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

by J. Noel Clinton

  Slowly, Xavier nodded, tears renewing their paths down his cheeks, as the old man patted him comfortingly. Then after a moment, he stood. “Well, I hate to leave with everything how it is, but I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere. So, I think I’ll leave you two to it. Goodbye, Xavier. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Abraham, I need to talk to you. Wait for me outside,” Jeremiah ordered with such superiority that Abe looked at him with an angled, reproving brow, but in the end, he nodded and left the tent.

  “Son?” Jeremiah questioned. “Are you all right?”

  Xavier nodded, wiping the tears from his face. “Yeah. I’m sorry I yelled at you and embarrassed you in front of all those people,” he muttered.

  “I’m sorry too,” Jeremiah replied softly, rubbing the boy’s arms and kissing his forehead. “You look exhausted. Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready.”

  He nodded and without another word, settled back into the sleeping bags. But the moment his father exited the tent to join the prophet outside, he scrambled forward and listened through the tent flaps.

  “What is it, King Wells?” the older man questioned, but by his tone, he already knew what the king wanted.

  “You’re a time bender, aren’t you? That’s why your appearance has changed. Something Xavier did changed the future.”

  Abraham grinned broadly. “Nothing gets by you, does it, sire?”

  The king didn’t respond, but continued to study the older man vehemently.

  Abe sighed. “Yes. When Xavier prevented you from sacrificing your life for his during the retrieval of the key, everyone’s future was altered, for the better. If Dublin had survived in your place, he would have been a gentle father figure for Xavier, but he would have been ill-prepared to handle Xavier’s turbulent, influx year, the year when the majority of his powers will emerge. This will be a dangerous time for the boy and everyone around him. Without you, he would have severely injured himself and others,” he finished thickly.

  “Who are you? Do I know you?” Jeremiah asked, his eyes narrowing on the man in front of him.

  The prophet smiled. “Oh, yes. You know me. When you settle in at King’s Mountain, we’ll discuss assigning you as Xavier’s keeper. You’ll need to have the ability to control his raging powers. The boy needs your wisdom and guidance now more than ever.”

  Jeremiah opened his mouth to interrupt, but Abraham stopped him. “Please, sire, don’t ask questions that I cannot answer. All the answers you seek will be discovered in time. I really must go now. I’ll see you both soon,” he reassured him, and then simply disappeared.

  Xavier’s mouth dropped open. A time bender? What was a time bender? He wondered as he slid back into the tent. Obviously, there was a lot more to Abraham Vincent than the task of being a prophet. His mind wouldn’t stop toiling over the possibilities and the puzzle that was Abraham Vincent. No longer tired, he gave up on the nap and began rummaging through his father’s backpack, looking for paper and a pen to write a memorial letter to Dublin.

  Chapter 27

  Revenge

  Nearly an hour later, Xavier emerged from the tent. The sun had slipped behind the mountains leaving the land bathed in a soft orange light. An enormous bonfire towered at the north end of the lake, a safe distance from the campsites peppering the lake’s shore. Loren and Ephraim, their families, and Tamarah and Brittany Minnows sat quietly around the campfire eating canned beef and fire-roasted potatoes. Sliding his letter to Dublin in his sweatshirt pocket, Xavier joined the group.

  “Hey, X,” Loren called boisterously. “Hungry?”

  “Yeah, a little,” he mumbled, sinking onto the log between Loren and Ephraim.

  Ephraim fetched a plate of beef and a couple roasted potatoes. As he handed the food to him, Xavier asked, “Where’s my dad?”

  “He’s having a little chat with Robbie,” Ephraim answered.

  “Oh,” he muttered, stuffing an entire potato in his mouth and struggling to chew it down.

  “Xavier Wells!” Mrs. Hardcastle chastised. “Where are your manners? Cut your food into smaller bites, young man.”

  The Hardcastle boys snickered.

  Xavier spit the half chewed potato back onto his plate and smiled sweetly at the woman. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Drew, Court, and Caleb burst into laughter which was squelched by a stern look from their mother. Then, she turned and swatted the prince stifling a smile.

  “You little heathen! You act more and more like your father each day!”

  The group snickered.

  “Don’t I know it,” the king commented dryly.

  Xavier spun and looked up his father with a small, sheepish grin.

  His hand was clamped firmly on Robbie’s shoulder who stood staring at the toe of her shoe. Her watery, red eyes wandered briefly to Xavier before glancing quickly away.

  “Xavier, Robbie has something she’d like to say to you. Robbie?” Jeremiah prompted gently.

  She glanced back at him and muttered, “I’m sorry for kneeing you like I did. It was horrible thing to do. Can you accept my apology?”

  “Yeah, sure,” he replied quietly.

  She nodded and began to move away.

  “Robbie?” he called after her.

  She stopped and turned toward him, not meeting his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, too. I really wish…I…I’m sorry.”

  She nodded vaguely and wandered toward her mother and sister.

  Jeremiah gave him a small, encouraging smile. “Give it a little time, son.”

  Following dinner, what was left of the Premier Royal Guard began trickling into the royal campsite to do their part in Mr. Clarke’s penance for treason. Timmins wrapped his royal cloak protectively around his body and looked up at the king apprehensively.

  “Sire,” he greeted and bowed humbly.

  “Let’s take this into the woods,” Jeremiah announced. “There’s no need for this to be witnessed by anyone else.”

  Xavier watched the men follow his father into the woods. Courtney, who sat next to him by the fire, seemed to be holding his breath, but once the Royal Guard disappeared into the woods, he released it in a quiet whistle.

  “Crikey! I’m sure glad I’m not Mr. Clarke, right now. Hey, Xavier! Where are you going?”

  “Where do you think? Come on,” he called as he jogged into the woods.

  When the boys finally found the men, Timmins Clarke had been stripped of his cloak and stood bracing himself against a tree trunk. The rest of the Guard stood several yards behind him, and Jeremiah stood to the side, stripping the leaves from a long switch. Finally, with the leaves removed, Jeremiah turned toward Timmins, switch in hand. Xavier shuddered at the fury he saw in his father’s face and prayed that he would never have to see that expression directed toward him.

  Then, Jeremiah turned to the motionless Premier Royal Guard. “Your role here is to bear witness to this punishment. This man has been charged with treason. Due to his humble admission to the crime, leniency has been considered and therefore, his punishment will be thus: a twenty-lash caning, a demotion to the rank of private in the regular Royal Guard, and weekly inquisitions for the next two years. For the record, Private Timmins Clarke, how do you plea?”

  “Guilty, sire,” he choked and began weeping uncontrollably.

  Xavier had never seen a grown man cry so hysterically, and he wasn’t sure he could blame Timmins. If his father looked at him like that, knowing he had twenty lashes coming to him, he would certainly bawl, too.

  Jeremiah shrugged off his jacket and flung it angrily to the side. Aside from a sigh, the king gave no indication that he dreaded what he was about to do. He turned toward Timmins and swung, hard. The whip lashed against Timmins’s bare skin with a loud crack, and he screamed like a baby. Xavier felt a strange sense of satisfaction but immediately felt guilty for it. Soon, he felt only pity for the man as he endured lash after lash. Although it was far from the torment his father had endured, Timmins f
ell on the ninth swing. Jeremiah waited patiently as Timmins struggled to his feet. Once Timmins stood and hugged himself against the tree again, the king resumed the whipping. By the fifteenth lash, Timmins could no longer stand, and Jeremiah backed away from him.

  “Jer,” Ephraim muttered, “you must finish it; you know you must. The men must see you as a man of your word, good or bad. And you know Timmins wouldn’t feel he had redemption unless you finish his punishment.”

  Dread and remorse swept across the king’s face, and he closed his eyes. After a long moment, he raised his head with a hard, taunt expression in place. Jeremiah finished the beating quickly, and with a strangled growl, he threw the whip into the surrounding trees and stormed off into the forest with Ephraim on his heels. The remaining Guard silently began to disperse as Loren helped Timmins to his feet.

  Xavier nudged Courtney with his elbow and mouthed the words, “Come on.”

  The boys crept farther into the woods after their fathers. They hadn’t traveled far when they heard a loud crash and cussing, and Xavier pulled Courtney behind a clump of shrubs. They found the two men in a small clearing: a very calm Ephraim standing off to the side and a very agitated king stomping in circles.

  “Are you done, Your Highness?” Ephraim asked dryly amused.

  Jeremiah was pacing and panting madly. “No, damn it! I’m not!” he spat, picking up a large branch from the forest floor and smashing it several times against a tree trunk. Then, he continued to stomp around the clearing huffing and ranting. His tantrum would have appeared funny if the situation hadn’t been so serious. Finally, the king’s rage seemed to deflate, and he sank onto a fallen log.

  Ephraim paused a moment before asking quietly, “Now are you done?”

  The king didn’t speak but simply nodded. Ephraim sighed and sat next to him. They sat in silence for several minutes before Jeremiah buried his face in his hands and whispered, “Sorry about that.”

  Ephraim nodded. “It’s all right, Jer. I’ve been expecting it. Bloody Hell, with everything you’ve had to endure over the last month: the near death of your son, the discovery that the woman you’ve been dating is Lucifer’s mistress and attempts to murder your son in a bathtub, the trial, the sentencing of crimes that should have been thrown out, the caning, the invasion of Lucifer himself, the death of Dublin, and the discovery that one of your highest, most trusted guards has betrayed you. Crikey, I’m surprised this blow-up didn’t happen sooner.”

  He gave him a small reluctant smile. “Well, when you put it like that, maybe I should have another go at it.”

  “No, I think that was more than enough, Your Highness,” Ephraim chastised playfully. “If you go berserk like that again, I may have to restrain you.”

  He huffed. “You think you could?”

  “I have before,” the general challenged with a raised eyebrow.

  Jeremiah growled an inaudible response and tackled his friend to the forest floor. The men wrestled a moment and it wasn’t any surprise to see Jeremiah come out the victor.

  Xavier couldn’t resist the temptation to rib Courtney. “My dad can beat up your dad.”

  “Quiet, you.” Courtney laughed, giving Xavier a playful shove.

  “My dad can beat up your dad. My dad can beat up your dad,” Xavier taunted as Courtney wrestled him to the ground and pinned him there.

  “Oh, yeah?” Ephraim growled from above as he snatched Xavier off the ground. “But I bet his dad can still whip your butt, young sire!” And before he knew what was happening, Ephraim held him upside down and swatted him playfully.

  When the general lowered him to the ground, Xavier grinned up at him. “That didn’t even hurt,” he taunted.

  Ephraim’s severe expression was so blatantly fake that Xavier burst into laughter. The general smiled devilishly down at him as he teased, “One would think that you learned your lesson the last time you said that.”

  Ephraim’s smile widened, and he exploded into laughter as Xavier blushed and threw a fretful glance at his father’s puzzled, questioning eyes.

  Shortly before midnight, the large crowd gathered quietly around the bonfire. Xavier stood next to his father, staring at the enormous flames waving into the sky. The area was silent and all that could be heard was crackling and an occasional loud pop from the fire. Jeremiah reached down, took Xavier’s hand, and led him toward the fire. As the immense heat grazed at their bodies, Jeremiah pulled a letter from the hip pocket of his corduroy slacks.

  “Got your letter, son?” he asked quietly, and Xavier answered by pulling it from the pocket of his sweatshirt. “Okay, then.” Jeremiah smiled sadly. “Let’s pay our respects to Dubby and send him our messages.”

  Jeremiah stepped forward, tossed his letter into the flames, and quickly crossed himself as he muttered a short prayer.

  Xavier watched as his father’s letter curled and quickly diminished into ashes, before stepping forward with his letter. Sighing painfully, he tossed it into the fire and watched as it too was transformed into ashes and smoke. Jeremiah’s hand grasped his shoulder, and he looked up to see his father’s head bowed and tears on his grief-stricken face. He wrapped himself around his father’s body and hugged him tightly. Then, his father dropped to his knees and enveloped the boy in his arms.

  Finally, father and son stood and made their way through the crowd and toward their tent. They settled in for the night and nearly an hour later, the Minnows joined them. Sleep didn’t come easily for Xavier, and he cuddled against his father, resting his head on his solid chest and listening, thankfully, to his heartbeat.

  Jeremiah pulled him closer, stroked his hair, and murmured sleepily, “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” Xavier whispered, but he wasn’t.

  As he lay listening to the thumping from his father’s heart, his thoughts went to William. The man’s smug, teasing words about murdering Dublin sent a hot wave of anger through him. His father was right; they were definitely down, but they weren’t out. In his memorial letter, he had promised Mr. Minnows that he would always look after Robbie and that William LeMasters would pay for all the pain he caused. The intense fear Xavier had once felt toward LeMasters was gone. All that remained was pure, utter hatred. He had murdered Maggie and Mr. Minnows, and he had slaughtered his mother. For that, Xavier would kill him, and when he did, it would be slow and painful. He swore before God, it would be excruciatingly painful!

  An Excerpt from Book Three:

  The Prince of Warwood and

  The Sword of the Chosen

  Xavier felt his heart jerk painfully as he whipped around and found Danson LeMasters strolling into the room. The man seemed to thoroughly enjoy the swell of terror he created in his wake and gleamed malevolently down at the child soldiers as he approached Daniel, who was fighting to stand straight and still. When Danson’s eyes bore into Xavier, he met them with unwavering defiance. The man’s glee slipped as he stepped past Daniel and stopped in front of Xavier.

  For several seconds, the two simply glared at one another in a silent battle, with Danson trying desperately to collapse the boy’s mental defenses and Xavier effortlessly keeping him at bay with a small smile. Danson no longer held any power over him. It was at this moment that Xavier realized that his abilities had surpassed Danson’s. He was now the stronger telepathist, and his smile broadened.

  “What are you grinning at, boy?” Danson blared testily before drawing back and slapping him across the face.

  He stumbled and fell, slamming his head on the concrete floor.

  “You dare to mock me, boy?” Danson roared as he withdrew a leather strap coiled at his waist. “No one, ABSOLUTELY NO ONE mocks me, especially a flea like you!”

  A faint whistling noise was the only warning Xavier heard before the strap struck him. He rolled onto his side and tucked his exposed flesh under his cloak. Although the cloak shielded him from the worst of the beating, he knew there would be welts and bruises when Danson was through with him.

 
“Sir! Sir, please!” Daniel cried. “Please forgive my friend, Adam. He’s new. He doesn’t understand how it works here. Please, sir, stop. Please!”

  “Oh, shut up Daniel!” Danson spat.

  Xavier heard another whistling sound, but this time the strap didn’t strike him. It struck Daniel, and the small boy cried out. The bullish man drew back to hit Daniel again, but he strap never made contact with its target. Xavier propelled a powerful force at the man and sent him hurling across the room. He smashed against the wall and crumpled heavily to the floor where he lay motionless.

  The room erupted into thunderous applause and cheers, and Xavier found himself surrounded by the other children.

  “Well done!” one boy exclaimed, thumping Xavier’s back.

  “Yeah, I’ve been wanting to do that ever since he did this,” another boy announced gleefully, gesturing to the black eye patch he wore on his left eye.

  “What happened in here?” a strangely calm voice questioned.

  Instantaneously, the room fell silent, and the boys spun toward the doorway. No one answered as they stood protectively in front of Xavier.

  “Children? I asked a question. What happened to my brother?”

  But, the group stayed mutinously silent.

  “Who’s responsible for this?” William barked, sending a shudder rippling through the group of boys.

  The children still refused to answer, but Xavier knew that as inept as Danson was at telepathy, William LeMasters was not.

  “I am,” Xavier announced, stepping out from behind the group. “I did it. He was beating up Daniel so I gave him a little zap.”

  When William LeMasters’ eyes met Xavier’s, he immediately felt the familiar sensation of infiltration, and he fought to block the advances. LeMasters’ eyes narrowed on him, and for a moment, he thought William had recognized him.