Swords & Spells (Book One):The Magic of Emrys

Emrys

When Uther Pendragon wanted to make a point, he made it as sharp as possible.

It was midday. With bone-chilling thuds, the executioner's ax fell upon the necks of three accused sorcerers, severing their heads from their bodies. The blood dripped through the stocks and spread across the smooth stone ground. All Emrys could do was watch in horror as the heads were mounted on tall spikes in the palace square for all to see.

Three boys who'd barely reached manhood, now dead for being menaces and troublemakers. The severed heads stared at the crowd with blank eyes and slack expressions. Crimson blood trickled down the wooden spikes while the bodies were taken away to be burned.

The king did not give second chances—especially not to anyone who practiced magic. Sorcery would be dealt with swiftly and remorselessly—and publicly.

Every time that blade was used, a growing uneasiness slithered through Emrys like a heavy mist she could no longer ignore. Camelot had once been peaceful and prosperous and magical—but now someone with a taste for blood was seated upon the throne.

The castle glittered before the crowd like a massive golden crown, its spires rising high up into the cloudless blue sky. It was set in the direct center of the upper town, a walled city two miles wide and deep. Inside, cobbled roads led to villas, businesses, taverns, and shops. Only the privileged and important were able to make this part of the city their home. But today, the gates had opened to all who wished to see the execution.

"There were more than usual today," said Emrys as she shifted her attention from the impaled heads. For three weeks she'd attended an execution and it had done little to reassure her of her own fate.

Such deaths would be considered by most to be destiny. The druids that Emrys had grown up with believed that their futures were set and that they had to accept what they were given—be it good or bad.

Emrys, of all people, knew that everyone's destinies were written in stone. But stone could be broken, and destinies could change. And that was what Emrys was going to do.

"It is the king's birthday." Silas' voice was hard to separate from the incessant chatter of the throng.

The crowd hushed for the briefest of moments before swelling murmur rose again. King Uther had emerged onto the balcony—a tall, handsome man with piercing blue eyes that chilled Emrys' spine every time he glanced over her.

The regal-looking Princess Morgana joined her father on his left side. Her dark black hair was curled around her fair face; her skin shone like a shimmering pearl. She didn't look at the impaled heads.

The crowd cheered as a young man joined the others on the balcony. It was the first time Emrys had ever seen him, but she knew who he was: Arthur Pendragon, crown prince to King Uther's throne. Arthur was a near mirror image of his father, but younger, of course, and with golden hair that caught in the sunlight.

A drunken voice from the crowd shouted out, loud enough to be heard over everyone else: "Fools! Every last one of you! You think he means to unite us as a happy kingdom? Lies! The King is driven only by greed and a lust for power! He's trying to destroy magic! He must be stopped, or we're all doomed!"

Silence fell.

Emrys' gaze shot toward the king to see if he'd heard.

He had. With a flick of the king's hand, four guards marched toward the crowd, located the man, and wrenched him forward so forcefully that he fell to his knees just left of where the severed heads were on display. When he tried to rise, a guard pushed him back down. The empty bottle he clutched in his right hand fell to the ground.