The Prince of Warwood and The Sword of the Chosen (Book 3)

by J. Noel Clinton

  “I know it, X, but I know my cousin. She’s really hurting, and you’re just a convenient punching bag. She’ll come around…someday,” Court finished quietly.

  “I wouldn’t count on it, Court. She’s never been this mad at me…I mean…would you be able to forgive me if it had been your dad who sacrificed his life so I could live? Would you be able to just forgive and forget?” Xavier asked, meeting Courtney’s eyes.

  Courtney blinked, and Xavier knew his answer before he could spout his comforting lies.

  “No. What happened wasn’t your fault. She’ll figure that out too, in time.”

  “But, the weird thing is, Court, I have this feeling that it was my fault. I can’t shake the feeling that I could have done something…” he told him, his voice breaking at the thought.

  Court didn’t respond, and when Xavier looked at his friend, he found him staring down at him with a strange, worried expression.

  Chapter 8

  New Classes

  The next morning, Loren barged into the boys’ dormitory singing at the top of his lungs. “Gooooood moooornning! Let’s get a move on, gentlemen. Come on, come on! Get up!”

  Xavier groaned and pulled the covers over his head, but Loren was unrelenting.

  “Let’s go! Let’s go! Classes begin in an hour! You don’t want to be late for class on your first day!” he called as he strolled down the aisle between the rows of bunks. When he reached Xavier’s bunk, he grinned and yanked off his blankets. “Come, Your Highness! Get a move on!”

  Xavier sat up and glared grumpily at the general, who simply laughed as he continued moving about the room rousing the still-sleeping boys. The boys slowly got out of bed, stretching and yawning. As Loren exited the room to supervise the hall, Xavier pulled clean clothes from his trunk and began stripping off his pajamas.

  “Aw, look at that blokes. Isn’t the Prince of Pipsqueaks just as cute as a button?” Drew chastised from his bunk a few feet away. Snickers erupted around them.

  “Yeah, he is! He’s so cute and…little,” Jonas agreed in a high-pitched squeal, eying Xavier’s boxers. Several older boys burst into laughter. Jonas and Drew weren’t just referring to his height but to more embarrassing, private things as well.

  Xavier’s face ignited, and he blurted angrily, “At least my face doesn’t look like road kill!”

  “What did you say, squirt?” Jonas bellowed, stomping toward him.

  For an instant, he thought Jonas was going to punch him, but he didn’t. Instead, the older boy snatched his tennis shoes from his bunk and tossed them to Drew.

  “Hey! Give those back!” Xavier yelled, running toward Drew, but Jonas tripped him and he slammed to the stone floor, biting his lip.

  “Give those back!” Jonas mocked, leaning down and pinching his cheek.

  He swatted the boy’s hand away.

  Drew cackled cruelly. “Do you want your shoes, Prince Pipsqueak? Well, you’ll have to swim for them.” Then the older boys ran from the room, laughing.

  “Hey! Stop!” Xavier called and scrambled after them.

  “Xavier, wait! You don’t want to run out there in just your underwear!” Court hollered and tossed him his corduroys.

  He yanked on his pants and ran into the hall, but Drew and Jonas were nowhere in sight.

  “Did you find them?” Court asked, running to Xavier’s side. Then, they spotted them coming out of the bathroom, and Court swore under his breath.

  “Drew? Where’re Xavier’s shoes?” he yelled, attracting several curious glances.

  His brother didn’t answer. He simply flashed the younger boys a wicked smile and shrugged before disappearing up the stairs with Jonas.

  “Come on. Let’s find them.” Xavier sighed.

  The boys searched the bathroom for several minutes until they finally found the shoes floating in one of the toilets.

  “Yuk! I can’t wear these to class! What am I going to do?” he exclaimed, holding the dripping wet shoes at arm’s length.

  “Maybe one of the launderettes will have another pair you can borrow while they clean these,” Court suggested.

  By the time they were dressed and went to the laundry room for a spare pair of shoes, they had completely missed breakfast and were running ten minutes late for Latin class.

  Xavier groaned, “God! Of all the classes I could be late for, why does it have to be Dad’s Latin class?”

  “Yeah, I’m beginning to think that Beck’s right. If it weren’t for bad luck, we wouldn’t have any luck at all!” Court laughed dryly. “Come on. We’d better get going. All classes are held on level two. We’ve got four flights of stairs to climb!”

  As the boys ran down the sixth level corridor past the infirmary, Xavier desperately wished they could simply teleport to class and save themselves from being any later. Suddenly, a strange tingling sensation exploded inside him and quickly radiated over every inch of his body. Then, he felt a harsh yank in his chest and abdomen like he was being jerked up and out of his own body. Everything around him blurred into blackness, and he collided into something solid and unforgiving, knocking him to the stone floor. As his vision returned and his surroundings came into focus, a tidal wave of laughter surrounded him. He blinked and found himself in a classroom full of laughing students staring down at him. Slowly, he looked up at the tall, unyielding man standing in front of him and met his father’s stunned face. He had teleported! Xavier had teleported straight into his father!

  “Ow!” he muttered feebly. God that hurt!

  “All right! That’s enough. Everyone settle down,” Jeremiah called over the giggles and laughter, and the class instantly fell silent.

  “Hello, son. You’re a bit late for class, aren’t you?” he remarked quietly.

  “Ah, yeah. Sorry, Dad. My shoes got wet, and I had to go to the laundry room and get another pair,” he responded wincing as he rubbed his head and found a knot there.

  The king’s stern face softened, and he lifted the boy to sit on the edge of the desk to examine the contusion. His fingers gingerly brushed over the bump, and Xavier hissed and winced. The entire class was staring at them. He felt heat rush over his face, and he batted his father’s hand away.

  “Geesh, Dad. It’s okay.”

  He hopped down from the desk. Dizziness spun the room, and he had to cling to the table until it passed.

  “How did your shoes get wet, son?” his father questioned.

  He hesitated, not sure what to tell him. Then, Court crashed into the room, out of breath. “Sire! Sire, X…Xavier…he just…vanished! He disappeared, sir!”

  “It’s all right, Courtney. Xavier found his way to class, safe and sound,” Jeremiah commented, stepping aside so Court could see Xavier.

  Court’s eyes widened, and he grinned broadly. “Crikey! You can teleport!”“Yeah, it appears so,” he murmured, brushing off his pants.

  “All right, boys, take your seats. You’ve disrupted this class long enough,” the king ordered softly.

  “Yes, sir,” they muttered and scurried to a pair of seats at the back of the room.

  Whatever Xavier had expected in having his father as a teacher, the reality turned out to be much worse. Quite simply it was a nightmare! He couldn’t get away with anything! Anytime his attention wandered, his father would ask him a question for which he had to answer in Latin. Then, as soon as he leaned toward Beck to whisper a joke, his father stopped him, made him stand in front of the class, and translate the entire joke. And finally, when the king was busy writing the class’s assignment on the board, he tried to pass a note to Court, but it failed miserably.

  “Xavier? Bring me that note,” his father demanded without turning or hesitating in his task.

  He froze comically in mid-action and stared incredulously at the king’s back. Finally, he straightened and slid the note under his book and asked angelically, “What note, sir?”

  He turned and pinned him with an unyielding stare. “Don’t play games with me, young man,”
he uttered with such quiet authority it caused the entire class to stiffen and watch the exchange with bated breath.

  He stared boldly back at his father for several long seconds. Finally, with a bitter huff, he stood and took the note to his father. The king took the note and pulled him close until they were merely inches from one another.

  “Son, have you not determined that any shenanigan you attempt in my class won’t be successful? If you continue these games, you’ll find yourself with extra chores and loss of privileges,” Jeremiah hissed.

  He swallowed and muttered, “Yes, sir. Sorry, Father.”

  In Xavier’s opinion, Latin couldn’t end soon enough. He needed a break from the intense concentration that his father demanded from him in class. Finally, an hour later the class was dismissed with a list of twenty words to memorize that night.

  As the class exited the room, Court muttered, “Crikey! Having King Wells as a Latin teacher is going to be rough. No one can get away with so much as a sneeze without his knowing!”

  “No? Really? I hadn’t noticed,” he spat sarcastically to his friend.

  The class that Xavier and his friends looked forward to the most was fencing. Finally, an hour before lunch, all year one and year two students entered the fencing hall. The large chamber was elaborately adorned with ancient armor, weapons, and swords of all shapes and sizes ranging from daggers to magnificent sabers and even javelins. As the children peered around in awe, Henrick Davies strolled into the room.

  “Hello, students!” he bellowed happily with a broad smile.

  “Hello, Lieutenant Davies,” the children chanted.

  “Sir Davies? Do you know where all this stuff came from?” Harry asked eagerly, inspecting a set of armor that looked to be in immaculate condition.

  “Well, most of it, I do,” he answered with an easy grin. “The armor you see there, young Harry, belonged to King Michael. The bow and sheath of arrows there,” Henrick pointed to the items mounted on an opposite wall, “belonged to a great general, Craig Cameron. Sir Cameron became famous for defending the kingdom against 100 armed men with only what you see posted there on the wall.”

  There was a moan of appreciation.

  “Many of these pieces go back centuries and had at one time been stored in the castle at Warwood. When King Michael Abraham Wells, known simply as King Michael, had King’s Mountain constructed, the articles were brought here for safe keeping.”

  “Sir Davies?” Court began, standing tensely next to Xavier and staring into a case a few feet from him. “What about that sword? Does it have magical properties or something?”

  “What makes you ask that, Mr. Hardcastle?” Sir Davies questioned.

  “Well, I thought…” Court shook his head. “I thought I saw it… glowing a little.”

  Henrick looked at Court with shock. “You saw it glowing? That’s not possible, Mr. Hardcastle. I’m sure it was just a trick of the light. You see, that sword is known as the Sword of the Chosen. Legend says that over a hundred years ago, a time bender visited King Wells’ great grandfather and gave him that very sword. This man claimed that he was the Chosen and had come back in time to leave the sword for himself for when he came of age.” The class burst into chatter and whispers, and Henrick smiled. “Yes, I’m sure that’s how the people living in the kingdom at the time reacted too. You can imagine the uproar it caused. When other kingdoms around the world learned of the sword and the prophecy, parents with young children poured into Warwood, each claiming that their child was the Chosen. But, of course, the king dispelled each claim.”

  “How could he tell? How did he know that one of those kids wasn’t really the Chosen?” Xavier asked.

  Henrick grinned and winked secretly down at him. “Well, young sire, legend states that the sword will emit a fantastic light in the presence of the true Chosen One. The king would only need to present the sword to each child to see if it would glow.”

  Collective sounds of awe and excitement filled the room.

  Henrick looked back at Court. “So you see, Courtney, it’s not possible that you saw the sword glowing,” he stated before adding jovially, “unless the Chosen is secretly hiding among us.”

  Court laughed with the rest of the class. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sure I just imagined it.”

  “Now, as fascinating as the legend of the Chosen is, we have a lot of work to do this morning. So, let’s get started. I need everyone to set their books on the floor along the wall and then stand here in a line facing me,” he announced, gesturing toward the center of the room.

  The children quickly dumped their books out of the way, took their places in the middle of the room, and waited anxiously for the lesson to begin. Henrick picked up a sword from a table at the side of the room and held it up.

  “This is a foil. Foils are special swords designed for training. And this,” Henrick continued as he laid down the foil and picked up a second sword, “is a saber. This is a deadly weapon and can cause severe injury. Therefore, you will not be studying or using this sword until you’ve mastered the basics with the foil. However, it doesn’t matter whether your weapon is a foil or a saber; you will respect it. There will be NO horse playing with your weapon and absolutely NO bouts until you’ve learned and mastered the fundamentals. Do I make myself clear?” Henrick finished firmly.

  “Yes, sir,” the children responded.

  “Good,” Henrick replied with a small smile as he strolled up and down the line of children. “Now, the fundamentals can be summarized into one word. Balance! You must achieve balance of the body, the mind, and the soul. Achieving this could mean the difference between life and death.”

  The children exchanged nervous glances before Henrick continued. “Okay, show me how you would stand if you were being attacked,” he announced. The children glanced uneasily at one another. “Oh, come on, come on! How would you stand if you were going to fight someone?”

  Slowly, the children shuffled into various postures as Sir Davies roamed along the line inspecting the children’s positions. Finally, he stopped in front of Xavier, who stood in a boxing stance with his feet pointing forward and his legs slightly apart. Every eye watched with bated breath when, without warning, the lieutenant shoved the prince and sent him stumbling backwards before toppling to the floor.

  “If I were your enemy, Your Highness, you would be dead,” he noted quietly with his saber pressed lightly over Xavier’s heart. Then, with a rueful smile, he lowered the sword and helped the boy to his feet before turning to the rest of the class. “What happened here?”

  “I was off balance, sir,” Xavier answered.

  “Exactly! Now, the correct stance for sword fighting is this,” Sir Henrick stated and shuffled into the correct position. “Your sword foot should be extended, pointing toward your opponent, and the opposite foot should be perpendicular to your sword foot,” Henrick explained before easing out of position and looking back at the class. “Okay? Now you try.”

  The group immediately shifted into the position as Henrick walked up and down the line of children, inspecting and making slight adjustments to their stances. When he reached Xavier, he studied the boy’s stance before shoving him again, but this time Xavier didn’t stumble. He simply stepped backwards and grinned.

  Henrick beamed back at him and announced with an approving nod, “Superb balance, Your Highness.”

  Chapter 9

  Another Fight

  Following fencing class, the group entered the Grand Hall buzzing over what they had just learned.

  “Jeez, did you see that move Henrick put on X?” Beck remarked in awe. “That was wicked! I sure wouldn’t want to sword fight against Henrick; he’d chop me down and never even work up a sweat!”

  “Yeah, he sure seems to know his stuff,” Xavier agreed as the boys shuffled toward a large buffet of food on a long table next to the kitchens. Xavier looked around the hall at the children settling at tables to eat their lunches. “Where are all the adults?”
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br />   “Dad said that they staggered lunch times to ease the burden on the kitchen staff. The grown-ups eat after us, I think,” Court responded.

  “Oh,” he muttered and picked up a plate from the end of the table and began filling it. As he weaved through the tables behind Court and Beck to where the rest of the group was already seated, he saw Robbie sitting at a table to his right, laughing and talking quietly, and he stopped.

  “Hi, Robbie,” he greeted timidly, and she looked up at him. Encouraged by this brief connection between them, he rambled on. “How was your first day of classes? Wasn’t fencing the best class so far? Sir Davies sure knows his stuff, huh? Latin is going to suck with Dad as the teacher though. No one will be able to get away with anything in there! So, how were your classes?”

  She stared at him, looking astounded that he dared to talk to her. Then, she turned to a redheaded girl sitting next to her and asked loudly, “Do you hear something, Rene? It sounds like a buzzing fly found its way into the mountain. What are the odds?”

  Rene looked uncomfortably between Xavier and Robbie before answering timidly, “Ah…yeah…it must be a fly.”

  His throat became dry and tight as he stared grievously at the back of Robbie’s head. Finally, without another word, he scurried away from the table of giggling girls.

  “Ouch! That had to hurt!” a voice chastised from behind him.

  He turned and glared into Drew’s sneering face.

  “Shut it, Drew!” he muttered, turning to walk away.

  “Are you sure you’re King Wells’ son? I mean, last night that man had to fight the women off with a stick! Whereas you…you have to beg them to even look at you!” Drew continued mercilessly, nudging Xavier in the back.

  “I said shut up, Drew!” he bellowed, but Drew wasn’t stopping.

  “Hey! I’ve got a suggestion for you, Prince Pipsqueak! Maybe you should ask Beck for pointers. It took him less than two minutes of dancing with Robbie before she started snogging him.” Drew cackled wickedly.