Ruins of Camelot
by G. Norman Lippert
"In a time of wizards, vampires, and werewolves, she dared to be the most amazing thing of all... herself."
As the kingdom of Camelot descends into complacency, an ambitiously sadistic madman known as Merodach...
Two men on horseback emerged from the trees, blinking in the low, copper sunlight. The man in the lead was tall, dark-skinned, and bare- armed. He halted his horse, and it immediately dipped its head, nodding wearily.
The second man reined his own horse and raked his fingers through the tangle of his short red beard. "Where are we now?" he asked, pushing his helmet back from his brow and squinting in the sudden brightness.
The dark-skinned man dismounted and led his horse into the shushing field grass. His eyes darted around with keen interest. The clearing angled sharply upwards to a rocky plateau, which cut across the blinding glare of the sunset. The man touched the hilt of a short sword on his belt but did not grip it.
"Step lightly, Thomas," he commented. "These uncharted lands are ripe for bandits." Behind him, his companion slid off his horse and stood next to it warily. After a moment, the two began to work their way carefully up the slope of the clearing.
They found the plateau reinforced with a low wall of brick and stone. The wall ran in both directions, fortifying the hilltop and turning it into a long rampart, an ancient road, choked with field grass and brush. The first man led his horse through a breach, onto the surface of the road, where he stopped and shaded his eyes from the sunset's glare. Thomas joined him there and pulled his leather helmet from his head with an impatient sigh.
"Where are we now, Yazim?" he asked again.
The taller man, Yazim, nodded slowly towards the northern length of the forgotten highway. His companion followed his gaze, opening his mouth to speak and then closing it again. He raised his head slowly as his eyes widened.
Beyond and above the nearby trees, hazy with distance, rose the spires of an ancient castle. Its conical roofs were broken, revealing the bones of their rafters. Vines clothed the crumbled walls, creeping into the windows and twining the flag staffs.
Yazim dropped his hand from the hilt of his sword. "The ruins of Camelot," he finally answered, gazing up at the silent, ruined castle.
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The two camped in the middle of the ancient road. Yazim built a fire whilst Thomas went in search of food. Two hours later, with the bones of a rabbit lying strewn around the crackling fire, the two sat on their packs and stared at the dark hulk of the castle. Moonlight lit half of it, painting it in cold, blue tones. The other half raked the sky, black as pitch against the stars. No lights burnt from within.
"How can you be sure?" Thomas asked quietly.
Yazim shook his head. "What else could it be? Would we not have known of another kingdom worthy of such a headstone?"
Thomas nodded doubtfully. "But Camelot... it's been centuries since the end of the great kingdom. Its history has been lost forever. Some scholars say that such a place never even existed."
Yazim sighed. "Your greatest error, Thomas, is in trusting the accounts of men who speak knowledgeably about things they have never seen. It is the one thing I have never understood about your people."
