The Last Order of the Grail

[longstevo]

King Arthur.

The name that has inspired kings and warriors alike throughout the ages is one enshrouded in mystery and romance. From boys and teens to soldiers and politicians, that name has rung throughout history like a bell on a cloudless night, for everything that King Arthur was, is in fact, everything we search for in ourselves. But for all we know about the legend, most facts about the man are covered in mystery. But a few things are certain.

King Arthur.

The man stood against all of Rome and the invading barbarian hordes and gave his people a chance at a free life. Building a spectacular castle along the cliffs of the Briton coast providing a sanctuary for all peaceful people under his rule. Establishing an elite order of knights to enforce justice and carry his word throughout the land. Embarking on a holy quest to recapture the Grail of Jesus Christ. But grabbing Briton by the scruff of the neck and flinging her out the dark ages is what King Arthur is most know for. But he did not do this alone.

The Knights of the Round Table.

Only the King’s elite and personally chosen were selected to the Order of the Round Table. They did not obtain such a glorious title without earnest. In order for them to hold such a position, they must have completed an extraordinary feat on the battlefield that saved an ally’s life, as well as striving in the community to better life for the helpless commoners. Stand up citizens is what they acted as, but fighters and soldiers is what they were. History gives us the names of the most revered of the knights: Sir Bedwyr, Sir Bors, Sir Cador, Sir Daniel, Sir Ector, Sir Galahad, Sir Gawain, Sir Lancelot, Sir Mordred, Sir Percival and Sir Tristan.

All of these men bravely served their King in one way or another. Many of them partook in the fabled quest to search for and find the Holy Grail, the Christ’s chalice at the Last Supper. In the end, most knights either died or were killed while searching for the Grail. History has told us that the Grail was never found, and that it never existed. But this is not true.

The Knights of the Round Table in fact found the Holy Grail. As the King breathed the last breaths of his life, he had solace in knowing that two of his own completed his task. But the two knights that accomplished his quest were not among the noble circle of well known knights. For it was two lesser known knights who were essentially written out of the history books in an attempt to keep the Grail a secret that found the Goblet of Life. Two knights, a middle aged man named Sir Aleron Lyones and a young woman named Alanna Devries, journeyed to the ends of the known world and sacrificed much to serve their king and God and finally bring peace to an infant Britain.

This is their story.

[longstevo]

The horse’s hooves pounded on the cobblestone path as the horseman rode away from Aleron Lyones. He watched the lone rider as he speedily made his way down the path towards the immense castle at the center of the kingdom. He continued to watch as the horse disappeared into the castle walls, and then focused his attention to the dusk sky.

Ablaze with orange and fire red, the sunset sky appeared as Aleron’s heart suddenly felt. “Tomorrow morning, King Arthur wishes to have a meeting in his court. All knights are to attend,” the rider had told him. The man of thirty five years noticed his heart was fluttering as it did during his first romance. A meeting the King’s court with all the knights? He had an idea of what the subject was, for rumors had been flowing rampantly throughout the kingdom.

Story had it that God himself visited the good King Arthur once more, to coerce him to take up arms once again to continue the search to find the cup of Jesus Christ. Whether or not this was true could only wait until the king made the announcement. Aleron was excited to serve his king once more. Since his knighting ceremony and acceptance to the Knights of the Round Table, the kingdom spent its time in relative peace, as no warring band of marauders or Northern barbarians threatened the sanctity of the land. And when there was no war, there was no need for fighting.

So Aleron spent most of his days training with other young knights, perfecting their blade skills for when the time came to take up arms in the defense the their kingdom called Camelot. But beating on his own companions grew old and he yearned for an opportunity for adventure. Holding the rank of a knight in the King’s elite order was very much so an honor, but the young man inside him still yearned for the thrill of adventure.

But even as his heart soared for the possibility of strapping on his sword and shield and riding once more, the thought of a second massive search for the grail began to gnaw at his conscious. God had visited King Arthur once before and set him on the path to the Holy Grail. The king was quiet on the details of why he needed the Grail, but from what the knights did now, the sacred chalice possessed immense power. What that power was, not even the king knew. But the king’s loyal knights did not need details from him, so onward with the search they went. Long and hard did they travel. From the tops of the tallest peaks in Britannia to the lowest caves and dungeons they searched. They sacrificed much to their beloved king and God, as the quest killed all of the twelve knights that embarked.

Twelve of Arthur’s finest champions volunteered to undertake the quest, and the king humbling chose each of the twelve. He made it clear to them that they were going out on a blind search, and their lives may be forfeit in the process. But the knights were all to eager to serve both Arthur and God. So they gathered their gear, prayed once more in Camelot’s massive church, and stepped out into the world to find the cup of Jesus Christ’s Last Supper.

The knights decided to split up, so they may cover more ground. This may have been their folly. For all the knights that were found were discovered solitary and alone with the exception of Sirs Gawain and Galahad. Five of the knights simply disappeared, but it had been so long since they were heard from, they were presumed dead. Bedivere, Tristan, Morholt, Ector and Lamorak left the gates to the kingdom early the first day of the quest, and were never heard from again. The other knights were met with more grisly fates.

Galahad and Gawain, brothers and friends to the end were discovered dead along an abandoned section of highway, human pincushions to Roman arrows. Sir Lionel was found, dead and bloated, floating in a long forgotten lake, what brought him to his death was not known. What was left of Sir Palleas was found in a forlorn cave, it was rumored that only his head and pieces of his torso were brought back for burial at the kingdom. Sir Hoel’s body was never found, only his helmed head that had been nailed to a tree along the main highway that ran through the countryside. Sir Cador was discovered swinging by a rope in a dense forest. Who the murderers were was never uncovered. And lastly, Sir Bors was captured by Woad locals, disemboweled and torn limb from limb and sent back to Camelot, as a sort of message to their longtime enemy, King Arthur.

Aleron thought extensively about the fates of the knights that came before him and shuddered. If knights as strong and worthy as those men were killed, how could another wave of knights prevail? He pushed those negative thoughts from his mind and solaced himself with a short prayer. If he were to fall while on this quest, then it must be God’s will. He also believed in his King and knew that he would not sacrifice his men’s lives if it were not for a holy purpose indeed.

He quickly pushed all thoughts regarding this meeting and the first crusade out of his mind. He was beginning to grow hungry and it was growing late. He turned towards the castle and began making his way down the cobblestone path.

[Windex]

Alanna leaned against the railing of the balcony as the wind played with her hair, teasing the long auburn locks across her face. Brushing the stands back with a sigh, she straightened, fingers drumming lightly on the rail. The sunset was full of oranges and reds, bringing a close to a cool spring evening.

As she looked out over her father’s lands, Alanna tugged at the tight laces of her dress. It had been specially made on the looms of Italy, a gift from her father. It pleased him to see his youngest daughter draped in the height of fashion of the highest courts. It pleased her more to be in the courtyard with her sword in hand, sparring with her brothers. Her father had never understood her fascination with weaponry, but was willing to indulge her interests. Her sister, older than Alanna by four years, all but looked down her nose at her. Marie sniffed at and criticized Alanna’s rough leather practicing clothes, saying they were only fit for lowliest peasants, and not a nobleman’s daughter.

The wind gusted, rustling her deep blue skirts as a knock sounded within her bed chamber. With a sigh she called out, “Come!”

A hinge on the heavily engrave oaken door squeaked as it opened. Half turning, she watched as a courier dressed in the king’s colors strode through her door. He was flanked by two knights, dressed in their highly tailored court armor. It was of course impractical, but it looked flashy and good for official court business.

Stepping off the balcony into the room, Alanna folded her arms and raised her chin. “So…the king’s messengers now have the right to barge into my private chambers. What do you want?”

She smiled at his befuddled expression, the pride deflating out of his puffy chest. She stated plainly, “My Lady Devries. By the king’s orders I am to find all the Knights of the Round Table and deliver to them a mess--”

Alanna raised her hand to halt him. She raised an eyebrow and smirked at him, “Oh, but what of the scandal?”

The messenger cleared his throat as the knights shifted their weight, shuffling their feet. Shooting a quick glance at them, she noticed that one, Sir Robin, was trying unsuccessfully to withhold his laughter. They knew her, and knew that this puffed up messenger could be in for one wild ride if he was not careful.

Her lips twitched in the tiniest smile as she listened to his response. “M-my lady… I-I… Please f-forgive…” She sighed as his stuttering continued, and stared a dark patch on the ceiling. She used to imagine it was an old blood stain, soaked through from the above chamber, the scene of a duel between two worthy knights for the hand of a princess. Of course she knew now that that was all nonsense. A princess had never walked these halls, and she couldn’t imagine a duel in that old linen closest.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, she brought her attention back to the stuttering messenger. Taking a breath she tsked. “Spit it out man, and be done with it!” Alanna was not mad at the messenger, but she loved to see men squirm. More gently, she continued, “Tell me why the king has sent you.”

Bowing his head to collect himself, the man spoke. “Y-you are hereby commanded to return to the king’s court at C-camelot.” Alanna began tapping her foot impatiently. At least his stutter was better… “T-tomorrow morning, King Arthur wishes to have a m-meeting in his court. All knights are to be in attendance.”

With that the messenger bowed deeply and began backing out of the room. Sir Robin and his fellow knight looked quizzically at the man, glancing up at each other and hiding smiles. Alanna watched as the two knights stared at each other for a moment in a silent challenge. Sir Devan spoke first, saying pleasantly, “Good man, why do you walk backwards?”

The little man jumped slightly and looked up at the knight, still hunched over in a bow. “B-because…we’re in the presence of a l-lady!” He said it with such conviction that Alanna had no choice but to snicker. As if it was a signal, Sirs Robin and Devan broke into laughter, doubling over to slap their knees.

As the poor man stared about in confusion, Robin wiped his eyes of tears, “Man, if only you knew….that is no woman!”

“She’s a devil with a sword!” Devan added.

Not to be out done, Robin choked with laughter, “The devil’s mistress herself!!”

They slapped each others shoulders, laughing until tears streamed down their cheeks. Alanna stood with a tight smile etched across her face. She placed her hands about her waist and drummed her fingers on her hips. Ignoring the laughing knights, her focused her attention on the cowering, half-crouched messenger.

Clearing her throat loudly, she asked in a clarion voice, “Have you delivered this message to my brother?”

At the ring of her voice, Sir Robin straightened quickly enough to snap his spine. He innocently scratched the nape of his neck while staring at the patterned floor with guilty eyes that still danced with mirth. Sir Devan did much the same, swallowing his spit and laughter harshly, and coughing loudly as he choked on it. Robin pounded his fellow’s back as the messenger nodded timidly.

Alanna gave a single nod of dismissal and watched as the man skittered out of the room. Shaking her head, her eyes flicked over to the recovering knights. “Well, well. You two make a fine example of all we stand for.” Laughter danced in her eyes as she strode past them in search of her brother. Looking back over her shoulder at them filing out of her chambers, Alanna’s laugh filled the corridor like crystal bells on a clear summer evening. “Cheer up! Or I might have to set my devil on you two.”

The two knights looked at each other with raised eyebrows before bursting into a fresh round of laughter. Smiling, she left them there, doubled over in the hallway, pounding each other’s backs, as she swept off to find her brother.

[longstevo]

Three days time. That was all the time Aleron had to prepare for the rest of his life. Anxious and willing to lay down his life before his king and lord, his heart began to beat faster as the hours went on. Until mid afternoon on the very first day since receiving the message he realized that he was going to die.

Sir Bors and Sir Bedivere, two of the most righteous and skilled knights in all the land, killed while embarking on the first quest. Sirs Galahad, Gawain and Pelleas were among the ranks of the most fearsome, and yet they fell as well. And now Sir Aleron, veteran of only a three battles while others were veterans of many, was expected to carry on the banner of King Arthur and give up his own life in the search for the Holy Grail. He was going to die, and probably in a most painful way.

‘Stop it,’ he commanded himself. Nobody even knew what the king’s meeting was to be about, so a second quest for the grail was not a sure thing. Arthur might even be announcing a knighting festival, in which he requests the attendance of all present knights to witness the progression of a new knight. Nobody could know what was on the king’s mind until he told him. Aleron looked towards the late afternoon sky and noted how slow time was traveling. Only two days time…

As Aleron lay out on a grassy knoll just outside the castle walls, he let his mind wander. He thought about his youth growing up on a humble farm, helping his father with the crops. He remembered the summer of his eighteenth year when he was taken away by the militant forces that assembled to combat the raiding Saxons from the North. He willingly left to fight for his homeland with other young men of his village. That battle was King Arthur’s first while holding the crown. Arthur’s forces scored a crippling victory against the Northern barbarians, sending them back to their rugged coastlines for nearly twenty years. Immediately after the battle, Arthur ordered the construction of a mighty wall all the way across the island to mark the borders between Saxon land and free Briton land. That battle was Aleron’s first.

Aleron’s second battle didn’t occur until after he returned to his family’s farm and continued working in the fields. Ten years past and his village was again threatened, this time by Irish marauders. The young man of twenty eight picked up his sword once more and defended his home successfully. Knights of the King’s Round Table were dispatched to meet the Irish invaders only to find them already defeated by the village’s meager force. When asked who the leader of their army was, the villagers unanimously called Aleron’s name. The young man single handedly beat back the scourge of the north to save his village. Taking note, the knights brought the name back to the king, who remembered it and the stories of bravery that went along with the name.

Aleron once again took up arms two years later as the people of free Southern Briton marched to war against the invading Saxons and clashed at Badun Hill. This battle left the king badly wounded and many of his knights dead, but once again, victorious. Aleron proved his mettle in war once again, said to have slain nearly one hundred barbarians on his own. This time after witnessing the courage and bravery of the young man himself, King Arthur invited Aleron back to Camelot and knighted him himself. Five years past and a quest for the grail, but Aleron had yet to pick up his sword in combat again.

Coming back to the life at hand instead of the one in his past, Aleron watched a cloud float by. He had lived a good life, he thought. He would like to have been married and with kids, but alas, it was not in God’s plans. He had dedicated his life to service of his family and to the Lord. How much more can a man ask for? He was happy.

As night began to reclaim the land in its icy tendrils, Aleron stood and began making his way back to the castle, now alit with many torch beacons. In the distance he saw a small group of four knights riding down the dusty road towards the castle. They were flying the standard of Arthur. More knights called to the meeting, it must be. He quickened his pace to meet his brethren at the stables

[longstevo]

The newly arrived knights had already dismounted and were greeting other knights at the castle when Aleron strolled into the castle’s courtyard. Sir Palamedes, hailing from the Sarecsan land of the old Persian Empire, leapt off his horse and embraced Sir Kay. The two were close friends since Palamedes traveled from the Holy Land of Jerusalem in search of the glorious King Arthur. The Arabian knight’s squire led his horse to the stables. The other two riders to come in, Sirs Cador and Daniel also made friendly greetings as the Round Table knights began to gather in their entirety once more. Laughing and joking, the three knights suddenly stopped as Aleron stepped in close. A strange silence fell over the three before Palamedes spoke.

“Sir Aleron, correct?” he said in a thick Arabian accent. Aleron nodded with a slight smile. “Good, good. It is good to finally meet you. I have heard about you from the ranks of the Round Table, but I have been busy in other lands…” the old Persian said, thick black beard drooping almost to his beltline.

“And I you,” Aleron said. Daniel, Cador and Kay each stepped forward and grasped hands with Aleron in greeting. Small, polite hellos were exchanged. To an outsider, it would seem that Aleron did not quite fit in with the group. But the knight was fine with it. Very much content to sit in the background and observe, his detached demeanor did not go far in netting him friends. But it did enshroud him in a cloud of mystery and wonder, as other knights were not quite sure what exactly lay behind Aleron’s oftentimes emotionless face. And men sometimes feared what they did not know, so instead of welcoming him into the Order with open arms, as many knights get the pleasure of, Aleron was somewhat distanced by the majority of the men serving under Arthur.

But that did not mean he was alone. For once a man broke through Aleron’s initial qualities of standoffishness and silent being, they found him to be a very interesting man with many stories to tell. For Aleron thrived in the campfire, reciting his stories to his companions as if he were speaking directly into the flame. And it was in these travels, that his companions found him to be loving, dedicated and fiercely loyal to those he held dear. In fact, his three closest friends did not start out as such, but they were ordered to travel with Aleron on a long mission. Beginning the quest cold-shouldered and unfriendly, they returned the fastest of friends, spending many hours together when not in service to Arthur.

Sir Gareth held himself most dear to Aleron, as the two men often hunted together in the vast forests outside Camelot. Sirs Owen and Percival, the old veteran of the Round Table, also found themselves in Aleron’s fancy. The three often found any excuse to be in the other’s presence simply to enjoy the company. Gareth and Aleron, the youngest of the three, had very nearly picked the older Percival’s brain clean of any knowledge of knighthood, fighting and lore in their quest to become better knights. Percival enjoyed the mentor role, but found himself to be fond of the two younger men as not just pupils, but friends as well.

Aleron turned away from the three knights and ran a hand over his stubble-crusted face. He had not shaved in two days, and noticed his light brown hair was getting a little long as well, as it nearly fell past his shoulders now. He decided he would groom himself tomorrow to make himself presentable in front of the Order at the meeting.

Only one day now until Arthur’s called meeting. Aleron wondered if any other knights had arrived without him noticing.

[longstevo]

Upon reaching his quarters, Aleron stretched his arms over his head and prepared to undress for the evening. His room was sparsely decorated, holding only a bed, a chair, a lock chest and a set of drawers. He didn’t need much. He began to unbutton his royal blouse when there was a knock on his door.

“Come in,” called Aleron. With a creak, the wooden door opened, revealing the same messenger who brought him the message of the king’s meeting just two days earlier. He stood outside the door humbly as the knight approached to greet him.

“M’lord?” the messenger began.

Answering with a smile, Aleron said, “Yes, go ahead, please,”

“M’lord, the king wishes your presence in the gardens,” the young messenger said.

His brow wrinkled with concern and concentration for a moment before he answered, “Yes, thank you.” The messenger bowed quickly and left, leaving Aleron to his thoughts.

The king requested his presence? The most obvious question was why? What would the king need with Aleron personally that it couldn’t wait to the meeting? No matter, he thought as he buttoned up his dark blue blouse once more. He reached into his closet and grabbed a thick wool cloak to ward off the cold of the approaching night. After tying the strings of the fabric together, Aleron left the Quarters Hall and made for the castle gardens.

--

Stepping into the cool grass just receiving the first kisses of dew, the knight’s sharp eyes searched and probed behind every bush, limb and tree in an attempt to find the king. Praying against his growing concern that the king may be in some sort of trouble, he stepped into the gardens and noticed a slight mist rising from the lush vegetation that ruled this area. The full moon bore down on his with all its soft and gentle light, illuminating his way as he passes statues of old heroes, arrangements of unique plants from strange lands, pools and other interesting features that gave the Gardens of Camelot its lore throughout the land.

As Aleron stepped away from a grouping of bushes and into the center pavilion of the gardens, he saw a lone figure standing in the middle. The man appeared to be studying the intricate twisting vines of some water plant that lay on top of the giant pool that marked the center of the pavilion. Aleron breathed a sigh of relief because this was, without a doubt, King Arthur.

Aleron slowly approached the king. “Sir.”

Arthur turned towards the knight and smiled warmly. Although his face was somewhat ashen with age and his beard fell down to his chest, Arthur exuded a youthfulness about him that Aleron had not seen in men the king’s age. For although the king stopped counting his years at fifty-five, his presence would suggest he had lived no more than thirty. A dark colored cloak covered a very strong body, again in the defiance of age. The brown hair in his beard and locks of hair had long since faded to gray and silver, but this feature only accentuated his appearance as king.

Arthur opened his arms to embrace his knight and spread open his cloak. Instead of royal garnishings and jewels that many kings would openly wear, Arthur instead preferred to give his wealth in support of the people living within his borders and not on senseless jewels and expensive silk. In fact, the clothes that adorned Aleron were much more fancy than the kings. Arthur wore nothing but a simple shirt and pants, revealing nothing of his extraordinary wealth until…

There. Excalibur. The most famous and sought after sword in all the land, slung right on the king’s hip. Gleaming in the moonlight as if it were glowing itself, the quiet blade belied the souls that it had claimed while swinging from Arthur’s hand. Even though the singing blade lie securely locked in its sheath, the sword nearly exploded with power. It was a fine sword to simply behold in sight, much less grasp and wield, which only added to King Arthur’s mystique.

Arthur stepped forward with his right foot and dipped a bit before catching himself with his left. Another pair of footsteps belied the king’s only fault. Wounded badly in the Battle of Badun Hill, the king never healed from a heavy gash in his right leg. Cursed with a limp for the rest of his breathing days, the king preferred not to walk around visitors and strangers, as they may take his disability as a sign of weakness. But his knights took no notice of the flaw. He was still their king, and would be so even past the day when his death would call for him.

Grasping his knight and squeezing with a strength that only a man half of his age should possess, the king laughed. “My son, my son. It is good to see you,” Although most of the knights were not related to the Arthur in any way, many of them insisted on calling Arthur some derivative name of ‘Father,’ for he had been more like a father to them then their own fathers. He accepted the gesture with grace, and returned it even, as many of his knights were like sons to him.

“As well you, Sire,” responded Aleron, smiled while greeting his king and leader. They stood together a moment, simply looking at each other before Arthur laughed again.

“My child, you have been one to put my mind at ease ever since the day you arrived here,” Aleron didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded good, so he did not question. Arthur smiled once more before tearing his eyes away to the distant stars. He studied the heavens for a moment before returning his gaze back to Aleron. Gone was the joyful exuberance and glee in his eyes. Instead, replacing those feelings was one of hopelessness, sadness and despair, yet there was a hope glinting somewhere deep in his eyes. Those conflicting emotions did not make sense to Aleron. Why would the king seem so?

“Sire?” Arthur grimaced and reached a hand out to catch onto Aleron’s shoulder. Grasping his king, Aleron slowly helped him sit down on a stone bench overlooking the glass-like water of the pond.

“Knight Aleron,” the king began, “I have something to tell you, and in it, your death may be spelled. But it may not be, for it is up for you to decide. Do you wish to hear it?”

Gulping back an overbearing wave of panic and fear, Aleron kneeled at his kings feet and said, “Yes sir. Tell me,”

[longstevo]

The king hesitated before continuing. In the dark, Aleron could not tell if he waited because of tears, or other reasons. But in the lack of light, he did see his king look away and towards the water. Awaiting his leader’s words, Aleron continued to kneel in silence.

When Arthur finally spoke, his voice was quiet and raspy, “My son, I believe I have been given another message from God. In that message, I was told that the Cup of Joseph of Armithea is still in the wild,” Of course, the King meant the Holy Grail.

“In this time of darkness, where women and children starve and die every day, this cup will bring hope. In this time where the sanctity of our lands is threatened by godless heathens, this cup will bring us peace. The Grail will be a brilliant shining light that will stave off all curses upon free Britannia. The one who possesses the chalice has the ability to bring health, food and good fortune to his lands and people. We must find the holy cup, and use it to lead our people from these dark ages.”

Aleron swallowed hard. So it was true. The king wished to launch another crusade in search of the elusive artifact. But despite doubt beginning to gnaw at his conscious, he gave his allegiance to his king once more. “My liege, I am at your command, through fire and water, and whatever the flaming bowels of Hell may throw at us. My sword is yours, sire.”

Arthur’s eyes crinkled in the dark, “I know, Sir Knight. I know I can count on you above all others,”

Aleron grasped his king’s hand, “I will find the grail, My King, and bring it back to Camelot, or my bones will be forfeit in the search.” A pang of sadness ran through the young knight’s spine as he remembered the names of his predecessors who fell in the very same quest he was about to undertake. It was very possible he was condemning himself to death. But he knew that if Arthur spoke this way about the Grail, then it must be a worthwhile quest. “It is an honor to undertake such a holy quest. I will leave immediately,” began Aleron, as he stood to leave.

Arthur chuckled a bit, “Now, now, my son. Don’t you want to know more?”

Aleron frowned, “As I can see it, sire, there is nothing more to tell. You have given me a mission, and I will do everything in my power to see that it is accomplished,”

“Brave and loyal Aleron, you continue to amaze me,” gushed the king, “There is yet more I wish to tell you.”

Aleron clasped his hands together in front of him, “Of course, my King,”

It was at that moment Aleron caught movement out of the corner of his left eye. Whipping his head towards the movement, he saw that it was his beloved Percival approaching the two. Arthur continued to speak, “My son, you do not embark on this quest alone. I fear that may have been the undoing of the first quest for this same grail. No, instead we will travel in teams. If there are no objections, I think yourself, Sir Percival and Sir Ector would make a good group,”

“Of course, my liege. I will be proud to fight alongside these two valiant knights,” answered Aleron.

Arthur nodded and continued, “Percival, as the eldest member in your group, will act as your leader. I have already briefed him on everything that needs to be known. Ector, I believe, is readying your equipment?” Arthur looked questioningly at Percival, who answered with a deep nod.

“Very well. Sir Aleron, Sir Percival, let us kneel and pray,” said the king. All three men knelt in the damp grass as King Arthur recited an age old Roman prayer asking the Lord Jesus Christ and God himself for protection on their travels. After finishing, the three stood. Arthur reached down to a book sitting on the stone edge of the pond and slowly handed to Aleron. “You will need this,” And with that, the king put each hand on the shoulder of his two most loyal knights.

“My sons, know that you go with God, and your quest is worthwhile indeed. You will not be forgotten. And with my blessings, I pray that we all come back alive,” Arthur said quietly.

“Now go. And Godspeed to you both,”

With that, Aleron cast a lingering gaze at his loved king before tearing himself away. Looking down at the book his king had given him, he saw it was a copy of the Holy Bible. With a small tear beginning to form in the corner of his eye, his old friend Percival put a heavy arm over his shoulder and led him through the gardens, out of the castle and into the stables without a word. No words were needed. When they arrived, three fully equipped horses stood just inside the barn. Aleron’s armor and weapons were set in a pile next to his personal horse. Sir Ector appeared from somewhere back inside the barn and nodded to Aleron, who returned the gesture.

Again, no words were spoken, as none of the men could find words to express how they were feeling. They knew they marched to certain death, and what could be said about that?

[longstevo]

With the full moon to light their way, the three Round Table knights rode late into the early hours of the morning of the following day. Navigation was unnecessary, as the horses knew the roads well. The riders did not move for speed, but kept a somewhat leisurely pace. After nearly four hours of riding, Percival pulled his horse to the side of the road near a small creek and dismounted.

The sun’s first rays were climbing over the horizon to fight back the night’s grip over the land. Aleron and Mark both hopped down from their own horses to join Percival at the creek, who was filling a flask with cool water.

“M’lord,” began Aleron, “I hope you know more about this little escapade here than I do,”

Sir Percival looked up at the younger knight, his aged eyes crinkling in amusement at his comrade’s confusion, “Do not worry, for I have the answers you seek. Fill your flasks, and we shall speak on the road,”

“Speak, old man!” shouted Mark, infamous for his lack of patience. He had seen only twenty six summers pass, and this made him one of the youngest knights in the Order. Many of the older knights did not wish for King Arthur to bestow knighthood upon Mark, as they had seen his personality flaws and many of them did not correlate with the honors of the Knighthood. But the young man’s ability with a sword was nearly unparalleled, as he beat nine Round Table in the Games of Camelot before finally being bested by Sir Lancelot. And so Arthur knighted him, to the chagrin of many knights.

Aleron did not care for Mark either, for his boastfulness and arrogance was good in small doses only. And his utter lack of patience was purely madding. To his outburst directed at the elder Percival, Aleron smacked the younger knight’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Show some respect to your elders, boy.”

Mark only sneered at Aleron until Percival stood and jabbed a finger close to his face, “Patience will get you far in life and combat. You should learn it…and quickly,” Turning to his horse, Percival mounted and waited for the other two men to fill their own flasks. Once they had finished, the three knights set off again.

The sky continued to lighten as the sun peeked over the first mountaintop on the horizon. Aleron’s mind raced with questions, to which he was determined to find answers.

“Sir Percival,” Aleron called as he spurred his horse onward to join the elder at the front of their little column of riders. Percival turned to Aleron on his steed, “Questions you have, yes?” the old knight said in his raspy voice.

“Sir, I only wish to know why we rushed out of the castle in the late hours of the night? Why not wait until the rest of the knights were summoned and given the mission as well? Why the need for secrecy?”

“Yes! A good question, I must say!” piped Mark from behind the two.

Percival winked at Aleron, “And who told you that all the knights were to be sent on this quest?”

The suddenly deafening sound of the waking birds chirping and frogs croaking in the forest fell upon the trio of knights as Aleron failed to find words. The rest of the knights were not summoned to be deployed on this very quest? But why? “But…why does Arthur not wish all his men to seek this grail?”

“The answer is simple. He does not trust the will of every knight,”

The King does not trust his knights? How could this be? Aleron’s mind began to reel, “But how can the king expect his knights to serve him loyally, if he does not trust them?” Aleron’s distraught voice was apparent. He began singling out suspicious behavior in his brothers at arms. Suddenly, in his mind, each knight in the Order was conspiring against Arthur.

Percival laughed, “My boy, that is not what it is. King Arthur trusts every knight with his life, but, men can do funny things when an object of immense power is placed in their hands. Suddenly, old alliances and allegiances mean nothing. And that is what Arthur fears. He does not trust the willpower of every knight, for he has been betrayed by his most loyal once before…” the old man’s voice trailed off as he hinted at the debacle of Lancelot and Guinevre, “But never mind. You may count your blessings that good King Arthur trusts you more than you can imagine. Tell me, what would you do if you are, in fact, the first to grasp the Grail, the very same that we seek. What would your actions be?”

“I’d immediately take it to Camelot, and give to my King,” said Aleron. The horse’s hooves began to kick up dirt as they hit a patch of dusty road.

“Ah, a very knightly answer,” said Percival, “And what of you, Sir Mark? What would you do?”

Mark hesitated a minute, “I would drink from the Grail, as at the end of our journey, surely my flask would be lost and I would be thirsty. And of course, to sip from the very cup that our Lord’s blood ran into would bring me closer to God and our Savior,”

“Ah, a very human answer,” said Percival, “And neither answer is correct, nor incorrect. For, if God does indeed smile upon what we are doing, we will surely have an answer, soon hopefully,”

Silence fell upon the group once more before Percival suddenly spoke without warning. They had been riding along slowly with the conversation of the Grail close to ten minutes behind them, and although Mark and Aleron had not forgotten the talk, they did not realize the conversation was still open. And the way Percival spoke made the hairs on the back of Aleron’s neck stand on end. For the voice that came from his friend’s mouth was not the voice he had grown accustomed to, weak and raspy instead of hearty and strong. Instead of looking at his comrades, his head and eyes stared straight ahead, as if he were looking deep into an abyss. His jaw was rigid and his eyes dull.

“I would not touch the Grail,” he began, his voice shattering the silence and cracking as he uttered the word ‘Grail,’ “If I were to be the first one that lays eyes upon it, I would cut them from my head. If I were to be the first to touch it, I would rip the skin from my hands,” he paused and swallowed heavily, “If I were to be the first to fall to temptation and drink from that horrid chalice, I would surely tear the lips from my face. No, I will not complete this quest, for the Grail…” he sputtered a short prayer to God, “…that Cup of Malice, strikes a fear into my heart like that I have never know before…”

[longstevo]

No other words were said for quite some time after Percival’s statement. Aleron and Mark exchanged confused looks immediately after the elder knight had uttered such cryptic words, but Percival did not seem to notice. He seemed in a trance-like state. Aleron decided it best if he were not to be bothered. So they traveled in silence for nearly four hours before Percival broke the silence yet again.

But this time, Percival’s normal demeanor had returned. Twisting in his saddle to look upon his younger knights, with a little smirk and a wink, he asked, “Aren’t you two even slightly interested in where we are heading?”

“We trust that you know the way, and have put our faith in your leadership,” answered Sir Mark before Aleron could speak. Aleron looked at Mark and noted that the level of respect evident in the youngest knight’s voice had not been there for some months. Aleron pondered that maybe Percival’s haunting words may have frightened the younger knight into some knight-hood qualities.

Percival laughed, “And say that I was to fall out of my saddle, this very minute, dead. What would you do?”

The two younger knights fell silent before Aleron spoke, “We would drop to our knees and pray for direction,”

“Ah. That is always a solid choice, my boy. But now, do you wish to know our destination?”

“Why yes, Sir Knight,” answered Mark once more. Even Percival seemed a little taken aback by Sir Mark’s sudden respect.

Percival coughed before turning back towards the road. He raised his voice just a little so the knights behind him could hear his words, “We travel to an ancient architectural wonder from the Old World. It is a place of magic and astonishment, and once you simply look upon its stones, you can’t help yourself but to fall to your knees in prayer. It is a place only seen in dreams, yet it is here in this world, solid and real as can be. It is called Stonehenge.”

“Stonehenge…” muttered Aleron, “I have heard of this place, but only in children’s fables,”

“As have I,” added Mark, “My mother used to recite me stories of the legendary wizard of Stonehenge! I did not know that this place was real,”

“Yes, yes, yes,” said Percival with a slight chuckle, “It is real. And you will see it with your own eyes tomorrow morning,”

--

The three settled down for the night just off the road. After tying his horse to a short tree, Aleron grabbed his saddle bag and tossed it to the ground. He unbuckled his sword from the saddle and unlatched his shield and set the on the ground next to his bag. Sir Mark was busy starting a fire while Sir Percival looked out into the forest as if he were searching for something just out of sight.

Aleron set his shield against the tree, propping it upright. It was made of thick wood with a thin layer of steel covering the outside. Painted on the front side was a blue fleur de lis against a background of black. It was a simple design, but Aleron preferred it that way. His sword was the same way. It was simple, yet elegant. The brilliant steel blade ran from a razor’s point to a hilt of golden steel, inlaid with black inscriptions. In latin, the etchings read: For God’s will, I lay down my life. The scabbard in which the blade set was hardened leather painted black.

Aleron’s armor began to weigh down his shoulders as the day’s long ride began to catch up with him. Suddenly, the heavy mail weighed a ton, and he wanted nothing more than to be rid of it. He quickly pulled off the satin robe that draped over his steel armor and laid it on his horse’s back. The sleeveless robe was crystal white, inlaid in the center with King Arthur’s coat of arms. Next, he reached to his sides to unbuckle the heavy cuirass plate that protected his torso. And finally, he pulled the coat of steel rings up and over his head and set the chain mail down on the ground with a chorus of clinks. Only his steel leggings remained in place, but he found it much too cumbersome to remove those. And with that, he leaned against the tree and close his eyes as he felt the knots of the bark poke him in the back through his wool undershirt…

[longstevo]

The first drip of water that splashed on Aleron’s nose woke him with a start. He jerked his hand to his face to wipe the residual droplets from his nose, only to have the first drip replaced by another, and then yet another. Then he noticed the pinging of water drops hitting his breastplate still laying beside him as well as his shield. And, as suddenly as the rain had begun, the rain clouds simply opened up.

Sheets of rain assaulted the canopy the fir trees provided, but it did little to shelter the travelers. The freezing chill of the falling water immediately grasped Aleron’s breath and held it in its shivering embrace. He scrambled to get his shield up and over his head to get just a little shelter from the pouring rain.

Huddling with his knees tucked up to his chin, the shield wasn’t quite big enough to cover his entire body. But it didn’t need to, as the knight felt a presence looming in front of him. He peeked out from under the shield and saw through the thick rainfall that Percival was standing in front of him, fully dressed and equipped.

“It is time to rise,” said the older knight, “We must be on our way,”

--

Aleron hated nothing more than putting on and wearing cold and wet armor, yet this was exactly what he was doing. By the time they were dressed and saddled up, the sky was beginning to gray in the east. So the three horses slogged through what was once a solid dirt road, but was now a muddy mess. And the rain didn’t appear as if it were going to let up anytime soon.

For even two hours on the trail, the sun must surely be up above the horizon, yet the sky remained a dark gray. If anything, the rain was getting worse. Aleron finally stopped attempting to create a shelter for himself by hoisting his shield above him. The water splashed against his head of hair and ran down his neck, soaking every inch of him. The roar of the rain drops exploding on his shoulder plates was nearly deafening. He heard a noise behind him, despite the roar, and looked to Sir Mark shouting something at him. But for the sound of the rain against the entire world, Aleron could not hear his companion.

Mark brought his horse to a canter when Aleron motioned that he could not hear. When the two were side by side, Mark shouted, “Are you staying dry?” He then laughed uncontrollably.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” was all that Aleron could say.

[longstevo]

The rain finally stopped after nearly three hours. Cold, wet and freezing, the horses shivered underneath their thick hides of hair and muscle. The three knights were having no luck staying warm themselves, as the cold steel sapped any and all warmth from their bodies. But they continued to press forward, reassuring themselves with a prayer every now and then to remind them of what they quested after.

Percival looked back towards Aleron and smiled slightly, but the younger knight saw the veteran look at him for just a moment and before he cast his eyes far off over his shoulder before turning back in his saddle. Strange, thought Aleron. It seemed as if Percival was watching behind them. He had seen their leader look back behind them several times in the past hour, but thought nothing of it. He decided to leave it at that and continue on the trail.

Time passed endlessly on the road. It seemed to Aleron that they had traveled non-stop for nearly a week’s worth of time, but in reality, they had only been moving for two days. The knight only shook his head and pressed onward. Once again, his mind wandered to just what Percival had been looking at behind them when the elder knight stopped his horse dead in it’s tracks. Aleron brought his horse up beside his friend’s, and nearly gasped at what lay in the road before them.

A checkpoint blocked the road, manned by a dozen Roman soldiers. Clad in their almost gold colored steel, complete with crimson tunics and capes, they were a spectacle to behold. They were certainly a sight that struck fear in many distant corners of the known world.

“Halt!” shouted the commander of the Roman troops.

“Do not say a word,” hissed Percival, “Let me speak to them without interruptions,”

“State your name and business on this highway,” called the Roman commander. He stood nearly six feet tall. He wore a heavy helm that covered most of his face, except for a vertical open slat. He draped his red cloak around him as if he were attempting to keep warm, not allowing any of the riders to see his armor or weaponry. But the Roman soldiers made no such attempt at modesty, as each warrior made it quite obvious that they were armed. They brandished immaculate swords and spears, kept in pristine condition.

“I am Sir Percival, and this is Sir Aleron and Sir Mark. We are Knights of the Round Table of King Arthur of the Britons. We seek only passage through this waypoint, if you would,” stated the knight matter-of-factly.

“Artorious? You serve Artorious, the self appointed leader of these lands?”

It was then that Aleron noticed the heavy Latin accent in the Roman commander’s speech. While he had never learned to speak the Roman language, he had heard it spoken in the Court of Arthur in meetings with the local Roman military.

“Aye, we do,” answered Percival, wisely choosing against arguing with the Roman.

“Artorious, eh? I’ve heard legends of that man. I’ve heard that he single handedly pushed the Roman empire out of this God forsaken wasteland,” the Roman waved his arm to the British countryside. The officer was referring to the fact that Rome’s government was in shambles and in addition to that, the great city was under siege by eastern invaders. The emperor called his troops back to the capital, leaving their colonies in the Land of the Isles to the savages. This turn of events lead people to believe that the Roman’s departure was of King Arthur’s doing, much to the chagrin of the remaining Roman troops.

“I’ll have you know, dog, that our departure is not of your doing!” the officer pointed at Percival and shouted.

Percival simply put his hands in the air and shrugged, “All we ask for is passage…”

Instead of granting them passage, the Roman officer continued on his tirade, “Your…king…if that’s what you call him, is no more than the Head Chief of your little band of savages! And do not be fooled. I have seen the inside of your…Camelot, and it is much more than you know. Artorious rules under the false guise of our blessed Lord Jesus, but inside that keep, there is great evil afoot…”

“Stop your tongue, madman, lest I slice it from your throat! You will not disrespect my lord and king!!” roared Sir Mark.

“Silence!” snapped Percival. He knew they walked a fine line with this group of Romans, and they may have just crossed it.

“A threat!?! From a petty band of barbarians!?! I think not!” cried the officer. He signaled with his hand and a trumpeter sounded the horn. From behind the three knights a small patrol of five mounted riders burst from the underbrush. They were surely what had set off Percival’s senses.

Each of the riders produced a long sword, and every foot soldier rushed forth to form a lined rank in front of their commander, shields held high in an infamous phalanx formation.

Percival attempted to shout above the chaos of the impending battle, “We have no quarrel with you! Put down your arms!” But Mark already gripped his sword in his hand, the smile on his face betraying his thirst for blood.

“Bring me their heads!” commanded the Roman officer.


Aleron gripped the hilt of his longsword and yanked it free from its sheath. An arc of water was flung into the air from the drops of rain flying off the steel. Sir Mark and Percival did the same. He watched as the five Roman horsemen jostled their mounts into an attack formation and positioned themselves into a single rank. The lead horseman shouted a command, and the five riders charged forward as one.

The three Round Table knights stared down the oncoming charge. Each knight had faced worse situations, more daunting odds, and grimmer circumstances. Fear had not yet crept into their hearts. Three against five was very good odds for the Arthurian knights, and each one separately wished their blades were already buried deep in Roman flesh.

After nearly five decades of abuse and torture at the hands of the Romans, there was no love lost between the people the Great Empire and Britannia. Burning villages, innocent dead and pillaging Romans danced in Aleron’s eyes as his mind raced to the atrocities he had been witness to. In this moment, he knew he would let out twenty years of pent up frustration and anger. The edges of his vision began to blur in his rage.

But he would not get the chance. For seconds before the two walls of horses were set to collide, a flurry of arrows exploded forth from the underbrush in a silent wave of death. The five Roman riders were perforated with the wooded projectiles and fell off their mounts immediately. The horses, now free, seized their opportunity and bolted from the road and into the dense forest.

The phalanx of foot soldiers looked at their fallen comrades before jumping behind their invincible wall of iron, spears thrust forward. Percival whirled his horse around to face the grouping of Romans and charged with Aleron and Sir Mark at his sides. The experienced war horses each chose a path that missed the deadly spear points and smashed into the wall of shields. Aleron swung up and down, burying his blade into the skull of a Roman. He recovered and swung down against, slicing the soft neck of another. The three horse charge burst out the back of the defensive Romans, only four or so remaining. They threw their arms down to the ground and fell to their knees, hands skyward.

“Pick up your weapons, you cowards!” shouted the Roman officer, who had somehow survived the assault. A single arrow appeared from thin air and buried itself deep into his spine. His eyes rolled back into his head as he twitched before falling to the ground dead.

The three knights disregarded their four prisoners and focused into the underbrush to see just who their unseen allies were. Aleron hoped to God that fellow Round Table Knights had appeared. It was then that a single man appeared and stepped from the brush.

“Oi! Hello, friends!” he shouted cheerily. Percival recoiled immediately. Aleron’s heart dropped as well. If there was no love lost between the Romans and the Britons, there were certainly no better relations between the Britons and the French. The latter country being where this gentleman was surely from, going off his ridiculous attempt at speaking British.

Although he hated this foreigner as much as the ones laying dead at his feet, Percival did think that at least a lazy attempt should be made to thank the man, most likely men, who had a hand in probably saving their lives.

“Greetings, Frenchman, and many gratitudes for your helping hand,” muttered Percival.

“Ah ha! Le dead Romuns es better than un live Romun!!” the Frenchman spat as he horribly butchered the native language.

Just as Aleron shook his head and looked away, the rest of the Frenchman’s party stepped into the clearing. There were six men and one woman. The woman was very striking, but that was not what caught his eye. A gold colored symbol had been branded onto her breastplate, as well as two of the men standing behind her. Long auburn hair was tied back behind her head and she rested her fists on her waist, as if she were impatiently awaiting something.

Aleron slowly pointed to her and stepped her way. “Ma’am. Do you serve King Arthur under arms?”

She seemed taken aback by this question until she saw he was a Knight of the Round Table himself. He stone face broke into a smile, “Why yes. I am…” Aleron cut her off.

“Lady Devries. Of the Eastern Realm, is it?” she smiled and nodded in acknowledgement.

“I have seen your standard hanging from our King’s hallowed halls as well, but I have not had the pleasure of meeting you,”

“Aye. I have not shared the pleasure of meeting you either, m’lady. I am Sir Aleron Lyones, servant to Arthur and God for five years. May I have your entire name?”

The beautiful lady chuckled before answering, “Please. Do away with the fanciful speak. I am a knight, and have proven myself in battle several times. Treat me as an equal. And my name is Alanna Devries, from the Eastern Realm, as you said. And these two,” she pointed to the two men dressed in the same dark green tunic as her, “Are fellow knights to us, pledged to us by my father. They do not serve Arthur’s court directly, but pledge loyalty to him nonetheless. They are loyal Christians. Sirs Robin and Devan. They accompany me.”

Aleron crooked his brow, “And you share company with the French?”

She frowned and rolled her eyes, “Not by choice,” she stepped forward and lowered her voice, “I have something to tell you, Sir Knight,”

[longstevo]

Sir Percival and the Frenchman continued to speak to each other as the Frenchman tried vainly to pronounce proper British words. It was obvious to all that Percival’s patience was wearing thin, as was the three other Frenchman to accompany their captain. Lady Alanna grabbed Aleron by the arm and pulled him aside.

“Sir Knight, a short time ago a call came forth from Camelot calling all knights to report to their King, yes?” Alanna asked.

“Yes, m’lady.”

“My men and myself never made it to the kingdom, so we never met with our great Lord Arthur,”

“Yes…” Aleron was lost. What we she trying to get at?

“Even though I did not meet the King and receive your mission as you did, I know why you three are here.”

Aleron frowned, “Excuse me, lady? The King sent his knights on this mission through secrecy. If you did not hear these words from his mouth, how do you know them?”

Alanna swallowed hard, “Because he is looking for the same thing, and has exacted that information from one of our brothers.” The female knight pointed to the French captain.

Aleron’s head reeled and he immediately reached for his sword, but fought the instinct knowing that violence would receive few answers. Trying to calm himself, he asked, “What? How does he know of our quest and who, and how, gave him that information?”

Alanna cast a weary eye towards the French soldiers, one of which was returning her suspicious gaze. “The French captain, Jerome, lined the pocket of one of our own knights with gold, in exchange for the location of the Grail,”

“One of our knights knows where the Grail is?” Aleron could barely think.

“No, not exactly. But there are rumors and theories, which is more than Jerome knows.”

“Wait, wait,” Aleron needed to take a step back, “Why is this man even on our isle to begin with?”

Alanna breathed heavily once more before answering, “He believe God sent him the same message that our own King did.”

[longstevo]

Alanna continued, “He arrived here with an entire army of no less than five hundred soldiers ready to search these hillsides for the Holy Grail. We were captured and are subsequently being ‘escorted’ on this man’s search for the cup. We have told him nothing, but he has a looser mouth than we do. He told us of the fellow knight he received his information from, but gave no names,”

Aleron stood erect. So this Frenchman claimed to have a vision from God commanding him to retrieve the Holy Grail, the same vision King Arthur received. And five hundred French soldiers stood ready to back up their captain. Aleron could think of only one thing: it was now a race for the Grail.

Percival’s voice rang high above the heavy silence that fell upon the group, “Well now, my good man, may the sun shine down upon your travels,”

“Wi, wi!” shouted Jerome, “And muny trevails underneath thi sun to you, Sir…” The Frenchman tried to pronounce Percival, but he failed miserably. He then turned to Alanna and said, “Come, milady. We must go,”

Aleron stepped between the lady knight and the French captain, “No, m’lord. She is one of us, and I request that you grant her and her two men leave to join us.”

Displeasure danced in Jerome’s eyes and he looked back at Percival who had his hand lazily resting on the hilt of his sword. “Fine!”

And with that, Jerome and his men rustled back into the forest.

Aleron grabbed Alanna, “Quick. You must make your way to Camelot and tell the king of what is happening,”

“Right,” she turned and hurried to her horse. Her two companions were already mounted. She swung herself into her saddle and turned to face the three knights, “If God wills it, I shall return and join you. Farewell.” The trio of riders whipped their horses about and galloped down the road.

Aleron quickly briefed Percival of what he had learned from Lady DeVries.

“Oh dear. This is most unfortunate. We must hurry,” the veteran knight grabbed his horse’s reigns and mounted quickly.