by Victor Kloss
Royal Institute of Magic
The Protectors
By
Victor Kloss
Cover artwork by Andrew Gaia
Text copyright © 2016 Victor Kloss
All Rights Reserved
www.RoyalInstituteofMagic.com
Contents
Chapter One - The Helm’s First Guardian
Chapter Two - The New School
Chapter Three - Meeting Darzels
Chapter Four - Fight and Rescue
Chapter Five - Dagmar’s Photo
Chapter Six - Spellshooter Testing
Chapter Seven - Draven’s Demand
Chapter Eight - Caught red-handed
Chapter Nine - Hadrian’s Finest Silver
Chapter Ten - The Crazy Dwarf
Chapter Eleven - Fire Spells and Green Vegetables
Chapter Twelve - The Prince
Chapter Thirteen - Hunter’s House
Chapter Fourteen - Joshua and the Champion
Chapter Fifteen - A Meeting with Wren
Chapter Sixteen - The Protectors
Chapter Seventeen - Aaron’s Surprise
Chapter Eighteen - Spellstrike
Chapter Nineteen - Unseen Activity
Chapter Twenty - Charlie’s Plan
Chapter Twenty-One - The Great Hall
Chapter Twenty-Two - A Meeting with Abigail
Chapter Twenty-Three - Help from Dagmar
Chapter Twenty-Four - The Floating Castle
Chapter Twenty-Five - An Unexpected Fight
Chapter Twenty-Six - Head or Heart
Chapter Twenty-Seven - The Village Shield
Chapter Twenty-Eight - An Elemental Test
Chapter Twenty-Nine - The Prince and the Lockets
Chapter Thirty - Unexpected Help
Chapter Thirty-One - A Tight Spot
Chapter Thirty-Two - The New Guardian
Chapter Thirty-Three - The Invisible Tree
Chapter Thirty-Four - Elizabeth’s Helm
Chapter Thirty-Five - The Duel and the Key
A Message From the Author
— Chapter One —
The Helm’s First Guardian
Date: 5th June 1613
Michael Greenwood took one look at his battered house door and frowned. He could hear voices, and furniture being smashed. It sounded like there were at least half a dozen men inside, most likely armed with objects intended for breaking things.
They had arrived earlier than expected. They were getting brave. Brave but stupid.
Michael eased the spellshooter from his holster and fired it at his front door. It exploded inwards, chunks of wood flying everywhere. Michael calmly stepped over the debris and entered what was left of the living room. Furniture had been thrown across the floor, fabric ripped to shreds; floorboards had been ripped up, and the walls were scarred with bludgeons and slashes.
“Jake, he’s here!”
The voice came from a brute of a man, who had momentarily stopped hacking away at a sofa and was now staring at Michael with a hint of anxiety in his eyes.
Michael glanced at the stairs, and he saw a small, skinny man with a pointed nose and small, watery eyes that were staring at Michael’s spellshooter.
“You’re not supposed to be here till sunset,” Jake said, almost accusingly, pausing halfway down the stairs. He looked ready to hurry back up them.
“I’m sorry – should I come back at a more convenient time?”
Jake started to nod before he recognised the sarcasm.
Michael dropped the light-hearted tone. “What are you doing here?”
Though it looked like wanton destruction by a bunch of thugs, Michael knew there was more to it.
Jake gave a sinister smile and waved his hand, resuming a slow, deliberate walk down the stairs. “Gather round, men; our guest has arrived early.”
Six other men appeared, and they formed a line opposite Michael, with Jake in the centre, a good head smaller than the rest.
Michael stared at them all impassively, and gave no ground, despite being close enough to smell their foul body odour. He raised his spellshooter, and a couple of the men gave an involuntary shuffle backwards.
“I’m not at my most patient when my house is being destroyed, so I’m going to ask you one more time. What are you doing here?”
To Michael’s surprise, Jake smiled. “You don’t scare me, Director. They told me it’s against the law to fire your spellshooter against an unarmed man. You fire that and you’ll go to prison.”
“Who told you that?”
“Doesn’t matter who,” Jake said, with a sneer. “Now, because I’m feeling generous I’m going to give you five seconds to shove off, so we can complete what we came for. Do I make myself clear?”
There was a murmur of good humour from his lackeys, and Ben saw a few of them relax, and cross their arms.
Michael pointed his spellshooter at the man on the left, and fired. A disc of white energy slammed into his chest and the thug went flying, crashing hard against the back wall. He didn’t get up again. The thugs watched their companion collapse and then turned, slowly, back to Michael. Confidence had been swiftly replaced by something approaching horror.
“I’m going to ask you once more,” Michael said calmly. “If I don’t get an answer I like, another of you will feel the unpleasant force of my spellshooter. Do I make myself clear?”
Jake shook his head, a finger pointing accusingly. “You’re in right trouble now, Greenwood. My boss is a powerful—”
Michael fired again; this time, the thug on the right crashed lifelessly against the wall.
“The only thing that is sparing you right now is the fact that you appear to be in charge,” Michael said, keeping his voice even. “However, I am starting to get frustrated, so you will be next unless you can give me a sensible answer. What are you doing here?”
Jake gave one more withering look at the spellshooter, and his shoulders slumped. “We were told to look for a weapon – a sword of magnificence and majesty.”
“Told by whom?”
“A rich gentleman. I had never met him before, though he knew all about the services I offer.”
“A name?”
Jake shrugged. “He called himself Lord Plunkett, though I doubt that is his real name. He had a birthmark on his right cheek.”
Michael gave a little nod to himself, appearing unsurprised. He considered what to do with the sorry group left standing. His anger was swiftly being redirected to the real enemy, not the idiots before him.
“Gather your fallen friends and get out of my house,” Michael said, after a moment’s silence. “Tomorrow I expect you back at daybreak, when you will repair my house, top to bottom. If you fail to turn up, I will find you, and it will not be pleasant.”
Jake was the first to leave, dashing out the front door. The others gathered their fallen companions and stumbled out moments later.
Michael holstered his spellshooter and surveyed the damage, thankful that his family was away visiting his parents-in-law. He grabbed a chair, dusted it off, and sat down. He glanced at the timber frames holding the ceiling up. They had been stabbed and slashed, as if the sword they were looking for might somehow be embedded in the wood.
Things were starting to get out of hand. Michael knew something had to be done, but the only solution that might work was one he was loath to take.
“Is this a bad time?”
A deep, friendly voice floated in from outside. Without waiting for an answer, an elderly gentleman stepped inside. He was wearing a long, grey cloak, which matched his perfectly trimmed silver beard. His k
ind blue eyes were narrowed with less concern than one might expect given the destruction that greeted him.
“I see they paid you a visit too,” Timothy Dawson said.
Michael stood up. He cursed himself for being a selfish fool. He hadn’t for a moment considered the others.
“Are the other directors okay?” Michael asked.
“Yes, yes. Lord Samuel didn’t even get raided, much to everyone’s astonishment,” Timothy said dryly. “I assume the king is responsible?”
“Of course he is,” Michael said, beginning a slow pace around the room, kicking the odd bit of debris that got in his way. “Though it will never get back to him. Even he isn’t idiotic enough to openly raid a director’s home without justifiable reason.”
“Not yet, but he seems to be getting increasingly reckless. The king is growing manic about finding the Armour,” Timothy said. “It’s quite sad, really. He wasn’t too bad before the queen died, but he has worsened considerably since taking the throne.”
“It’s not entirely his fault,” Michael said. “Elizabeth warned me about this. The Armour will affect the weak-willed, and our king, unfortunately, is not of strong mind.”
“What will he do next, do you think?” Timothy asked.
“I’m not entirely sure, but I have a plan that might help us, and even the king, if we can pull it off. It’s dangerous, though.”
“Your plans normally are,” Timothy said, nodding. He walked idly to the window and stared outside, hands behind his back. “I, however, have a problem that even your wonderful schemes can’t solve.”
“Your grandson?”
“I’m afraid so.”
The news produced a far harder blow to Michael’s stomach than any of the thugs could have managed.
“I trust your judgement, but can you be absolutely certain?” Michael asked. “Surely something can be done?”
Timothy gave a small sigh and a nod of the head. “I’m afraid not. Henry has just been promoted to captain, and he is the spitting image of his father, a Royalist to the bitter end. I know without a shadow of a doubt that the moment my grandson inherits the helm, he will hand it over to the king. Worse, he will take considerable pride in doing so.”
Michael ran a weary hand down his face. “And your son?”
“You’ve seen my son,” Timothy said. “Neither are an option, if we wish to keep Elizabeth’s Helm from the king.”
“So what is to be done?” Michael said, feeling a stab of irritation. Ten years had passed since the queen had passed away and there had not been a day when he hadn’t had to think about the safety of the Armour. “Do you want to wait in the hope that your grandson has a child with more sense?”
Timothy turned away from the window to face Michael with a tired smile that showed every inch of his seventy years. “I will not live long enough to see any possible great-grandson inherit the helm.”
“What other option do we have?” Michael asked. “We are the Guardians. The Armour must be protected by our blood.”
Timothy didn’t speak for a while. “There is one option,” he said eventually. “It is, even by your standards, highly dangerous and fraught with failure.”
Timothy took his spellshooter out and casually fired a spell into the ceiling. A shimmering, ethereal bubble formed around him and Michael. With a cursory check out the window, Timothy turned back to Michael, and explained his plan.
When Timothy finished, it was some time before Michael spoke.
“You’re right,” he said eventually. “That plan is so dangerous it borders on insane.”
Timothy nodded. “I will not deny it. But it is the only hope we have of keeping the helm from the king and with my family.”
Michael tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I know there is nobody more knowledgeable than you when it comes to the ways of magic, but I am bound to ask again – are you sure this can work?”
“Nothing is one hundred percent certain, not even the sun rising tomorrow. But with everything we know of Elizabeth’s legacy, this is our best chance.”
“It’s mad,” Michael said again. Then he grinned and slapped his hand on his thigh. “Let’s do it.”
— Chapter Two —
The New School
Present Day
Ben glanced at the school sign and once again considered the possibility that he had been sent here by mistake.
An elegant sign, which said “Barrington School”, stood next to a private, winding road, lined on both sides by perfectly manicured grass and blossoming trees, whose pink petals lay scattered on the greenery.
Even Ben, who ranked the importance of education alongside picking one’s nose, knew about Barrington. It was the most exclusive private school in southeast England. There was an extensive waiting list to get in, and the tuition fees were extortionate.
Which was why he had been so surprised when he’d received a letter from the Royal Institute of Magic directing him here for the first day of school term. He felt compelled to read the letter once more, to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake. His hand delved into his pocket and he felt the photo that Dagmar, Master of Apprentices and Guardian of the Boots, had given him only a week ago. It was their one link to the next piece of Elizabeth’s Armour – the helm. He rarely went anywhere without it, but for once he brushed it aside, to extract the letter.
Dear Mr. Ben Greenwood,
Now that school term has resumed, you must continue your academic studies. However, instead of your regular school, we have transferred you to Barrington. We have handled the logistics of the matter. You are simply required to arrive promptly at nine o’clock at Barrington.
Regards,
Louise Franklin, Advanced Scholar
Ben had googled Barrington School, and this was definitely the only one. How could the Institute have possibly got him into this school? And why?
He tucked the letter away and started walking up the impeccably paved road. It wasn’t long before cars were passing him by, parents dropping their kids off. Ben couldn’t help noticing that the majority were expensive and luxurious, or fast.
The road wound deep into pleasant woodland and seemed to go on forever. Ben was forced into a jog so that he wouldn’t be late – though he had never cared about being late in his previous school. Eventually the path opened up to a large turning circle, where cars were pulling in and out. Despite the time crunch, Ben couldn’t help staring. A grand sandstone manor house stood before him, like something out of a Jane Austen novel, with countless grand, ornate windows and dozens of chimneys. The house was set on a gentle hill, giving panoramic views of the surrounding woodland and extensive gardens, which were filled with perfectly manicured hedges and a maze of pathways.
Ben’s astonishment was cut short by a horn. A silver BMW was beeping at him and he quickly moved out of the turning circle, onto the grass.
“I’m proud of you, son. You’ll do great.”
Ben recognised that voice. Less than twenty paces away, he saw Charlie and his parents, who were both staring up in awe at the magnificent building before them. They were dressed in suits and would no doubt head off to work straight after. Barrington must have made a really big impression on them, for they were rarely late for work.
“Have a great time, Charlie, and tell us all about it,” his mother said. “I want to hear everything.” Her eyes flickered longingly back to the school. “Take photos if you can. I’d love to see the inside.”
“Photos. Got it,” Charlie said.
His parents gave one more admiring look at the school, and then headed for their car. Ben hid behind a nearby tree. What would Charlie’s parents think if they knew that Ben had also been invited here?
“Thanks for hiding,” Charlie said, with a relieved smile, as Ben removed himself from behind the tree and joined his friend. With his smart trousers, gleaming black shoes and perfectly knotted tie on his pristine white shirt, Charlie would have looked at home at any wealthy private school. Ben had bought some new un
iform with the small pay they were getting from their Institute apprenticeship, but his long-standing habit of buying on the cheap remained. However, he carried himself with a confidence that more than made up for the sub-standard uniform. Only his tie, which was poorly knotted, looked truly out of place.
“I figured your parents wouldn’t expect to see someone like me here,” Ben said.
Charlie nodded. “Yeah. No hard feelings. They like you, but if they saw you here, it might raise suspicions. They might have been momentarily dazzled by the school, but don’t forget, they are both really good lawyers. If they spot something amiss, they might start investigating.”
“Fair enough,” Ben said, with a grin. He tucked his hands into his pockets and surveyed the building again. “So, what are we doing here?”
“Going to school, like any normal kid,” Charlie said, absently fixing Ben’s tie.
“But how did the Institute get us into one of the most prestigious schools in the country?”
“Not just us,” Charlie said, nodding at the other students who were arriving. “Haven’t you noticed? Half the apprentices are here.”
“But why?”
“It might be a gigantic leap in logic, but I’m guessing we’re here at a school to learn stuff.”
Ben groaned. “I was hoping we were done with that.”
“I don’t think so. Personally, I’m pleased that we get to keep studying and take our exams like any normal person. But I am also curious as to how the Institute managed to get us into this school.”
“And why?” Ben added. “Why not just let us keep going to our normal schools?”
Their train of thought was interrupted when a sleek Porsche pulled up, and out stepped Natalie. Ben could just make out her mum in the driver’s seat, and even from afar he could tell where Natalie got her looks from. She waved at them with a huge grin. Even in her school uniform, she looked remarkably pretty. Her dark brown hair fell in curls over her shoulders, and her almond-shaped, green eyes sparkled. Ben noticed her slightly pointed ears and wondered with a flicker of concern if people might notice.
“You can always tell new students by their dumbfounded expressions,” Natalie said, giving them both effusive hugs.
