The Name Of A Sorcerer

The Red Keep

The gates of Ring towered above Armand like a mountain of stone, for two armored guards stood beneath the archway stopping every traveler who entered the Capital.

Armand swallowed, yet he had made it this far.

He couldn't fail now, so when one of the guards lowered his spear he forced himself to stand tall.

"State your name and business," the guard ordered, but Armand's heart pounded.

He had no invitation, nor did he have papers, and he owned no coin.

He had no reason to be allowed inside, yet then an idea came to him.

"My name is Armand," he said confidently, and "I'm delivering a message to my older brother."

"He serves with the Red Keep," he added, "but he has been expecting me since yesterday."

The guards exchanged glances, and "Your brother's name?" one asked.

Armand hesitated for the briefest moment, for he said, "Darius."

It was the most common soldier's name he could think of, so the older guard scratched his beard.

"Hmph," he muttered, "there are enough Dariuses in the Red Keep to fill a barracks."

His companion laughed, and "Let the boy through," he said.

"If he's lying, the city watch will deal with him," he added, so the gate slowly opened.

Armand bowed quickly "Thank you, sirs," he said.

He stepped through... and immediately forgot how to breathe.

Ring.

The Capital.

It was unlike anything he had ever imagined, for wide stone streets stretched in every direction.

Towering buildings of white marble reflected the morning sunlight, yet colorful banners hung from balconies.

Street performers entertained laughing crowds, while merchants shouted over one another selling exotic fruits, enchanted jewelry, or polished weapons.

Children chased one another through the streets, and knights in crimson armor rode magnificent horses through the crowds.

Armand slowly turned in circles, for he whispered, "So... this is the Capital..."

He couldn't stop smiling, yet everywhere he looked there was something new.

A loud clang suddenly caught his attention.

CLANG!

CLANG!

Across the street, a muscular blacksmith hammered glowing steel upon anvil, so sparks danced into the air with every strike.

Armand hurried over, and "Excuse me, sir," he said.

The blacksmith glanced up, but "What?" he asked.

"I'm looking for the training grounds for the new Red Keep recruits," Armand replied, yet the blacksmith raised an eyebrow.

"And what's your business there?" he asked, so Armand straightened proudly.

"I'm one of the recruits," he said, "but I just... arrived a little late."

The blacksmith looked him up and down, and "You?" he said.

Armand nodded, so the man shrugged.

"Not my place to judge," he said, and he pointed his hammer toward the eastern district.

"Follow King's Road until you reach the giant dragon statue," he instructed, "then turn left."

"You'll see a fortress surrounded by red banners," he continued, "and you'll hear the recruits before you see them."

He returned to hammering, but he added without looking up, "Strangers aren't welcome there."

"If you don't belong, they'll throw you out," he warned, yet Armand smiled.

"Thank you," he said, and then he took off running.

...

The sound reached him long before the fortress appeared, for hundreds of voices shouted in unison: "HYAH!" "Again!" "Faster!"

Armand rounded the final corner, and his eyes widened.

A massive training fortress stood before him, for rows of recruits sparred with wooden swords.

Others practiced archery, while some lifted enormous stones, and knights walked among them barking orders.

"This is it..." he whispered, "my dream."

He stepped toward the gate, but two guards blocked his path.

"No entry," one said, so Armand said, "I'm one of the recruits."

"We have everyone's names," the guard replied, "and you're not on the list."

Armand's shoulders slumped, yet he slowly walked away only to circle behind the fortress.

A section of the outer wall had several stacked supply crates, so he grinned.

"This might work," he thought, and moments later he climbed the crates, pulled himself onto the wall, and dropped quietly into the training grounds.

"I did it," he whispered, but he had barely taken three steps.

"HEY!" a guard shouted, "You! Stop!"

Armand's eyes widened, and "Oh no," he said before he ran.

The guard charged after him, so they weaved between training recruits, around weapon racks, and past sparring circles.

Armand burst into the central arena— BOOM! —for something enormous slammed into his face.

The world spun, and he crashed onto the dirt with stars filling his vision.

A gigantic shadow stood over him, yet the boy looked no older than eighteen.

He was nearly seven feet tall, and muscles bulged beneath his training clothes.

He cracked his knuckles, and "If you're running into my arena... at least stay standing," he said.

He pointed at Armand "Get up," he ordered.

Armand slowly climbed to his feet, but "I don't want to fight," he said.

The giant grinned "I wasn't asking," he replied before his fist shot forward.

Armand barely blocked, yet the impact sent him sliding backward.

His right hand tingled, for the strange power wanted to awaken.

No, he thought, because if they saw that strength, if they saw the wind again, they'd call him a monster.

Just like the coachman had, so he clenched his fists.

"I'll do this myself," he decided.

The giant charged, and punch after punch, kick after kick, elbow after elbow came.

Armand tried everything he knew, yet none of it worked.

He was thrown across the arena again, and again, while blood trickled from his lip.

His ribs screamed with pain, and the recruits laughed.

"He's hopeless," one said, or "Who let him in?"

"He can't even throw a punch," another added, so the giant grabbed Armand by his shirt.

"You've got guts," he said, "but no strength," and he slammed him into the dirt.

Just as he raised another fist— "Enough."

A commanding voice silenced the arena, so the giant immediately stepped back.

A broad-shouldered man in commander armor approached, for a crimson cape flowed behind him.

His stern gray eyes settled on Armand, and "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Armand forced himself onto one knee, and "I... I'm one of the recruits," he said.

Before the commander could answer, the guard who had been chasing Armand finally caught up.

"Commander William!" he shouted, "He's lying!"

"He sneaked over the wall!" he added, "and I chased him all the way here!"

William's face darkened, and "You climbed into a military training ground?" he asked.

Armand lowered his head "...Yes," he admitted.

"Do you understand that's a crime?" William pressed, "I could have you thrown into the dungeons for years."

"I'm sorry," Armand bowed deeply, "but I only wanted a chance."

"Like everyone else," he continued, "for I've dreamed about becoming a Red Keep knight my whole life."

William remained expressionless, yet he pointed toward the gate.

"Leave," he ordered, "and never return."

Armand's heart shattered, so "...Please," he begged.

"I said leave," William snapped, and the arena fell silent.

Just then, the sound of hooves echoed through the courtyard, for a magnificent white horse entered the arena.

Its rider wore brilliant crimson armor adorned with silver engravings, so every recruit immediately straightened.

Even Commander William saluted, and the knight dismounted gracefully.

His calm eyes rested on Armand, and "William," he said with effortless authority, "let's give the poor boy a chance."

William frowned "Sir Cedric... he trespassed."

"He lied," he added, "and he broke military law."

Cedric smiled, and "And if he fails, you may punish him however you see fit," he replied.

William folded his arms, for several long moments he said nothing.

Finally, he sighed "...Very well."

A nearby soldier handed Armand a training spear, and William pointed toward a hay target nearly fifty feet away.

"Hit the center," he commanded, "or you'll spend the rest of your life in the royal dungeons."

Every recruit stared, so Armand accepted the spear with trembling hands.

He inhaled slowly, then exhaled, and the world around him faded.

His heartbeat echoed in his ears, yet suddenly a strange darkness crept across his right arm.

It was not evil, nor was it painful, but it was power.

His fingers tightened around the shaft without his permission, so before he even realized what was happening his arm moved.

The spear left his hand like a bolt of lightning.

WHOOSH!

It tore through the air, and the recruits followed it with wide eyes.

THUNK!

The spear buried itself dead-center, straight through the head of the straw target.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

No one spoke, nor did anyone breathe, until... Clap. Clap.

A single blond-haired boy standing among the recruits smiled as he applauded, and "That... was impressive," he said.

Only then did everyone remember how to breathe, so murmurs spread throughout the arena.

"Impossible..." one whispered, or "Did you see that throw?"

Sir Cedric stepped forward with a pleased smile, and "Then it's settled," he said.

He looked directly at Armand, and "From this day forward, you are a recruit of the Red Keep."

A gasp swept through the training grounds, but Cedric wasn't finished.

"And more than that," he added, "you will serve as my personal squire."

The courtyard erupted, for Commander William's eyes widened.

The recruits stared in disbelief, yet even the giant boy who had beaten Armand moments earlier looked stunned.

The smallest, skinniest newcomer in the entire training camp had just become the personal squire of one of the greatest knights in the Red Keep. The silence that followed Sir Cedric's announcement lasted only a few moments, yet the blond-haired boy who had been applauding earlier walked over with a wide grin.

He couldn't have been more than Armand's age, but there was a confidence about him that made him seem older.

He extended his hand "I'm Colin," he said.

Armand smiled and shook it "Armand," he replied.

Colin laughed "So... how did you do that?" he asked.

Armand blinked "Do what?" he answered.

"The spear," Colin pressed, "it flew like it had a mind of its own."

He leaned in closer and lowered his voice, for "Everyone knows magic can't be used inside the training grounds."

Armand frowned "What do you mean?" he asked.

Colin pointed toward the crimson banners surrounding the fortress "The barrier," he explained.

"The commanders have powerful mages maintaining it," he continued, "so it suppresses elemental magic during training."

"No recruit can use magic in here unless the barrier is removed," he finished, yet Armand's heart skipped.

If Colin was right, then what had happened?

He forced a smile "I guess... I'm just a good thrower," he said.

Colin stared at him for a second, then burst into laughter.

"I don't believe you," he said, "but I'll let it slide."

He slapped Armand's shoulder, and "I have a feeling we're going to become best friends," he added.

Before Armand could answer, a tall, skinny boy with messy brown hair approached, for pimples covered most of his face.

Unlike Colin, he didn't smile, and he looked directly at Armand.

"You're the new squire?" he asked.

Armand nodded, and "I'm Armand," he replied.

"Roland," the boy said, "I'm Sir Cedric's first squire."

He turned around "Follow me," he ordered.

Armand quickly obeyed, yet as they walked through the fortress Roland spoke without looking back.

"I'm the senior squire," he said, "which means you work under me."

Armand frowned "I thought I was here to train," he said.

"You will," Roland shrugged, "but right now we have responsibilities."

They reached the enormous royal stables, for dozens of magnificent horses occupied polished wooden stalls.

Roland stopped before one in particular, and inside stood the most beautiful horse Armand had ever seen.

Its coat shimmered like polished gold beneath the sunlight, yet its silver mane flowed gracefully down its neck.

The animal looked more like a creature from legend than an ordinary horse, so Roland smiled proudly.

"Beautiful, isn't he?" he asked, "This is Harry."

He unlocked the stall door, then tossed a shovel toward Armand.

"Clean the stall," he ordered.

Armand caught it awkwardly, and "...What?" he asked.

Roland pointed at the floor, for fresh piles of manure covered the straw.

"I said clean it," he repeated, yet Armand stared at him.

"I thought I came here to train for the Red Keep," he said.

Roland laughed "You should've thought about that before making a scene in the training grounds."

"And before becoming Sir Cedric's squire," he added, while he pointed the shovel toward the stall.

"Finish quickly," he said, "oh... don't even think about using magic."

"Harry gets nervous around magic," he warned, "when you're done, give him a proper bath."

"I'll come back for you," he finished, then he walked away.

Armand sighed "So this is knighthood..." he muttered before he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

Hours passed, for he shoveled every bit of waste and replaced the straw.

He scrubbed the stall until it smelled fresh again, then he carefully washed Harry until the horse's golden coat gleamed brilliantly beneath the afternoon sun.

Harry nudged Armand gently with his nose, so Armand smiled.

"I think we're friends now," he said.

Leading the horse outside, he barely had time to admire his work.

"ARMAND!" Roland's voice echoed across the stable yard, for he stood at the entrance waving impatiently.

"What took you so long?" he shouted, "Come on! Sir Cedric is about to fight!"

Armand hurried over, and together they rushed toward the enormous Ludus, the kingdom's grand tournament arena.

The roar of thousands of spectators grew louder with every step, yet when they entered Armand froze.

The arena was gigantic, for rows upon rows of stone seats surrounded a massive field.

Thousands of nobles, merchants, knights, and commoners filled every seat, while royal banners fluttered proudly in the wind.

Roland quickly took Harry's reins from Armand and walked to Sir Cedric, and "My lord," he said.

Cedric accepted the reins with a nod, and "Excellent work, Roland," he replied.

Armand blinked, but Roland didn't correct him.

He simply smiled proudly, so Armand clenched his jaw.

"...I did all the work," he whispered.

A loud trumpet suddenly echoed across the arena, and the commentator's enchanted voice boomed through the stadium.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Royal Tournament!" he announced.

"Today we celebrate the upcoming union between Her Royal Highness, Princess Eleanor of Ring... and Prince Alaric of the Kingdom of Westeron!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, and "For our next event..." the commentator continued.

"The Champion of Ring! The Dragon of the Crimson Lance! Sir Cedric of the Red Keep!"

The arena exploded, for "Cedric! Cedric! Cedric!" the crowd chanted.

The commentator raised a hand toward the opposite gate, and "And representing the Kingdom of Westeron... Captain Magnus Ironhart!"

A massive warrior rode into the arena atop a black stallion, and he saluted the crowd with a heavy lance.

The cheers grew even louder, yet the commentator's voice became serious.

"This round is a contest of jousting!" he declared, "Victory shall be decided by physical skill alone."

"By royal decree, the use of elemental magic or enchanted abilities is strictly forbidden," he added.

The two knights lowered their lances, and the horn sounded.

Both horses exploded forward, and their lances collided.

CRACK!

Magnus's lance shattered, so the crowd roared.

"Point to Sir Cedric!"

Again, and again, and again Cedric dominated every pass, for his timing was flawless and his strikes were precise.

Magnus grew visibly frustrated, so after another defeat he ripped off his helmet in anger.

He dismounted, stormed toward the weapon rack, and selected another lance.

Armand frowned, and "...That's strange," he whispered.

The new lance looked identical, yet something about it felt wrong.

His eyes narrowed, for the way Magnus lifted it showed a slight strain in his arms.

"It's heavier," Armand realized, "as if there's metal hidden inside."

He turned toward Roland, and "Doesn't that weapon look suspicious?" he asked.

Roland didn't even glance at it "Quiet," he snapped.

"The officials inspected everything," he added, "don't embarrass yourself again."

The horn sounded once more, so Cedric and Magnus lowered their lances.

The horses charged faster, and faster, and faster, yet at the last second Magnus swung.

Instead of striking Cedric's shield, he smashed the reinforced lance directly into Cedric's helmet.

CRACK!

The impact echoed across the arena, and Cedric's head snapped backward.

He lost control, so his horse stumbled and he crashed violently onto the dirt.

The crowd gasped, and Armand's eyes widened.

"He's going to kill him!" he shouted.

Magnus ignored the officials, for he wheeled his horse around and lowered the heavy lance once more.

He charged straight toward the fallen Cedric, and people screamed.

Everything seemed to slow, yet Armand didn't think.

He ran straight into the arena

"No!" he yelled.

He stretched out his hand instinctively toward Magnus, and something inside him answered.

A violent unseen force erupted from his palm, so the lance jerked sideways.

It was ripped completely from Magnus's grasp, and the weapon spun wildly through the air before crashing harmlessly onto the sand.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Every noble, every knight, every spectator turned to stare at one person: Armand.

A recruit standing alone in the center of the royal arena.

A heartbeat later, heavy footsteps thundered toward him, for one of the arena guards—a giant clad in steel armor—reached him in an instant.

Without hesitation— BANG! —the guard drove his forehead into Armand's face with a brutal headbutt.

Pain exploded through his skull, and the world blurred.

His legs gave out beneath him, yet the last thing Armand saw before darkness claimed him was thousands of shocked faces staring down at him.

Then... everything went