Legend

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M any people must have died.” Donnchadh was lying next to Gwalcmai, his arm around her, near the stern of the boat. The sail flapped in the light breeze, propelling the ship to the northwest.

“Yes.” Gwalcmai said no more and they were quiet for a while, both looking up at the stars.

“Do you think—” Donnchadh began, but Gwalcmai gently put a hand over her mouth.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “This is what we came here to do. This is going to be a very long war. Very long. And it’s just begun.”

The king was dying, and with him the promise of a new age. That was clear to the few surviving knights who huddled around his bloodied body in the middle of the dismal swamp in which they had been fighting Mordred’s forces. They had all known much battle over the past years and they knew a fatal wound when they saw it. They all also knew that no one other than Arthur was capable of leading England out of the darkness it had known for as long as any could remember. The brief hope of peace and prosperity for the land was leaking into the swamp with the king’s blood.

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