Magic Weaver

Chapter Twenty Three(v2)

Cedric had always thought that the throne on the first floor was the king's, but apparently he was incredibly wrong. That chair was only to show his humbleness in public, for it looked like a wooden rocking chair it was so unpretentious. Then, he had this incredible thrown room built, to show his true power, but also his conceit. Here it was, hidden away for his own personal enjoyment.  

"What are you doing?" Cedric exclaimed as he caught Ghost fingering a bar of solid gold and slipping it into his pocket.  

"The king won't miss it," Ghost assured Cedric.  

"Alright, alright, let's go. Now." Cedric's voice was insistent. He stormed towards the door, sure that Ghost would follow him. Surely the brainless thief would be satisfied now, and they could get out of here.  

Cedric reached his hand out to touch the door handle, when his heart stopped. The door handle was moving.  

"Shit!" Cedric cursed. "Ghost! Hide!"  

It was a simple matter for him to hide-he just disappeared, sudden as a blink. Cedric frantically looked around, and dived under the closest piece of furniture that could hide him: the table with the map. He tried to conceal his jumping heart beats, and held his breath, hoping that it wouldn't betray him.  

Only a quarter of a second later, there were steps that bounced around the marble room, and Cedric could see two pairs of black shoes. He watched them, as they strolled past the desk, and up the stairs. Now Cedric had an excellent view of them. One figure was slumped over, like a bag of potatoes, with a worn, tired face but eyes that gleamed like a small boy's. It was the look of an especially wicked boy torturing a cat. It made Cedric's heart stop for a moment. He felt like that cat, and the man's eyes weren't even looking at him. They had a power that he could no describe. The king, for surely that's who he was, hobbled to his throne and sat. Cedric couldn't help but imagine that the throne, as glorious as it was, would look ridiculous if Cedric sat in it. It was simply too imperious to anyone to sit in and not be overshadowed by it. But this king, this creature, was not overshadowed by the power his throne exuded. He clutched the armrest as though it was a lover.  

The other man that had walked through the door fell upon the steps in submission, and even by his back Cedric could tell that it was Rafe. His old friend. Cedric bared his teeth as he observed the hateful man, feeling the place his fist had struck Cedric tingle. He felt the sudden urge to attack them now. Could he and Ghost take Rafe and the king? The king seemed old, useless, but there was something that made Cedric reluctant to attack. He had a feeling that it would be a big mistake.  

Rafe slithered against the marble floor, approaching the king to kiss his feet, which further surprised Cedric. Rafe never displayed respect to uppers, as though he was somehow better than him. Cedric wasn't sure what to do as he witnessed this humiliating spectacle. Rafe loved power more than anything in the world, and the only respect he gave was to those with power. Seeing Rafe practically worship this being made Cedric think that there was more to the king than simply being a tired old man.  

"My Lord," Rafe revered. "I have bad news."  

"Rise, and tell." The king yawned. His voice rumbled like thunder, cold, fiery, and deep. Something like satisfaction crossed the king's face as he peered down at the man on his belly.  

Rafe obeyed and rose, though his head was just the tiniest bit lowered. "Clyde is dead."  

The king shot forward in his seat. "What? How?" Rage flashed through his face.  

"We believe the boy killed him." Rafe snarled as he mentioned Cedric. Apparently his hate for Cedric had cooled as little as Cedric's hate for him.