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  Knights of the Roundtable

  Knights of the Roundtable: Genesis of a King (Coming Soon)

  Also by Mackena Dennis

  Knights of the Roundtable

  Knights of the Roundtable: Genesis of a King (Coming Soon)

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  Knights of the Roundtable

  Knights of the Roundtable: Genesis of a King (Coming Soon)

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  Naropa Magazine

  The Chalice Rose Series

  The Eversilver Sword

  Knights of the roundtable

  GENESIS OF A KING

  Book 1

  By Jack Winner and Mackena Dennis

  Copyright © 2022 by Jack Winner and Mackena Dennis

  All rights reserved. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, objects, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are coincidental and should not be taken seriously.

  This book contains violence, mature themes, and some strong language. It is for young adult readers and up.

  This is a Fantasy World book.

  Fantasy World is a collection of novels and stories, written by multiple authors, that are all connected to each other.

  A living, breathing narrative involving multiple realms, Earth, and a gigantic planet called Naropa.

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  Works by Jack Winner and Mackena Dennis

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  Table of Contents:

  Chapter 1: The Prologue

  Chapter 2: Londinium Streets

  Chapter 3: Night at Camelot

  Chapter 4: Jackseye’s Fortune

  Chapter 5: Spectre of the King

  Chapter 6: The Roundtable

  Chapter 7: Knight’s Training

  Chapter 8: Destiny Awakens

  Chapter 9: March to Catarina

  Chapter 10: Seasoned Oak

  Chapter 11: Chaos and Flames

  Chapter 12: The King Who Cried Wolf

  Chapter 13: Escaping in Style

  Chapter 14: On The Beaten Track

  Chapter 15: The Reigate Caves

  Chapter 16: Other Kind of Training

  Chapter 17: Ash & Cinders

  Chapter 18: Midnight Duel

  Chapter 19: Hunting Season

  Chapter 20: Against Pack Law

  Chapter 21: The Unwanted Visitor

  Chapter 22: Baron Land

  Chapter 23: Allies & Enemies

  Chapter 24: Lesser Evil

  Chapter 25: Unbroken Destiny

  Chapter 26: Rise of the King

  Chapter 27: The Epilogue

  Chapter-1: The Prologue

  “Run, son!”

  The voice echoed through the woods, drowned out by the sound of clashing swords. Through the woods, a young boy ran for his life, not turning back, not even for a second. The boys’ fear grew as the sound of the swords clanging got louder, bashing against one another fiercely.

  One of the men, a tall, commanding figure, swung his blade up, defending himself from a savage blow. Black flame surrounded his boots, growing larger every step back from the attack. The flames coated the ground, spreading like a plague, surrounding the figure opposing him.

  The swords met again, locked in a tight embrace of death. The man looked up at his opponent, fear seeping through him like ice. Orange, dilated eyes stared directly back at him, set in a face of steel tough as his own blade.

  Finding a tree far enough away from the two, the boy hid behind the thick trunk, gaining his breath. He opened his hand, a necklace with a golden chain in his palm with a glowing blue crystal in the centre, glimmering in the small light from the moon.

  Flinching at the sound of a pained yell, the boy peeked his head around the tree. The defending man lay defeated on the ground, a deep gash on his arm, his sword on the ground beside him. The dark figure stalked over to him, his weapon dangling from its right hand, scraping the ground as it moved.

  The man looked up at the figure, his eyes wide. Watching the situation, the boy grew fearful for the man’s survival, clenching the necklace tighter for comfort. The figure stood over the man, flames rolling off of its shoulders and lapping at the air.

  “Just like the legends said, ‘the King will fall,’ and let that be true,” it growled, its voice deep as thunder.

  “A new King will rise; he will bring peace to Braynor,” the man spat, his voice steady as he rose to his feet once more.

  “King Benjamin, how naïve you’ve become,” the figure mocked, a shadowy grin peeking from under the fiery embrace.

  “The Born King is destined to rise, and you can't change that,” the King said, defiance entering his voice.

  “But you will fall,” the figure smirked. “And no one will change it.”

  Before the King knew it, a sharp, piercing pain shot through his abdomen, knocking the wind from him with a gasp. He looked down, the sword’s tip embedded into him, blood slowly pouring out of the wound. Pain flared through his body, and his knees gave out, sending him back to the ground, his hand holding the blade. A line of blood dripped from his sliced palm, crimson staining the charred grass. Gravity overtook him, and he fell to his side, facing the boy in the woods.

  The King’s lips moved slowly, the light in his eyes slowly fading as he whispered to him, “Run, Arthur... Run.”

  The young boy felt tears dripping down his cheeks as he watched him bleed out on the ground, flicking his eyes up to the figure. In a sudden flick of movement, the figure sharply turned its head to the boy. Bright amber eyes glared at him, piercing through the black flames, staring right into Arthur’s eyes as if he’d burn him from the inside out-

  * * *

  A fearful cry pierced through the air as Arthur sprung up in fright, panting heavily. Looking around with wide eyes, he took in the familiar surroundings of his bedroom.

  Bedroom.

  Reality.

  Right...

  Realising it was all a dream, he calmed himself slowly, his eyes flicking around the room for any sign of the figure he saw.

  These nightmares were frequent for him, but every night they seemed a bit different; more detail entered the dream the next day. He couldn’t make out what precisely was happening since it always started off with his father yelling at him to run. But he knew it had to mean something
if it kept on repeating itself all the time.

  Rubbing his eyes, Arthur moved himself over to the edge of the bed, his breath leveling out slowly. This was the first time that figure ever looked at him, every other time, it was just his silhouette and voice, but now his face was revealed. The dark, skeletal face with cracks and breaks, and those glowing orange eyes...

  Arthur sighed, looking over to his bedside table, the same necklace he held in the nightmare resting atop it. He frowned lightly at it, picking it up warily before hooking it around his neck.

  He got out of his bed and walked over to his wardrobe in the left corner, where a mirror sat beside it. Walking over to it, he looked at himself; green eyes irritated at his dirty blonde hair askew from the pillows. Dragging his fingers lightly through his hair, he studied the faint stubble dusted on his jaw. He’d probably need a shave soon.

  He opened his wardrobe, pulling out whatever his hands gripped first; a black fur coat with regular dark brown trousers. He threw them onto his bed before pulling out a pair of socks and brown leather boots.

  Arthur stepped out of his bedroom fully dressed and headed down a long narrow hallway, the walls filled with ancient artefacts. Mannequins with beaten pieces of armour sat behind glass panes, broken shards of swords, axes, and all other kinds of weapons framed beside them with names of famed Knights engraved into small plaques at the bottom.

  He made his way down the flight of spiral stairs leading to the lower portion of the castle, torches lighting the way down, handy at night when the King’s Guards scoured the castle. The floor glimmered at the foot of the stairs, pearlescent swirls decorating the light marble. A length of red carpet stretched down the hall, reaching the edge of the tall entryway before splitting around the two turns at the end of the walkway.

  He made his way through the twisting castle walls, his feet leading him to the Western wing, walking through more narrow hallways, where the wooden doors were left ajar with servants buzzing through their jobs. A few of the King's Guards passed Arthur, exchanging small respectful nods with him. It wasn’t exactly unusual to witness for Arthur, considering his uncle is the King of Camelot.

  Arthur nodded back, continuing his way forth. Further down the hallway, a larger door sat propped open with a brick, and warm light pooled out along the floor. Peering in, Arthur observed the kitchen from the doorway.

  Polished light metal tops the benches, wooden shelves harbouring bowls, and plates stacked high above one another. Different types of crockery and equipment dangled from the low-hanging ceiling; their shadows sat over the assorted blocks of utensils.

  Pots sat above the woodfire oven, and the sound of water boiling echoed in the tidy kitchen, a symphony of crackling from multiple pans dotting the sides around the pots. An elderly woman stood at a bench, lining plates and cutlery for preparation; her apron was smeared with grease and splashed up food.

  Arthur walked in, surprised to see the woman up this early. He peered at the small clock on the other side of the wall; the time displayed seven in the morning. Arthur thought she wouldn’t have been up for another hour or so.

  She had been busy after the feast last night that the King organised for his Knights; the meals were becoming a common occurrence lately. Nobody really knew what the meetings were for, but rumours did have a hold on Arthur’s head. Many would disagree if the King was called kind, saying that he hadn’t done anything for the lower city of Camelot, Londinium; instead, he focused his attention on his rule over the land and his own intentions.

  Arthur strolled quietly towards the bench, a smile falling easily onto his lips. The woman didn't notice him, gathering another large stack of plates off the cupboard, her frail arms shaking at the weight. Arthur moved to her, gently taking the plates from her grasp, the weight relatively light but enough to weigh down a woman as elderly as her.

  The woman looked up at Arthur with a crinkled smile; her warm face was one of the reasons Arthur would come to check on her.

  “Thank you, Arthur,” she said kindly, her voice not yet cracked with age.

  “Up early today, Ms. Enid?” he asked, setting the plates onto the bench in the same order as the others.

  “Your uncle threw a feast last night, the third one this week,” she replied, taking over the job deftly. “He wanted another one for this morning.”

  Arthur walked over to the sink, grabbed some plates from the night before, and stacked them on the side before washing them in the basin. “Must have something important enough happening to have so many meetings,” he shrugged, not quite believing the words himself.

  “He is your uncle, after all. He’s always busy,” Enid said. She wasn’t wrong. The King of Camelot never did have much time to sit down and think, let alone spend time with family.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me if it was about the fall of Catarina,” Arthur said, rinsing the suds off the bowls and setting them aside to dry.

  “One of the Knights mentioned that Samqueel, I believe,” she said.

  “Seems like a situation for the Knights of the Roundtable to handle. Camelot is in no shape to send out regular troops to uncharted grounds,” Arthur said, placing the rest of the dishes away before wiping his hands dry on his pants.

  He walked over to a basket on the bench beside small tubs of spices, lifting the lid open only to find an empty basket. He frowned at the bottom of the basket, closing the lid and straightening it.

  “They had the last of the bread. I came here to prepare you and your uncle’s breakfast, but I found it empty,” Enid said with irritation, dishing out the prepared food from the pots and pans; boiled eggs and crispy bacon piled up on each serving.

  “I’ll head down to the Londinium markets and get some more,” Arthur said, straightening his jacket.

  “You’re too kind, Arthur. You’re so much like your father,” Enid said, a smile stretching across her face.

  Arthur gave her a slight smile, heading out of the kitchen. “I’ll be back soon.”

  He dawdled toward the High Gates, flicking his eyes past the same old boring architecture that surrounded him twenty-four seven. Arthur thought the castle could do with a facelift. Perhaps the bricks needed a clean; moss was indeed growing in that crack further-

  Sudden voices echoed down the hallway, coming from the large room two doors down. The voices grew louder as he neared, too loud for Arthur to not eavesdrop.

  Arthur stood beside the two doors, leaning against the wall. Inside the room, a large round table sat in the dead centre, along with twelve seats, three of them empty. Men dressed in fine attire sat around the table; wine and half-empty platters and plates were strewn around them.

  A man sat at the left side of the table, wearing a jeweled crown on his head. The others wear finely crafted jackets, different accents adorning the collars on their clothing, the material varying in colour.

  The men gathered around the table paid no attention to Arthur, too focused on the conversation.

  The red jacket, a blonde man with sharp silver eyes, spoke up. “If Ariandel has overtaken Catarina, what will become of Camelot?”

  “Our defences are too vulnerable for a frontal assault. We cannot allow any more unnecessary outcomes, including losing more than a dozen Knights,” the blue jacket added, his hands neatly folded on the table. His dark hair was pulled back in a hair tie away from his bearded face, cool blue eyes watching the crowned man.

  “And with Brannagh, Joseph, and Forlorn absent, we stand less of a chance leading troops into battle,” the golden jacket said, looking toward the man sitting at the throne-like chair at the end of the table. His dark skin and hair matched his eyes, intelligence writhing in them. “What are your suggestions, King Ergott?”

  The King turned his head to look at him, one leg crossed over the other, his hand folded beneath his chin. His dark brown eyes trailed around each of the Knights, disinterest clear in his gaze. Ergott picked up his glass of wine slowly, swirling the dark liquid inside.

  “The reasonable,
yet the riskier approach to this situation, is to confront Ariandel of their transgressions against the Kingdom of Catarina. We cannot allow Camelot to suffer the same fate as Catarina did. We will not allow this Kingdom to fall.”

  “My King, our defences are too vulnerable to allow any sort of critical outcome,” the red Knight said. “The legion is filled with new men barely two weeks off their traineeship.”

  “You’re all Knights of the Roundtable, are you not?” Ergott ground out, irritation on his face.

  “That’s beyond the point. Even with our rank and skill, we cannot take on an entire Kingdom,” the blue Knight answered.

  “Reuben is right,” the Knight in gold said. “Even though we are Knights of the Roundtable, the other Knights of Camelot don’t stand a chance to fend for themselves against such a dangerous enemy.”

  “Sir Lorsaw,” Ergott started. “If Ariandel isn’t stopped, they will attempt to take over Camelot. Prevention of that is a must.”

  “Sire,” the red Knight said, “with all due respect, as King, you should be the one to protect your Kingdom and your Knights. If we were to storm the Gates of Ariandel, that'd inevitably cause a war to break out. If we fight, you will lose your legions to a stupid decision.”

  “Watch it, Samqueel. You have no say in what I command,” Ergott snapped.

  “I have my opinions, and so does everyone else in this room,” Samqueel said, ire in his eyes.

  “Only one person’s opinion matters, and that is my own,” Ergott snapped, folding his arm down.

  “Sire,” Reuben said, adjusting in his seat. “What if you fall? Who will be King?”

  Ergott flicked his eyes to Reuben. “King George will be taking over if I fall.”

  “And what of the boy?” Lorsaw asked, nodding outside of the door.

  Arthur blinked, backing away from the door slightly. Did he know I was here?

  “Isn’t he destined to be King? He is the son of Benjamin,” the green Knight asked, looking around with a raised brow to the other Knights and scratching his short black goatee, brown eyes questioning under spiky black hair.