The Red Knight - Merlin BBC [2]

Prologue

The growls echoed through the stone structures, creating an eerie vibration. The warrior stands fast, breath heavy as he turns around in all directions, sword raised. He can't see the monster from which he runs, and he has a better judgment than to challenge the beast. He slips on a rock, twisting his ankle in an awkward direction.

The cries of distant chants confirm that the beast is growing nearer, the man still gaining his balance once more, hissing at the pain through his ankle. The growls begin to cry more and more silently, but the warrior knows better than to think that the beast is going away. The others didn't, and this one will undoubtedly be no different.

The crowd from above only seems to jitter with anticipation, the warrior bracing himself for the fight. Bloodstains his face, eyes tired with exhaustion and fear. Long ago, the man had watched many of his comrades be taken down like flies in different, unusually cruel ways. His bruised body visibly showed all the battles he had already faced in days he had long lost track of—days he had spent wondering if they were his last like his comrades before him.

In the dull dawn light, the warrior's breath hitched in his throat as the red-eyed beast rounded the corner. The early mist scatters in its presence, clouding like smoke. The creature is as tall as three men and broad as a bear but structured like a boar, yet with a wolf's remnants. It is a fowl creation, a creation only that of magic and the abuse of its power.

It prowls toward the warrior, teeth bared with sharp razors and takes slow, calculated strides toward the warrior. The two stared at one another for an eternity, the crowd disappearing from the mind and the blood-stained stone structures a distant memory. The man's breath and thudding heart were all he could focus on as he stood within only a few lunges of the terrifying monstrosity.

Then, the beast lunged forward.

The warrior swings his sword with calculation. He is trained well with the ability many men could only dream of. The beast barely reaches him before his blade cuts down its side. The monster howls in pain but attacks more viciously in anger. The calculated movements of both foes forces locked combat that neither can break.

The warrior and monster circle each other for what feels like hours, the crowd growing silent with amazement and complete concentration. The fight is brutal, the monster getting struck by sword and the warrior by baring teeth and claws. Bloodstains the stone ground, the cries of the man now filling the arena as he fights for his life.

The cries come to an abrupt end, silence ringing through the arena into the crowd. The warrior falls to the ground with a thud, blood pouring through the various wounds on his body. The beast lingers over his corpse, snarling as it breathes in the air of death. It's as if the beast was only killing for sport and now stands over its claimed prize.

The crowd begins to applaud the beast for its efforts and the entertainment that it has provided.

However, silence quickly invades once more as another warrior in chainmail jumps from a structure, burying one of his many swords into the beast's back. The monster releases an enormous roar of pain as the knight lands on its back, drawing another sword through its thick skull.

The crowd remains silent as the knight leaps from the beast's falling body–the thud is like thunder as it hits the ground. The knight breathes heavily, face also stained with blood, various patches all over his body. He's almost in a daze, shocked by the events he witnessed over the weeks and how they have all been ended by his hand.

He looks wild and worn, face tired and distant. The knight is in shock and has no thought to consume the silence that has taken hold of his mind.

The crowd roars for their victor, but the cries never reach the knight's ears as he stares down at the body of his fallen fellow competitor and the beast that was too horrible and cruel to be of natural making.

The knight could have stood there for hours for all he knew, a hand finally curling around his shoulder in a proud-like stance.

"You win. You are free to go."

The knight turns slowly, finally being pulled from his thoughts to see vibrant gold eyes staring through the darkness into his soul. The knight had seen this man at the beginning of his fight and in between. This man had been the source of his torment, and yet, all he could do was stare at this man in disbelief.

"I can go?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"Yes. You'll never be bothered by us again," the man reassures. "You will be a legend around this place. Nothing will or can take that title."

"Thank you", the knight bows, picking up one of his swords, walking past the man without another word, and returning to his daze.

"One more thing", the man calls, bringing the knight to a halt in his tracks. "What is your name, good sir?"

The knight peers over his shoulder, head still hung low as he looks at the ground, blood falling from the tip of his sword. "Lancelot..."

The man turns his head with a smirk.

"My name is Lancelot."