The Prince of Warwood and the Fall of the King (Book 2)

by J. Noel Clinton

  The moment he saw the sign welcoming them to Razorbill Cove, Jeremiah slowed to the posted speed limit. Father and son laughed exuberantly as they pulled up to a small diner nestled among numerous fishing and bait shops. The salty, icy air swept across their faces the moment they stepped from the vehicle, and they hurried into the building. The diner was quite busy for three o’clock, and the crowd of patrons turned curiously and watched them enter. Jeremiah led Xavier to a booth overlooking the harbor, and Xavier, avoiding the prying eyes, watched out the window as a forty-foot wooden schooner, its deck loaded down with lobster cages, docked at nearby pier.

  “Hello, I’m Darcy, and I’ll be your server this afternoon. What can I get for you today?” a thin, graying woman asked.

  After they ordered, father and son sat for some time in a comfortable silence watching the activity on the docks and pier. It was Xavier who finally spoke.

  “Dad? Why do you and Headmaster Spencer hate one another?”

  Jeremiah sighed, “We don’t hate one another, son. It’s just that our relationship is a bit…awkward.”

  “Why?”

  His father squirmed in his seat and for a moment, and at first, Xavier didn’t think he would answer. Finally, he did, “My mother died when I was two. Father remarried a common woman, Karissa Spencer, when I was four, and a year later, they had Michael. I guess I felt my father had not only replaced my mother, but me as well. Needless to say, I despised Michael from the start. Since we’ve grown, I’ve tried to make amends for how I treated him growing up, but I guess the damage is done.”

  “I don’t think Headmaster Spencer likes me that much either. He’s always yelling at me when I can’t do what he wants during telepathy class.”

  Jeremiah paused and peered down at him. “He’s a good man, Xavier. When he challenges you, he’s trying to help you become the king you will need to be to run and protect our kingdom.”

  Xavier huff disbelievingly and was rewarded with a brief glare from the king.

  “That is why,” he added stiffly, “I’ve stressed the need for you to get control of your temper and to think before you act, son. I see so much of myself in you, and I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I made. You will be a better man than me.”

  “But, if he’s your brother, why is his last name Spencer? Wouldn’t it be Wells too?” Xavier asked.

  “Spencer was his mother’s maiden name,” Jeremiah explained. “Remember when I told you that William LeMasters had been a citizen of Warwood at one time?” Xavier nodded and the king continued, “Well, unknown to the kingdom’s intelligence, he had formulated a plot to gain control over the kingdom. He secretly began recruiting citizens who were disgruntled with my father’s bullish, tyrannous tactics and organized an attack on the throne. LeMasters and his followers stormed the castle and assassinated Father and Karissa Spencer. However, he failed to dismantle the Royal Guard, which had regrouped and forced the traitors from the kingdom. Michael was just twelve when the rebellion occurred.”

  “LeMasters killed your father?” he whispered.

  “Yes, he did, and in doing so, I was inducted as the King of Warwood at the age of eighteen. Mike went to live with his uncle, Quinton Spencer, in Ohio. He chose to take on his mother’s maiden name then,” he added dryly. “Anyway, during the first couple of years of my rule, LeMasters’ men made several attempts to infiltrate the kingdom, but the Royal Guard defeated the group each time. Looking back, I realize now that the attempts were not full fledge assaults. They were simply tests to find weaknesses in the kingdom’s defenses.” The king gave a sardonic smile at the memory. “God, I was so young and arrogant. I thought I was untouchable. If it hadn’t been for the experienced, knowledgeable Royal Guard, the kingdom would have fallen into William LeMasters’ hands within the first few months of my rule. But, then, suddenly the attacks stopped. I naively thought that William had found my defenses too great and had simply given up. I grew relaxed and soft, and during my fifth year of rule, I took a holiday, perfectly confident that the kingdom was impenetrable. It was during that holiday that I met your mother. We were married within a few months, and you were born soon after. So when the prophet predicted your death at the christening, I didn’t believe him. My stubbornness and ego nearly cost you your life.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “LeMasters slipped through my lax, poor excuse for security and made his way to your nursery door before Dublin found him. Dublin was severely injured in the altercation, but he managed to scare William off. Following that incident, I took you and your mother to the beach house you dreamt about…”

  “And sent us to live at my grandparents,” Xavier finished.

  “Yes.”

  The food came then, and father and son’s conversation moved to less serious matters. Xavier told his father how his mother’s horse, Brewster’s Coal, had bucked her to the ground and jumped a fence to join a herd of horses grazing in an adjoining pasture, and it wasn’t until a few days later that she realized the horse had tossed her into a poison ivy patch. She had been covered from head to toe in an itchy, uncomfortable rash. Upon hearing this, the king’s chuckle grew into a booming laughter, and Xavier couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

  As he laughed along with his father, Xavier felt the day’s tension and frustrations melt away. He felt happy, relax, normal. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be normal. Since the manifestation of his abilities, his life had been anything but normal, and in some instances, it had been downright freaky. However, sitting in a common restaurant across from his father, wearing jeans and sweatshirts, and sharing stories, he felt perfectly ordinary. So when his father announced it was time to head back, Xavier couldn’t help but feel a bit saddened.

  Thirty minutes later, as they pulled to a stop in front of the palace, Ephraim Hardcastle rushed toward them, looking extremely anxious.

  “Sire! The prophet is here,” he blurted the moment the king stepped from the vehicle.

  Jeremiah frowned and soberly regarded the man before him. “I don’t understand. I didn’t contact him. Why is he here?”

  “I tried to ask him that, but he bit my head off, roared that I had no place to question him, and said that he’d speak only to you. I’m telling you, Jeremiah, the man’s off his head!” Ephraim declared, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

  “Where is he?” Jeremiah asked.

  “In the residence waiting for you,” Ephraim answered.

  Jeremiah strode into the palace so quickly that Xavier had to run to catch up with him.

  “Dad? Dad, what’s happening?” he asked, but his father didn’t answer.

  With his face set, he bound up the stairs three at a time and burst through the door. Milton and Mrs. Sommers were waiting by the door looking apprehensive.

  “Where is he?” he demanded.

  “In the library, sire,” Milton responded.

  Jeremiah nodded and turned to Xavier. “I need you to go to your room and stay there until I tell you to come out, understand?”

  “No, I don’t understand at all. Please, Dad, tell me what’s going on,” he pleaded anxiously.

  “Xavier, I don’t have time for this. Do as you’re told!” he commanded firmly, sending the boy toward the steps with a light swat on the butt.

  As Xavier climbed the stairs, he watched his father cross the room and enter the library. When he reached his room, he hesitated at the door and waited for Milton and Mrs. Sommers to leave the receiving room, before darting back down the stairs and scurrying to the library door. In his haste, his father had inadvertently left the door ajar, and a strange, slurred voice spilled out from the room.

  “Sire, I understand your confusion, and your worry is well founded. However, nothing can be discussed until the divination,” the stranger’s voice noted abrasively.

  “I don’t understand! Why not just wait until April for the boy’s Royal Communion?” Jeremiah asked.

  “It’s not fo
r you to understand, Your Highness!” the stranger’s voice insisted gruffly. “The boy’s destiny is at stake here…”

  “Is he in danger?” His father’s voice quavered.

  “King Wells, I fear this boy will always be in danger,” the man muttered.

  “Then I’ll take him away! We’ll disappear…”

  “What about your kingdom, sire? Would you honestly shirk all your responsibilities, all your power and fortune, to protect the boy?”

  Without hesitation, Jeremiah pledged, “In a heartbeat!”

  The long, drawn-out silence that followed had Xavier questioning whether the men were still in the room. He peered through the gap cautiously. He saw his father standing with his back to the door, but the prophet stood out of sight.

  Then, the prophet spoke, “As admirable as that is King Wells, you cannot take the boy from his people. Both of your destinies are intertwined here.”

  “Then, how am I to protect him?” Jeremiah growled.

  The prophet sighed impatiently. “Sire, strengthen your telepathic abilities with the boy; both your lives depend upon it! As much as I know the boy despises it, he must develop strong impediment abilities. Michael Spencer is right about that. It’s a dire skill for him. Make him practice with you every single night! Don’t let him argue or whine his way out of it, make him do it!”

  “Abe, can’t you tell me what’s going on?” Jeremiah pressed.

  “No, I cannot. The divination will give you the answers you need. Both your generals must attend the ceremony as well as their children, Erica and Courtney. Dublin Minnows and Robbie must be there as well, but no one else is to know! I know that Father O’Brien has requested for the High Counsel to be present for the boy’s divination, but you must forbid it, sire! We may not be able to prevent Father O’Brien from attending a divination in his own church, but we can forbid anyone else from attending that shouldn’t be there. It’s imperative no one knows about the divination until moments before the ceremony. Don’t tell the Premier Guard, Father O’Brien, your servants; don’t even tell Loren and Ephraim until you’re on your way to the church! Do you understand?”

  Jeremiah wasn’t accustomed to receiving orders and found it difficult to stomach now, but he nodded obediently knowing the prophet’s advice shouldn’t be questioned.

  “When? When do you want to perform it?”

  “Tonight at midnight.”

  “Tonight? You’ve got to be joking!”

  “I do not joke, sire,” the prophet announced calmly. “I will bring the key and the prophecy myself…”

  “You’ll need clearance for that. I’ll need to inform the guards that you’ll be taking them,” Jeremiah interrupted.

  “No, damn it! You cannot say a thing!” the prophet’s voice barked. “Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said?”

  “Look, Abe, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t speak to me like that. Although I greatly respect you, I am still your king,” Jeremiah demanded.

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness. You just don’t understand the delicacy of the situation. NO ONE must know! No one!” he implored gruffly. “Do not concern yourself about the security around the vault. I will retrieve the key and the prophecy with your guards none the wiser.” The prophet sighed and continued more calmly, “Now, will you please invite young Xavier, who’s eavesdropping at the door, into the room so that I can meet him?”

  Xavier hissed a string of curses and opened the door, glancing up at his father with a small grin. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “Come here, boy,” the old man commanded.

  Xavier looked directly at the prophet for the first time and was taken aback. He was a very big man, nearly as tall as the king, but it wasn’t the man’s size that shocked him. It was his face. One side of his face was grotesquely deformed. The skin drooped a couple of centimeters, looking as though it had been doused in acid. His mouth hung at a perversely obtuse angle on one side with a string of spittle dangling from the corner. His snowy hair was tied into a knot at the base of his neck. From Xavier’s perspective, the man seemed quite elderly, but he stood straight and proud which belied this impression. And, he was frighteningly powerful. Xavier could feel that power vibrate in the air all around them. But as scary and ugly as the man’s appearance was, he saw something gentle and oddly familiar in those gray eyes. Slowly, he approached the man.

  The prophet studied him with silent intensity, making him feel like a rare artifact. Then, he spoke.

  “Hello, Xavier. I’m Abraham Vincent. Now, I know you’ve heard every word your father and I said, so let’s just cut through the formalities, shall we? You mustn’t tell anyone, not even Robbie, that the divination is planned for tonight. Do you understand?”

  Xavier nodded his head vigorously, intimidated by the man’s raw power and appearance. Abraham gave him a horrific lopsided smile. At least, he thought it was a smile although it looked more like a snarl.

  “Sire? May I speak to the boy alone?” he asked the king.

  Jeremiah hesitated briefly before replying, “Ah, sure.” He looked down at Xavier. “I’ll be just outside the door in the receiving room.”

  Then, he marched out of the room, leaving Xavier alone with the hideous man.

  Abraham studied the timid boy a moment before speaking. “Your father is a good man and a superb king, boy. Watch him and learn from him, so that when your day comes, you will be just as honorable.” Abraham moved to stand within inches of him, and he could smell the old man’s sour breath. “But, if your divination goes as I know it will, you will develop into a far greater, more powerful king than your father could ever dream of becoming.”

  He looked up at the prophet in disbelief. More powerful than his dad? It was hard to imagine!

  “Xavier, there’s another reason why I am here now, and why I didn’t wait for your thirteenth birthday to perform the divination. You may not believe me. In fact, I’m certain you will not, and that you won’t take the divination or anything I say seriously at all, but you must be warned.” He hesitated before continuing in a low, strained tone. “There is great evil oozing its way into the kingdom. The dark seeks to return, and you, your father, and all you value is in grave danger, boy. The Dark Lord will come and you and your father must take heed!”

  Xavier coughed out a nervous laugh. “What are you talking about? You’re not making sense? Do you always talk like a fortune cookie?” he blurted, trying to sound more secure than he felt.

  Abraham grabbed him roughly by the collar and hissed irritably, “Don’t presume to mock me, boy! Your jokes don’t make it any less true. It will happen! Even you have begun to sense what lies ahead.”

  “But I haven’t…”

  “Yes, you have!” the prophet barked, shaking him. “You’ve already envisioned the fall of the king, and yet you and your father have chosen to ignore it!”

  “What are you talking about?” he whispered, his anxiety toward the man escalating into fear.

  “The dream, boy! The dream! You dreamt of your father’s fall two nights ago. You dreamt of Father O’Brien ordering your father’s most trusted assistants to beat him while his enemies looked on, buying time to attack.”

  “How do you know about that?” he questioned, his entire body shuddering.

  “It doesn’t matter how I know!” the prophet snapped impatiently. “What matters is that you believe it will happen and…”

  “No! No, you’re lying! It was just a dream! That’s all! It was just a dream!” Xavier cried, struggling against the old man’s surprisingly strong grasp.

  “If you need evidence of what I say is true, then remember this: the Dark Lord’s servants are in place, and they will take the life of someone you care about. I’m afraid that she’ll be just one of many. Children will begin to die right under their parents’ noses, and terror and suspicion will follow. This will set the stage for the uprising, and I’m afraid your father and his Royal Guard will not be able to stop it. The Dark Army will o
verrun the kingdom, and the much of the Royal Guard will be massacred. The only option for those loyal to the throne will be to flee the kingdom.”

  “No, no! It can’t be true! It can’t! You’re lying!” he yelled.

  The prophet painfully tightened his grip. “Listen to me, boy! There’s more!”

  “No!” he cried, trying to squirm free. “I don’t want to hear any more! Please!”

  “But you must hear it. You must!” The man’s yellowed, long nails dug painfully into his arms, and Xavier instantly stilled. Abraham continued with rushed, urgent words that sprayed across the boy’s face. “When the Dark Lord rises, he will come for the throne. Death and sorrow are his bedfellows. He will be more powerful than your father, and he will kill him.”

  “NOOOO!” Xavier screamed. He tore from the prophet’s clutches and raced across the room.

  The prophet was more agile than he looked and before the young prince could reach the door, he had Xavier in his hands, spinning him around and pinning him against the wall. “Listen to me! Jeremiah will sacrifice himself for you. You and only you can stop him. If you fail, your father will die, and you will grow into a man without his guidance. You must stop him! You must prevent him from sacrificing himself.”

  “NO! God, please! Let me go!” Xavier wailed.

  “That’s enough! Release him!” Jeremiah boomed, stalking over to the older man and pushing him away from the visibly shaken boy. “Don’t you ever put your hands on my son again!”

  He pulled Xavier’s quivering body against him and stroked his head soothingly while glaring murderously at Abraham.

  “It’s all right, son. I’m here,” he reassured the boy.

  Xavier wrapped his arms around his father as a cold chill raced down his spine at the memory of the prophet’s words, “…your father will die…” It wasn’t true! It couldn’t be, right?