A Royal Game

by Antoine Henderson

  A Royal Game

  A MAGIK: THE AVATAR WARS PREQUEL STORY

  BY ANTOINE HENDERSON

  www.AHAuthor.com

  © 2017 Antoine Henderson

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:

  mailto:ah@ahauthor.com

  Dedicated to everyone who helped me fulfill my dream

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  Contents

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  1. Arrival

  2. Trial

  3. Truth

  4. Pressure

  5. MANA

  6. Family

  7. Ambush

  8. Gala

  9. Hidden

  10. Court

  11. Betrayal

  12. Proof

  13. Duel

  14. Justice

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  1. Arrival

  Andrades often sat in his study to plan for his future, but at the moment he was mostly reflecting on his life. He admired the portrait of his family that hung above the fireplace. Life was fulfilling for him back then. It was the happiest he’d ever been. He had been twenty-six and the prominent head of a royal magical family. The crimson suit he wore was still new and lustered beneath the painter’s light, but now it was dull. His mustache and beard were well groomed, but now plagued with gray ends.

  His wife Narcissa was twenty-four, youthful and vibrant. Her hair was long and gold and she wore a crimson dress with her neck holding a diamond necklace. His son Andrades Archibald V was eight and looked like a young Andrades with his mother’s green eyes. He was training to become a mage while their daughter Saskia was only three and cared only for her stuffed bear named Sam, who conspicuously made it into the portrait.

  That was twenty years ago and things had changed significantly for Andrades since then. There was an emptiness inside of him and it couldn’t be filled, even with the happiness and smiles that his family once surrounded him with back in those days. Their son died while taking part in the Avatar War ten years ago. It was a deadly war held in October by the royal magical families. Twelve participants, each representing their respective family took part in a battle to the death. The spoils of the war varied every year; from excessive amounts of money to ancient and priceless artifacts that enhanced a mage’s power tenfold. However, the real prize was the elite title of Avatar Champion. After his death, he relished the war and everything it stood for, even going as far as keeping their daughter from participating.

  He took Andrades V’s death harder than anyone. He trained him to one day take over as head of the family, teaching him the inner workings of royal politics. He was to succeed his father and keep the Archibald name alive. Andrades blamed Saskia for his death. In his eyes, it was her constant need for Andrades V’s attention that cost him his focus and his life during that years’ Avatar War. Narcissa was grief-stricken and over the years sought to bring her son back by forbidden magical means, but her experiments ended in failure and her marriage with it. Andrades tried to save their marriage by finishing her experiments and creating the son she longed to have again. Not for his sake, but for hers. He had accepted their son’s death, while she did not.

  Sorrel Archibald was created by Andrades. But seeing him only brought her further grief. At one point, she was so heartbroken that she tried to take her own life by hanging herself, but she was stopped by her maidens before she could take the leap. Andrades did the only thing he could to keep her alive. He created a magic potion that would keep her in a constant state of bliss, an artificial illusion allowing her to experience her hearts desires. This blissful state only lasted twenty-four hours, so he had her drink a pint of it every morning. It was a cruel way to live, but he couldn’t imagine living without her.

  The image of a spellscreen, a small square of light green energy—the aura of communication magic—appeared in front of him. It was the size of a laptop’s screen and a man’s face appeared within it. Blond hair fell to his ears, and he had wizened features and tan skin that contrasted his gray eyes. Andrades stood at attention, staring into the transparent screen.

  “Good morning, Andrades,” said the man.

  “Edmund, what can I do for you?”

  “He wants an update, Andrades.”

  “I don’t have one to give at the moment. But I will later tonight.”

  “Until tonight then,” he said plainly. “But know this, Andrades; the time is drawing near, we can’t afford to wait much longer. We will either do this with you or without you.”

  His words struck a chord with Andrades. But Andrades kept his composure and took a breath. “I understand.”

  With a swipe of his hand at the screen, it disappeared as footsteps stopped at the door, followed by a sudden, but firm knock. “Master Archibald, are you in there?”

  “Come in Edgar, you don’t have to stand outside,” he said turning to the door.

  The door swung open, and a tall and frail man dressed in a black butler’s uniform stepped inside. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, Master Archibald, but you wanted me to inform you as soon as he arrived.”

  Andrades sighed. “Where is he now?”

  “I’ve placed him in the guest room on the east wing, sir.”

  “When he’s finished unpacking, bring him to the training room in the basement. I can’t afford to waste any time, I need to test his knowledge of magecraft.”

  “Right away sir,” he said. “I also received a message from Boris Broom after Avrices’ arrival.”

  “Boris Broom? Magnus Rathbone's butler?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He wanted to inform you that Magnus Rathbone will arrive to speak with you soon. He says it’s urgent.”

  Andrades wondered what reason Magnus would need to speak with him about. He tried to contact him and other members of the royal court for the past two months. The royal court comprised of thirteen of the most elite and respected heads of royal magical families, including Andrades. None of them returned his phone calls or letters. When he inquired, he either arrived to find they were out on business or away dealing with personal matters. They were transparent in their communication with one-another and it was odd that Andrades hadn’t been able to contact any of them. It was his turn to hold their next convening and at his estate no less. But it was a matter he would have to handle when the time came. He’d get the answers he was looking for sooner than later. But for now, he had business to handle with his nephew.

  “Before you go, any update on the search for Tybalt?”

  “No, sir. But we have narrowed down the search to three states: New York, Virginia, and Maine. All of your manpower has been reassigned in those states to continue the search,” said Edgar. He paused for a moment and inhaled deeply. “Sir, if you don’t mind, I have a thought.”

  Andrades raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

  “Is it possible that he does not know about the key?”

  “Impossible. Either he knows about the key or the children do. Do whatever you have to find him.”

  “Sir.”

  “Thank you, Edgar. If that’s all, you’re free to go.”

  Edgar bowed before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him. Andrades walked behind his desk and retrieved his cane that rested on the left drawer. It was black and a crow head sat at its top. He left his study and entered the hallway of his massive estate, walking the main hal
l until arriving at a large wooden door. He entered and descended a flight of winding stairs until arriving on the basement floor. Andrades never quite knew how to use the large space since the basement spanned the size of the entire estate. He made do with using it for storage instead, housing furniture covered in white sheets to protect them from dust. Opening a door at the far end of the basement, he entered a large circular room. The walls were lined with gray bricks etched with burn marks, surrounding a black circular padded mat in the center of the room.

  Andrades walked to the center of the room and stood in silence. He looked around when a sudden flash of painful, yet fond memories ignited in his mind. Memories of him training his son to use his grandfather’s conduit—a mages primary weapon—to levitate orbs and. In this case, it was a wooden scepter with lines of gold intricately placed around it. Like his grandfather, Andrades V was proficient in the nature school of magic, one of nine forms of magic a mage could use. His magic radiated a bright green aura that was its trademark and a sight Andrades missed. Memories of his son sprouting thick stems from seedlings and sturdy trees from those stems filled his mind, but the sudden opening of the door interrupted those memories.

  “Uncle Archibald? Are you in here?” asked a familiar voice he hadn’t heard in years. It was his nephew Avrice Hart, his sister’s only son. He hadn’t heard his approach as he was immersed in his fond memories of his son. Avrice had an angular face with piercings in both ears with eyes as gray as clouds. He had ear-length blond hair, and he stood as tall as Andrades wearing a black t-shirt with jeans and black boots. It was a style of dress unfit for anyone associated with, let alone a member of a royal family. In Andrades' eyes, Avrice wasn’t born or raised in the wealth and aristocracy of the royal magical families so he expected as much. He was simply a warlock. His mother, Andrades’ sister Alanna, was exiled when she fell in love with Avrice’s father, Thomas Hart, and married him.

  Andrades didn’t turn to face him. He folded his arms behind his back while holding his cane and stood silent for a few moments before speaking. “Avrice, what is your goal?”

  Avrice raised an eyebrow and paused before speaking. “For my mother and I to be with the family again.”

  “And why is that your goal?”

  “Well, my mother was heartbroken when you exiled her from the family,” said Avrice as his head dropped low. “I was just born, so I didn’t know how much it affected her. I remember growing up and hearing my mother tell me of her former life as a member of the Archibald royal family. Even as a young boy, I could tell she missed her life, but she loved my dad. But after his death, she hasn’t been the same. She’s distant and sad all the time. I only want to make her happy and the only thing that I could think of was to come to you.”

  “You are merely a warlock and your witch betrayed her family when she left with your father and had you,” said Andrades, the last word filled with so much contempt he nearly choked on it. “What could you, a half-blood have to offer me, the head of the Archibald royal family?” he asked coldly.

  Avrice bit his lip. “I’m more than just a warlock! I’ll do whatever is necessary to achieve my goal!”

  Andrades scoffed before turning to Avrice. He stared into the young man’s big gray eyes and could see the passion and fury within them. “We’ll see,” he said as he strolled toward Avrice. He stopped in front of him and they locked eyes. “There are a few things I want you to understand and understand well as I will not repeat myself under any circumstance. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes uncle,” said Avrice, standing up straight at attention.

  “First and most important. Do not call me uncle or any such affinity like it, am I understood?”

  “Yes. But what should I call you?”

  “Lord Andrades will suffice,” Andrades answered. “Second. You will do what I say, whenever I say it no matter what,” he demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “Third and listen close, because I want you to hear this.”

  Avrice leaned closer, wanting to absorb every word.

  Andrades placed the top of his cane onto Avrice’s chest. “Don’t you ever mention your vile witch of a mother in my presence again!” Andrades roared.

  Before the young man could process the harsh words and react he saw a faint red glow below him. A red fork of magical energy pierced Avrice’s chest. The impact of Avrice’s body slamming into the double doors echoed throughout the room. His body hitting the floor matched it. He clutched his chest and clenched his teeth feeling the pain increase.

  “What are you doing!” he asked, coughing heavy. “What is this?”

  Andrades stood over him. A ghoulish grin stretched from ear-to-ear. “You came here to represent the Archibald family in the Avatar War did you not? You think I would let you represent my name with your lackluster skills? No. Your test begins now!”

  2. Trial

  Avrice sat against the cold stone wall gasping for air. Their ‘training’ only lasted for several minutes. Andrades' first attack caught him off guard and sent him flying into the wall. He tried to mount an assault, but the sheer weight of Andrades’ magical pressure overwhelmed him. A scepter the size of a drumstick lay next to him. It had a dark blue jewel at its top that was still lit from his last attack. Andrades towered over his nephew, placing a hidden blade back into his cane. Disgust etched his wizened features as he looked upon his defeated nephew.

  “I can’t say I’m disappointed in all honesty. That would mean I would have expected a challenge from a half-bred warlock,” said Andrades. “You don’t have what it takes to partake in the Avatar Wars, plain and simple.

  Avrice held his chest and glared at his uncle. He struggled to pull himself off the ground having to use the wall as a crutch. He reached and picked up his scepter raising it toward Andrades. His blond hair hung like curtains over his eyes as he lifted his head. Andrades shook his head as he watched Avrice struggle to a dueling stance.

  “It’s not over,” said Avrice. He raised his head and his hair parted to either side of his face. “I’m not done yet.”

  “It is over, Avrice,” said Andrades, dismissing Avrice’s rally. “You’ve proven that you don’t have what it takes to be of any use to me. Your knowledge of magic is subpar and your use of magecraft is amateur at best. You’d die before summoning an Avatar. Now get out! Go back home to your witch!”

  “No! I’m not leaving until I get what I came for!” Avrice roared. “I don’t care if it costs me my life, I will get what I came for!”

  “Are you willing to die to achieve your goal?”

  Avrice lowered his scepter and pondered the question. After a moment, he stabbed the weapon at his uncle. “Yes! I will give my life if I have to.”

  Andrades didn’t respond, he simply analyzed Avrice, deciphering the boys thought process. He understood a person with ambition and willingness to do anything to achieve their goal. It reminded him of himself. But to do it for someone else? That was a sign of weakness. A weakness that allowed a person to be controlled and forced to do another’s bidding. Precisely what Andrades was looking for.

  “Alright. You may still be of use to me.” Andrades placed his cane in front of him and looked beyond Avrice. “Izuul, are you there?”

  A tall man materialized through the wall behind Avrice. His skin was gray and etched with cracks of peeling skin that exposed a crimson red flesh. His teeth were long and sharp, holding a dark smile. The scleras of his eyes were blood red and his pupils were black and empty. A black cloak covered the brown and gold robes he wore, making his hunched back look more bulging in appearance. Long wooden and silver necklaces hung from his neck and his wrist and fingers carried similar types of jewelry. He carried a wooden staff upon which a black crystal sat, holding it tightly.

  “Yes, Lord Andrades?” He hissed.

  Avrice scrambled to the wall upon laying eyes on the ghoulish man. He’d never seen such a sight and aimed his scepter at him in fear a
s he backed away slowly.

  “Lord Andrades, am I to take this man’s gesture as intent to cause me harm?” Izuul asked with a wide smile.

  “No,” Andrades said plainly. “In his current state, he couldn’t harm a bug.”

  “What is—that—?”

  “That?” Izuul questioned in a low hiss. He motioned his staff toward Avarice. He had no control of his movement as he lifted off the ground, arms and legs spread out. His painful screams echoed in the room. “I am Izuul Razpragga, Archfiend of Razpragga Circle! And you refer to me as that? Pray, I give you a quick death boy!”

  Avrice couldn’t move and tried to deal with the pain, but it left him unable to speak. Andrades looked upon him as he struggled. A knock at the door came and soon, Edgar entered. He folded his arms behind his back and stood at attention. He scrutinized Avrice for a moment before speaking.

  “Sorry for the intrusion, Master Archibald, but I spoke with Boris Broom. Magnus Rathbone will be here in thirty minutes.”

  “Thank you,” said Andrades. “I will be up when I’ve finished here.”

  “Right,” said Edgar. He bowed and walked out the room shutting the door behind him.

  “Izuul, drop him.”

  With a glance from the fiend, Avrice’s body collapsed—the stone floor breaking his fall. Andrades walked toward him until he was standing over Avrice as looked back with the pain of Izuul’s attack etched on his face.

  “You say you’re willing to die? We’ll see.”

  “How are you doing this?” Avrice questioned through shorts gasps. “How can you control this—demon Avatar and summon an Avatar before the war?”

  “So you noticed?” Andrades said before looking back at Izuul. He turned back to Avrice.

  “As you’ve already figured out Izuul is an Avatar, one of three I’ve already summoned. But I am not his Link. My son Sorrel is.”

  To summoning an Avatar before the war was illegal and punishable by death; a sentence handed down by the Avatar Commission, a group of mages who organized and oversaw the Avatars and the war. During the war, mages linked their magic with an Avatar, assisting them in combat. The Avatars were returned to the Gamekeeper at its end. Andrades possessing an Avatar and summoning it was risky for not only him, but for his entire family.