The Order

By Dustin Howe

For thousands of years, members of The Order of the Knights of the Round Table have secretly protected the realm of men from the realm of magic.  In the centuries following the collapse of Roman rule in Britain, the prophet Myrddin discovers a nefarious plot to destroy The Order.  Even further troubling, the traitors plan to wipe out the bloodline of Arthur and the mighty sword Excalibur, which would release an ancient blight to wreak havoc on both realms.   Can Myrddin ferret out the traitors in time?

This Novella is a prequel to the Avalon series of novels.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dustin Howe
• Release date: Nov 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386381983

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Stormy night

573 AD

The figure stood like a rock against the wind and ever-present rain of southern Brittania.  Peering into the dim light, he located his destination - a large stone building sprawled atop a small bluff.  Safety lay there, and yet the figure hesitated.  He felt the watcher’s eyes upon him like a tick crawling across his skin, and still he stood, the flinty coal of his eyes surveying all he saw.

Magic was afoot.  He could practically smell it. Magic made his skin crawl with an itch that just could not be scratched.  He had lived well over a thousand years with it beside him, and, skilled in its many uses, it usually greeted him like a friend.  Yet this magic felt different.  A magic he had not experienced since the early part of his life, in a distant place and time.  He stretched out the keen razor edge of his senses, to seek out and locate the source.  Quickly, he gently wove a small spell to detect and track that dark magic.  Oh yes, it was indeed that fell magic, awakened once more.  Of that he was confident.

He lingered.  Should I confront it here and now?  Whip off my cloak, whirl and yell a battle cry to long vanished Gods?  To a member of the Fianna, death in battle allowed for an honorable end.  And I have cheated that mistress for too long.  But no, she will have to wait a while longer for my embrace, Fates willing.

He pushed on, sliding from shadow to shadow like a wraith, the wind whipping back his long white hair and beard before he gave in and pulled his cowl up over his head.  He had grown accustomed to his long hair and beard since his exile here generations ago.  They helped to hide the upturned eyebrows and pointed ears which belied his nonhuman nature and allowed him to fit in with the humanity which surrounded him.  The Fey were no longer part of this realm of men, but rather that of magic.  Well, except for me.  I am out of place here, and not welcome in the magic realm either. 

Soon he would approach the massive stone structure; a miracle in construction he had no small part in building several centuries ago when the area bristled with the boots and weapons of Roman soldiers.  While he had no love for Rome and its ever-present legions, he had admired their engineering abilities.  In the latter part of the collapse of Roman rule, he befriended a Roman architect named Claudius Erebus.  The stone structure before him stood as an example of the hard work and friendship of the two.

Claudius was a short, portly man with a kind face.  When the Fey creature met the Roman, he took an immediate liking to the architect.  The Roman had been gifted with a brilliant understanding of architecture, and the building in front of the figure bore testament to a creative genius far ahead of his time and place in history. 

The stone building climbed many stories into the night sky, encompassing a multitude of columns and arches as it reached for the twinkling stars.  The building dominated the town lying at the foot of the bluff, as well as the ocean reaches.  Shaped roughly as a network of 4 interconnected squares, the fortification had a central common room which rose to the full height of the building and served as the kitchen for the dozens of scholars, soldiers, and other members of The Order.  He imagined the rich aroma of roasted suckling pig wafting from the cooking fires in that central room, causing his stomach to growl loudly.  The figure had traveled hundreds of miles in the last weeks, with no rest.  He gobbled his previous hot meal from a squalid inn nearly six days away from the rock on which he currently stood.  Since then, dried beef and hard bread sustained his travels as he rushed to the Sanctorum.

His dark eyes roved across the walls of the building on the bluff once more.  The four squares each radiated outward from the center along an axis corresponding with north, south, east, and west.  Each square represented one of the four elements of life - north represented Earth, south for fire, and east for air.  The western one overlooked the sea and signified water.  Not finding the source of magic hiding amongst the outer walls of the fort, the figure turned his attention to the town at the base of the bluff.  At this distance, the houses appeared to be thatched cones, slicing up from the ground like spruce trees without trunks.  There.  There the danger lay waiting to spring at him and sink its fangs in. 

He dropped from his observation post and slipped back to the trail he had been following moments before.  He paused on the path for a moment, luxuriating in the smell of the evergreens.  The figure knelt, placing his palm on the cold soil of the trail.  His eyes drooped closed, as he sent his life essence down the track in the direction his physical form must soon follow.  He sought the source of the foul magic.  What kind of fell magic awaits my presence?  The earth