Excerpt: The King's Magic

(**Note: This excerpt is really rough, and I know it. It's also really short, because so far it's the only scene that makes enough sense to post.)

“The statue! It's cracking!” someone shouted out.
Anaerion ran down the stone passageway to the king's resting place. Sure enough, even by the faint light of the only remaining torch, he could see the cracks beginning to form.
“The king, he reemerges! Quickly! Prepare the feast, and summon Faelia,” ordered Anaerion.
The texts were true. The king was reawakening in the world's darkest hour. His aunt was the chosen emissary, and Anaerion hoped that she would arrive before the statue finished...er, was it hatching? Anaerion wasn't sure, and didn't think he had time to try to define the phenomenon. Slowly, as though time had nearly stopped flowing, the stone fell away, and there stood the king in all his mighty glory.
Anaerion dropped to his knees immediately and flung himself face down onto the floor.
“Majesty!” he cried. “You've awakened. Your faithful servants and protectors await your orders.”
Daring a glance up, Anaerion witnessed a strange sight. The king stood before him paying him absolutely no mind as he examined his own body. He was tall, with dark hair that fell to his broad shoulders. His dark blue eyes glittered in the light of the single lit torch.
“Rise, my son,” said the king in a deep, baritone voice.
There was suddenly the sound of running feet, and Faelia entered the room and sank to a bow at the king's feet.
“Majesty, forgive the lateness of my arrival,” she gasped breathlessly. Anaerion wondered if it was the sprint or the shock of seeing the king standing before her that took her breath away.
“Rise, girl, and tell me, where am I?”
Faelia rose, and stared at the king. “Highness, do you not remember? Five thousand years ago you sealed yourself in stone, to await the power that would help you defeat the great evil at last. The world is in great need, you've been awakened from your slumber at last.”
“Hmm,” said the king. It sounded like a growl. He stared at his left hand, watching as he clenched and unclenched it.
“Majesty,” said Faelia, “a feast is being prepared to celebrate the return of our exalted king. If you would follow me to your dressing chamber...”
“My what?”
“Well, surely Your Majesty doesn't wish to attend the feast in full battle armour?” said Faelia, looking shocked.
The king glanced at her, then returned his attention to his own body, this time watching his right fist clench and unclench. To Anaerion's utter amazement, however, the king looked back at Faelia with a strange gleam in his eyes. It occurred to Anaerion to wonder if the king desired his aunt.
“I haven't got time for feasting,” said the king, coldly. “The battle must be waged. Bring me my sword.”
“Highness, I cannot,” said Faelia, looking both sad and fearful.
“What?” demanded the king.
“You...you set yourself many tasks to complete to regain your power,” said Faelia nervously. “You must pass your own trials to regain what it yours.”
“Trials?” mused the king. “Of course I would set myself up with puzzles. Fine, I will feast. But you must call me by name.”
Faelia all but wailed as she flung herself at the king's feet. “I can't! It's one of your tasks, Majesty! I do not know your name!”
The king sighed and sat on the plinth of his former statue.
“Very well, then that shall be the first task I complete. I want my name back. And my memories,” he added under his breath. He turned his gaze back on Faelia. “Go prepare my place at this feast. The people must see the king they've so long awaited.”
Faelia hurried away looking relieved, and the king turned his eyes on Anaerion.
“And what is your place in this, boy?”
“I bear a message for you, Highness,” said Anaerion. It was the best explanation for his duty he could think of.
“Very well, let's hear it,” said the king, folding his arms over his chest.
Anaerion suddenly knew exactly how his aunt felt. The king's stare made his knees feel weak, and he dreaded having to give an answer he knew the king would disapprove of.
“I can't, Majesty,” he replied with a bow. “It is one of your tasks.”
“Tasks,” scoffed the king. “Why couldn't I have left things exactly as they were so I could have what I needed.”
Anaerion knew the answer, but wasn't sure if it was his place to reply. He wished his aunt was still in the room.
“For one very simple, and unfortunate reason,” said Anaerion, hoping the king wouldn't smite him in his wrath. With a deep breath, he went on, “You split your power into five pieces before sealing yourself in stone. You must regain each in turn. The reason for your split was to make it more difficult for someone to steal your power before it was time for you to awaken. You need your sword, your shield, your name, your memory and your magic. I bear the method to regain your magic.”
“What do you mean, 'unfortunate'?” asked the king.
“My father was the keeper of your secret before me,” said Anaerion. It was taking all the strength he could muster to keep looking the king in the eye. “He left this place while I was a small child. He's never been seen since, and everyone fears he was taken by the enemy. Which means, if he understands it, the enemy has the secret of your magic.”
Anaerion hung his head, and awaited the king's wrath.
Instead, the king laughed, a deep, throaty sound that frightened Anaerion as much as shouting and rage would have.
“So the enemy may be trying to steal my power? I wish him luck. Not just anyone can control the power of the royals.”
“Majesty? You don't know who the enemy is?” asked Anaerion, curiosity giving way to prudence. He immediately wished he hadn't spoken.
The king's eyes glittered malevolently. “No. He was too cowardly to reveal himself to me. Now he tries to steal from me while I sleep. I wonder if he slept at all over the last five thousand years?”
Anaerion was spared the tortuous wondering whether to respond or not by the return of his aunt.
“Majesty,” she said, sinking into the deepest possibly curtsey, “If you'll follow me, your raiment is ready.”
“Very well,” said the king. He turned back to Anaerion at the opening of the passageway. “Thank you for your honesty. You've no need to fear me, boy.”
With that, he turned and strode down the passageway. Faelia spared Anaerion and exasperated glance, then turned and hurried to lead the king to the dressing chamber.

No need to fear him? Faelia stared at the screen that shielded the now nude king from her view. He was bathing in the wash tub the servant girls had prepared. She wondered what the king's last statement to her nephew had meant. What had the foolish boy told the king? It wasn't his place or his duty to speak to the king. That was what she was trained for. That was the duty of the most beautiful of the daughters of the Weveda family. To be the emissary between the king and the Clan of the King's Tomb Keepers. She knew the reason for this: the king had had no wife in the ancient past, so the most beautiful of the Weveda daughters was to be all but paraded before him.
There were tales that only the son of the king could destroy the evil. Faelia didn't believe that legend for a moment, but she knew her duty, and if the king desired her she would not resist. Luckily for her he was exactly as the statue had portrayed him. There were fears and suspicions throughout the ages that the king had designed his statue to look more handsome and powerful than he himself was. She'd be hard pressed to protect her heart from him if it turned out that he was the gentle protector she'd imagined him to be.
Faelia regretted that she had no nieces to pass her duty to. She'd been seventeen, the same age Anaerion was now, when the boy was born. She was no maiden anymore, and she wished more than anything that there was someone younger than she to take on her duty. The king, she knew, was thirty-six when he sealed himself in stone, so she at least wasn't older than him.
“Girl, my clothes?” said the king.
Keeping her eyes carefully averted, Faelia stuck her hand around the side of the screen and held out the clothing the seamstresses had fashioned for him. When he stepped out from behind the screen, however, he looked anything but royal. The tunic and hose were too plain to be in a royal wardrobe. She was glad he was looking in the mirror when the realization that these weren't his clothes stuck her. His clothes were embroidered with phoenixes and dragons, the legendary servants of the king.
“These clothes are...a tad plain, are they not?” he asked, bemused.
“Apologies, Highness, I've grabbed items from the wrong seamstress' hut. Allow me but a moment, and I can retrieve the proper garments.”
“Nonsense. Fetch me my armour. I am a war king.”
Faelia bowed herself out of the room, and whispered to an errand boy, “Fetch the armorer. His Highness wishes to be outfitted.”
As the errand boy scurried away, Faelia hurried to the banquet hall to see how the preparations were going. The board was still being laid, and sudden temper surged in Faelia.
“Quickly! The king has been sleeping for five thousand years! Get this feast on the table before he enters the hall or there will be hell to pay!” she shouted.
The servant girls looked scandalized, but began moving faster. The king's chair was set at the head of the table, with a place for Anaerion and Faelia on either side of him. The servant girls had just laid the king's plate and goblet when the trumpets sounded. Everyone turned toward the entrance and sank to their knees as the king entered and strode to his place at the table.