The False Prince (Fall Of A King Book 1) Read online

  The False Prince

  Fall of A King: Book One

  James Fuller

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process, or in the form of a phonographic recording; nor may it be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or otherwise copied for public or private use without prior written permission of the author —other than for fair use as brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

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  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost, I must thank my beautiful wife, Nicolette.

  Without her support, understanding and criticism, this book may not ever have seen the light of day.

  Adam Romano and Jason Pearson, you both have been there from day one, listening to me ramble on and on about this story. Your hints and advice helped make this book.

  Last but not least, I thank my mother. You've always believed in me and encouraged me to settle for nothing but my dreams, thank you.

  Prologue

  The sky was alight with dim, yet vividly vibrant scarlet and amber hues. The colors slowly darkened and changed tones the further the sun slipped behind the imposing mountains. Silently a petite, hooded figure glided through the dense overgrowth of jungle. She constantly looked over her shoulder, expecting someone to be there - awaiting to be glimpsed before they struck. If she were caught in this act of bitter betrayal, her death would be instant - regardless of her stature.

  A light breeze slithered carelessly through the many obstacles the jungle floor offered in idle resistance. A hint of smoke lingered within it, reassuring her that she was heading in the right direction, and was not far now from her target.

  Moistened eyes glanced down at the cloth bundle she held firmly to her chest, yet more gently than anything she had ever held before. Milky white eyes peered back curiously at her. The white would only last a few days before their true color would take over. She knew they would be a vibrant green, much like her own.

  The figure halted once the campfire was in view through the entanglement of vines and branches, and the murmurs of men and women could be overheard. It was as she had prayed for - a small group of poor, traveling merchants and entertainers. They would do perfectly - there were Wizards among them, and she could sense them. They would be able to help - they would do what was right…she hoped. Though her options at this point were limited, this was all she had and it outweighed the latter by worlds.

  A tiny hand found its way out from beneath the folds of the soft material and gripped a smooth finger. Her heart halted for several moments from the unfathomed emotions that nearly overwhelmed her. Unspoken words fell from her tears, absorbing into the dark brown cloth.

  "I love you, my sweet child. I swear to you it is true." The figure whispered softly, placing the bundle onto the ground. The child let out a small worried whine at leaving its mother's warm, loving arms. "It will be okay my darling, I promise." The figure cooed gently, placing a kiss on the infant's forehead. "May you one day forgive me, my son." Slowly, she melted away into the darkness, leaving the helpless bundle alone.

  *****

  "We are making great time Master Ursa, thanks to you and your friend, Master Samuel." The camp cook said, stirring the large pot of rabbit stew cooking over the campfire. "I must thank you again for coming with us - these woods are not safe at the best of times, with the savages, highwaymen, Shyroni and all."

  The tall Wizard did not even seem to notice the man's words. Not out of disrespect, but because his attention was drawn elsewhere. Ursa's eyes gazed off into the thick entanglement of the jungle and his ears tingled as he focused on something nearby.

  "Master Ursa, what is it?" Samuel asked, coming to stand beside him. "Is something wrong?" Master Samuel's hand instinctively reached for his short sword at his hip, through habit more than necessity since he had The Gift.

  "Shhhhhh!" Ursa commanded, not even turning to look at his friend. "Do you hear that?" he whispered.

  Samuel cupped his ears with his hands and listened. "What is that noise? It sounds almost like a baby crying. But that cannot be right - not out here at this late an hour."

  Ursa nodded his agreement and started off into the thickness, toward the noise with haste. Several steps into the jungle, darkness sapped what luminosity the campfire and moon provided. Without thought, a small flame erupted from Ursa's palm, pushing back the gloom. With each step he took, the cries became louder and more frightened. Soon Ursa was staring down at an abandoned, white eyed, wailing bundle.

  "What in the nine hells is a baby doing out here alone?" The camp cook - who had followed Ursa - said dumbfounded.

  Ursa leaned down and scooped up the Gifted child in his long arms - almost instantly the baby's cries calmed. Ursa stared hard into the baby's ashen eyes and the bond was almost immediate. "It was deserted here not too long ago, on purpose."

  "But why would anyone do that?" The cook asked, still confused, searching the growth for any sign of movement.

  "This child has The Gift - the parents must not have wanted the ridicule and harassment that follows when having a Gifted child." Ursa replied, checking the sex of the child.

  "I cannot wait for a time when The Gifted are treated with the respect they deserve, as people like any others," the cook muttered as he began leading the way back to their camp.

  "So, what are you going to do with the child?" Samuel asked, once they had returned.

  Ursa placed the child down on the back of one of the wagons and everyone gathered around. He thought long and hard for several moments before answering. "I shall raise the child myself."

  "Are you sure? There is an orphanage in the next town. His eyes will have gone normal by then - no one will ever know." Another of the men blurted out, more harshly than he meant to.

  "He was abandoned once already by the ones who were meant to love him the most. I do not have the heart to do something as callous to him again. I will raise him as my own and, when his Gift is ready, I will train him in the ways of Wizardry," Ursa said, his heart already warmed to the child.

  "What will you name him?" One of the women asked, coming over to ogle the baby.

  "I have always liked the name Meath." Ursa replied back, a slight smile creasing his lips.

  "Tis a strong name indeed, Master Ursa." The woman cooed as she tickled the baby's feet. "I do not understand how anyone could desert their own blood like that, it is absolutely horrible."

  Most of the group went back to what they had been doing before the commotion started. But Ursa stood there staring down at the baby boy with a smile. "I will not abandon you, for I, too, know the hurt of such an act."

  *****

  "I knew you would do what was right, Wizard." The figure whispered to herself, from deep in the darkness of the woods. She told herself to keep going and not to look back, but when the cries of her child had ceased, she had to make sure he was safe. She could just make out what everyone was saying - her heart warmed when she heard the Wizard was going to raise the child. She made sure she would remember his name forever - Ursa and the name her son had been given.

  Meath....

  1

  "You all have been selected for your unique, exceptional talents," the man in black shouted arrogantly for all to hear. He paced the length of hundreds of people, resentfully silent and kneeling unwillingly before him.

  "You all will have a part in history this very night," he roared with eager enthusiasm, but he was the only one enthused... the large crowd was there against their will - held by shackles, and gags.

  "Do not fear, my Gifted fr
iends - I shall never forget you or, rather, The Gifts that you will...provide me," he called maliciously with a heartless grin. His eyes glistened with a sadistic anticipation of what was to come.

  "You are all aiding in a glorious cause…. My cause…. My divine destiny!" Vanity dripped from his every word as he threw his tattooed arms up high in the air with such authority the sky answered to his call. Lightning exploded throughout the empty heavens and thunder quaked the earth for miles

  He began chanting in a rhythmic, forgotten language and with each word the crowd howled louder - such raw agony that it could have awakened the dead from their eternal slumber. Their very essence was extracted from the unwilling bodies and surged reluctantly into the man in black. He stood, laughing callously up at the heavens, as he grew stronger with each essence he consumed.

  *****

  Meath woke in a cold sweat. His long brown hair was matted to his head, his breathing erratic. His heart was hammering hard in his broad chest and he could feel his pulse in his ears, his forehead. After a few moments, his vivid green eyes cleared from the sleep and dizziness to refocus upon his window. Judging by the darkness outside, the sun would not rise for an hour or more.

  I have got to stop having these bloody nightmares. What is my problem? He groaned, restlessly running his hands through his thick, shaggy hair. He knew there was no point in trying to sleep again - he would only toss and turn and he knew better than to be late for another one of Ursa's lessons.

  Ursa was like a father to Meath. He had come across Meath discarded in the woods as a baby and had taken him in as his own, and given him a life no orphan had the right to dream of. Though their relationship was not typical of father and son, it was still a better life than what would have befallen Meath otherwise.

  After a few moments of catching his breath, Meath crawled out of bed, making sure to step on the bearskin rug and not the cold, stone floor. He had killed the bear in his seventeenth year as a test of his bravery - a stupid bet with his friends - and it had almost cost him his life. With a gesture of his hand and a solitary thought, the candles in his room came flickering to life. The flames sputtered and swayed in the room's slight breeze, which made the shadows dance across the bare stone walls.

  Meath glanced around, as if expecting to find something or someone in there with him. He looked from left to right - starting at his large wooden door and then moving across to his desk and bathtub, past his large brass mirror and oak armoire to his window. Satisfied with finding nothing, he walked over to his mirror to have a look at himself. His hand traced the thick scar on his left shoulder where the bear had left a reminder of how close he had been to losing more than just a bet.

  Meath was nearing his twentieth year, though his build and size - along with his facial features - made him look several years older. His muscles were tightly toned from years of the severe training as a soldier - something he had finished only a summer before. All the hard physical labor Ursa had made him do while growing up had readied him for that level of training. Ursa had called it "character building", though Meath was sure they were just chores to keep him out of the Wizard's way while he worked.

  It was in those years in the army that Meath had made many of his friends. They had all been brought there as boys and after a few hard years of training and a handful of battles, they left as warriors. Many of his companions were stationed in the castle as guards, or in the army base near the Kingdom, to stop any of the barbarian raiding parties from the east in the jungle wastelands. When Meath had graduated as a full-fledged soldier at eighteen, he had returned to Draco Castle to begin new training. As a Wizard, under the study of Master Ursa.

  Not just anyone could become a Wizard - they had to be born with The Gift. When a child with The Gift was born their eyes were pure white with no pupils. After a few days they would turn ordinary, their Gifts sealed away, until their bodies had matured and their minds developed sufficiently to control them. For most, it took until their seventeenth or eighteenth year before their minds could begin to control their Gifts with clarity. In some cases children could access them in times of necessity or distress, but they usually died in the process or shortly after, for The Gift could do immense damage to both body and mind if one did not know how to control it.

  It took great discipline to utilize The Gift and overuse would deplete the body and mind of strength and often it took days to regain it. Most people feared magic and anything they did not comprehend - they would slay their children or abandon them somewhere when they discovered they had been born with The Gift.

  In Zandor - the neighboring Kingdom - anyone with The Gift was put to death. The people of Zandor believed The Gift to be the work of The Keeper, but in Draco Kingdom - thanks to Ursa and many other Gifted - they were finding that those with The Gift could be used for the greater good of everyone.

  For the last ten years, the majority of the people in Draco Kingdom had accepted The Gifted, or at least tolerated them. Their ability to heal wounds, sicknesses and their rare Gifts of the elements and unknown were a great aid in the wars and battles they'd had with the Savages in the wasteland and other rivals.

  The process had been slow because many parents were too ashamed to admit their child was born with The Gift and their bloodline might somehow be tainted. They feared what others might think or say - but there were now a few places throughout Draco Kingdom that were trying to instruct those with The Gift. It seemed fewer than ever were born with The Gift, or perhaps they would not come forth and admit that they were Gifted for fear of being judged and ridiculed or even hunted down. Even the King and his Lords had taken in several of the strongest Wizards into their castles. For reasons of both a show of goodwill to the people that there was nothing to fear, and to be able to have their abilities on hand should they be needed.

  It was rumored that there were secret cults that found others with The Gift and trained them to use their powers in such ways that only the Gods should know.

  After looking over himself and washing his face, Meath grabbed his dark brown woolen robe and threw it on. As it slid down his body he felt the weight and warmth of it embrace him, almost like armor. Though he would rather be in his buckskin pants and vest than his new Wizard's robe, he knew that after his day's studies and training he could go back to his regular clothes. Next, he grabbed his belt - which had to be put on just right for all the pouches and pockets of herbs and potions to be ready at hand.

  Meath finished dressing and felt the grip of hunger assault his gut. He took one last look out the window and saw the first few rays of the sun coming over the tops of the mountains. He knew the cooks would be getting up and lighting the ovens and it would be a while before they had something fresh to eat, but he was not going to wait. He decided to go now and see what he could stumble upon for breakfast. Before closing the thick wooden door, he waved his hand again and the candles flickered out, leaving small wafts of smoke billowing upward a few feet, before dissipating.

  As he made his way through the castle's long, open stone hallways he noticed a lot more activity than normal. At this hour of the morning, there were usually only a few guards and a handful of servants about. But now, the hallways were occupied with servants running everywhere looking to be in a stern hustling rush.

  As he walked through the halls, sidestepping through people, he could not help but glance at every wall hanging he passed. There were colourful drapes and paintings of faraway lands and of beasts that only the bravest of men went seeking. Ursa had told him stories as a child of each portrait and had explained what they were and where they were found to the best of his knowledge. Ursa's stories were always long and full of detail, and when he told them he seemed to bring them to life - as if you were really there, no matter how many times you heard them.

  Meath stopped for a moment and admired his favourite hanging, as he had a hundred times before. It was of a large, rare, winged lizard, with a hideous maw of sharp teeth and thick scales as strong as some men'
s armor. The beast clung to a jagged rock with its clawed feet, its leathery wings stretched out nearly as far as they could go as it arched forward, its maw open for its attack on the brave warrior who stood before it with nothing but a wooden shield and an obsidian-tipped spear. After a moment, Meath continued down the hallway - the picture had always inspired excitement and awe in him. As a child, he had often asked Ursa where such beasts lived, but Ursa had told him they had died out long ago.

  Before Meath knew it, he was down the stairs and coming around the corner to the castle's kitchen. He could hear Maxwell - the head chef - barking out instructions to his kitchen staff and the cacophony of pots being banged around and people shouting the names of ingredients needed to prepare the morning meal.

  Strange, the kitchen shouldn't be this hectic in the morning, he thought to himself.

  The kitchen was one of the largest rooms in the castle. It had to be, to feed the vast amount of people who lived there. On the distant wall were huge granite ovens that baked and cooked the massive amounts of breads and meats. There were large wooden tables and shelves all around the giant room, which housed countless cookware items. Beside the great ovens was the door to the slaughter room. Butchers worked in the small room, cutting and preparing the many different types of meat for the cooks and the cold cellars.

  "Maxwell, what is going on in here? What is the rush this morning?" Meath interrupted a heavy set man, while he moved out of the way of several passing servants carrying heavy armloads of supplies. The plump cook turned around to face him. His apron was covered in flour, mixed with bits of other food he had been working with and he looked exhausted and a little frustrated.

  "Meath, what are you doing up? You are never up this early - are you ill?" he asked, before turning to bark off orders to people in the room and watching them long enough to see that they were off to do as he had told.