SWORD IN THE STONE

CHAPTER

—I—

"No Ambiguity"

—o—

The white moon was at its brightest when the dark lake by Tintagel Castle began to roil— slightly at first but it was enough to grab the attention of a couple of Black-Leg guards in the vicinity. About five of them gathered at the pier as the water became violent, and suddenly…it started to recede. They were left stunned, gobsmacked as the water-level started to shrink and after their wonder rubbed off, one of the more senior members regained his wits and ordered a messenger be sent to their king.

In their world, magic was as normal as disease, most strange occurrences like vanishing water would often be chalked to magic thus raised little worries. But that morning, left a lasting impression on all who here fortunate to witness it. When the water was all but knee level, the lake revealed a piece of grey rock unlike the environment surrounding it. There were weeds and moss and sludge covering the boulder like a thick blanket; but beyond that, atop the boulder's surface was adorned with a peculiar sword wedged into it, its long glistening hilt sticking out into the morning air. An invitation to take arms.

Lord Caradoc, marshal of the southern lands, pushed through the crowd in order to get a clearer look. His sight fell onto the shining sword in the stone, a grim expression crossing his face and he rushed up to the tower and the aviary to write the message himself.

He did not know exactly why this mattered but more than twenty years ago, his liege requested he report on any changes to the castle of Tintagel and the lake being drained of its breadth was definitely a change.

…

King Uryen Bagdamagus found himself beyond vexed as he stared at the maps on the messy table. With the mages all but exiled from Britain, he had believed that the rest would just fall to him. "I am champion of the Old Ways now," he whispered. "Why can't they just fucking accept that?!"

"Well, Kelts are not known for their obedient nature, Your Grace," Lady Morgause remarked as she poured some warm tea into her king's neglected cup. "Defiance isn't just exclusive to Mages."

"They're becoming a nuisance!" the Usurper king barked, stabbing a point of the map with his dagger. Right over the part of Britain that still resisted his rule, a coalition of rebellious lords had gathered at the fortress city of Camelot. "Lamorak…" he growled under his breath. That was the figurehead of this little revolt, and he strained to even call it that. The rebels had scarcely been able to deter his plans and soon his Great Tower would be completed. Lamorak, he sneered again, but he knew who this rebel really was. "Bedivere believes he can stir the people against me, but he is yet to understand the power I wield." Perhaps he could send an army to take Camelot? He pondered this. He had much desired this conquest for many years, but Camelot was impregnable once within her walls.

It was only with deception to draw High-King Ambrosius out of his city that Archimedes was even able to kill him. Bedivere…Lamorak made a wise decision in choosing that impregnable fortress as his sanctuary. It would not do him much good. The people of Britain were weak and divided. Fear of himself was the only thing keeping them in line and he would not have it any other way, for it was much more prudent to feed their fears than to rely on loyalty and faith.

"You represent the people, Lady Morgause," he leaned over Britain and looked over to his daughter's attendant, "Tell me, do the people love me?"

She was careful with her next words, merely giving him a nervous smile. "I love you, Your Grace. And if I represent the people… then you have my answer."

With fear and anxiety building within her, Morgause attempted to change the subject. She reminded him that Henges and his Vikings had just made port and were ready to negotiate for more child slaves. She gestured to another maid-servant who then handed her the letters written in Viking runes that requested an audience with the king. To the relief of Lady Morgause, the ruse had worked and Uryen's attention was drawn to diplomatic businesses instead. Fortunately, the king did not catch her sigh of relief.

Still, as she watched the King of the Britons silently reading the messages, she could not hide her displeasure in the whole situation. Though she had been very young at the time, she did remember the last days of Vortigern's reign—he who had let the Vikings into the realm as his mercenaries, doing his bidding as well as their own. Committing the oldest sins in the newest ways. After that king's defeat, they had driven the foreigners out, but now… now, Uryen was on the verge of letting them all back in again. The realm was being held hostage, with a wound left wide open for all manner of ills to enter.

All that their mighty king concerned himself with these days was building his tower at Cantium.

"Your Grace," Lord Markus Cornwall came marching into the room, a serious look on his face— a frightful look. "A message just arrived by pigeon. It's from Tintagel."

At first, Uryen was ready to dismiss it, but when he saw that look on his Chief Advisor's face, took hold of his attention in full. The conversation between the two was brief and consisted of glares and nods. Uryen's stoic coldness had revealed a small crack, compromising. The king dismissed her cordially. She took her time to depart, standing for a second longer before the door, Lady Morgause glanced back at the usurper, watching his growing anxiety. She couldn't help the smile on her face as she left.

…

The sun was beginning to ascend over the mountains when the king got up onto the battlement. "Make way for the king!" Lord Caradoc announced, parting through the gathered sentry.

Uryen and Cornwall Peered over the edge where he saw that his sergeant was right. The lake had drained, seemingly overnight as he had only witnessed Morgana playing by the banks only yesterday. Yet this miraculous event was far from the most significant.

At first, he could not see much. The area was swarming with Black Legionnaires, all huddled around a specific point in the lake, some light commotion and jeering as they all started pushing each other. Cornwall shouted for the men down below to disperse and once they did… There, smack in the middle of the crater, was a sword—the sword, stuck fast in solid stone. Each of his men had been clamouring to try and draw it out but were as of yet unsuccessful.

"Excalibur," he muttered under his cold breath.

…

There was a secret temple beneath the dark recesses of Tintagel Castle, known only to the old druid tribes and even fewer still between them. He had not needed to visit these hallowed stones for many years, since his ascension. He had vowed not to.

Yet here he was, High-king of Britain, expected to plead and beg at the feet of old gods. Smooth granite tiles shifted into rough, jagged cut-stone stairs spiralling down into an underground lake with a singular hill of rocks and moss in the centre. "Caelia!" he bellowed into the dark abyss. "My gracious Queen of the Dark Fae, I call upon you."

The waters began to rumble and coil like it had been brought to a boil. "Hail Uryen, High-king of Britain," came a voice from the depths. Her voice had gotten raspy these long years, yet as her angelic bare form rose from the depths, he was reminded of her divine nature. Her dark and mysterious nature. She walked over to the small moss-covered island and sat herself down upon it as though it were a throne. "You seek an audience with the Queen of the Dark Fae? Speak."

"The water in the lake has dropped," he started without a second's hesitation. "Why does the sword reveal itself now?"

The Fae queen did not answer immediately. She looked up and around her, as if picking up a scent in the air. As if she could feel a change, a stirring. "There has been an awakening. As your power grows stronger, my king, so too does the power of one who will oppose you."

"I have many enemies. Which of them has such an effect on the sword like this?"

A devious smirk, appeared on her unnaturally smooth face. "The born-king. Uther's heir."

Uryen's eyes widened at the name. The revelation struck him like an arrow to the heart and that night came rushing in again. Even in death did his brother hold a tight grip upon his throat. Even in death could he fail to escape his wretched brothers. Then his fear turned to anger— anger at the Fae. "We had a deal!" he roared. "The blood of a loved one, sacrificed over these waters, my desires must be met!"

"There is no ambiguity, my good king." Even in her own anger, the dark creature spoke in such a low and calm manner, yet there was some measure of force and aggression in her words that it felt unnerving to him. "I have kept my side of the bargain. I twisted the old magics to grant you and your knights, powers beyond your wildest dreams that night. Yet, again, you had failed to retrieve the sword…and it would appear that you have failed to dispatch all of the Pendragons."

"Have I not sacrificed enough?!" he spoke mostly to himself in a half murmur, feeling a little feint, which then grew darker, and louder, until he was barking at her. "Have I not sacrificed enough?!"

"But have you not felt your powers increased?"

"But I am not yet ready!" the High-King argued back. "The Tower is not complete!"

The Unseelie Fae it is said, were the antithesis of their more benevolent kin. They were darkly inclined Fae, in touch with all things mysterious and maleficent. One would be weary then to strike business with an Unseelie Fae. "Then you have your quest, King Uryen. Finish your tower… and kill the boy, and Excalibur will answer only to you." A normal person would be weary than to strike business with an Unseelie Fae like Queen Caelia, but the king had ambitions that ran him perfectly parallel to their own dark objectives. A mutual understanding. "If you desire further assistance…" her smile widened as her eyes grew darker still, "You know the price."

…

In a lowly neighbourhood in Londinium, a bad dream ripped Arthur's eyes open. A dream? No, a terrible nightmare. He woke up in a pool of sweat, panting like a dying mut. Though he had slept all night uninterrupted, he felt like he hadn't slept in days. It took a lot of energy just to get him to sit up on his bed.

Arthur sighed as he tried very hard to calm his racing heart down. At first these nightmares were rare, but now, that mysterious horned and skull faced warrior invaded his sleep every night.

The young man surveyed his room, looking for his shirt. The small room he called his bedchambers was typical of his 'minimalistic' neighbourhood, it was simple without being empty. A small chest for his clothes, a sword rack on the far wall with only a single broadsword hanging on it, and a detailed map of Londinium which he had drawn up himself— and were he had marked all of the best clubs, taverns, the best routes to evade Black-Leg patrols as well as the best spots to pick up new clients.

Trying to clear his own head of the traumatic dream, Arthur opened the wooden panels of his windows, letting in a cool gust of the morning wind. The sun had yet to clear the houses of the city so all he was left with was cold, but often he would prefer it.

As he basked in the morning dew, his attention was grabbed by the sound of marching a couple of blocks away, then to the clatter of steel as jut down below, three Black-leg guards had smashed their way into the neighbours down the street.

Black Legionnaires, or Black-Legs, as the smaller folk sneered whenever they came marching by, were the 'elite' fighting force of the crown. They were King Uryen's standing army, subservient to his rule. They pocketed themselves as warriors but people like Arthur saw them for who they really were… over-glorified prison wardens. He shook his head as he watched the three of them pulling a young boy no older than ten from the desperate grip of his mother. They had failed to provide their obligatory weekly taxes to the crown, so in punishment, their children, most prominently young, well developing, strong boys, were forced into slavery, made to work the quarry for stones to help in the construction of the Great Tower in Cantium county.

It was a sad and messed up situation, as it was most likely that they would never see each other again, but on the other hand, it was just so common-place now. All that Arthur could do was shake his head at them, close his window and go about his merry way.

He found his white shirt, over on his desk, then he layered his long, wolf-furred coat over his frame and came outside, looking all around in case of danger and as he had promised, had gone to mind his own business for the day.

—ONE—