Arthur

Prologue

            The trees seem to blur as I run through them, eyes wide, arms pumping. I don’t notice when the branches pull at my hair, don’t feel the thorns scratch against my cheek or tear into my sleeve. All I can hear are screams. Agonizing, terrified shrieks fill the dark woods, drowning out the sounds of owls and wind in the trees.

            Mine, I realize.

             I hadn’t even noticed my mouth was open. My jaw snaps shut, and I bite down on my tongue until the bitter taste of rust fills my mouth. I force myself not to gag. Screaming was my first mistake

          Dark eyes, bloody armor; the face of my carriage driver, frozen in terror, eyes lifeless, blood streaming from the arrow in his chest, chainmail clad bodies strewn across the ground around the carriage… The images flash in front of my eyes, blinding me.

            A dozen guards, the carriage driver, all dead. Their faces flash before my eyes, all of them people I cared for, all of them people from home. All of them dead.

             I can’t see the forest, or the dirt and branches that litter the ground. I’m running blind, heart thumping, echoing in my ears. My mind is back with Maeve as she stares, ashen faced, at the carriage driver. A strangled sound tears from her lips, caught between a sob and a scream, and she falls forward, her knees weak. I run to her, pulling her back to the carriage. I don’t see him.

            But I feel the arrow skim across the leg of my dress, ripping into my thigh and landing on the ground in front of me with a soft thud. My hands leave Maeve and press against the wound; it burns like nothing I have ever felt before. 

            It isn’t until Maeve screams that I whirl back around and see the bloody metal sticking through her chest. I fight off the nausea, feeling the vomit rise again even now as I run through the forest.

        My hair, loose from its braid, twists around my face and covers my eyes. But I’m stuck, staring into dark eyes, hooded by the visor of his helmet. There is nothing to identify him by, just anger and dark, glaring brows. His hand wields the sword protruding from my sister’s chest. 

        I gag again, running; the pain in my leg has become a dull ache in the furthest recesses of my mind. The sounds of clanking chainmail and cracking branches grow louder behind me. They knock me out of my reverie and I look back: my second mistake.

        I don’t see the log in front of me until it’s under my foot and I’m twisting, landing on my stomach in the dirt. The impact forces the air from my lungs and my chest heaves as I force myself to get up. I have to keep running.

         A heavy foot connects with my back and knocks me flat. I roll away quickly, staring in shock at the bloody sword embedded in the ground just inches from my face. I can feel the scream building in my chest, but no sound escapes.

        The knight has a deep red cloak covering his silver chainmail. The chainmail looks pristine, glinting dangerously in the darkness. He makes no move to draw his sword again, and I stare straight at his visor, seeking out those dark eyes. Can he kill someone as they stare into his soul?

        Does he even have a soul? 

        He shifts slightly and his armor clinks, I scramble back on my elbows. I can’t run. Where would I go? My back slams into a tree, and my heartbeat picks up, frantically echoing around head. My breath is shallow and my head is spinning. 

        He takes a step toward me, leaving his sword behind in the ground, and my eyes jerk back to his face. Will I not even know who killed me? I swallow. His gloved hand moves toward his belt, pulling out a curved dagger. If it weren’t about to become the instrument of my death, the swirling designs up the silver of the blade might have taken my breath away. Instead, I feel my lunch rising up again.

        His movements are relaxed. I’m trapped and he wants to take his time. Maybe he’s angry that he had to chase me for so long. Maybe he just likes to see fear. Maeve’s lifeless blue eyes flash through my mind.

        Maeve. 

        I remember her smile, the way her vibrant blue eyes danced in the sunlight and her laughter lit up the room. 

        Maeve will never laugh again because of him.

        Before I can stop to think, I’m standing. He killed Maeve. He killed her. He moves quicker now, and stabs with his dagger. At the motion, all thoughts seem to flee from my mind; something deep in my unconsciousness has awoken. Something primal. 

        Act and react.

        Fight. 

        I duck, jerking myself away. His armor is a reminder that I will die. I have no weapon, nothing to shield myself with but the thin material of my dress.

        He swings toward me again and I grab onto his hand, clutching it in both of mine and trying to pry his fingers off the blade. He pulls back effortlessly, tossing the dagger to the ground behind him and jerks closer, wrapping his gloved hands around my neck. 

        The leather feels cool on my skin. I thrash, hitting and kicking as he lifts me of the ground and tightens his grip on my neck. My hands and feet ache from slamming against the metal of his armor, but I can’t stop, I can’t give up. My fingers latch on to the ties of his cloak, pulling and twisting fervently. I want him to die. My nails dig deeply into the fabric, clutching on with everything I have. White dots start to filter across my vision, growing larger and larger until all I can see is a bright white as it slowly fades to black. 

        My lungs are screaming for air and the leather at my neck starts to feel as though it’s burning into my flesh. My lips are moving soundlessly, gasping desperately for breath.

        My legs fall slack and I feel myself going limp, losing all control. The soft fabric of his cloak is clenched between my fingers so tightly that even if I want to let go, I can’t. My fingers have become stiff and immovable. 

        With unseeing eyes and burning lungs, I feel the air brush past my body as he throws me to the ground, and listen to the harsh sound of ripping fabric echoing through the woods. Something sharp is shoved deep into my side, a searing pain tenfold that of the wound in my thigh and the distant clamor of armor guides me slowly into darkness.

A/N - Thanks for clicking on my story! I'm totally a history buff/Arthurian legend geek, but with this I decided to have some fun and mash things up a bit, hope you enjoyed it! Chapter 1 will be out soon (and will be much longer than the prologue).