The Name Of A Sorcerer

Power Is Taken Not Given

The old man stood quietly among the trees, for his emerald robes swayed gently despite the complete absence of wind.

Armand's heart was still pounding, yet the dead beast lay at his feet with its blood soaking into the black earth of Dharkh.

The old man's wise eyes lingered on the creature, but then they settled on Armand.

"Walk with me," he said, for his voice carried the quiet authority of someone who expected to be obeyed.

Without waiting for a reply, he turned, and he began walking deeper into the forest.

Armand hesitated, but everything about the man felt... different.

The twisted branches bent away from him as he passed, so they made a clear path through the undergrowth.

Flowers that had long withered seemed to bloom again beneath his footsteps, yet frightened animals emerged from hiding only to bow their heads before disappearing once more.

"Who... are you?" Armand asked, for he hurried after him.

The old man smiled faintly, and he said, "I've been called many things."

"Most simply call me Ashake," he added, and Armand's eyes widened.

"The King's Druid?" he asked, but Ashake gave a small nod.

They walked in silence for several moments, yet Armand could not hold himself back any longer.

"Did you... see what happened back there?" he asked, and Ashake looked ahead.

"I witnessed enough," he replied, so Armand frowned.

"What does that mean?" he asked, but Ashake answered, "It means I saw what I needed to see."

"But..." Armand looked down at his trembling hands, and "How did I become that strong?"

Ashake merely smiled, yet he asked, "Did you become strong... or did something that had always been sleeping finally awaken?"

Armand stopped walking, for he said, "I don't understand."

"I know," Ashake replied, but he continued forward without looking back.

Armand hurried to catch up, and he said, "I've never had magic."

"I couldn't even awaken an element," he added, for "I was tested three different times."

"They all said I was powerless," he finished, but Ashake nodded.

"They were correct," he said, so Armand blinked.

"They were?" he asked, but Ashake explained, "You had no awakened magic."

"But..." the old man glanced toward him, and "Not all power is magic."

Those words only confused Armand further, so he asked, "What does that even mean?"

"You ask questions whose answers would change your life," Ashake said, yet Armand demanded, "...Then tell me!"

Ashake chuckled softly, for he said, "If I tell a hatchling it can fly before its wings have grown... it will leap from the nest and die."

Armand sighed in frustration, but he said, "You keep speaking in riddles."

"Wisdom often sounds like riddles to impatient ears," Ashake replied, and they continued walking beneath the towering trees.

After a long silence, Ashake spoke again, for he said, "You have your mother's eyes."

Armand froze, and he asked, "My... mother?"

He hadn't heard anyone mention her in years, for she had died when he was very young.

At least... that was what everyone had always told him, but Ashake's expression became distant.

"I knew a woman," he said, and "A kind woman."

"A stubborn woman," he added, for "A woman who believed the impossible could one day become reality."

Armand's heartbeat quickened, so he asked, "Who was she?"

Ashake simply smiled, but he said, "One day... you'll learn her story."

"But that day is not today," he finished, and Armand groaned.

"Another half answer," he muttered, yet Ashake replied, "The best answers are earned."

He kicked a loose stone across the forest floor, and he asked, "I don't even know who I am anymore."

Ashake looked at him carefully, and he said, "Then tell me... what will you do now?"

Armand stared into the distance, for he said, "I... I honestly don't know."

"My father threw me out," he continued, and "My brothers hate me."

"My sheep is dead," he added, so "I have nowhere to go."

The old druid's eyes sparkled with amusement, but he said, "I thought you wished to become a knight."

A bitter smile crossed Armand's face, for he replied, "I did."

"But I wasn't chosen," he said, and Ashake stopped walking.

He turned to face the young man, and he said, "The captain chose according to what his eyes could see."

Armand remained silent, but Ashake planted his wooden staff firmly into the ground.

"Remember this, Armand," he said, for "Power is rarely given."

"It is taken," he finished, and the words hung in the air.

For the first time since they met, Armand smiled, yet Ashake smiled as well.

For a brief moment, neither of them spoke, but the silence between them was strangely comforting.

Then Armand looked around, for the forest was unnaturally quiet.

There were no birds, nor were there insects, and there were no footsteps except his own.

He scratched the back of his head, and he asked, "Um... if I really wanted to become a knight... how exactly do I get to the Capital?"

There was no answer, so Armand frowned.

"Ashake?" he called, but he turned.

The old druid was gone, for he had disappeared completely.

There were no footprints, nor were there broken branches, and there were no fading footsteps.

It was as though he had never been there at all, so Armand spun in every direction.

"Ashake!" he shouted, but only silence answered him.

After several moments, he let out a long sigh, for he said, "I guess that's another question he wasn't going to answer."

Shaking his head, Armand took one last look at the place where the mysterious druid had stood, and then he tightened his fists.

"If the Capital is where my future is..." he said, so "I'll find it."

With renewed determination burning in his heart, Armand turned toward the edge of Dharkh Forest, and moments later he broke through the tree line and began running.

He left the cursed forest behind as the last rays of sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon. The moment Armand emerged from the edge of Dharkh Forest, the cold air gave way to the gentle breeze of the open countryside, and he took a deep breath.

The main road stretched endlessly before him, for it disappeared into the distant horizon.

It was completely empty, yet there were no merchants, no travelers, and no soldiers.

Only a lonely dirt road led toward a future he couldn't yet see, so Armand looked back one last time at the dark forest.

Then he smiled, for he said, "So what if I'm alone?"

"The Capital is waiting," he added, and "One day... I'll wear the crimson armor of the Red Keep."

With renewed determination, he started walking, and he took one step, then another.

The sun slowly disappeared behind the mountains as the miles passed beneath his feet, yet his legs grew heavier.

His stomach growled with hunger, but still he refused to stop.

Several hours later, the distant sound of galloping horses reached his ears, so he quickly turned around.

A single carriage raced toward him, for it was pulled by two white horses.

Standing at the front was a broad-shouldered coachman dressed in leather armor, and one hand gripped the reins while the other rested on the hilt of a short sword.

Armand stepped into the middle of the road, and he raised both hands.

"Please!" he shouted, so the horses slowed.

The coachman frowned, and he said, "Move aside."

"I just need help," Armand replied, and the carriage came to a halt.

The coachman studied him carefully, for he asked, "Who are you?"

"My name is Armand," he answered, but the coachman's eyes narrowed.

"And where are you going?" he asked, so Armand said, "The Ring... the Capital."

"I am to become a knight there," he added, and for a moment there was silence.

Then a cheerful voice came from inside the carriage, for it said, "A knight?"

The curtain was pulled aside, and a girl around Armand's age leaned out.

She had chestnut-brown hair tied into a loose braid, yet her bright emerald eyes were filled with curiosity.

A warm smile made the gathering darkness seem less frightening, so she tilted her head.

"You're a knight?" she asked, but the coachman sighed.

"Lady Gwen, please get back inside," he said, yet she ignored him completely.

Instead, she climbed down from the carriage, and she walked toward Armand.

"Oh, brother," she said, for she folded her arms.

"We're traveling to the Capital alone at night," she explained, so "Having a knight with us would make Father much happier."

The coachman frowned, and he asked, "How do we even know he's a knight?"

"He has no armor," he continued, nor did he have "a sword."

"He has no horse," he added, for "He could just as easily be a thief."

Gwen looked directly into Armand's eyes, and she smiled.

"No," she said, and "He has kind eyes."

The coachman blinked, so he asked, "...Kind eyes?"

"And if he really were a thief," she continued confidently, "we would've been surrounded by his friends already."

She turned toward Armand, and she asked, "Am I right?"

Armand scratched the back of his head awkwardly, for he said, "I... suppose so."

She laughed, and she said, "See?"

Then she pointed toward the carriage, and she said, "Come in."

Before the coachman could protest again, Gwen climbed back inside, so the coachman let out a defeated sigh.

"I swear your kindness will be the death of us one day," he muttered.

Armand climbed into the small carriage, for it was cozy despite its size.

A lantern hung from the ceiling, and it filled the cabin with warm golden light.

As the horses began moving again, Gwen offered him a small loaf of bread, and she said, "You look hungry."

Armand accepted it gratefully, and he said, "Thank you."

"My pleasure," she replied, but for several minutes neither of them spoke.

Finally, Gwen broke the silence, and she asked, "So... what kind of knight are you?"

Armand hesitated, for he couldn't tell her the truth.

Not about his father, nor about the village, and certainly not about what had happened inside Dharkh.

Instead... he smiled, and he said, "I'm something of a hero back home."

Her eyes sparkled, so she asked, "Really?"

He nodded, and he said, "I've protected my village more than once."

"The elders recommended me to the Red Keep," he added, and "Now... I'm on my way to be anointed as one of the Royal Knights."

Gwen clapped her hands together, for she said, "That's amazing!"

"I knew it," she added, and "I could tell the moment I saw you."

Armand felt a pang of guilt, but her smile was impossible to disappoint.

"What about you?" he asked, so she leaned back against the seat.

"My father is a merchant," she said, and "We're moving to the Capital because he says there are better opportunities there."

She rolled her eyes playfully, and she said, "I'd rather travel the world."

"I want to see dragons," she continued, or "I want to visit floating cities."

"I want adventures," she finished, and Armand chuckled.

"You dream big," he said, but she replied, "Someone has to."

She looked at him, and she asked, "What about you? What do you want?"

Armand's answer came without hesitation, for he said, "I want people to stop looking down on me."

Her smile faded slightly, she said, "Someone hurt you."

He looked out the window, and he whispered, "...Maybe."

For a while, they simply talked, for they discussed their favorite foods, childhood memories, the stars, and the Capital they had never seen.

They also talked about the legends of dragons, and hours passed as though they were minutes.

By the time midnight arrived, they were laughing like old friends, yet eventually exhaustion claimed them both.

Gwen rested her head against the side of the carriage, and within moments she was asleep.

Not long after, Armand drifted into sleep as well.

...

"HELP!" A terrified scream shattered the silence, so Armand's eyes snapped open.

"Gwen?" he asked, but the seat beside him was empty.

His heart nearly stopped, and he threw open the carriage door and jumped outside.

Chaos greeted him, for the carriage had been surrounded.

Masked bandits circled it with drawn swords, yet the coachman was on one knee bleeding from a cut across his forehead.

Two bandits held Gwen by her arms as she struggled desperately, and she shouted, "Let me go!"

One of the bandits laughed, for he said, "This merchant's daughter should fetch a fine ransom."

Rage surged through Armand, so he shouted, "Take your hands off her."

The bandits turned, but then they laughed.

"Another child?" one asked"Kill him."

One of them charged, and Armand's heartbeat thundered.

The same strange warmth he had felt inside Dharkh spread through his body, for his muscles tightened.

Power surged through every vein, and the world slowed.

The bandit's sword descended, but Armand instinctively caught the blade with his bare hand.

The steel stopped cold, and the bandit's grin disappeared.

"W-What?" he stammered, so without thinking Armand drove his fist into the man's chest.

BOOM! The bandit flew several meters through the air, and he crashed into a tree.

The others froze, and Armand stared at his own hand.

"It's happening again..." he whispered.

Another bandit attacked from behind, but before the blade could reach him, the air around Armand suddenly stirred.

A violent gust erupted from nowhere, and the attacker was thrown backward as though struck by an invisible giant.

Armand blinked, and he whispered, "...Wind?"

He had never used magic before, yet the breeze obeyed him.

Three more bandits rushed together, so something inside Armand responded instinctively.

The ground beneath their feet trembled, and stone burst upward knocking them off balance.

Before they could recover, Armand moved with impossible speed, and he struck one after another until they collapsed unconscious.

The remaining bandits hesitated, for fear replaced confidence.

"Monster..." one whispered, so their leader gritted his teeth.

"Retreat!" he ordered, and within seconds the surviving bandits fled into the darkness.

They abandoned their weapons and their prisoners, and silence returned to the road.

Armand stood in the middle of it breathing heavily, and his fists trembled.

The strange power slowly receded, yet it left him exhausted once more.

Behind him, Gwen stared with wide, astonished eyes, for the "knight" she had welcomed into her carriage had just defeated a band of armed men with his bare hands.

He had somehow commanded the wind itself.

The silence after the battle felt heavier than the fight itself, and the wounded coachman slowly climbed to his feet.

One hand pressed against the cut on his forehead, yet his breathing was uneven.

His eyes never left Armand, but it was not with gratitude.

It was with fear, so Armand took a cautious step forward.

"Is everyone alright?" he asked, but the coachman's hand drifted toward the ground.

He picked up a fist-sized stone, and before Armand could react— THUD! — the stone struck him squarely on the shoulder.

It wasn't enough to injure him, yet it was enough to make him stop.

"Brother!" Gwen cried "What are you doing?"

The coachman pointed a trembling finger at Armand, and he ordered, "Stay away from us!"

Armand frowned, and he said, "I just saved—"

"I said stay away!" the coachman interrupted, for his voice cracked with terror.

"I know what you are," he said, and the words hung in the cold night air.

Gwen looked between the two men, and she was utterly confused.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, but the coachman's face had gone pale.

"I've traveled these roads for years," he said, and "I've heard stories."

"Men who tear apart monsters with their bare hands," he continued, or "Men who command the wind without chanting."

He took another step backward, and he said, "They're not men."

"They're monsters," he finished, so Armand instinctively looked down at his hands.

These were the same hands that had defeated the bandits, and they were the same hands that had crushed the beast in Dharkh.

He still didn't understand them himself, but the coachman's voice grew firmer.

"The Red Keep protects this kingdom from monsters," he said, and "They don't recruit them."

His words struck harder than the stone, for he said, "The Red Keep would never accept a monster like you."

Gwen immediately shook her head, and she said, "That's not true!"

She hurried over to Armand, and she said, "You saved my life."

"You saved both of us," she added, but then with a voice barely above a whisper she asked, "...Armand? Is it true? Are you... a monster?"

Armand opened his mouth, yet no words came out.

How could he answer, for only yesterday he had been the weakest boy in his village?

Now he possessed a strength he couldn't explain, and he had summoned the wind without knowing how.

Even he feared what was happening to him, so his silence was answer enough.

Gwen's hopeful expression slowly faded, and the coachman grabbed her wrist.

"Gwen," he said"We're leaving."

"No!" she protested, for she tried to pull away.

"He protected us!" she argued"He isn't evil!"

The coachman lifted her into the carriage despite her protests, and he climbed onto the driver's seat and snapped the reins.

The horses lurched forward, and as the carriage rolled away, Gwen pushed aside the curtain.

She looked back at Armand, and their eyes met for only a moment.

"I don't believe you're a monster!" she shouted "Don't give up on becoming a knight!"

Then the carriage disappeared into the darkness, and the road became silent once more.

Armand stood alone, and he slowly looked toward the endless highway leading north.

A faint smile appeared on his face, and he whispered, "My dream... it hasn't changed."

Whether he was a monster, or something else entirely, he would learn the truth himself, so he took a deep breath and resumed walking.

The stars slowly faded, and night surrendered to dawn.

Birdsong replaced the silence, and golden sunlight spilled across the countryside.

Hour after hour, Armand continued forward without complaint, for his feet ached.

His clothes were torn, and his body still carried the scars of the night's battles, yet every step brought him closer to the place he had dreamed about since childhood.

Then... he saw it, for far beyond the rolling hills stood walls so enormous they seemed to touch the clouds.

Massive banners bearing a crimson dragon fluttered proudly above them, and at the center rose an enormous gate of black iron reinforced with gleaming steel.

Dozens of guards patrolled the walls, and merchants, nobles, adventurers, and travelers formed long lines waiting to enter.

Armand stopped walking, and his breath caught in his throat.

"So..." he whispered "This is..."

Ring. The Capital of the Kingdom.

It was the greatest city in the realm, and it was the home of the Royal Family and the Red Keep.

He had finally arrived, so his dream was no longer somewhere beyond the horizon.

It stood only a few steps away, and he was determined to seize it with his own hands.