Rise of the King - 1. Chapter 1

Ancient Times, Somewhere in the British Isles

Artorius gazed around the throne room of his castle thoughtfully, studiously ignoring the body that lay on the stone floor in the middle of the room. The sun was just starting to set, coming clear through the western windows. It would be twilight soon, which meant that their time in this part of the world was coming to an end. The light sound of feet padding quietly across the throne room interrupted his silent contemplation.

“Rhys,” Artorius said softly under his breath, knowing that Rhys would hear him.

“Sire,” Rhys responded emotionlessly, as he glanced at the still-bodied teenage boy lying on the floor.

“It’s time Rhys. We must go before Medraut catches up to us,” Artorius said softly as he brushed back the blond hair from his forehead.

“And the boy, sire?” Rhys asked despondently.

Artorius sighed softly as a small smile briefly lit up his pale face.

“He must be protected. Take his body and hide him.”

Rhys nodded, but could not help himself.

“For how long, sire?” He asked.

“For as long as necessary. But have no fear, the King shall rise when he is needed most,” Artorius said softly.

Rhys blinked in surprise. “The King, sire?” he inquired softly.

Artorius nodded his head. “He is my son, Rhys, and he is now the King. I am but a puppet that must pull his own strings. Protect him, Rhys, for he is the last hope for all of us.”

Rhys bowed his head.

“As you command, my liege”

Artorius nodded, not watching as Rhys moved swiftly across the room and gathered the still body of the teenage boy into his arms and disappeared down a side corridor.

Artorius raised his voice at the last, watching through the windows as twilight finally darkened the sky. “Burn it,” he shouted, “and let no stone be left standing.”

Chicago October 8th, 1871

“You’re too late, Medraut. You’ll never be King. The old days have passed us by, men have evolved. They’re no longer the mindless sheep you once thought they were,” Artorius whispered into the night, knowing the shadows would hear him.

The shadows snorted.

“Never be King, Artorius? Are you sure about that, because I’m pretty sure that I will be King, and the cattle shall fall before us all,” Medraut whispered.

Artorius laughed quietly, hearing the near silent padding of feet in the shadows. He turned around and looked into the shadows where Medraut was standing. He swept back the cloak that was draped about his shoulders, revealing the heavy blade within his hands.

“You’ll never be King, Medraut, for the true King yet sleeps. But come, I weary of the eons of chase. Let us fight and end this long war once and for all.”

Medraut frowned slightly in puzzlement, but nodded his head anyway. He agreed with Artorius’s sentiments concerning the long war. He stepped forward, revealing his own heavy war-blade in his hands as he arced it through the air. Outside the sounds of near silent battle being fought between the two sides reached their ears as the two weapons met in mid-air, sparks leaping off the blades as the two weapons clashed together.

Chicago October 8th, 1871. A distance aways from the fight

“It’s time,” Morgan said to the two women at her side.

Morgause nodded, her face twisted up in pain.

Elaine sighed and bowed her head. “Agreed, let us end this wretched war before they destroy life as we know it.”

Speaking as one, the three women began to dance about the field they stood in, the city of Chicago seen in the distance.

“Do you agree to pay the price, sisters of the fey?” A voice asked, seeming to come from nowhere.

“Agreed,” Morgan whispered.

“Agreed,” Morgause seconded strongly.

Elaine paused, before she too finally bowed her head in agreement.

“This is our will, we are in agreement,” Morgan said once more, calmly.

“Then so mote be,” the voice replied.

Above them the sky began to fall. In the city smoke started to rise, as the city caught a-flame.

Chicago, Tuesday October 10th, 1871. Early morning.

Rhys moved through the soot-stained city. Ash from the destroyed buildings rose into the air under his light footsteps, staining his clothes and cold body. Sadness lay heavy in his heart. Something should have remained of his liege, but he had not found it yet.

A gleam of silver in the ash stained streets caught his eye. He moved toward it and reached down to pick up the long blade that should have been destroyed within the fires that had almost ruined the city.

“Caledfwlch,” he whispered softly, feeling his non-beating heart go heavy in his chest.

The legendary sword, Excalibur, was in truth a sword forged to slay those of the otherworld, belonging rightfully to the former King of Vampires, Artorius, and now his heir.

He cradled the blade carefully in his arms and bowed his head silently, wishing that tears could flow from his eyes, to help abate the grief that he felt in his heart.

“Rhys,” a beautiful voice whispered.

Rhys whirled around and froze upon seeing the raven haired beauty that stood before him.

“Elaine,” he responded emotionlessly.

“Give me the sword, Rhys.” She demanded softly.

Rhys froze for less than a second before he moved swiftly into action. The whirling blade sliced swiftly through the air until it was poised in front of him. He crouched, prepared to fend off any attacks from the raven-haired witch.

“I knew I smelled fey magic in the air,” he hissed softly.

She snorted. “Please. You know we can’t fight. Give me the blade Rhys, and let me return the blade to the Lady of the Lakes, so she might keep it safe.”

“No” He stated coldy.

“All these centuries and yet you are still a man of few words,” she said softly. She moved closer to him.

His stance shifted.

She got within touching distance of the pale eyed vampire and finally reached out and, caressing his face softly, felt his cold skin beneath hers.

“All this time racing across the lands in search of your King, and yet you still can’t see it, can you Rhys?”

“See what!” He demanded.

“Rhys, Artorius said his goodbyes centuries ago. He’s not your King anymore. You know where your King is. Do what was asked of you so long ago. Go home, guard your King until he arises. By the standards of your kind, you won’t have that many more centuries to go, I think,” she offered softly, hoping to appease the suddenly volatile Guardian.

She moved her hand from his face and caressed his shoulder, tracing her way down his muscular arms until her hand was resting upon his. She finally reached her goal, and grasped the hilt of the heavy blade, pulling the sword toward her. He released the blade to her without argument, and she breathed a sigh in relief.

Pleased that her head was still attached to her body, she stepped away from the vampire and walked backwards, moving slowly to put distance between them.

Rhys sighed quietly. “The blade belongs…”

“…to King Arthur. If you were to take the blade to your King, you would awaken him before he was ready. Things happened back than that neither you nor Artorius were aware of, and I think, if either one of you had known, the two of you would be horrified at what was done in the end. He needs more time. Guard him in his rest, Rhys.”

“And what about you, Elaine.”

“I must pay the price for our interference in your war. Time will once again touch me and I shall be the mother of a strong line. Perhaps, some day, you will meet those of my descent. Be well, Rhys.”

Elaine took two more steps and twisted, disappearing into thin air.

Rhys never saw her disappear, for he was already running, heading toward the eastern coast line so he could cross the ocean. The desire to set his pale blue eyes on his King suddenly burned deep within him, to the point where he was barely aware of the other vampires in the night who had been watching from the shadows. They were mourning their own losses, the two sides of would-be kings in silent agreement of a truce. He knew they would spread the word. Old King Arthur was finally dead, and with him went Medraut. A new King would arise in time. The vampire wars were at an end, for now. And finally, the new age of vampires would be allowed to live in peace, no longer hounded by the old guard.

England, Present Day

Sixteen year old Ben wasn’t paying attention to where he was going. He was lost in his own fantasy world, as usual. The floor jumped up at him and he fell. Luckily, he didn’t land on his face; his hand reached out and caught the raised portion of the floor. He cursed slightly as he felt his skin break open on the sharp sides of the bricks.

“Ben, are you alright?” a voice called out quietly, hoping it did not draw attention toward them.

That would be his sister, Jaime, who was oft-times overbearing and extremely overprotective. But, he loved her, and she him. It was strange, how they seemed to get along better than most siblings. But then, Ben wasn’t a normal teenage boy.

It wasn’t long before she was at his side, pulling him to his feet. She grabbed his hand and turned it over, examining the break in the skin. The blood pooling up in his hand wasn’t helping, so she pulled out a napkin from her purse and dabbed at it.

Ben hissed quietly in pain, slightly annoyed for not paying attention. Again.

Jaime smiled at him.

“What were ya thinking about, little brother?” Jaime asked with a knowing smile.

Ben blushed, but he couldn’t help himself. “Mummies, Princes and Priests,” he mumbled, slightly embarrassed.

“Hmm…Were they hot?” Jaime asked in a soft teasing tone.

Ben shivered. “The princes were…The mummies, hrm, not so much, and the priests…” Ben shivered again. “Well, they were just…Old!” he complained softly.

Jaime laughed softly and curled Ben’s hand around the napkin before she reached out and hugged her little brother.

“Oh, there you two are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” another voice said as a dark haired woman approached the two teenagers. She frowned as she noticed the blood running down Ben’s hand and onto the floor, leaking through the cracks in the sides of the floor and into the tomb below.

Elizabeth sighed. “Stitches?” she asked Jaime softly as she moved around them in an effort to hide the blood pooling up on the floor from the sight of any authoritative eyes that might be watching.

“Hmm, I don’t think so Mom, but you never know,” Jaime replied.

Ben sighed, annoyed that they were speaking about him as if he wasn’t standing next to them. Oh well, he decided. The images came back to him almost effortlessly. The first to join him was his blond-haired prince. It wasn’t long before the mummies joined his prince, battling with him throughout the abbey in an effort to make him one of them. The old, haggard priest in charge of the mummies was suddenly there, joining the fight. He winced as a priceless vase was shattered by an errantly falling mummy. He shivered.

Jaime sighed as she noted the far off look on Ben’s face. She shrugged at her mom.

“Right, well, let’s take him to the hospital than. Hopefully we won’t be there long and we can still catch our flight back to the States,” Elizabeth decided, brushing her hands across her thighs.

Jaime sighed, scowling at her mother at the mention of the U.S. of A.

“Jaime, I know you don’t want to move, but we don’t have any choice!” Elizabeth said sternly, frowning at her daughter as she did so.

Jaime sighed, and finally nodded her head. She grabbed Ben’s none bloody hand and lead him around the Abbey to avoid the tour guides and onto the streets to catch a taxi.

England, Abbey, Vault.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The liquid pooled in his mouth, lighting his senses afire with its taste. He inhaled sharply, feeling his nerves fire up, the blood beginning to flow through his body once more after centuries of dormancy. He swallowed.

His eyes snapped open, and he paused in the act of stretching. The sound of footsteps reached his sharp ears, the mostly stale air of his tomb mixing with fresh air from a few cracks that were above him, bringing the smell of humans to his nose and strange sounds to his sharper ears.

He cast out with his senses, wondering what the strange loud noises were. He lay there for what felt like a long time as he tried to make sense of all the changes. He wondered briefly what year it was. He was just about to act when something else caught his attention.

:wait, my king: the mind voice came to him, clear and concise.

He sighed in confusion and closed his eyes. The blood continued to drip into his mouth while he followed the strange mind of the boy who had accidentally awakened him with his own mind. On another level of his mind he continued to talk with the strangely familiar mind voice, gathering the information he lacked and so desperately felt the need to know.