Soul of Magic (Soul of Magic Book 1)

SIX

Richard's men gave a shout of joy as the walls of the Capital came into view. It was understandable really. They had been on the road for weeks and finally, they were where they had always thought to return to; within the borders of their land, the borders of the great Kingdom of Cyrian.

Richard was as happy as his men were to see his home again, he had been away from it for two years and he had missed it greatly. More than he thought too, he realised as he was almost overcome by tears when he saw the familiar strong block stonewalls of conversant of the architectural design of the great Kingdom. But quickly, he dealt with it before any of his men could see him. He was no leader, he couldn’t afford to be vulnerable, even if it was for something as endearing as being back home after an exceedingly long time away.

In all honesty, even at just twenty-two years of age, Richard was more connected to the road that anywhere else. He had been away from Cyrian more than around it since he had clocked fifteen, doing that which his kingdom required of him; destroying the scums of the Earth: the wizards.

His last battle against the magical monsters came to his mind as he rode. It involved a small clan of wizards who had been hiding away in a village in the far north of the land. How they had convinced the villagers to take them in was anybody’s guess; but regardless, the news and he and his men immediately sprang into action.

They surrounded the village in the early hours of the morning, just before the time the inhabitants would normally get up. Seeing themselves clearly outmatched, the villagers surrender and let Richard and his men in without any fight. But the wizards, on the other hand, weren't so co-operative. They rose up with war on their minds as they came at the incoming men with everything they had. Unfortunately for them, swords proved mightier than spells and they were felled by Richard and his men that day.

However, what was found most gripping during the course of the whole battle him was a little witch; she couldn't have been more than eight years of age. As Richard had learnt, magic really had no age limit. Young as she was, the little witch fell her assailants left, right and centre with offensive of very high calibre; her parents had definitely taught her well.

It came down to Richard to put her down but he suddenly found out that he couldn't. All he could see was a child fighting to stay alive, as every other person was. Then, she turned to face him and fury clouded her eyes as she realised who he was. She stretched forth her hands and his throat immediately began to constrict; she was choking the life out of him. But even then, he didn't fight back.

He was already on his knees and hanging on to his last breath when one of his men rode out of nowhere and buried a sword in her chest; ending her there and then. But even as life drained out of her dying eyes, Richard couldn’t take away his from hers, the memory of when she finally breathed her last forever etched in his memory

He had tried to convince himself many times that he was doing the work of the Creator by putting down these terrifying monsters; and sometimes he succeeded. But the feeling always returned. He and his men had killed a child in a war in which both sides didn't know, or even remember correctly, exactly how it had all really begun.

They got to the city gates at that moment and a guard rode out to meet them. "Identify yourself," he said to him as he was at the head of the group.

It came as no surprise really to Richard that he wasn't recognised, he had been gone for two years after all.

Showing the man his signet, he replied, "I am Richard of the house of Winchmore, son of Nicolas and heir to the throne of Cyrian." His men cheered so loudly at his proclamation that it was almost like the cry of battle, the guard having no choice but to bow in reverence before riding away to order the gates opened and Richard rode in alongside his men as they continued to chant his name.

Though the walls were the same, the kingdom had changed drastically from the last time he was home. The road was made entirely out of cobblestone, shining like obsidian in the afternoon sun. Great and mighty buildings marked the landscape, clean and tidy neighbourhoods all around. The market was well arranged too, each stall made out of strong timber. His father had prospered the kingdom, and he couldn't be more proud to be his son.

Without any warning, a loud horn was suddenly blown in the street and people rushed out of the different buildings in the area; they must have been hiding to give him a surprise. Confetti was thrown into the air as the people laid down expensive fabrics for him to ride on; a Cyriani welcome for a Cyriani prince. "Richard the Slayer," they titled him, attributing it to the hundreds of mighty wizards who had fallen at the edge of his sword; and the many more they hoped would during his lifetime of valour and victory.

After a very long time of smiling and waving, Richard was finally able to ride into the mighty ten-floor high, giant black block stone like that of the wall castle that depicted the grand palace of the great Kingdom of Cyrian. Inside, another throng waited for the prince to greet him on his return, this time consisting of all the lords and ladies from all over the great kingdom.

All of a sudden, the crowd parted way as a girl of about fourteen years old came through. She was of average height and build, her long auburn hair braided around the crown of her head and ending in a long ponytail that was conversant of the noble houses of Cyrian. She had lovely black eyes that marked her perfect face and she wore a long black gown and high-heeled boots which didn't stop her from running to meet him.

"Hello, brother," she said, kissing him on the cheek as he came down from his horse. "I missed you greatly, although you stink of road dirt right now."

Richard smiled as he admired his sister from head to toe. "I missed you too, Lorraine," he replied. "Although I've got to say you've changed a lot too since the last time I saw you."

"What did you expect, you silly human being?" she replied, smacking him playfully on the head. "That time will just stop because you left?"

"Anyway, I’ve returned," he replied once again. "And now, you can introduce me to all those suitors of yours and I can scare them good with my sword."

That didn't sit well with Lorraine at all as she smacked him again, a little harder this time. "You ogre!" she said, much to his amusement that is, before putting on a serious face, at least by her own standards. "So, should I be expecting you to come read to me tonight?"

"No, Lorraine," he replied, his voice suddenly becoming somber. "You know it's customary that I stay with father tonight."

Lorraine gave a nod of understanding and went ahead, her welcoming apparently having been concluded. Richard realised at that moment that although Lorraine might have grown physically into a woman, her mind still remained largely that of a child; the realisation suddenly drawing his mind back to his encounter with the little witch.

"Your Highness, you have to freshen up," said an old lord who came stand close to him and hold his shoulder; effectively jerking Richard out of his thoughts. "The sun is almost setting."

"Of course, Lord Aegan," he replied, a little smile passing between him and the old lord whom, although neither would say it, was actually like a second father to him.

Richard proceeded to his room and after a long bath and the necessary preparations, the prince, now clothed in simple shirt and trousers, opened the door to the cathedral where at the front row in front of the pulpit laid the real reason why he had returned home after such a long time; King Nicolas the Vanquisher of Evil was dead.