The Magician’S Quest: the Mage Knight

By Peter Krivinskas

What does a Magician do when he can have as many lives as he wishes to have but is tired of living the life of a Magician? He makes himself a knight. Sir Stefan experiences the joys and sorrows of living as a knight when he fights against an evil King, in his quest to restore the balance between good and evil in his world. His new life finds him romancing a Queen and her maid, leading armies, combatting Assassins and seeking vengeance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Mar 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781499092769

Peter Krivinskas

Peter is a former lawyer who lives near Manchester with his wife, Jean and dog, Poppy. He has three sons, James, Alex and Edward. James and Alex work and live in London whilst Edward attends school in York, seeking to obtain qualifications to attend University. Peter was born in 1952 in a mining town in Yorkshire. His mother was German and his father was Lithuanian. They met in Germany after the war and settled in Yorkshire where work was available.

Book preview

PART ONE

SUNNY SKIES

BOOK ONE

THE BIRTH OF THE KNIGHT MAGICIAN

The Beginning

W ell it’s not really the beginning in so much as I have lived many lives and had many adventures but it is the beginning of this story. I am a Magician. I would like to think that I am a Magician of which legends are written and although you will not know my name, my deeds have been chronicled by the bards and poets whose lives, it would appear, are dedicated to the retelling of fantastic stories of good and evil, of love and tragedy.

I have had many names and worn many faces. I have travelled along roads too numerous to remember and I am tired. Unless a Magician has the misfortune to get himself killed, he can live many lives and I am becoming weary of this old one. In this life I would be considered old in human terms. I must be over seventy and where it is not uncommon for life to be cut short by disease, illness or the blade of a knife or axe, seventy is very old indeed.

Today feels like a good day. I have looked at the stars and it is a good day to begin a new life. When I say a new life, I do not mean that I am going to go through the trauma of finding parents, being born and slowly maturing, as those not blessed with the gift of magic do. As a Magician, I can choose how I will be recreated. I can choose my age and how I look. I will retain all of the knowledge and skills that have taken me millennia to acquire and so, I must admit, I am one of life’s more fortunate people.

I do not know how I acquired my abilities; I was born a long time ago and it is difficult to remember when I first realized that I was different from other people. I don’t even remember much of my parents, other than they were simple, hardworking people. Why I was created differently, I will never know.

It was always necessary for me to hide my gifts, as people can be unkind. They want to destroy anything that they do not understand or which does not fit into the pattern of their normal lives. Something that threatens their understanding of the world cannot be allowed to exist. In my first life, my need to hide my abilities meant that sacrifices had to be made, instincts had to be curbed and words swallowed, all to maintain my anonymity.

Superstition and the fear of the devil and his disciples, is sufficient incentive to the gifted to allow those physically stronger to dominate, knowing full well that one rash act, done in anger, would lead to pointed fingers and hasty departures from the comforts of home.

I have had teachers during the times of my existence; some of whom, I discovered, knew less than me. They felt threatened by the power that I could achieve with so little training. It was necessary, from time to time, to escape from some of these people, before their plans for my extinction could be put into motion. Others were more kind and tried to pass on their skills to me; to them I will be eternally grateful.

There were also books, of course, but it is not always easy to find them. Not every town or village has its library of magical books; in fact I have discovered no such library in all my years of travelling. There are those books, usually kept by other Magicians, where they write down what they have learnt, as if they were afraid that they would begin to forget their craft.

I have not started to write my own book yet; I hope that I never will, for in the wrong hands, magic can be a dangerous tool. I would not always be able to control whose eyes would read my book but I can control the thoughts in my head and what I do with them. If I had a worthy pupil, whom I loved as a son or daughter and whom I trusted, then, I might consider trying to pass on to him or her, what it has taken me lifetimes to learn. As yet, I have found no one worthy of such trust.

I have learnt much from these books that I have stumbled upon. Some of these ‘journals’ are all that is left of the particular practitioner, who failed to practice what he would have taught his most junior pupil; he has ‘allowed’ himself to be killed. Or, perhaps he was so tired of life that he welcomed death. Once dead, a Magician cannot make someone ‘undead’; that is beyond any Magician’s power. Nor can a Magician raise himself from the dead; dead is dead.

These consequences can be avoided if risks are not taken and opponents not underestimated. It took me a long time to master my Art. Much in my younger days was by trial and error, with both amusing and hazardous outcomes. As I grew older I became wiser and more apt to think before I acted. In this way, enlightenment and skill followed. Eventually, I was the Master of what I did, but never sought, as others have done, to abuse my position.

I could never understand why Master Magicians, who could give themselves anything they wanted, would seek to torment and enslave his fellow man, in their lust for power. What is power, when your gift allows you endless opportunities to have whatever you want, without causing the suffering of men, women and children? Those Magicians are unworthy of their gift and I have dispatched more than one to meet the Creator, so that he can answer for his crimes of abusing the gifts bestowed upon him.

I have always viewed my craft as something positive. There is so much evil and hatred in this world. I believe that I have been blessed to provide a balance to it.

I will not give you the name that I was born with; I am not sure that I can even remember it. I will let my new self decide upon a name when I have woken from my sleep.

I see that I have now reached my destination. I am in the mountains of Pentin, in a country known as Helfing. It is a pleasant land with the western part of it bordered by the Green Seas. Its eastern border comprises many miles of thick forest, where it is easy for the unwary to get lost and never be seen again. On the other side of the forest lies the Kingdom of Sardow. Their warriors are fierce, but they tend to keep to themselves, which has resulted in a wholly uneventful relationship between the two countries.

To the north of Helfing lies the Kingdom of Kytan, a country ruled by an ambitious tyrant, King Jolanda, whose desire for conquest of his neighbours is no secret and who bides his time waiting for the right moment to expand his Kingdom.

Helfing is a peaceful country, prospering in its trade and commerce; it is, what some people might call, a ‘nice place to live’. I have been searching the Pentin Mountains looking for a cave for many days; I call such a location, ‘my secret place.’ It is not just any cave that I seek. It has to be sufficiently deep and spacious to enable me to remain there for some time; it has to be sufficiently hidden so that I will not be disturbed.

Did you think that I could recreate my life with the flick of a hand or the whisper of some powerful incantation? I wish that it were so. This process takes some twelve months to complete. I will sleep and whilst asleep, the incantations that I have prepared will change my body to that of a twenty years old man. I actually feel that I do need this sleep to help me to regain my strength, but that is just an old man talking.

I do feel like a change; I have often seen how those at court, especially the ladies, looked at the warriors, clad in their finery. Although I could have defeated them with a single crafted thought, I was envious of them. Which one of us has not seen himself riding out to battle, cheered on by the people and swooned over by the ladies? Yes, it might be foolish for a man of my age to think like this but I am a Magician; I can chose to think as I wish and give myself this new life. I hope that I do not live to regret this moment of weakness on my part.

I have brought everything with me that I think I will need for my new life. I have clothing that a knight would wear as well as money and a little jewelry to maintain my new persona of a young knight, looking for adventure and romance. Lastly, I have acquired weapons. I have never before led a life where I was not a Magician and therefore, I did not need to fight and use weapons.

Of course the reason why most Magicians don’t do this is because it puts their lives at risk. When you fight with people, there is always a risk that you will be injured or even killed. It is why I have spent so long in preparing for this new life.

The weapons that I have assembled are various. I have a fine bow, collected by me from the Elven lands two lifetimes ago and saved for a day when it might come in useful. A grateful Elven lord bestowed it upon me for saving his young daughter from marauding Trolls.

In addition I have a sword, a dagger and eight throwing knives that were made by the Dark Moon Dwarves and presented to me during my last life. I showed the dwarves how to brew what the humans call ‘ale’ or beer and I created a brewery for them in their underground caverns. No gift could have pleased them more and they were happy to provide me with the weapons that I sought.

I think that even then, I was slowly creating the foundation for this new life, preparing for it, planning it and painting a picture in my mind’s eye as to how I would look and what I would do.

My one concern was that a young knight would normally be proficient in the use of these weapons and I was not. This could lead to unfortunate consequences as soon as I got into my first fight. On the face of it, a knight who has had no training in fighting with his weapons is faced with huge problems, if he is determined to live the life of a knight.

It has always been my belief that if you come across a difficult problem, you should not waste energy in worrying that the problem exists, rather, you should utilise your energy into finding a solution to the problem. This is what I have done, by using magic to adapt and improve the weapons at my disposal.

My sword, I have enchanted, so that whenever it is drawn, even partially from its scabbard, to face an opponent or enemy, it immediately replicates and transfers to me that person’s skill with any weapon that he has been trained to use. If he is a good swordsman, then his skill in the use of a sword are transferred to me. If the opponent is also skilled at archery or knife throwing, then those skills are also transferred.

I have also given the sword magical strength and sharpness, so that no other weapon or object will be able to withstand its will. It is not adorned with rubies or jewels, but it possesses power and that is all that I require.

I have calculated that my combat skills will improve quickly and they will continue to improve until the point is reached that my sword no longer feels able to improve its master, as I most certainly am the sword’s master and it will serve no other. I will know my sword and it will know me, speaking to me in my thoughts, if assistance is required, helping me to be victorious in battle.

My bow is also enchanted, so that I can instruct it by thought, where I would wish the arrow to strike. I am able to shoot arrows as quickly and as lethally as is necessary. Of course, what use would a magical bow be without a magical quiver of arrows? My quiver is enchanted to replenish any arrows removed from it and each arrow is steel tipped and magically strengthened, to ensure that no armour will deflect it. My arrows, being magically treated, will also fly further than normal arrows.

Finally, I have a belt of eight throwing knifes that are worn about my waist and which are enchanted. Whether a knife is thrown by my right or left hand or indeed, what strength is used to throw it, each will hit its mark, directed by my thoughts. These are magical knives. Once they have hit their target, they have been fashioned to create a small explosion, resulting in the immediate death or immobilization of anyone coming into contact.

Once they have wrought their destruction, the explosion ensures that the knife dissolves into mist and returns to my knife belt, in the same manner as my arrows return to their quiver.

So you see, I have left nothing to chance when it comes to weapons. I have also had magically made, a finely crafted suit of the lightest chain armour that feels no different to a suit of clothes, yet is able to withstand the most brutal assault upon it, by sword or axe, yet leave the wearer of the armour with not so much as a bruise.

Finally, I have never understood how warriors can wear helmets in battle, whose main purpose would appear to be, to hide any assailant approaching the warrior, save those directly in front. The disadvantages of not being able to see each and every one of the opposing army approaching me on the battlefield are obvious. It would be foolhardy for me to take any unnecessary risks with my long life, after working so hard to train and develop my skills. The creation of my helmet is unique and it is something of which I am proud.

My helmet has many advantages over others. The first is that it does not have to be carried and can appear by thought command. It’s second advantage is that it is entirely invisible, thus giving the impression that no helmet is being worn and finally, it will deflect whatever is aimed, thrown or wielded at it without damage being occasioned to it or to me.

To enable me to be protected from harm at any time, I have also developed a magical shield that would repel any weapon aimed at me. So you see, I am not prepared to take chances!

The only other attribute that is possessed by every worthwhile knight is his warhorse. I have only just returned from the deserts across the Green Seas with my warhorse. He is a strong and intelligent animal, black in colour that will be protected by its own magical armour to safeguard it during battle. Whilst I am asleep, undergoing my change, my horse will also enjoy a magical sleep, where it will not want for anything. It will stay as young and as strong as it is now. With it, I will also keep the horse that I now ride. This horse can carry my furs, blankets, clothes, food and weapons. That too will be made to sleep until I am awake.

I have found my secret place and with some magical modifications, it will suit my purposes. A bed from rock needs to be created, upon which I can place my animal skins and furs. It is here that I will sleep. Usefully, there is sufficient space for a separate area for the horses. It takes me just a little time to create an area for them to sleep, surrounded by hay, magically created and treated to remain fresh for the duration of my sleep. Finally, a small rock pool filled with warm water, to bathe in after I have awoken. This will help me to wash away the last remnants of my old life.

I have looked outside the cave and protected the entrance with illusions to prevent the curious from exploring the area. I have also added wards to repel any who would seek to enter uninvited. Inside, everything is as it should be.

I take off my long and dusty Magicians clothes and lie on the bed. My old body feels good, wrapped in the furs and skins that comprise my bed. I briefly think of the life I am leaving and what lessons I have learnt from it. I conclude that it has been a relatively unexciting life and hence my desire for something new and different.

The incantation necessary is long and complex and during the latter part of my journey here, I have already completed its saying, save for the last few words

…Somnum Et Renasci

CHAPTER 1

THE AWAKENING

I t is peculiar that whenever you awake from a good sleep, you feel as though not a minute has passed since you laid your head on the pillow and so it is with me. But I have been asleep for about twelve months or so; it is difficult to be precise in these situations.

I knew that there was something missing from my preparations prior to my sleep; I forgot to leave myself a mirror. Who would not want to see his new face and body after he wakes up from a life changing sleep? Still what’s done is done and as I stretch out on my bed I see that I am quite tall and that my legs and arms appear to be firm and well shaped; that’s a good start!

After being in bed for such a long time, you would have thought that I would be itching to get up, but I am comfortable here. Had it not been for my increasing feelings of hunger, I might have stayed in bed longer. I need to eat and have a drink. Taking a deep breath, I swing my legs to the side of the bed and sit up.

Arranged and prepared for my use, are a robe and my new clothes. I slip on the robe and walk to the table to drink the water and eat the food that I had earlier prepared.

Having had sufficient to eat and drink, I step over to the rock pool, where I let my robe fall to the ground. I test the water with my foot and feel that it is warm. Holding on to the side of the rock pool to assist my balance, I step into the pool.

The water’s warmth makes me feel lazy but I know that I have a new life to discover. Leaving the water I dry myself with towels, laid out for the purpose and begin to dress. The clothes before me are not what I am used to; they are the clothes of a knight. I again chide myself for not bringing a mirror, but assume that I must look presentable and fit the image that I had designed in my incantation. That done, I wake my horses from their sleep and see to their feed and drink.

My horse or more correctly, my warhorse, is from the desert people. He is entirely black, with a dash of white on his nose. I have not ridden him yet, for this horse will only acknowledge one master and it would have been wrong to confuse the beast. Having allowed him to finish his meal, I approach the horse, who looks at me inquisitively, nodding his head up and down.

It is time for me to speak with him and to discover his name. I stroke his head and mane, all the while speaking to him in a low voice. I take his head gently in both of my hands and let my magic flow into him. He is a proud stallion and ready to serve his master. The name that his mother bestowed upon him sounds, in human language, like Arno. When I repeat the name to him, he signifies his approval and tells me that he is keen to