An oak tree grew in the meadow where long ago we had all played as children, it had not been there then, yet by the size of it the tree looked to be very old indeed. Beneath it, sitting in its shadow sat Eleanor, perhaps a year or two older, she was gazing up in anticipation, awaiting some great event. In her hand she clutched a scrap of parchment upon which was drawn a perfect circle segmented into twelve, the top segment was coloured red and a scrawl of hand writing, which I recognised as my own, had labelled it, 'the siege perilous', the space to the right of it was labelled with a capital A and similarly other segments with the letters M, T, C and several P's and G's, were all present. Four sections remained unmarked. Suddenly the branches began to shake violently, causing leaves to tumble to the ground. Eleanor leapt up in an instant, clutching the parchment to her chest she hurried off towards the castle, an expression of pure elation on her face.
The scene changed, my eyes were watching the craftsmen within a carpenter's workshop. A large, flat, highly polished circle of wood the width of two men laying lengthways filled up the majority of the abnormally large workspace. Men were employed in different tasks all about, one was creating legs for the table whilst three were fashioning ornate chairs out of the same wood and one, with great precision, was marking out twelve equal sections into the circle.
'Make the legend,' a voice which sounded like Ector's whispered to me as the images reseeded into darkness, 'make the legend and protect Camelot.'
YOU ARE READING
For The Love Of A Pendragon.
FantasyThe Battle is won but the War is far from over. The sequel to The Witch of Camelot, Nimue's sacrifice to give up her own life and portray herself as her deceased uncle, Merlin Ambrosias, turns out to be far more difficult than she anticipated. She...
