The Name Of A Sorcerer

The King's Choice

Pain.

A sharp, throbbing pain pulsed through Armand's forehead, so he groaned.

His eyelids felt heavy as stone, yet slowly he forced them open.

The first thing he saw was a ceiling covered in magnificent paintings of dragons soaring through clouds of gold and silver, and his vision slowly cleared.

He realized he wasn't lying down, for his feet dragged across polished marble.

Two royal guards held him firmly by his arms, practically carrying him through an enormous hallway, while nobles dressed in elegant robes walked past and stopped to whisper as they caught sight of him.

Servants hurried between rooms carrying silver trays and expensive fabrics, and the walls were lined with towering pillars carved into the shapes of ancient dragons.

Armand swallowed, for this was the Royal Palace...

"So..." a familiar voice said, "you're finally awake."

He turned his head, and walking casually beside the guards was Colin.

He still wore the simple training clothes from the Red Keep, yet he smiled as though nothing unusual had happened.

Armand blinked "Colin?" he asked, "What are you doing here?"

Colin chuckled, and "I came to see how you were doing," he replied.

Armand looked around nervously "They're taking me somewhere," he said.

"I know," Colin shrugged, "but don't worry."

"You're not in danger," he added, "for my father just wants to talk to you."

Armand frowned "...Your father?"

Colin nodded as though it were the most obvious thing in the world "The King," he said.

Silence.

Armand stared "The... ...King?" he whispered.

"Of course," Colin tilted his head, "didn't anyone tell you?"

Armand couldn't even speak, for his mouth opened then closed again.

The cheerful boy who had promised they would become best friends, the boy who laughed with him only hours ago... was a prince.

Colin laughed at Armand's stunned expression "I have to get back before Commander William makes us run another hundred laps," he said.

He waved "See you later, Armand," he called before he jogged away.

Armand watched him disappear around the corner "...A prince..." he whispered, "I've been talking to a prince like he was just another recruit..."

The guards finally stopped, for before them stood two enormous doors carved from dark oak.

Golden dragons stretched across their surface, and one guard knocked three times.

"Your Majesty," he announced, "the boy has arrived."

...

Inside the throne chamber, King MacGil stood before the great throne with his hands clasped behind his back.

Beside him stood his oldest companion, the King's Druid Ashake, and the elderly elf remained as calm as ever while leaning lightly on his living staff.

Standing before the King were his four remaining children: Prince George, Prince Phillip, and Princess Liora, and the room was silent.

King MacGil slowly turned toward them "I have made my decision," he said.

The words immediately captured everyone's attention "I have decided who shall inherit my throne," he continued.

Prince Phillip straightened confidently, while George merely yawned, and Liora remained silent.

The King sighed "George," he called.

The carefree prince scratched his head "Yes, Father?" he asked.

"You have a good heart," the King smiled sadly, "but you spend more nights in taverns than inside this palace."

George shrugged "I like taverns," he said, so a few servants struggled not to laugh.

The King's eyes shifted "Phillip," he said.

The eldest prince bowed respectfully, and "Father," he replied.

"You are intelligent," the King said, "clever, respected by nobles," yet his voice hardened.

"But you hide your true thoughts," he continued, "you seek victory before justice, and you inspire respect... but not trust."

Phillip's smile disappeared.

The King's gaze finally rested upon his youngest child "Liora," he said.

The sixteen-year-old princess lifted her head, for though still young she carried herself with remarkable grace.

Her long silver-blonde hair flowed over an elegant sapphire gown, and her striking blue eyes mirrored those of her late mother.

Many across the kingdom already whispered that she was the most beautiful maiden in Ring.

"You possess compassion," the King said softly, "you listen before speaking, and you seek peace before conflict."

"And when necessary," he added, "you possess the courage to make difficult choices."

He took a slow breath, then raised his hand.

"Liora... ...you shall be my heir," he declared.

Silence.

Complete silence.

Phillip's eyes widened "...What?" he demanded, "You choose my younger sister?"

"I am your firstborn son!" he shouted, "I've spent my entire life preparing for this!"

The King remained unmoved "I know," he replied.

Phillip clenched both fists "You would pass over your own bloodline?" he asked.

"My blood flows through all of you," the King's voice echoed throughout the chamber, "but only one of you has proven worthy of wearing the crown."

Phillip's breathing grew heavier, yet George simply shrugged.

"Works for me," he said, "I never wanted to be King anyway."

Liora looked almost as shocked as everyone else "...Father..." she whispered.

The King raised a hand "I have made my judgment," he said, "nothing... ...will change it."

The room fell silent once again, so Phillip bowed stiffly.

"As you command..." he said, but the fury burning in his eyes told a very different story.

One by one, the royal children departed, until only King MacGil and Ashake remained.

After a long silence, the King spoke quietly "Ashake... did I make the right decision?" he asked.

The old druid remained silent for several moments, then unexpectedly answered, "Most definitely, Your Majesty."

The King looked genuinely surprised "That was... a direct answer," he said.

Ashake smiled faintly "Even riddles have their proper time," he replied.

The King chuckled "I suppose they do," he said.

Ashake tapped his staff lightly against the marble floor, and "You still have another matter requiring your attention," he reminded.

The King's smile returned "Indeed," he said while he looked toward the doors.

"Bring in the boy," he ordered.

The doors slowly opened, and Armand was led inside.

The throne room seemed impossibly vast, for sunlight poured through towering stained-glass windows.

Rows of dragon banners lined the walls, and at the far end upon a magnificent golden throne sat King MacGil.

Armand immediately dropped to one knee, and "Your Majesty," he said.

The King's voice was warm "What is your name, young man?" he asked.

"My name is Armand, Your Majesty," Armand replied, so "Raise your head," the King commanded.

Armand obeyed, and the King smiled kindly.

For reasons he couldn't explain, warmth spread through Armand's chest, for it felt safe.

His eyes wandered slightly, and standing beside the throne was Ashake.

Only now, beneath the palace lights, did Armand truly notice him, for his ears were long and gracefully pointed.

An elf... Armand's eyes widened, and Ashake noticed.

He gave the faintest nod, as though acknowledging that Armand had finally understood.

The King leaned forward slightly "Tell me... how did you do what you did in the arena?" he asked.

Armand looked down at his hands "...I don't know," he admitted, "it just... happened."

"I only wanted to protect Sir Cedric," he added.

The King suddenly laughed "A squire... wishing to protect the greatest knight in my kingdom?" he said.

He shook his head with amusement, and "I admire your courage," he declared, "we need more young men with hearts like yours."

He stood "Rise," he ordered.

Armand quickly obeyed, but at that exact moment... Grrrr... his stomach growled loudly.

Armand's face instantly turned red with embarrassment, yet the King smiled.

"Have you eaten today?" he asked, so Armand hesitated then nodded weakly.

"...A little," he said.

The King raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, and he turned toward one of the royal guards.

"Take this young man to the royal baths," he instructed, "afterward, have the royal tailor find clothing suitable for him."

"And finally," he smiled warmly at Armand, "bring him to tonight's feast."

Armand's eyes filled with disbelief, for a feast? For him?

He immediately fell to both knees "Thank you, Your Majesty!" he cried, "I won't disappoint you!"

King MacGil merely smiled "I hope not," he replied.

The guards gently helped Armand to his feet, and as they escorted him from the throne room he couldn't help but glance back one last time.

The King was still smiling, and beside him Ashake watched silently, for his ancient eyes were filled with a quiet knowing that Armand could not yet understand.

...

The royal guards no longer treated Armand like a trespasser, for they walked beside him with quiet respect through the marble halls of the palace.

Servants stepped aside as they passed, while several nobles stared curiously at the village boy who had somehow earned an audience with the King.

Before long, the guards stopped before a pair of bronze doors "The royal baths," one announced.

Inside, steam drifted through the air, for the room was lined with polished stone pools fed by crystal-clear water flowing from dragon-shaped fountains.

Attendants washed away the dirt and dried blood that still covered Armand's body, so the bruises from the arena slowly became visible beneath the grime.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt clean.

Afterward, another servant handed him a simple white robe "This way," they said.

Armand followed once again through winding corridors until they stopped before another room, and one of the servants opened the door.

"The royal tailor is expecting you," they announced.

Armand stepped inside, for the room was enormous.

Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling and overflowed with every kind of clothing imaginable: fine silk robes, knight uniforms, noble attire, elegant cloaks, leather boots, even garments embroidered with silver thread.

He had never seen so many clothes in one place, yet then a gentle voice came from somewhere behind a rack of fabrics.

"Who's there?" it asked.

A young woman stepped around the corner, and the moment she saw him her emerald eyes widened.

"Armand?" she gasped.

He blinked "...Gwen?" he replied.

She let out a delighted gasp before running straight toward him, and without hesitation she threw her arms around him.

"You made it!" she cried, so Armand laughed awkwardly.

"I guess I did," he said.

She stepped back, still smiling "Wait... are you the one I'm supposed to prepare for tonight's banquet?" she asked.

Armand nodded "I think so," he answered, so her smile grew even brighter.

"I knew it!" she said, "You were telling the truth! You're really a knight!"

Armand rubbed the back of his neck, and "...Not exactly," he admitted.

Her smile became curious "When we first met... I lied," he continued.

"I wasn't a knight," he said, "I wasn't even a recruit, for I was... nobody."

He expected disappointment, yet instead Gwen simply nodded.

"I understand," she said, "you were afraid."

She smiled softly "People like us don't begin life with titles," she added, "we have to forge our own paths... no matter what anyone says."

Her words eased the guilt Armand had carried since meeting her, so she clapped her hands together.

"Enough talking," she said, "I need your measurements."

For the next several minutes she carefully measured his shoulders, arms, waist, and height, and "So..." Armand asked, "you work here?"

"My father supplies fabrics to the palace," she explained while wrapping the measuring ribbon around his chest, "and I begged the royal tailor to let me help."

She grinned, and "I'm still learning," she said, so Armand smiled.

"I think you're doing well," he replied, and she laughed.

"Thank you," she said, "what about you? How did you really become a recruit?"

Armand hesitated "It... ...was complicated," he said, so she noticed his expression and didn't press further.

Instead, she wandered through rows of clothing, and "Hmm... no... too formal... too plain," she muttered.

She continued searching until finally her eyes lit up, and "There!" she exclaimed.

She carefully lifted a dark blue tunic embroidered with silver thread, matching trousers, polished boots, and a deep crimson cloak fastened with a simple silver clasp.

"I think this will suit you," she said as she handed him the clothes, "I'll turn around."

Armand quickly changed, and when he finished Gwen slowly looked back.

For a moment she simply stared, for the clothes fit him perfectly.

The once ragged shepherd boy now looked every bit like a young noble squire, so she smiled warmly.

"I knew it," she said.

"What?" Armand asked.

"You clean up surprisingly well," she teased, so Armand laughed.

"So I've been told," he replied.

Without warning, she stepped closer then gently kissed his cheek, and "I hope we meet again soon," she whispered.

Before Armand could find the right words to answer, she was already smiling shyly and pretending to organize another shelf of clothes, so Armand touched his cheek and felt it grow warm.

"I hope so too," he said before he quietly left the tailoring room.

...

The palace corridors all looked the same, for every hallway branched into three more.

Every doorway was carved with dragons, so Armand scratched his head.

"I have absolutely no idea where I'm going," he muttered.

A hand suddenly landed on his shoulder, and he nearly jumped.

"Relax," a voice said, so he turned.

Colin stood there wearing a broad grin "I figured you'd get lost," he said.

Armand sighed in relief "You have no idea how happy I am to see you," he admitted.

Colin laughed "Come on," he said, "I know exactly where to go."

The young prince led him through the palace until music drifted through the halls, and moments later they entered the Royal Banquet Hall.

A table longer than anything Armand had ever imagined stretched across the room, for it held roasted boars, fresh bread, golden fruits, steaming soups, honey cakes, and whole roasted chickens.

His eyes nearly popped out of his head, so Colin pulled out a chair beside him.

"Sit," he said, and Armand didn't need to be told twice.

The moment the servants gave permission to begin eating, he attacked the food with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't enjoyed a proper meal in years: chicken, bread, soup, more chicken, another loaf of bread.

Colin tried to remain dignified, yet he lasted less than a minute before bursting into laughter.

"You eat faster than Commander William," he teased, so Armand swallowed hurriedly.

"I've... never seen this much food before," he admitted, and Colin pushed another plate toward him.

"Then keep eating," he said.

At the head of the enormous table, King MacGil quietly watched the two boys, for his son was laughing and Armand was smiling.

For the first time in a long while, the prince looked completely carefree, so a smile touched the King's face.

Beside him, Ashake noticed "It seems... ...Your Majesty has taken quite a liking to our young hero," he observed.

The King chuckled "Perhaps," he replied, then his expression became thoughtful.

"Ashake," he called, so the old elf looked toward him.

"This time... no riddles," the King said, "no half answers. Tell me plainly: what kind of man will that boy become?"

Ashake remained silent "Are you certain you wish to know?" he asked.

"I am," the King answered, so the druid's ancient eyes settled upon Armand.

When he finally spoke, his voice carried a certainty that sent a chill through the King's heart.

"He will become the greatest sorcerer in history," he said, "his name will cross kingdoms, his deeds will be spoken of in every land."

"Kings will seek his counsel," he continued, "enemies will fear his arrival, and generations yet unborn will remember the name... Armand."

King MacGil slowly looked toward the far end of the table, for the boy Ashake spoke of was currently sitting beside Colin and happily stuffing pieces of roasted chicken into his mouth while Colin laughed at him.

The King blinked "...This little boy?" he asked.

Ashake smiled faintly "He will not remain little for long," he replied.

King MacGil looked at Armand once more, for the briefest instant a flicker of envy crossed his heart.

Not because he hated the boy, but because history would one day remember Armand's name long after his own had become a chapter in the kingdom's chronicles.

The feeling passed as quickly as it came, yet it left the King unusually quiet as the banquet continued.