Arthurian Legend I

Lancelot walks down the wet road, sword at his back, another in his hands. He had seen smoke and thought to journey towards a village that may still have food. The road is barely a cart path turned to mud because of the rain. It started raining yesterday and hasn't stopped. Water soaks his hair and ill fitting clothes, held together by belts.

He sees why he could see smoke yesterday. The shops and homes that line the road as he passes are charred and smoldering. Most of the buildings are burnt out, blackened. He starts to sweat. Lancelot looks into one of the dwellings to see what his nose already told him. In a one bedroom house a family is holding each other, dead. Lancelot leads with a sword in his right hand. His left hand is ready to pull his other sword.

Up ahead there's a slight bend in the road. His feet don't make any sound as he steps with surety on the slippery ground. Lancelot looks at the surrounding forest. If the rain hadn't started last night, the fires from the buildings would have spread to the surrounding trees. Only the lower branches are charred. Fortunate, he thinks wryly, Morgana burns the village but keeps the forest unspoiled.

The bend in the road ends and Lancelot sees a survivor a half dozen yards away. It's a boy kneeling next to four mounds of mud. He has lashed together four crosses and they stick up at the ends of each one. Lancelot hears the whispers of soft prayers. The prayers stop in mid breath.

The boy jumps up, a sword in his hand that Lancelot somehow missed. It's a short sword like the one Lancelot's holding. There are tears in the eyes of the boy's blood and dirt smudged face. Lancelot guesses at a wound he can't see. The boy's expression is twisted in grief and rage. He takes one step towards Lancelot and stops.

"Oh, you're just a boy. Thought you were something else." The boy goes back to kneeling at the mounds of dirt, his sword close.

Lancelot walks up behind him. "I could say the same about you." He kneels next to the other boy.

"I'm Lancelot."

"I'm Arthur."

"Your family?"

"Yes."

"What happened here?"

"What happens everywhere. Morgana's followers ask for things we can't give, and then they take even more."

Lancelot puts his free hand on Arthur's wrist, whose hand still grips the sword. "We shall pray for them." The boy's knuckle's go white, his body stiff.

"Lord, look after them. Look after the son that is left behind. He will live in their stead. Send them his love and he knows he has theirs. Amen."

Arthur's head lowers in stiff sobs. "Amen. Goodbye. I will miss you."

Lancelot's hand releases Arthur's, and he gets to his feet.

The rain is picking up. Lancelot holds out his left hand, "Let me help you up."

Arthur takes it. "Thank you."

They glance at each other as Arthur rises. Arthur takes a few more deep breaths. He says, "My brother and I took turns with my Pa fighting them when they came. We killed many but there were still more. At some point I was knocked unconscious. In my dreams I could hear my Ma and sister screaming for us. I woke to find them dead."

Lancelot asks, "How do you still live?"

Arthur looks at Lancelot with sharp blue eyes, "The centaur waited for me to wake. She told me she'd be back after I buried my family Then, she would finish off my bloodline. You should know if you want to leave."

Lancelot takes out his other sword, "I'm staying with you."

Arthur smiles, "Glad to have a friend."

"My father always said you earn friends."

"We can do that today."

From the opposite side of the village, a clattering sound makes both boys turn around. Centaurs seem to find stray stones that make that sound. There have no humility or guile.

The bottom half of her is the likes of a horse with four hooves. Then her torso transitions from the that of an equestrian mount to a woman of athletic beauty. Naked, except for adornment of weapons, centaur's flaunt their grace and power against the men they normally tower over. The two boys in front of her are not even modest in height, compared to her normal foes.

Her main is braided down her back. It's long and luxurious, but perfectly out of the way in readiness for combat.

She speaks in a high whinny, "Who's your friend, little boy? I didn't know we were going on a double date. I would've brought a friend too."

Arthur calls out to her, "My name is Arthur, not boy. This is Lancelot. We are not friends. But he stands with me, nonetheless."

"Oh! With you? More fun for me then." She charges, drawing the long sword at her back. It is twice as long as either sword Arthur or Lancelot carry. They both stiffen. She covers the distance in just a few galloping leaps. Arthur and Lancelot bound opposite ways to let her pass with slashes of their swords. Arthur goes crashing to the ground in a rain of sparks, but Lancelot's two swords make contact with the centaur's flanks. She can't strike one while also trying to defend against the other. Her hide is exposed in two long gashes. She screams as she turns.

"You shall pay Lancelot!"

He screams at her, "I hope Morgana is watching!"

The centaur calls, "Morgana is always watching!" She charges down Lancelot, his two swords defensively crossed in front of him. She reaches him in a flurry of mud that covers Lancelot's face. Her sword buries in the ground next to Lancelot's head in a two handed grip. Her face contorts as she kneels over him. Taking off one hand, she punches him in the gut, making him loosen his swords.

She pulls a knife, raising it high. Arthur jumps on her back, extending his sword through her, splitting her breast plate open. Blood pours over Lancelot. All Lancelot can hear is the centaur's exhaling breath, and Arthur's labored gasps.

The centaur's blade keeps her body nearly upright even as she goes completely limp and lifeless. Arthur scrambles down, almost shuffling from the height.

He sees the blood covered Lancelot and his chest heaves. Just as Arthur comes into view, Lancelot turns his head, breaking from the shock of being alive. "We did it. Arthur."

Arthur looks almost faint, "Thank God. Let me help you." He extends his hand and Lancelot takes it in his own.

With both of them standing next to the centaur, they are both struck with how big she is. Lancelot is muddy and bloody. Arthur is blood splattered and mud stained from the graves. The rain helps clean them as rivulets of dirt and grime run off their motionless bodies, but they are a sore sight.

Arthur breaks the silence. "We make a good team."

Lancelot nods, as Arthur could tell he would. "Yeah."

"Have you ever killed one?"

"I usually hide."

"I don't have a family."

Lancelot turns, "You do now."