The StoneSword Monument Thing

A King Arthur Adventure

Helmet, check. Gloves check. Chain mail, check. Sword—

Rats. Where is that darn sword? Kay checked under his saddle, his lance, his helmet (although he doubted it would fit there). He must have left his sword in the armory!

He was jousting at Waycross Square, which meant that everyone who was anyone would be at the tournament. This tournament was a chance to become a somebody. If Kay didn't have his sword, he couldn't joust. If he couldn't joust, he would be living in the dusty old castle, farming potatoes, for the rest of his days.

Where was that Wart? Theoretically, the boy was helping him get ready for the tournament. Kay suspected he was off with that mad old man, looking at tree branches or something. The weirdo was filling young Wart's head with insane thoughts, not to mention taking him off when he was most needed.

"WART!!!" yelled Kay at the top of his lungs. The flaps of the tent blew in the sudden, powerful gust of wind.

"I'm right here, there's no need to knock down buildings," muttered a small figure that just stepped in to the tent. Wart's hair was tousled and his shirt was dirty, as if he had been crawling through a small space. "Although I bet there are a couple of people in Ireland who didn't hear you."

Kay scowled. "Enough lip. What have you been doing anyway, chasing rabbits down their holes?"

"As a matter of fact, I—

"Never mind, Wart, where's my sword? Go fetch it!"

Wart turned pink, having been caught completely off guard, and Kay knew that Wart had done something with it. He drew level with Wart and whispered, "If I cannot be in this tournament because you lost my sword, your beloved Merl will be without a student." Kay looked furiously at his younger stepbrother. He said, "Go back to the castle and fetch it."

Wart was at a loss for words. "But it's a day's walk from here!"

Kay grinned wickedly. "Then run."

As Kay watched the boy sprint past the stone-sword statue monument... thing... in the middle of the square, his father pushed aside the flaps of the tent to reveal his imposing and rather large figure. "Kay, me lad!" he boomed. "Are you ready to win the tournament?"

"Yes, Father," grinned Kay, relaxing slightly. "I need a sword, though, Father."

"I'll see you get one, son," said Sir Hector, and he left the tent.

Kay sat on the small wooden bench next to his helmet. He twiddled his thumbs. Suddenly, he heard the sound of someone running towards him. He peeked out the tent flaps to see Wart, huffing and puffing, dragging a huge sword behind him.

"Thanks, Wart!" he shouted, taking the sword from his hand.

Uff! The sword dropped straight to the ground. Kay just couldn't lift it. Try as he could, the sword would not budge. He glared at Wart.

"You could pick up the sword. Why is it too heavy for me?"

"Gee, I don't know," said Wart sarcastically. He lifted up the sword and waved it in front of Kay tauntingly. "Lost all your muscle mass?"

One swift punch from Kay proved otherwise.

"All right, I surrender," said Wart, wiping blood from his nose. "I don't know why you can't lift the sword."

Kay looked at the sword. There was an inscription at the hilt. It appeared to be in Latin.

"Wart," Kay said, pulling the boy over. "You can read Latin. Read this."

Wart studied the inscription. "It says 'Only the King shall wield me'. Tuh! That definitely explains why YOU couldn't pick it up."

"Yeah, dolt, but how could YOU pick it up?" asked Kay, mystified.

Wart hadn't considered this. "I don't know," he said, surprised.

At that moment Sir Hector entered the tent. "I have a—oh, you found a sword! I'll just put this one back and—"

"Don't go anywhere with that sword, Father. Come and see this."

Sir Hector knelt next to the sword. As he read the inscription, his eyes widened.

"Which one of you drew this sword from the stone?" Hector asked in a hushed tone.

Wart gulped. Kay fidgeted, contemplating the notion of saying he did. When he realized the truth would come out when he couldn't pick the sword up, he said, "W-Wart did, sir."

Sir Hector looked as if he might faint. He tried to pick the sword up. He couldn't, of course.

"Pick up the sword, boy," he murmured.

Wart stood up unsteadily. He bent over to pick up the sword. His pants, which were far too big for him, fell down. Blushing furiously, Wart pulled up his pants and picked up the sword. He made some slashing motions that he had been practicing in fencing class. When he looked at Sir Hector and Kay, he saw they were both kneeling to him.

"Why are you kneeling? Is this some kind of a joke?" asked Wart suspiciously.

"Wart," murmured Sir Hector, still kneeling. "The only person who can draw that sword from the stone is the true king of Camelot. You are our new king!"

Wart's pants fell down again.