The Prince of Warwood
and
The War of Kings
J. Noel Clinton
Copyright© 2016 by J. Noel Clinton
All rights reserved by the author. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
ISBN
Paperback: 978-0-9773115-9-0
E-book/kindle: 978-0-9773115-5-2
LCCN: 2016902118
The Prince of Warwood
and
The War of Kings
J. Noel Clinton
Chapter 1
The blade whizzed past his cheek, barely missing him. Xavier stumbled backwards, his heart hammering in his chest as he lifted his sword to defend himself. The large man attacked again with a full-arc swing. He deflected the blow, but the impact of sword against sword jarred him. Pain shot up his arms, and he fell to the hard stone surface. Weary and in pain, he sprawled across the cool surface, wishing he could lie there and forget about fighting, but he didn’t have that luxury. Xavier Wells was special, very special. He was an empowered human who possessed supernatural abilities beyond imagination. What was more, he was the Chosen; it was his destiny to protect the future of all mankind. He had to fight! If he didn’t stand up to the Dark King, if he didn’t defeat him, humankind would be forced into slavery, darkness, and despair.
Xavier felt the next attack more than he saw it. He rolled quickly to his right a millisecond before hearing the sword ping and scrape against the stone floor. Lying flat on his back, he wasted no time and sent a fantastic, blue force at his attacker, freezing the man in mid-stride. Xavier smirked as he sprung to his feet in time to parry another attack by a second, smaller man. This man possessed more skill with the sword, and Xavier knew he couldn’t count on his swordsmanship to overpower the man. His attacker feinted a strike to Xavier’s left before arcing his sword at the last minute and nicking Xavier’s right cheek. Xavier jerked backwards and rubbed his cheek, finding blood there. The man smiled down at him triumphantly. Instinctively, Xavier jutted his hand at the man and propelled an electro force toward him, but his opponent dodged the force and answered with a force of his own. It struck Xavier before he could counter a defense, and he was thrown backwards.
Slightly dazed and dizzy, he struggled to get to his feet, but his legs were too wobbly, and he collapsed to the floor. He raised his sword just as the man swung what would have been a kill strike. Fear clawed its way down his spine, and he felt a surge building inside him. He couldn’t afford to lose control! He had worked too hard for too long to let his powers control him again. A pair of large doe-like eyes filled his memory and contentment settled over him, drowning out the unruly powers seeking to escape. However, in the precious time it took him to regain control, the man had formulated another attack. This time it was a compound maneuver that had Xavier jerking to block a high-body strike, but in a beautifully mastered movement, the sword swept low across his soft underbelly. Pain exploded in his midsection. Panic flooded his body once again, but he didn’t have time to calm himself, for the man was swinging his sword again. Xavier managed to roll to his right a millisecond before the sword swept down, nicking his shoulder and then clanging off the floor. He had to get away from the man. He wouldn’t survive the attack much longer in close proximity. Suddenly, Xavier found himself swaying unsteadily ten feet behind the man who stood poised, swinging at thin air where he had been just a second ago. He had teleported out of harm’s way! The ability wasn’t what surprised Xavier; he had acquired the ability about a year ago. What surprised him was that he had teleported so easily. The thought of putting distance between himself and the man had been only that—a thought. He hadn’t actually mentally conjured it. But he didn’t have time to ponder the possible ramifications; he had a fight to win. As the man turned to locate him, Xavier jutted his hand out, hitting him with a powerful electro force that slammed him into the wall and knocked him out cold.
“Good move, young sire!” the larger man, no longer frozen, stepped forward with a fleece blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
“Loren, would you see to mending Ephraim?” a voice of authority asked from the corner of the chamber that had served as Xavier’s training room for a little more than six months. King Jeremiah Wells IV strolled across the room, his eyes fastened on Xavier’s. Xavier’s gaze flickered submissively away from the king’s. With the training session at an end, Xavier’s body slowly began to unwind and relax. Sighing and feeling suddenly exhausted, he dropped his sword heavily to the floor. The king lifted Xavier’s chin with a forefinger and turned his face gently as he examined the nick on his cheek.
“You should have worn your mask, son,” the king whispered.
“I hate masks! I can’t see very well with one on,” he protested softly.
Without a word, Jeremiah nodded and touched the wound gently. Knowing what was coming, Xavier closed his eyes just as a fantastically bright, warm light consumed the king’s fingers and his cheek. Within seconds, the stinging pain evaporated from his face, and he knew the wound had been healed.
“Take off your vest and shirt so I can have a look at your stomach and shoulder,” his father continued.
Xavier stripped the padded vest worn to protect his body from being ripped to shreds by his opponent’s blade and peeled away his sweat-soaked shirt. His belly revealed a large contusion that had already begun to turn black and blue. The wound on his shoulder oozed blood. The king took a quick look at his shoulder, placed his hand on the injury and healed it within seconds. Then the king frowned down at his abdomen. Xavier groaned as his father’s fingers prodded and explored for more serious injuries. Then the healing light quickly flared again, but this time the healing force stung as it worked to heal a deeper wound. Hissing, Xavier waited for the healing process to complete. The injury was healed in moments, and he peered up at his father.
“Thanks, Dad. It feels better.”
“Well, laddie, it wasn’t a bad session,” the smaller man announced, now conscious and rubbing his head gingerly, “but you’ve got to learn to stay on your bloody feet!”
“I would if you weren’t so bloody good, Mr. Hardcastle,” Xavier remarked with a smirk and watched as the man swelled with pride. “If you were a slow, bumbling oaf like Loren, I would have had you flat on your back in no time,” he continued, nodding toward the large, blonde man standing next to him.
“Bumbling oaf?” Loren bellowed and lunged forward, playfully swinging an open hand at Xavier.
If Xavier hadn’t quickly scrambled out of his reach, Loren’s massive hand would have found its mark on the back of his head. Instead, Loren hit the king’s shoulder, and Xavier burst out laughing as his father glared at his general.
“And why are you hitting me for the boy’s cheek, General Jefferson?” he reprimanded. Though his father held his stern, professional demeanor, Xavier knew his father was amused. Within the last week, Xavier had acquired the ability to read other people’s emotions. But he didn’t need the ability to know that his father was teasing Loren. The twinkle in his eyes gave that away.
“He is your son, your highness,” Loren commented dryly as he bowed mockingly at the king. Then he straightened and began to dance from foot to foot with his arms poised to fight. He jabbed a combination of punches at the empty air in front of the king.
With a bellowing laugh, Jeremiah shrugged out of his sweatshirt and nodded at Xavier. Hearing his father’s telepathic message, Xavier raced grinning to the equipment chest, pulled out two pa
irs of boxing gloves and gave each man a pair. Then he and Ephraim backed away from the men as they pulled on the gloves and faced one another with boyish grins.
“You know, General Jefferson, I believe it’s you who’s too cheeky. I think you need to be taken down a peg or two,” his father chided.
“If you think you’re man enough to do it, sire,” Loren retorted.
“Are you ladies going to box or gossip at each other?” Ephraim spat, chuckling.
Xavier burst out laughing and gave the general beside him a high five. “Good one, Mr. Hardcastle.”
“Xavier, I’ve told you. You can call me ‘Ephraim’.”
During the last month of training at the mountain, both generals had asked him to call them by their first names. Loren was easy. He had begun using his first name over a year ago, but Ephraim Hardcastle was different. He was a serious, straight-laced man and a strict disciplinarian. His presence demanded respect from everyone. Whenever he tried to call him “Ephraim,” the name seemed to stick in his mouth and would come out broken, stammered, and uncomfortable. It felt wrong and ill-suited to call him anything but “Mr. Hardcastle” or “General Hardcastle.”
“Yes, sir. I know, but I just find it really hard to do. I guess I respect you too much,” Xavier explained.
Ephraim grinned. “I see. Whereas Loren…”
Xavier matched his grin. “Exactly! Who would respect that bumbling oaf?”
“Hey! I heard that!” Loren bellowed and jabbed a hard right at the king’s face.
“What’s the matter, Loren? Does the truth hurt?” Ephraim chuckled.
It wasn’t true though. Xavier respected Loren a great deal, but it was a different kind of respect.
Loren’s head snapped back as the king landed a sharp punch to his face.
“Maybe you should worry more about what my dad’s going to do to you than what we’re talking about,” Xavier blurted at Loren, laughing.
The king and Loren danced from foot to foot, surveying each other for weaknesses. The king was about an inch shorter and fifty pounds lighter, but he made up for it with speed and quick footwork. Jeremiah was obviously aware of his limitations and strengths, for he would dance within striking distance, jab, and then dance quickly out of range again. Soon both men’s jovial faces turned hard with concentration as adrenaline rushed through their bodies in response to the competition. Loren surprised the king with a sudden attack and struck him with a hard blow to the ribs and another to his face. Jeremiah staggered away, shook his head, and regained his balance and composure. Then it was the king’s turn. With a bob and a weave, he launched a combination move that had Xavier’s jaw slack with astonishment. Loren never saw it coming. The first two blows brought Loren’s hands down to protect his ribs and kidneys. This was a bad move on the general’s part, for the last punch landed squarely between Loren’s eyes, and he simply collapsed. Jeremiah dropped his hands and looked down at his fallen friend before looking at Ephraim.
“He’s going to be in a piss-poor mood when we bring him to. Maybe the boy should do it,” he joked.
“Nooo, way!” Xavier blurted, hiding behind Ephraim. “You’re the one who knocked him out! You wake him up.”
His father laughed. Then with a sigh and a shake of his head, he knelt next to Loren, placed his hands on his head, and the healing white light shrouded both men. When the light dissipated, Loren sat up and rubbed his head.
“You seem to be having a bad day, mate,” Ephraim called out jovially.
Loren glared up at his friend. “I think I need to stop being so easy on the Wells boys. They sure don’t return the favor!”
Later that evening, Xavier climbed into bed as his father entered the small chamber that had served as his bedroom for the last six months.
“Ready for bed?” his father asked.
“Yep. The sooner I go to sleep, the sooner morning comes, and the sooner I can finally go home,” he stated with a grin.
“Well, I need to talk to you about that, son.”
“Please, don’t tell me that I have to stay here another week or two…”
The king waved away Xavier’s rebuttal. “No. We are going home tomorrow morning. But I want you to be prepared for what it will be like for you.”
“Oh, Dad! You’ve told me this already.”
“Humor me! You know that most of the damage your influx of powers created has been repaired, but there are still signs of the destruction. There are a few large cracks in the land that have yet to be filled in, and they’re the most obvious.”
“Dad, really, I get it. I know my surge of powers really wrecked the place. I know that I’m not to blame.”
“You’re not,” his father said firmly.
“I know that,” Xavier responded a bit testily.
“Xavier,” the king sighed warily. “Please, hear me out. I know better than anyone what challenges you’ll face when we return to Warwood. Will you listen?”
His father’s tone sent a chill through him, and he drew his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. His father was about to give him some bad news. The king’s tired, slumped shoulders made it evident, and his wary eyes screamed it. Something was wrong! He could feel it. Something had changed in Warwood. Unable to speak past the lump that had lodged in his throat, Xavier simply nodded and waited for his father to continue.
The king sighed again and stared at his hands clasped in his lap as he continued, “The citizens are uneasy. Now, the High Council has been told of your destiny, and there are others in high positions who have surmised who and what you are.”
“So they know that I’m the Chosen?”
Jeremiah nodded. “Yes, some have concluded that, but there are others who have come to believe the contrary.”
“The contrary?” Xavier frowned, unsure at first what his father meant. Then his meaning crashed over him, and he felt sick. He looked at his father, appalled. “They think… I’m… that I’m the Dark King?”
Jeremiah nodded.
“But why would…” Xavier paused. Why wouldn’t they think it? Hadn’t he thought the very same thing when his powers became so uncontrollable that he attacked innocent people and nearly destroyed the entire kingdom? Xavier met his father’s wary eyes. “What do I do?”
“I didn’t want your identity compromised this soon. Your identity, your destiny, is too important to handle lightly. The way we choose to handle it could make a difference to your survival. Initially, I had hoped to keep it a secret. It would have been safer. However, I don’t think that’s an option now. I’m certain the events six months ago have reached our enemies. Danson may be a moron, but Dr. Angelo is not. She will have figured it out by now and started preparing Fox.”
Xavier nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “They’ve known for longer than that, Dad. They called me the Chosen when… when they tortured and killed Milton. So… what are we going to do, Dad?”
The king nodded and sighed a third time. “Regardless of how we decide to handle it, I’m afraid your life in Warwood has changed permanently.”
“Yeah, well, I should be used to that,” Xavier muttered before addressing his father again. “What are my options?”
“Well, we could do nothing and allow the rumors and speculation to continue to spread. However, that means you’ll have to cope with the attention from those who believe you’re the Dark King as well as from those who believe you to be the Chosen. Or, we can perform a public ceremony, recognizing you as the Chosen—the King of the Light. The downside of making it publicly known that you are in fact the Chosen is you’ll know no peace. You will become even more of a celebrity. You will become famous, a legend. There will be little privacy.”
Xavier frowned. Man, this sucked! He had been looking forward to returning to Warwood so much! Now, he just felt anxious, afraid.
“Would it be better for the citizens to know who I am in preparing for war?” he asked his father.
Jeremiah smiled sadly down
at him and stroked his worried brow. “No. I fear if it is publicly known that the Chosen exists, people will become relaxed and overly confident. Their training could become substandard as a result. So, in my opinion, I think we should let the rumors alone for now. There have always been rumors floating around about the Chosen. When the war grows closer and our people need encouragement, then we will present you to the kingdom as the Chosen.”
Xavier nodded. “Okay. That sounds good.”
His father stroked his hair. “I love you, son. Just remember, you’re not alone in any of this. You can always come to me.”
“I know, Dad. Thanks.”
The king kissed his forehead, stroked his cheek, and then stood to leave. “You best get some sleep. Good night, son.”
“Dad? Can I at least tell my friends that I’m the Chosen? I don’t like lying to them. It feels disloyal,” Xavier asked.
“Do you trust them with your life to tell them this secret?” the king asked soberly.
“Yeah. Yeah I do,” he answered, unwaveringly.
“Then tell them, but impress upon them how important it is to keep the truth to themselves, no matter what happens or what they hear.”
Chapter 2
There was so much blood! Xavier clamped both his hands over the wound and pressed down, but the blood simply pumped out between his fingers.
“Oh, God! Dad!” he cried out.
“Xavier, don’t cry, son. I wouldn’t… h… have changed a thing,” Jeremiah spat out weakly. “B… be brave. Everything… will be… fine.”
“No! It will never be fine!” Xavier wailed. “Dad, I need you! I can’t lose you! I won’t lose you!”
Xavier wiped at the tears streaming down his cheeks and repositioned his hands on top of the profusely bleeding wound in the king’s abdomen.
“It won’t work,” a hoarse voice commented warily behind him.
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