grow, looking for any signs of difference. Aside from the normal changes in a boy growing into manhood Max showed the signs of an Arwid Rorriaw, a Warrior Mage. The likes of his kind where very rare and, naturally, sought for by all who wish to hold some sort of power.

Like all boys an Arzwid Rorriaw would have a sudden growth in height and muscle then either the ordinary or the extraordinary would happen. A normal boy would take some job as an apprentice, seemingly without passion whereas boys like Max would seek for and master any sort of weapon and be prone to channeling without much effort.

When the Nardiagus took notice of Max’s relentless searching and then ease with any weapon he was taken even further from the life of a normal child, into the hold of the High Mage. As he was led into the High Mage’s greeting room Max leapt out of the Nardiagus’ hold and grabbed the sword laying on a pedestal nearby. As he spun around, pointing the unsheathed blade at any who stepped near him, the sword’s glowing reached a climax of leaping blue flames that burned everyone, though not singeing Max.

He stared at the sword of the great King Zucantor Julius in astonishment as the soul of the king chose his next heir. It is said that on his dying day Zucantor Julius, an Arzwid Rorriaw himself, had channeled his own soul into his favored sword, bidding it to choose the next heir of the throne, for he had no children to call his own.

Not knowing what to do with a glowing sword he did what he knew how to do best, used it. He had heard someone move behind him so he whirled around to find the High Mage using a Vigres fo Rowper to create a charge so great it would kill the young Maxwell before he had met his full destiny.

Without thought Max darted toward the High Mage and before his blade had even come close to its target it slashed through the air and a wave of energy shot toward the High Mage sending him flying back and the Vigres fo Rowper away from him.

The Nardiagus attacked then, as well as those who had been ordered to protect the High Mage, but try as they might no one could best Maxwell and his gleaming blade. When all had fallen Max stood above the High Mage, who still breathed, albeit slowly and painfully, and shook his head sadly then left.

He wandered throughout the castle for a while, his sword still bare and the sheath clutched in his other hand until he came to the throne room, old and dusty because of ages without use. The flames coming from his sword flickered towards the deep crimson, wooden throne beneath the most beautiful stained glass mural Max had ever seen. His steps were hesitant at first, and then they gained courage and the knowledge that the throne was theirs to sit upon. When he finally stood before it the sword was glowing brighter than ever, urging him to sit. And he did.

A voice came to him then, from no where at first. Then a transparent man was kneeling before him with a crown shimmering on his head, “Young Maxwell, it is a heavy burden you have been handed and for this I am sorry. Were it still my reign, or my reign just coming to an end, your ruling would be no heavy burden. But, since it is a reign after the Mage Rule, there is much for you to do so the people of my land, your land, our land may feel at peace once more within their own homes.” The great King Zucantor Julius stood then, his voice growing more powerful with every word, “Maxwell, you are king now and it is time you were crowned.” His hands traveled up to the shimmering band around his head and removed it. As he moved the crown towards it’s new owner it gained substance, becoming no longer transparent. The King placed his own crown, the crown he had taken with him into the afterlife, on Maxwell’ head and bowed low. “Before you can properly rule though, young Maxwell, you must save her. I know it is a vague description of your first task but,” his eyes twinkled hinting at an all together nice fellow, “it seems the laws of the afterlife like it when things are clouded in mystery. You will know who she is when the time has come for you to save her, for that I have no doubt.” Sadness spread across his face, slumping his posture, “Ah, I fear it is finally time I moved on with properly ascending (or descending if it comes to that, pray it isn’t so.) Fear not King Maxwell, it seems your pity on the corrupted mage has given you the perfect veil until you can take the throne.” And he was gone.  

Max sat unmoved in the throne of red wood thinking on how quickly his life had changed so drastically in so little time when a straight backed man walked in through the main doors, “Lord Maxwell, my family has been the servants of the King as far back as history goes. I plead of you to accept me as your man, there is no one, not even as assassin, who takes notice of a servant.”Max stared at him as if he sported a second head, he had never any intention of having a servant.

“I can not accept the service of a servant.” He held up a hand to stop the man from pleading further, “But I can accept you as a friend.”

Alidore bowed deeply, a grin splitting his face, “As you order Lord Maxwell.”

“Please, don’t bow and don’t call me ‘Lord.’ I am a simple man from a small farm, nothing more.” He stood up from his throne and finally sheathed his sword, which now sat idle except for the natural glow of a well kept blade. As he clipped the sheath onto his belt he swore with his whole being that if it was against the law or not he would have his throne at the proper time and save the woman Zucantor Julius had mentioned. If patience had not been one of his virtues before, it was his now.