The Rightful Heir "Prologue"

Limited Edition
Copyright © Tanin Hale Young, 2008

Please note this is a work in progress.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons; living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Camelot Series
“The Rightful Heir”

"Prologue"

    The sounds of swords clashed on a bloody field as the battle raged. War cries were heard from wounded soldiers as they lay dying. The stench of death filled the air making it hard to breathe. The battle had almost reached its end; only a few men remained fighting in the valley of Salisbury. The sun was low on the horizon as the day drew to a close. Across the death covered valley on a hill, a tall warrior stood with victory in his eyes as he brandished his sword. He wore a suit of armor that was dull silver yet glistened with blood. The sweat from his brow dripped into his face as he yelled. “You have been defeated. Its time a younger generation took the throne as king. Give me Excalibur, or I will not rest until Camelot herself kisses the ground at my feet.”

    Across the valley, another man who wore a crown on his head and was covered in red from his foes, turned to his enemy as the warrior spoke. In one hand he held a magnificent sword that in better times would have gleamed brighter than the sun. Instead it was dingy and covered in blood from battle.

    “I would rather die than see a fiend like you take the throne. If you want Excalibur, come and claim it!”          

    The man on the hill clenched his teeth in anger as these words were spoken. He roared with rage as he and the king charged across the valley with their swords outstretched, shields held high. Within seconds their weapons met with a deafening blast. Nothing could stop the armored men’s rage. Minutes pass as they fought with their very lives. Looks of exhaustion filled their faces as they continued. With one strong blow The King threw his opponent onto the ground.

    He glanced at his fallen enemy. “At one time I had high hopes for you. All I see now is a disgrace.”

    The man slowly was edging himself across the ground trying to get away from the sharp sword in his face.

    The King continued, “You murdered some of my most loyal Knights and turned the rest against me. How does it feel to be on the other end of the sword?”

    The man suddenly looked frightened for his own life. “You wouldn’t kill me.  I’m your son, your flesh and blood.”

    The King raised Excalibur high into the air, ready to plunge it into his enemy, his son. “Never again shall your face be seen in Camelot. Never again shall you darken my door.”          

    At that moment the man found an abandoned sword lying next to a fallen soldier who never would use it again.  In desperation he grabbed and swung it towards the King. It sliced through the air like the wind. The sound of the sword echoed against the king’s helmet, leaving a fatal wound. Blood streamed down his face as the king screamed in agony. He thrust Excalibur into the warrior instantly killing him.

    Less than twenty yards away a knight was fighting a soldier who had all but given up. When the gallant knight heard the cry of anguish, he finished killing his foe and quickly turned towards his beloved king. He ran to him as he saw the king crumple to the ground in pain. Terror filled the knight’s heart.

    He reached the king and fell at his side. “Hold on your majesty. I will get you some help. You’ll be alright.”

    A painful peace crossed the king’s face as he looked towards his fellow knight. “I was warned that this would happen. I just wouldn’t listen. Camelot meant so much to me. I could not abandon her. Here you must do something for me.” The kings golden brown hair was matted with blood as the knight cradled his head. “There is a chapel not far from here beside a beautiful lake. You must take me there.”

    The knight, replied, “I would do anything for you my friend.” Tears streamed down his face as he helped the king onto the back of a bare horse who had lost his owner during battle. The knight gingerly led him to the lake of which the king spoke.

    When they arrived he laid the king down in a tall, green, knoll, of grass near the white chapel on the edge of the lake. He propped the king’s head against a willow tree that shaded them from what little sun that was left. Its branches drooped as if weeping for the dying king.

    The king took Excalibur and handed it to the knight. “I have had this for a very long time. It has defended my life on more than one occasion. I have tried to use its power only for the good of mankind.” He glanced at the sword and the blood that had begun to crust on its blade. “It must be cleaned.”

    The knight grasped the sword as he knelt beside the king and wiped its blade on the grass. Its hilt of gold and precious jewels brightly shimmered in the light of the setting sun.

    The look of tranquility filled the king’s eyes as he smiled at the beautiful sword. “You must take it and throw it into the lake.”

    The knight with a perplexed look on his face rose from his knees. “Yes sire. Your will is my law.”

    He slowly left the kings side, and began to walk to the lake. Memories began to flash through his mind. He remembered how the king had pulled a similar sword from an anvil in a church yard many years ago. He remembered the first time he had seen Excalibur, and how the mere sight of it made you want to strive to be a better person than you already were. Since then the king had used it in many battles to right all the wrongs that his father had done before him and created a kingdom worth dying for. Without the sword and the king, Camelot would still be a barren land. He stepped down into the water ankle deep and began to do the kings bidding. It was at that moment that he realized he couldn't throw such a blessing to the bottom of a lake. He hid it under the ledge of a large boulder at the water’s edge and hurried back to the king’s side.

    “It is done my liege.” the man said as he knelt reverently at his master’s side.

    “Tell me,” said the king, “what did you see?” He looked earnestly into the eyes of one of his dearest friends awaiting a reply.

    “I threw it in just as you commanded and it sank beneath the rippling waves.”

    The king managed a small chuckle which ended in a fit of choking he started to speak and then seemed to lose his strength. As he regained it he smiled and uttered. “I know why you would think that throwing it into the lake is such a waste, believe me I feel alone even now without it at my side,” The knight looked away in shame when he realized his lie had not fooled the king who has paused and began to gasp for the life that was slowly slipping away and the knight knew that he was faltering. Despite the pain the king continued, “but what has the power to do great good has also the power to do great evil. It must never fall into ill possession. Now go and do this for me, not as my servant, but as my friend. I will know when the deed is truly done.”

    The knight once again returned to the water. He removed the sword gingerly and held in his arms. His mind began to wander once again to all of the great things that the sword had done. In the short time that Arthur had been king, it had done amazing wonders. It had changed and created a new civilization. As that thought began to sink in, so did the words of his dying king. With this extraordinary sword in the wrong hands it could just as easily destroy nations. He gazed at its beauty. What amazing things I could do for the world, he thought to himself. He looked out across the expanse of the water and the vast landscape beyond. Even though he faced the east he could tell by the color of the sky and the soft glow of the stars that the sun was at the brim of western mountains.

    A thick fog began to roll over the lake. The knight turned and looked once again at the face of Arthur. At that moment, a battle raged in his heart. Which was he more loyal to? Was it the thought of power or maybe the ability to continue to do great things for his country?  Or was he more loyal to the only person he had ever let come close to his heart, his king? The inward battle seemed to go on forever while it took only seconds before his mind was finally settled.

      He raised the sword high above his head and uttered. “In the name of my king, and in the name of my homeland, I give back to the lake the blessing that she has given unto us.” He felt the hilt sturdy in hands, pulled back his shoulder and let fly the magnificent piece of his home’s history with a great and final shout of, “For Camelot!” 

    The sword left his hand and spun about to meet its glassy counterpart in the surface of the lake, its first and final resting place.  Anxious to be reunited with its partner, the reflection of the sword in the water rose into the air in a daring spiral, slowing the descent of the mighty Excalibur until it finally came to a halt, seemingly in midair.  The miniature water spout fell away revealing a single, iridescent track of water wrapped about the bejeweled hilt lovingly.  The man rubbed his eyes fervently and looked back, squinting as he witnessed the sword’s farewell, the setting sun beaming from the royal amethysts, turning them from a bold purple to a glaring orange.  He was sure he could make out the gentle contours of a hand and five whole fingers in the slice of lake that held the broadsword above the ever-rippling pool below it.  He gazed with tired eyes toward the majestic scene before and bowed as the sword was drawn into the lake, leaving nothing behind it but the disturbed water.

    Without removing his eyes from their place, the knight called over his shoulder, “My lord!  My lord!  You’ll think of me as mad if I say what it is that I have seen.”

    He could hear the smile in the leader’s voice as the reply came to him.  “I believe that which I have seen, but also that which I haven’t.  Your voice tells tales, my brave knight, and I needed only to hear it to know you have seen the marvels of the lake as I have.  Turn, my oldest companion, and look upon the face of your king.”

    He slowly approached is fading companion. Mustering all the courage that he had left in him to hold back the tears, he calmly spoke.

    “So, all is truly lost then. Camelot has utterly failed” he lowered his heavy head in remorse.

    “No, Camelot is not lost.” The king slowly raised his arm and laid it comfortingly on his friends shoulder. “Camelot isn’t a place but more of an idea, a concept that dwells in the hearts of people. As long as it’s there, hope remains.” His prophetic words embedded themselves forever into the knight’s memory. “Camelot will rise again, and will one day be a great nation.”

    Their gaze was broken, as the eyes of the king glimpsed something beyond human sight, in the rapidly approaching mist as it curled around the tame waves of the lake.  The knight followed the king’s gaze, failing to see what it was that had caught his attention.  The king smiled softly and whispered, “Avalon awaits me and my escort approaches.”

    The outline of a small boat began to materialize out of the dense fog and the knight noticed that the thick, white air had consumed everything but the pair of them standing on the shore as though they stood at the very edge of Heaven, itself.  There was a soft sound no louder than a line being drawn in the sand as the vessel finally drifted into full view, guided by an unseen hand.  He suddenly noticed areas of fog that seemed to become more animate than others and, concentrating intently, found himself able to pick out figures in the mist… or perhaps figures made of mist.  The forms were obscurely female and clearly making their way towards them silently gliding across the grass.  The knight wanted to be afraid, but discovered that he had suddenly forgotten how.

    Upon reaching the dying king, they softly laid their arms around him as guardian angels. A soft wind seemed to whisper. “The time has come.” And as if the king was suddenly weightless, they lifted him from his resting place and reverently carried him to the waterside.

    The knight silently followed. As the king was laid into the boat, he looked towards his last companion on earth.

    “Come and embrace your friend, for that is all that I now am.”

    A look of remorse filled the gallant knight’s face. “My Lord, who shall rule in your stead; how will they with the absence of Excalibur?”

    The maidens stood quietly, patiently, aside as the king spoke “Do not concern yourself. When the time is right, my blood will once again sit on the throne, and Camelot.” there was a long pause as the king slowly closed his eyes. “Camelot will be reborn.” Never in the last twenty years had he looked so peaceful.

    With those final words, the king was forever at peace. In his heart, the knight knew that Arthur had died, but held to the glimmer of hope that someday one would emerge that would rightful rule. The boat drifted away into the flowing mists until it was lost for all time to the ever peaceful shores of Avalon.