Ruins of Camelot

For everybody who has ever asked that most essential
of all
question
s
:
“Do I have what it takes?”

G
abriella hit the stairs at a full run and took them two at a time.  Darkness met her as she followed the curving steps upwards towards a second landing. 
Here, nooks lined the hallway, each illuminated with a band of moonlight from an arrow slit
.  Merodach's footsteps clattered behind her, approaching quickly.  Gabriella pelted along the landing and ducked into
the furthest nook
.  She threw herself up against the shallow stone wall, gasping for breath
.

Behind her, unseen, Merodach's footsteps knocked onto the landing, where he seemed to stop.

"This is good sport, Princess," he panted, and gi
ggled lightly.  "But I fear
it cannot end well for you.  Come out and give yourself up.  It is the best you can hope for."

He began to pace slowly forwards.  She heard him, knew that he had his sword raised, ready to cut her down the moment he discovered her.  She pressed back against the wall of the arrow nook, trying not to breathe.

"Do you know?" the villain mused thoughtfully as he approached.  "It just occurs to me.  With your father dead, you are no longer a mere princess.  Do you feel special, my dear?  It is official.  You are the last Queen of Camelot.  Congratulations," he said
silkily
, "Your Highness."

With a dark shock, Gabriella realised that Merodach was right.  If Herrengard had indeed been breached—and she had no doubt that it had—then her father was dead.  She was the last of the line.  Whatever remained of the Kingdom, it was hers.  The realisation did not hearten her.

"Your child is dead," Merodach breathed, relishing the words.  "Those that were meant to protect him are destroyed.  Everything that you fight for, Queen, all of it… is in ruins.  Why continue to resist?  There is nothing left for you.  Come out.  You are the last ruler of Camelot, and as such, you must die.  But I can make it quick.  Soon, you can join those whom you have failed.  Come out and face me.  Die like a queen, and I will not even turn
your body over to the appetites of my troops.  It is only fitting.  And admit it.  You
desire
this…"

Gabriella's eyes were glassy in the dimness.  Her enemy was nearly upon her now.  She nodded to herself once.  Slowly but resolutely, she stepped forwards, turned past the iron candelabra, and faced her nemesis.

"There," he said, and smiled sympathetically.  "That is better, is it not?"

He raised his sword, positioned its tip just above her breastplate, inches from her throat, and began to thrust.

T
wo men on horseback emerged from the trees, blinking in the low, copper sunlight. The man in the lead was tall, dark-skinned, and bare-armed. He halted his horse, and it immediately dipped its head, nodding wearily.

The second man reined his own horse and raked his fingers through the tangle of his short red beard. “Where are we now?” he asked, pushing his helmet back from his brow and squinting in the sudden brightness.

The dark-skinned man dismounted and led his horse into the shushing field grass. His eyes darted around with keen interest. The clearing angled sharply upwards to a rocky plateau, which cut across the blinding glare of the sunset. The man touched the hilt of a short sword on his belt but did not grip it.

“Step lightly, Thomas,” he commented. “These uncharted lands are ripe for bandits.” Behind him, his companion slid off his horse and stood next to it warily. After a moment, the two began to work their way carefully up the slope of the clearing.

They found the plateau reinforced with a low wall of brick and stone. The wall ran in both directions, fortifying the hilltop and turning it into a long rampart, an ancient road, choked with field grass and brush. The first man led his horse through a breach, onto the surface of the road, where he stopped and shaded his eyes from the sunset's glare. Thomas joined him there and pulled his leather helmet from his head with an impatient sigh.

"Where are we now, Yazim?" he asked again.

The taller man, Yazim, nodded slowly towards the northern length of the forgotten highway.  His companion followed his gaze, opening his mouth to speak and then closing it again.  He raised his head slowly as his eyes widened.

Beyond and above the nearby trees, hazy with distance, rose the spires of an ancient castle. Its conical roofs were broken, revealing the bones of their rafters. Vines clothed the crumbled walls, creeping into the windows and twining the flag staffs.

Yazim dropped his hand from the hilt of his sword.  "The ruins of Camelot," he finally answered, gazing up at the silent, ruined castle.

The two camped in the middle of the ancient road. Yazim built a fire whilst Thomas went in search of food. Two hours later, with the bones of a rabbit lying strewn around the crackling fire, the two sat on their packs and stared at the dark hulk of the castle. Moonlight lit half of it, painting it in cold, blue tones. The other half raked the sky, black as pitch against the stars. No lights burnt from within.

"How can you be sure?" Thomas asked quietly.

Yazim shook his head. "What else could it be? Would we not have known of another kingdom worthy of such a headstone?"

Thomas nodded doubtfully. "But Camelot… it's been centuries since the end of the great kingdom. Its history has been lost forever.  Some scholars say that such a place never even existed."

Yazim sighed. "Your greatest error, Thomas, is in trusting the accounts of men who speak knowledgeably about things they have never seen. It is the one thing I have never understood about your people."

"You speak as if you aren't one of us yourself, Yazim," Thomas replied, glancing aside. "And yet I myself have known you almost from birth. We grew up in each other's sight."

Yazim nodded and smiled. "True, but my family comes from far outside the walls of the Kingdom of Aachen.  My mother and father have not forgotten the histories that were taught them by their Moorish parents, stories that have come down generation to generation from those who witnessed them. You may trust your scholars, who divine their knowledge from broken pots and dead bones, but I will trust the words of those who saw with their own living eyes."

Thomas shuddered against a hard breeze. The fire buffeted before him, its embers hissing bright red.  "So,” he commented, drawing his cloak around him, “you knew this castle would be here?"