- Chapter 1 -

"I need another story
Something to get off my chest
My life gets kind of boring
Need something that I can confess..."
 first verse from "Secrets" by OneRepublic
(Sorcerer's Apprentice soundtrack)

705 A.D., old Britain...

Two years had it been after Iztvan's death, leaving his wife and son to a good friend of the family, Carlyle Pippery, a blacksmith known to most of the King's kinsmen. Or simply among most of the nobles.

Since Carlyle then promised to look after Ulla and Maxim, he had his shop relocated just next door. And in his shop, ever since, each time his assistant won't be able to be of help at all, it was Maxim who gave him a hand. The boy was raised to be hardworking, and had grown to have a fascination in handling a sword, so when Carlyle had the chance, he taught the lad although Maxim was still just eleven. All through their little practice-duel sessions, he never heard a single complaining from the boy, as he was continually amazed everyday. When Maxim turned twelve, Ulla banned her only son from ever taking up the sword, she was bound to find out anyway and Carlyle did not argue with her since she was the boy's mother, and had all the rights. Although he never spoke a word to her when he saw the lad doing his own practice sessions all by himself.

"Maxim, where are you boy?" called out Carlyle where he was in the middle of forging a blade. "Come hither now, lad, I have something for you to do."

Now that the lad had turned thirteen, Carlyle realized how Ulla was already having trouble over her son. The boy had grown to be mischievous at times and had a knack of finding trouble. Or perhaps trouble seems to have a way in finding him? Yet Maxim wasn't entirely a naughty child, he was also a fast learner, a good one for a student. Because Carlyle wasn't able to send the boy to school, Ulla home-schooled her son ever since Iztvan's death. But as what Ulla had said, they need not worry too much about the boy's education, because Maxim himself was a studious lad. Once in a while Carlyle would have caught the lad with a book in his hands. A much more relieving sight for his mother than with the boy having a sword in hand. But it could not be helped.

"I'm here," came Maxim's voice, where he had just entered into the shop from the back door. "You were calling me?"

Carlyle turned around to face the boy. "Where were you at?"

"Outside," said Maxim, jerking his head towards the yard.

"What were you doing?" asked the blacksmith.

"Nothing," the boy replied, shaking his head.

Rolling his eyes, Carlyle sighed. Yes, the boy was a fast learner, but was also a bad liar. But he let it slip away, and indicated to a newly made sword on a nearby table, sheathed neatly into a scabbard.

"Take up that sword and bring it to Sir Hubert," he ordered, as the lad obeyed without hesitation. "You know where he lives?"

"Sir Hubert de Clare? Of course," nodded Maxim, from where he was putting on the baldric over his shoulder.

"Good. Go to, then," commanded Carlyle with a hand.

Maxim was halfway to the door when the blacksmith called out for one last reminder.

"Don't forget to let your mother know where you're going, lad."

Turning to the blacksmith with a frown on his face, Maxim said, "You talk to me as though I'm still a child."

"Of course you are," said Carlyle flippantly. "If you weren't I wouldn't have been calling you 'boy'."

"I'm at least old enough to look after myself, Carlyle," said the boy, lifting his chin a little.

"Oh?" Carlyle placed his arms across his chest, quirking his brow to the dark haired boy. "But trouble seems to be following you wherever you go."

Opening his mouth to reply, Maxim found no such words for a good comeback. He closed his mouth, considered the blacksmith for a while, then waved his hand to the older man dismissively with a wordless snarl, as he made off to leave. "I'll be off to now."

Carlyle shook his head when the lad finally made it out from his shop, as he continued to forge the blade he was working on.

"That boy. Growing up more like his father each day. But only a hint of being like his mother," said the blacksmith, out of more to himself.

Outside, Maxim hopped over the fence to end up landing on the other side where their house was located. He made sure that he wouldn't step on his mother's flowers along the way as he went to the front door, which was opened. Inside, the house was seemingly empty, with a bowl of fruits and a cup of wine on the table as the first objects that immediately caught his eyes.

"Mother?" he said, attempting to be certain whether or not his mother was just close by. "Mother, I'm off to town."

When no answer came, Maxim cautiously looked around before strolling towards the table. He sniffed the wine from the cup. It was too tempting not to have just a hint of the wine. But for all he knew, he was banned to drink wine until he reached 'the proper age' as his mother would put it.

The boy swallowed. He reached a hand over the cup, extending his index finger, intending to dip it into the wine and have just one tiny drop into his tongue. But before he was even able to get his finger into the cup, a womanly voice stopped him, making him almost jump from where he stood.

"If you dare taste just one drop from that wine, you will spend the rest of the week in your room."

Maxim smiled, having a good idea of who the woman was, as he turned around to face her with a smile on his face.

"Yes, mother."

The moment Maxim faced his mother, Ulla was already giving him that look on her face that says 'don't you sneak up behind me like that', with both her hands on her hips.

"Now, you said you were off to town?" asked Ulla, approaching her son, taking in the few spaces between them, then stopping just between the boy and the table. "And where to exactly in town?"

"To Sir Hubert de Clare. I'm to give him this," the lad answered, lifting the sword he had to indicate it to his mother.

"Then that is somewhere far in town," said Ulla, almost to herself. "Hurry then. But I expect..."

She was cut off short when Maxim made off to finish her sentence himself.

"I'll be back before meal time."

Ulla quirked a brow, then opened her mouth to once again give another reminder, but was cut off short again by her son before she was even able to mutter a word.

"I promise I won't stop by the market when it is apparent that I have no money and has no intentions of buying anything at all."

She closed her mouth once again, then considered her son for a moment. And once again, before she was able to say anything, Maxim blurted out, "I will try to stay out of trouble. Can I go now?"

This time, Ulla placed her arms across her bosom, looking down on her son with a look of incredulity. The boy only smiled up to her a very charming smile, which only melted her heart and made her flash a smile herself. She opened her arms, beckoning him to come. They ended up in each others' crushing embrace. And in that embrace, Ulla felt how much her boy have grown tall inches more than before. Her boy was slowly making his way into manhood, and he was not his father, but his mother. She was thankful to at least have Carlyle with them.

It took a moment before Ulla realized that Maxim was suppose to go somewhere.

"Alright, that's enough," she said. "Sir Hubert must be expecting the sword today."

The boy quickly stepped back away from her and planted a quick kiss on her cheeks. Ulla watched as her son went running for the door, when she thought she smelled wine. When she reached a hand to her cheek where Maxim planted a kiss, she sniffed her hand and found out that it smelled wine. She turned around to face the table and saw the cup was already half-full. It was too late when she ran to the door and shouted her son's name. The boy was gone out of sight anywhere near the house or the shop. Ulla only sighed, but wasn't able to hold back the smile that slowly formed across her face. It had been two years, and yet she kept thinking still of Iztvan. What could she possibly do? Her husband lives in her boy.

Not far from town, in the fields, two powerful sorcerers, still in their young years and with a far future ahead of them, battled on for the possession of a single sword. That sword was an instrument of sorcery. One which could become a source of power of a certain sorcerer to whom it would be given to. When given or lost to wrong hands, well, who knows what might happen.

The two sorcerers were blasted away from each other with about ten feet space in between. While one of them ended up in a hay sack, the other was blasted behind a donkey cart.

One of them, who turned out to be a woman, brushed away a few straws of hay from her hair and glared at her opponent.

"Hand over the sword, Merlin. Aren't you powerful enough?" she asked, rather annoyed, watching her opponent hauled himself to his feet behind the cart.

The other sorcerer, who turned out to be a man, brushed off dirt from his sleeves and also glared to his opponent.

"And you aren't?" he simply spat back. "Besides, you'd only use this sword for your...evil intentions."

The sorceress scoffed. "That sword won't do you no good! You might as well just give it to some boy who'd be worthy enough in becoming your apprentice, instead of handing it over to me!"

The sorcerer looked up once again, then forced a smile. "I couldn't have said it better myself, Morgana. Now, shall we continue?"

The sorceress was even more furious than before, as she waved her hands around forming a fire ball in the space between her palms, ready to attack once again.

"Have it your way then," she said.

And both sorcerers were at it again.

"Yes, yes, a well-made sword indeed. Light, but that's good."

Sir Hubert de Clare. A knight who had become one of Carlyle's regular costumer. He was a man of red hair, a mustache, a little chubby, had a wife of noble blood, with two sons. Maxim have had the pleasure of meeting one of Sir Hubert's sons - Ethan. But it was rather not a pretty meeting.

"What did you say your name was again, boy?" asked Hubert, addressing the young lad who stood five feet from him.

"Horvath, sir," said the lad. "Maxim Horvath."

"Maxim. Hmm..." Hubert, for a moment, seemed as though he was considering something. "Good, strong name you have there. Must be french." The knight looked back once again to the boy. "Horvath, did you say? Were you not that boy who..."

"I shall give your regards to Carlyle, sir," said Maxim who bowed slightly, cutting off Hubert's sentence mid-way, but was also attempting to be polite so as not to offend the knight.

Hubert only raised a brow and let it slip. "Yes, yes, of course," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You should be on your way then. I can see outside that it is twilight already."

The boy nodded, and made off to leave. He didn't even looked back. He already felt uncomfortable the moment he stepped inside the house, and after having handed over the sword, all he wanted to do was to get the hell out. He wanted to disappear as quickly as he arrived. Any chances of him bumping into Sir Hubert's son may end up into another none so pleasing meeting.

Suddenly, Maxim placed a hand to his cheek.

Oh yes, his cheek still remembers how hard Ethan punched him. It was all just a misunderstanding of some girl that Ethan fancies. He thought Maxim had an eye on the girl as well. Which was not true. Maxim only knew the girl because she lives across the street from where he lives. They weren't even close friends, for Pete's sake!

The moment Maxim got out of the house of the de Clare's, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He ran about three blocks away before he stopped to take the few more distances to his house by walking.

He promised he wouldn't stop by the market place, so he made a turn to end up strolling in the fields instead. The harvest had been good, considering all the hay sacks that he saw along the way, until something that seemed not so far from where he was had caught his attention. It was as if someone were doing battle. And a not so ordinary battle too, based on the lights that kept shooting up into the sky from everywhere.

Maxim hid himself behind a hay sack, but he was close enough to see the two doing battle. It was seemingly a battle between two powerful beings, with fire and lightning coming out of their hands. He remembered his mother telling him of such beings. He remembered they were called 'sorcerers'. And if there was one thing that his mother never fail to tell him, was that to 'never interfere in a battle between sorcerers'. At the moment, he took it to be a very good advise, though he couldn't get himself to leave.

He watched as the sorcerer with a sword battled the sorceress with a pitchfork. (Wherever did she find that...?) It was an even fight as it went on, the upper hand kept bouncing back and forth from the sorcerer to the sorceress. Until the pitchfork finally reigned over the sword, with the sorcerer loosing hold of his sword, and the sorceress threateningly having raised the pitchfork under her opponent's chin, casting a spell at the same time, making her opponent unable to move from where he was lying on the ground on his back. All the while, Maxim was reluctant whether he should help or not, because he wasn't certain whom he suppose to help.

"I will have that sword," said the sorceress. "And I will have your ring, along with your power. And it will make me the most powerful sorcerer on Earth, as I finally be able to enslave all of mankind!"

Suddenly, Maxim found himself running for the sword that the sorcerer just lost possession of. He didn't like what the sorceress with the pitchfork said last, as it finally became apparent whom he should give a helping hand.

The pitchfork was raised as the sorcerer on the ground struggled to get up to no avail. He watched as his opponent brought down the weapon she has, and had braced himself to what he was expecting to be something painful, yet silently praying it would be quick, as though he was already losing hope, until the unexpected happened.

The very same sword that both sorcerers were fighting over had warded off the pitchfork from even scratching the helpless sorcerer on the ground. As both sorcerers glanced with surprise to the wielder of the sword, they were even more surprised to see that it was a boy. Just a mere, innocent, young lad, with dark hair, who only glanced at both of them and flashed a goofy grin implying that he had no idea himself of what he was doing, before he swung the sword up to push the sorceress away by force.

Young Maxim Horvath had placed himself in the middle of a dangerous battle between two powerful sorcerers. There was no turning back, as he threateningly raised the sword to the sorceress.

"You know not what you do, boy. Hand over the sword," said the sorceress, holding out a hand, glaring at the boy.

Maxim shook his head.

More furious than before, the sorceress blasted the boy away with a powerful spell, as Maxim hit a hay sack. Before the sorceress was able to launch a fireball to the poor boy, the sorcerer had finally gotten up and stopped the fireball by catching it with a hand and returning it back to his opponent, who avoided it with ease by only stepping aside an inch.

"Leave the boy. This battle is between you and me," said the sorcerer, attempting to save the foolish boy from possible death.

But the sorceress listened not. "The boy is already part of that battle the moment he interfered!"

Although the sorcerer was successful in shielding himself from his opponent's first attack, he was blasted the same way as the boy at the second time. He once again found himself on the ground, this time on his stomach, and he could hear the boy within three feet away from where he was, groaning and as though trying to get up.

When he felt his opponent closing in, he looked up but was suddenly surprised to see the look on the sorceress' face. It was a mixture of confusion, and all in all disbelief. He followed which way his opponent's gaze was set, and was surprised himself from what he saw. The dark-haired boy tried to get up to a kneeling position, using the sword to help himself, as the blue jewel on the sword's hilt was glowing ever so brightly. It had never did that before.

"It's not possible," said the sorceress to herself in almost a whisper.

The moment Maxim looked up, his deep, dark eyes glaring, a powerful force had blasted away the sorceress. To where, not the sorcerer nor Maxim knows, as she disappeared in the fields.

Maxim was still looking down on the sword in his hands with awe when he felt the sorcerer walked over to him.

The sorcerer cleared his throat, and said, holding out a hand to the boy, "Shall I have the sword back?"

Maxim handed it over without a second's thought.

After the sorcerer inspected the sword, he once again looked down on Maxim, who had himself already in a standing position.

"Have you any idea whom you just fought with?" asked the sorcerer.

The boy shook his head.

"Then I suppose you don't know who I am?"

Once again, Maxim shook his head.

The sorcerer nodded. "I see. So you don't know what this sword is as well." The sheepish look that the boy made gave him his answer.

"This sword here, is an instrument of sorcery," said the sorcerer once again. "You have no such experience or knowledge whatsoever concerning sorcery, yet the sword successfully projected the electrical energy of your nervous system into the physical world, as though you meant to do it."

Still Maxim continued to look up at the sorcerer with fear and confusion, as he dared not speak a word all the while.

"What you have done moments ago, my dear boy," said the sorcerer, pointing a finger towards where his opponent was blasted away, "is sorcery. And because of that you..."

Maxim half-expected the sorcerer to shout at him with angry words, but he was surprised when he heard the sorcerer's last lines.

"...Simply amazed me."

For the first time, Maxim managed to speak up, but with few words. "I...I did?"

The sorcerer knelt in front of the boy, having placed a hand on the boy's right arm. "Tell me, lad," he said, looking up to the boy's dark eyes, "what is your name?"

"H-Horvath...Maxim Horvath."

The sorcerer flashed a pleasant smile. "Well, Maxim Horvath, I, am Merlin."

Maxim couldn't believe what he heard. He knew the name. "M-M-Merlin?" he stammered.

"Ah, so you know me by name," the sorcerer said. He then glanced back down on the sword in his hand before looking back up to the boy, he believed at the moment, was the rightful owner of the sword, after all. But he took a moment longer before he asked the question, "Tell me, young Maxim, how would you like to be...my apprentice?"