The Name Of A Sorcerer

The Vision

A sharp pounding inside his skull dragged Armand out of sleep.

"...Ugh."

He groaned and held his head. It felt as though someone had struck him with a hammer.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Sunlight poured through a nearby window, and he realized he wasn't in the underground barracks. He wasn't even in the hunting camp. He was lying in a soft bed inside a room he had never seen before.

He blinked several times. "...Where am I?"

As he sat up, the blanket slipped from his body, and he froze. He wasn't wearing any clothes. His face immediately turned crimson.

"My clothes!"

He spotted them lying neatly folded on the floor beside the bed, and without wasting another second he hurriedly dressed himself, muttering under his breath. "What happened last night...?"

He remembered George, the drinking contest, his first mug of ale... after that, nothing.

Once he was fully dressed, he hurried downstairs. The common room of the inn was far quieter than the night before, and only a handful of recruits remained. At one table sat Colin, Samwell, Podric, and several other boys, and curled up comfortably beside Colin were the two tiny direwolf pups.

The moment they saw Armand, the white pup yipped happily while the black one climbed clumsily onto the table.

"There he is!" Podric shouted. "We thought you'd sleep until tomorrow."

Armand rubbed his aching forehead. "What happened?"

"You all kept laughing when I came downstairs."

Samwell chuckled. "You don't remember?"

Armand shook his head. "Not a thing."

Colin laughed. "You drank your first mug of ale. George got you completely drunk, and you spent the rest of the evening mumbling Gwen's name."

The table erupted into laughter.

Armand buried his face in his hands. "...I did?"

"Oh, you definitely did," Podric replied. "You wouldn't stop."

Samwell added with a grin, "George even sent two women to take you upstairs."

Armand's eyes widened. "...What?"

"They just put you to bed," Colin quickly assured him. "You were barely able to stand, and the poor women spent the whole time listening to you whisper, 'Gwen... Gwen... Gwen...'"

Even Armand couldn't help laughing from embarrassment.

"So... we waited for you to wake up." Colin scratched the white pup behind its ears. "Now we can all head back to the Red Keep together."

Armand nodded. "I just... need to wash my face first."

The innkeeper, who had been polishing wooden mugs behind the counter, pointed toward the back door. "There's a stream behind the inn. Cold water should help that headache."

Armand smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

He stepped outside. The morning air was cool and fresh, and birds sang somewhere high among the trees. Following a narrow path, he reached a crystal-clear stream flowing gently over smooth stones. He knelt beside the water, scooped a handful into his palms, and splashed it across his face. The icy water instantly cleared his mind, and he sighed with relief. Much better.

Then a strange feeling settled over him. Someone was watching.

He slowly stood and turned around. Ashake stood beneath the branches of an ancient oak, and his green robes barely moved in the breeze. It was impossible to tell how long he had been there.

Armand smiled. "Master Ashake."

The elf inclined his head. "Armand. It is good to see you again."

"You too. I wasn't expecting to meet you here."

Ashake looked toward the forest. "I've come because I need your help."

"My help?"

The elf nodded once. "Walk with me."

Without another word he turned and disappeared between the trees, and Armand followed.

The sounds of the celebration quickly faded behind them, and soon they reached a quiet clearing where an old fallen tree rested beneath towering branches. Ashake sat upon the weathered log, and Armand sat beside him. For a while neither spoke.

Finally, Armand broke the silence. "What do you need my help with?"

Ashake's usually calm face became unusually serious. "The King."

Armand frowned. "What about him?"

"There is... ...a darkness surrounding him. I have sensed it for days, but every attempt to see beyond it has failed. I cannot understand its source."

Armand listened quietly.

Ashake looked directly into his eyes. "You are the strongest sorcerer I know."

Armand almost laughed. "...That's impossible. I'm not even a sorcerer. I can barely use magic when I want to. It just... happens."

Ashake nodded. "I know. The power sleeping within you is far greater than you realize, and it remains sealed for a reason. If all of it awakened at once, you would lose yourself. Your mind would shatter beneath its weight."

Armand swallowed. "So... what are you saying?"

"I can guide it. For only a short time I can release only the amount your body can safely endure. But I cannot do so without your permission."

The forest fell silent. Armand thought of King MacGil — the kind ruler who had welcomed a poor shepherd into his palace, the man who had treated him with kindness when no one else had. He nodded. "I consent."

Ashake slowly placed one hand against Armand's chest. "Close your eyes."

Armand obeyed.

"Now... breathe." He inhaled slowly.

"Again." The air filled his lungs.

"Do not force it. Become part of the forest. Hear every leaf. Every bird. Every stream. Feel the roots beneath your feet, the wind upon your skin, the life surrounding you."

Armand obeyed. His breathing slowed, and the sounds around him became clearer — the chirping birds, the rustling leaves, the flowing water, even the heartbeat of the forest itself. Time began to slow. The breeze seemed almost frozen, and the world became perfectly still.

Ashake's voice echoed softly. "Good. Now... think only of King MacGil. Nothing else. What do you feel?"

Armand reached inward, deeper than he ever had before. Darkness surrounded him, and then a light appeared. The vision unfolded.

"I... I see him."

Ashake remained silent.

"He is sitting upon his throne. He looks... proud. He is wearing his royal robes, and the court is full."

Armand's breathing became heavier. "Now... a long table has appeared before him. It is covered with food — roasted meat, bread, fruit, wine. There are many people standing around the table... but they're not eating. They're only watching him."

His voice began to tremble. "The King is eating alone. He seems happy."

Then Armand's face twisted in horror. "He stopped. He's coughing. No... he can't breathe. There's... there's blood. So much blood. He coughed blood onto the table."

Armand's breathing became frantic. "His face... it... it fell forward. Onto the table. He's... ...dead."

Armand's eyes flew open. He gasped violently, clutching his chest. Sweat covered his forehead despite the cool morning air, and his entire body shook.

For several long moments neither of them spoke. Ashake's face remained completely still, almost emotionless.

Armand finally found his voice. "What... what did I see?"

The elf looked toward the distant palace, hidden beyond the trees. His answer came quietly. "The King... ...will die."

Armand stared at Ashake in disbelief. "There has to be something we can do. We can't just let him die."

The elf's expression remained calm. "No."

Armand frowned. "No?"

"We must not interfere. The flow of time and nature is older than kingdoms... older than dragons... older than men. What is destined to happen will happen, and if we attempt to change it, the price will be greater than the tragedy itself."

Armand clenched his fists. "So we just watch?"

Ashake looked toward the distant horizon. "Sometimes... the hardest thing to do... ...is nothing."

Before Armand could argue again, voices echoed through the trees. "Armand! There you are! We've been looking everywhere!"

He turned toward the sound. Colin, Samwell, and Podric were making their way through the forest.

"Over here!" Colin called.

Armand glanced back toward Ashake. "...Master?"

The fallen log was empty. The elf had vanished without a sound. Armand sighed. He would never get used to that.

His friends finally reached him. "What were you doing out here?" Podric asked. "Talking to yourself?"

Armand forced a smile. "We should head back to the Red Keep."

Colin laughed. "Well, that's new. Now you're the one in a hurry?"

The four began walking toward the inn.

Samwell suddenly remembered something. "Oh. Gwen came to the celebration last night."

Armand immediately looked up. "She did?"

Colin nodded awkwardly. "She came looking for you."

Armand smiled. "What happened?"

The three boys exchanged nervous glances.

Podric scratched the back of his neck. "Well... we tried to tell her you were asleep."

Armand's smile faded. "Tried?"

Colin sighed. "George saw us. He walked right over... and told her you were upstairs with two women."

Armand stopped walking. "...What?"

Samwell nodded. "She didn't believe us after that. She started crying... ...then she ran away."

For a heartbeat Armand simply stood there. Then anger flared inside him. "George..."

Without another word he sprinted toward the inn. "Armand!" Colin shouted, but he didn't stop.

Inside the stable behind the inn he hurried to the innkeeper. "I need to borrow one of your horses."

The old man looked at the desperation in his eyes. "Bring it back in one piece."

"I will!"

Moments later Armand was galloping toward the Capital as fast as the horse could carry him.

The palace guards recognized him immediately. "The King's young hero." One of them smiled. "Looking for someone?"

"I need to see Gwen."

The guards exchanged amused looks before allowing him through. Armand raced through the palace corridors until he reached the royal tailoring rooms, and he pushed open the familiar door.

Inside, Gwen quietly folded expensive fabrics. She looked up, and the smile that had almost appeared vanished the moment she recognized him.

"...Gwen."

She turned back to her work.

"I came to explain."

"I don't want an explanation."

"You don't understand."

"I understand perfectly." She folded another piece of cloth. "You told me you liked me."

"I do."

"The very next evening... ...you disappeared upstairs with two women."

"It wasn't like that. I was drunk. They only took me upstairs because—"

She cut him off. "You lied to me." Her voice trembled. "I believed you. I defended you. I thought... ...I thought you were different."

Armand stepped closer. "I never touched them. I don't even remember going upstairs."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does!"

She finally turned toward him, and tears had gathered in her eyes. "You played with my feelings."

"I didn't."

"You did."

Silence filled the room. Finally she spoke softly. "Please... leave."

Armand stood there for another moment, hoping she would change her mind. She didn't. With a heavy heart he quietly walked away.

By the time he returned to the training grounds, the borrowed horse was exhausted. Armand slowly walked through the gates, not paying attention, until someone deliberately stepped into his path.

"Well..." A familiar voice sneered. "Look who it is."

Armand looked up. His eldest brother stood before him, and the other three brothers stood nearby with mocking smiles.

"So... you finally made it into the Red Keep."

Another brother laughed. "I still don't know how."

His eldest brother stepped closer. "You'll never be one of them. No matter what armor you wear, you'll always be the useless little shepherd."

Armand remained silent.

Before his brother could shove him, a large hand grabbed the man's wrist. Podric. "You've said enough."

Colin stepped beside Armand. "He's one of us now."

Samwell folded his arms. "If you've got a problem with Armand... you've got a problem with all of us."

The four brothers looked around. Several recruits had stopped to watch, and even a few knights had noticed.

Armand's eldest brother clicked his tongue. "This isn't over." He turned, and the four brothers walked away.

Podric nudged Armand's shoulder. "You alright?"

Armand smiled faintly. "Yeah. Thanks."

"What are friends for?" Colin replied.

Life at the Red Keep continued. The days became weeks, the weeks became months, and training grew harder. Commander William pushed every recruit beyond their limits. Many quit, some failed, others were dismissed, but Armand only grew stronger.

The vision of King MacGil's death never left his mind. Almost every night he saw the King coughing blood, and every feast reminded him of it. Every smile from the King made the vision hurt even more.

And then there was Gwen. No matter how many times Armand tried to speak with her, she refused. Sometimes she would leave the room before he entered, and sometimes she simply ignored him. Each rejection stung more than the last.

Yet life refused to stand still. Armand's body changed. The once skinny shepherd became taller, his shoulders broadened, and months of relentless training carved lean muscle across his frame. His swordsmanship improved faster than anyone expected, and before long even Commander William acknowledged that Armand had become the finest swordsman among the recruits.

His two direwolves changed as well. The white pup grew into a magnificent wolf with snow-colored fur that gleamed beneath the sunlight, and the black pup became larger still, with midnight-black fur and piercing golden eyes. Wherever Armand walked, the two wolves followed. At first the recruits admired them, but later most kept their distance. Few people felt comfortable standing near two full-grown direwolves. Only Colin, Samwell, and Podric treated them as ordinary companions.

As the seasons changed, one thing became clear to everyone in the Red Keep: the powerless shepherd from a forgotten village was no longer an ordinary recruit. Whether through talent, destiny, or something far older than either, Armand was becoming someone impossible to ignore.