• Reign of False Kings
    Chapter Eight: Apprentice



    Luca had watched the young prince as he slept, a glare drowsily fixed on her face. What made him so lucky, she wondered. Even if she thought this whole magic deal was a crock it still made her feel no better that Aran was the chosen. He had everything just handed to him on a sparkling platter and the boy seemed to think nothing of it. In fact, he seemed to even resent it at times. Think his royalty a burden. She scoffed. She hated the prince for what he was, but did she hate him for who he was?

    The teen shook her head and buried her face in the pillows. The exiled royal was intelligent, thoughtful, and overall attractive; but she disliked him too much to acknowledge the latter. He would probably be better suited to a girl, a princess, with a far more docile disposition. One more like his own- but wait, why was she thinking about that? She didn't have time nor cared for romance. She had no desire for it, really, but instead focused on her sword. To become the leader of Geese's militia and get written into the books of history.

    However, that was in the future and the present was looking pretty miserable right now. She grumbled to herself, drifting off to sleep in a bad mood with a good chance of waking up in one.

    --

    When Aran awoke the next morning he felt better then he had in months. Whether it was due to the fact that he was anxious about his apprenticeship or that it had been his first night in a real bed for a while, he didn't know. He sat up and ran a hand through his messy, raven hair. It had grown fairly long now and danced along his shoulders. He gripped the growing locks back into a ponytail, faint memories of his father chastising him for it as a child playing through his mind. He would be grabbed by the long ends before quickly having them cut to size. He grimaced at the thought.

    Leaving his boots, he pushed himself from the cot and limped from the room. Bare feet padded on the stone floor as he explored the small cottage. There were maybe three, four rooms then the main area where he had awoken the previous night. One hall lead him out to the makeshift stable where both their horses rested. The winter air washed over him as he walked out, sending a small shiver through him. The horses seemed fine, however. Both warm and well fed. Geraint obviously knew how to keep his animals in good accommodations.

    "Almost froze to death and you're out here with barely anything on. Maybe you're not as smart as you look."

    Aran turned to look back at the mage standing in the doorway before giving a slight shrug of his shoulders. "It was warm. I needed to cool down a little." He patted the side of the mare's neck. "Do lessons start today?"

    The hermit nodded, motioning for the young royal to follow as he returned inside. Geraint led the boy back and into a dimly lit room he hadn't seen yet. As the mage walked around the room he passed a hand over several candles that lit after each digit had passed. It was a library of sorts, shelves full of books and other strange items of unknown purpose and origin.

    "This is my study. You may use this place to your benefit, if you wish. Now, sit down." The mage motioned, sitting down on an ornate, circular rug on the floor. The prince followed in suit and sat across from the elder man, eyes still traveling over the room's interior.

    "So...how does this work?"

    "With the basics," Geraint replied. "There are four elements that hold our world in balance. Do you know them?"

    Aran stopped to think. He actually recalled something along those lines in his own lessons back home.

    "Earth, water, fire and wind; correct?"

    "That's right." The mage smiled. "Even if they don't have the potential to harness it, everyone is affiliated strongly to one of these four elements. When we find yours it will be a good starting point. But, for right now, let's try telepathy."

    "Tele..pathy?"

    Before the young royal could question further he was pained with a aching pulse in his head. He grimaced and grabbed his forehead.

    'Do you hear this?'

    Aran jumped back a little in surprise. Geraint's mouth hadn't moved but he definitely heard his voice. The mage smirked a little at the boy's response and shook his head.

    'You come into my lessons with doubt. That's already a bad start.' His face changed back to a serious expression. 'Now, concentrate. Try to speak back with your mind, not your mouth.'

    The prince nodded. It was true he'd come into this doubting that any real magic existed, but it was slowly starting to prove its existence.

    'Mind, not mouth,' he repeated in his head, locking his eyes on the mage across from him.

    'Good, I can hear you. I want you to speak to me like this until you get used to it, no talking. Know that you can use this anytime with most any person. The only thing is if they are able to reply back of not. For instance, take your friend.'

    Geraint rose from the floor to open the room's sole window. A chilly breeze blew into the room as he sat back down with his other ingredients. He laid a stone bowl filled with water in front of them along with some kindling. Aran examined each item intently, shivering slightly from the cold winter air on his skin. He noticed that each element that he had named sat there in some form.

    The mage balled the kindling into his palm and with the relaxation of his fingers flames began to dance. 'Hold out your hand', the probing voice ordered. The prince hesitated, staring warily into the small ember before holding out his hand. 'Fire is an extension of one's passion, fury, and determination. Think on these emotion; keep the fire burning.'

    Aran nodded and swallowed as the mage dropped the flame into his palm. Just before it hit his hand jerked back; the flame sputtering violently on the floor before going out completely. The prince cradled his hand, startled. There had been no heat, no burning. In fact, that may have been what startled him most. He looked up to Geraint who examined him through narrow eyes.

    "I-I'm sorry," Aran said aloud before remembering the mage's condition. 'I'm sorry', he apologized again, this time correctly.

    Geraint hummed low in his throat before sweeping up the blackened tender and coaxing it back into a flame. Aran offered his hand again, this time able to accept the dancing embers. He stared at his hand in disbelief. Shaking digits moved in and out of the fiery coils, twisting their path and caressing his skin. Geraint gave a brief nod.

    'Now, make it grow.'

    Aran nodded, closing his eyes. Fire was passion, determination...fury. His fingers twitched. Immediately the face of his traitorous uncle flashed across his mind's wall. Scenes from his past leading up to his exile; the sneering look worn upon his face and the way he had laughed when Aran's father passed. Aran growled, his hand balled into a fist yet the fire was still a dismal flame. Geraint watched, a patron to the images the young royal's mind revealed to him.

    'Is that all,' he probed. 'You let him walk over you and you can't even muster a hateful word. Did he not cast you away? Did he not rob you of your title, your kingdom, your family?!'

    'I...'

    'And you did nothing.'

    'No! I tried I-'

    'You sat by and let it happen. You are the one at fault!'

    "No!" Aran screamed, the fire bursting into a pillar as he glared at the mage. It knocked the prince onto his back, it's fiery tendrils pushing against the ceiling and catching light to the wood and fabrics. Geraint jumped to his feet and motioning the winds into a roar with his hands. With the cool breeze came sheets of snow that covered and doused the flames. Aran lay on the floor, sprinkled in snow and panting. His eyes still shone from the years of pent up emotions; fear, anger and hate.

    "Well," Geraint breathed, brushing snow from his robes. "I think we're done for now."

    Aran shifted, shivering slightly at the new sensation of frost on his skin. The mage had repeated his earlier movement, pushing the wind to carry the snow back outside then shutting the window. The royal still wasn't all to conscious of what had just occurred and stared rather blankly at his hands. His emotions had always been so in check and within his control. Letting himself be pushed like that worried him.

    "I'll return with some clothing for you and then we'll get some food." Geraint walked to the door, waving a hand to the seated prince as he left.

    The raven haired youth merely sat the for a long moment, staring off blankly, before rising to his feet. Cobalt optics once again took to the room's contents before landing upon a book lying open on a table. Curious, he walked over and looked on the marked page. It was written in his language, but the dialect was quiet ancient. A large, beautifully detailed drawing was on the opposite page. It showed a countryside plagued with famine; men and animals suffering, the land barren and dead. Then, it showed a robed man waving a mighty staff and turning the land green and alive once more. Aran stared at the cloaked magician.

    "If only I could do such a thing for Geese..."

    "Wouldn't that be nice?," the mage interjected as he re-entered the room. "The best thing you could do right now though is douse it in flames, which wouldn't be good." He handed Aran a clean black tunic and blue robes to dress himself in. The prince thanked him, feeling much better once the thick fabric of the robes were on him.

    "What you mentioned earlier," the prince started. "Is fire my element?"

    "Oh, hardly," Geraint laughed, earning a glance from the younger male. "Now, let's eat. Then we'll train outside. Less chance of you burning down my home that way." He opened the door for the both of them and made his way down the hall. "Oh, almost forgot. Will your friend be joining us?"

    Aran blinked. He had honestly forgotten about the general for a moment. He hadn't seen her all morning. "I honestly do not know. I am unsure how long she intends to sleep." Your Friend. Aran lingered on Geraint's words. Yes, he had thought Luca and he were friends but lately she had been acting more coarse towards him. It really shouldn't bother him, he reasoned. Though he still couldn't shake the thought from his mind. The mage merely shrugged at him before moving on towards the small nook of a kitchen. He collected various things as Aran sat at the table.

    "The two of you make quiet a pair, I think." Aran perked a brow at the comment, but the mage continued on without notice. "She in all her fiery pride and your cool demeanor. Opposing elements, mm. But it's none of my business anyway. Here, eat." Geraint placed a bowl of what looked like porridge before him then seating himself on the other end of the table. Aran didn't feel like discussing his unknown and tremulous relationship with Luca, so he remained silent and ate as per Geraint's instructions.

    "I thank you again for all you are doing," he spoke at last when he had finished. "I only wish there was more we could do to repay your kindness." Geraint scoffed at him, obviously not one for compliments. The mage rose and tossed his dish into a small tub of water and turn to leave the room.

    "I don't think there's much you can do for an old hermit like me. When you get your kingdom back and you think of anything, you know where to find me." He laughed a little before moving again. "Fetch your sword and meet me outside. You're training isn't done."