Legend Incarnate

Prologue

PROLOGUE

There was too much of everything. Too much heat. Too much pressure. Too much resting on this.

There was no way they could win.

The young man in the centre of it all looked over his shoulder desperately. He couldn’t see the familiar blonde head, the distinctive red attire, or the proud sword he yielded. The safety of the entire kingdom required the young man to locate the King he swore he’d protect until the very end.

He tried to push his overgrown curls back, which would allow him to scout the field completely, but the sandy brown locks fell into his eyes, distracting him from the task at hand. He shook his head, trying to keep them at the sides of his head.

An agonised cry from just outside his magical shield caused his heart to race wildly, his palms sweating uncontrollably and the sour taste of fear stain his mouth. He spun around, hoping he’d see his King, but there was no-one he recognized. Only warriors from other cities.

He turned back around, still furiously scanning the mass of people for his King. He could not see him; only that the soft grass of the fields surrounding the thick River Camlann—about to burst its banks—was dotted with blood and sweat.

It was only April, yet the close capacity of thousands of soldiers made him feel as if he was in high summer. The air was simply too heavy, too warm. He couldn’t breathe, but that may have been because losing this battle was incomprehensible. To lose would be to destroy everything.

He had placed an enchantment around him, to Arthur’s wishes. Arthur had forced him to promise that he would protect himself over anyone. It had been the most uncomfortable moment of his life, agreeing to King Arthur’s terms, but he had had no other choice. Everyone in the Kingdom had known this battle was coming—there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

The young man cast another restless glance around the battlefield: he spotted Sir Gawaine, betraying his family to protect the Kingdom he was now loyal to; Sir Pellinore, who had travelled from his Kingdom in France to fight on Arthur’s side; even Guinevere, Arthur’s bride, who had refused to speak to Arthur until he let her protect her husband’s land. She was quite the knight, the young man mused, dressed in Arthur’s spare chainmail and using his best sword.

There were bodies littering the grass, colouring it a scarlet red, absorbing into the fertile ground around the River of Camlann. Arthur was nowhere; not even with the young man’s incantations could he determine whether he still lived.

He knew he had to find Arthur. There was nothing else more important. If Arthur was to die in this battle, his destiny would be incomplete, and the young man’s task failed.  He evaluated his surroundings madly, begging for Arthur to be found. They had to go through with their plan; if they did not, Camelot was sure to be taken.

“Merlin!” the shout made Merlin’s knees almost give out. He sucked in a fevered breath, turning around to be greeting by Arthur. His blonde hair was in clumps, dried blood causing it to be uneven, his blue eyes sparkling with adrenaline and panic, his crimson cloak of Camelot darker in places where it was crusted with blood. Excalibur, the only sword that would end the tyranny of le Fay, was sheathed, its golden handle shining when it caught the muted light. Arthur’s eyes shone with anticipation; they were as blue as the clearest ocean, the purest sapphire, the brightest sky—they swam with colour.

Merlin had never been more relieved to see—well, anyone.

He threw his hands up, releasing himself from the invisible dome that was shielding him from the battle. He thanked air for its protection silently and ran towards Arthur.