Chronicles of the Sword in the Stone (remastered and continued)

Chapter 12: Hope Lost, Sanctuary Found

It was an all new era within the time known as the dark ages. Word spread like wildfire following that day of the king's birthday. A brief uprising began in the hopes of undoing the coup, but with the many lords, dukes, and other acting heads of authority now trapped in the castle dungeon with no hope to escape, the only organized military belonged to Averil the wild and his band. Dissenters were immediately quashed and culled, and a new authority was established. It was no longer merely the strong preying upon the weak, but survival of the fittest, and Averil was bent on being the only fittest. All across the country, tributes were demanded as Averil's men road across the towns and provinces, looting everything they could get their hands on as well as setting up posters, all of which had the face of the former king on it. The boy was to be brought before Averil dead or alive for a large reward. Morgana had assured that it would bring the boy to them in no time at all, as well as ensured that he wouldn't know a moment's rest so long as he was out and about.

Indeed, there was no solace to be found for the small group. Given Ector's travels in his youth, he knew every backroad and shortcut imaginable, and he was exhausting each and every one of them to avoid highwaymen and would be bounty hunters bent on getting ahead of this new regime. However, capture couldn't have been the furthest thing from either of their minds. While Ector remained the staunchest, desperate to give some idea of hope in their hopeless situation, Lamorak remained the most in despair, often crying himself to sleep in his brother's arms and wishing they were his mother's. Despite his upper lip, Percival wasn't fairing much better. His thoughts were always on his mother and father, no doubt cold and hungry as those ghastly wolves that dared call themselves men gloated and jeered at them through the iron bars of the prison. Hazel likewise had lost more and more of her enthusiastic aura with every village they passed. Several had purposely burned their own homes and fled with nothing else but the vain hope that it would hinder the brigands long enough that they would live to see another day. It was so barbaric and wild, yet uncomfortably familiar for the denizen of the cart that had once been so used to the idea of imminent death on a daily basis. However, not a single soul among them was in lower spirits than Arthur himself. With every road they traveled, every village they passed, and every assailant that came for his head, one point was made perfectly clear in his head: he had failed. Averil the wild was right there at his mercy, and with one fatal plunge Arthur could have prevented all of this as well as ended the kingdom's problems all at once. Instead, he had choked, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to take the life of perhaps the most evil man in the history of England. To make it all worse, he discovered that he did indeed have a blood relative, only to find that she wanted him dead, and on top of that Merlin apparently knew about her. Archimedes had remained mum to his questions in Morgana's regard, but there wasn't a doubt in Arthur's mind that he knew something, too. Then again, what did it even matter anymore? London had fallen, the kingdom was in disarray, and it was all the boy's fault.

At last, on a sunny Tuesday morning three weeks following London's fall, Ector whistled to rouse everyone, and he pointed into the distance.

"There it is, eh? Our new home away from home."

With his back to the driver's seat and Lamorak still dozing in his arms, Percival had to twist and crane his neck to peer around Ector and towards their coming refuge. What he saw left Percival without words. Perhaps at one point, this castle had been something of report and worthy of praise. In its stead, an old wreck stood with darkened windows, crumbling stone, and tattered flags that hung limply from the parapets. The moat was overgrown with weeds and bulrushes so thick that one could likely walk across it, and the chains holding up the drawbridge were so coated with rust that they threatened to snap if you just looked at them funny. Percival couldn't help but frown, but he hid it in time for Ector to flash him a grin.