Cometh the Time, Cometh the Man, Cometh a King.

The trailer was the one place that Harold always felt like a normal man, he could sit in the window and watch the world go by. He had long ago adjusted to the fact that there was rarely anyone cheering as the massive truck and trailer rumbled past. He simply chose not to let it be an issue, which for the King, which was a massive effort as he had come to despise the commoner muck that he laughing called his subjects. They were simply a resource to be used in the best possible service of the Crown. When he let the inbred Scots go their own way he knew that they would be brought back under the yoke of his leadership once he had the sword.

Ah, the Sword, it was a thorn in his side, so close and yet so far away, so powerful, but so distant and untouchable. It had taken almost two years for his hand to heal after he had hit the statue his brother became on that fateful night fifteen years ago. It still ached when the weather turned cold, each and every jolt of pain was a reminder of his failure to take the sword from his brother's cold dead hands. It was the one thing that kept his mind focused, wishing, praying and dreaming of the moment the Sword was taken from that damn stone. The hell that he would bring down on those that had rejected his rule, those little peasants that had mocked his greatness.

The nights he had lay awake staring at the window, knowing that his greatest achievement sat in the main courtyard mocking him. There was no way that anyone would ever know how many had met a horrifying end in his desperate attempts to assuage the pain and frustration of his failure. As the years progressed he found that making the peasants suffer was something he enjoyed and even looked forward to, especially those slutty little whores that mocked him with their supposed untouched beauty. The screams and begging got him so hard it was almost painful, especially when they saw the hatred and indifference to their suffering in his eyes.

Sitting at the window now looking out over the green fields on the way to Liverpool, he smiled to himself. He knew there would a present from his man awaiting his special attentions at the estate. Ah, this night would be a special treat.

"Pardon me, Sire, but would you care to dine now, or shall I put it off?" His manservant asked.

"Now." He said bluntly.

"Very well, Sire." The man said and disappeared before he aroused the King's temper.

A clear jolt ran through the trailer, Harold immediately became angry and turned to discover the reason for disturbing his quiet in such disagreeable manner. He picked up the phone and a voice answered immediately.

"Your Majesty, my deepest apologies for the intrusion, someone has dug a booby trap in the road, I have men scouring the area as we speak to discover the traitor." His Guards Captain explained.

"Find them and make an example of them for the village they come from." With that he slammed the receiver down and turned back to the now stationary view. Fucking little pig will suffer long and painfully for disturbing his reverie. He raised his head as a thought struck him, he reached out and the Captain answered immediately.

"Sire?"

"When you find the responsible grub, feed him and his entire family to the pigs, Alive!"

"Yes Sire." Harold hung up the phone more calmly this time, but a smile was firmly set across his face. The sound of his plate being placed on the dining table lifted his mood a little more, rare roast beef and roasted vegetables, perfect.

Arthur sat listening to the men in the room discuss different tactics and actions for specific circumstances. These men were the most professional and frightening soldiers Arthur could imagine. Operators, as they liked to call themselves, feared nothing, refused to accept defeat and never ever left one of their own in the field. He was proud to be associated with them, to know they would do what they had to, regardless of the price and regardless of the danger, to get him into a position to take the Sword and start Harold's downfall. If there was anything he feared, it was his own ability live up to the expectations of those that supported him.

Even worse were the expectations he held for himself, he was the King in exile and he needed to be the King that inspired and led from the front. He had turned twenty-three not five weeks earlier, refusing any sort of celebration until the Throne was his and Harold was gone. There was no doubt about Harold's fate, he had ensured that fate with the monstrous behaviour that had been the hallmark of Harold's reign. The horror stories that had been related to him from people that had fled the south to escape the persecution and outright murder of those that even had the most remote links to the underground movement against the Crown, or someone had taken a dislike and reported the people in question to the RIS, (Royal Intelligence Service).

Sir Geraint Rolph entered the room through the door on the left, the Operators stood to attention immediately, but Arthur was torn, he wanted to show respect to the senior officer, but he was also the regent in waiting and never stood for anyone. He decided that he needed to at least stand, the rest would then see he wasn't ignoring the rank and experience of Sir Geraint.

"Alright Gentlemen, we have discussed and discussed, and now it is time to put the discussion and training into practice." He stated clearly. "Arthur will be with Bravo Squad and I expect that he will be safer than sitting in his study." He said looking around at each of the Commanders like a Hawk. "We have an opportunity to get inside with as little trouble as we could have dreamt about." He looked at the tough men looking at him, each as serious and committed as any Arthur had seen.

"Once we have negated the Royal Guardsmen, I want a protective perimeter around the courtyard as soon as is possible. Remember, prepare for the worst and everything else is nothing but cream." Arthur stood again and indicated to Geraint he wished to say a few words, who nodded in return.

"Gentlemen, I just wanted a moment to express my appreciation and respect to you. I was nothing more than a twenty-one year old kid in Hong Kong, two years ago, now I am looking at taking back my family's heritage and legacy. Every single one of you have shown me incredible respect, honour, commitment and desire. For that I bow before you and say to you now, the Crown will ever be indebted to you and I will endeavour to be the best leader and King I can be. I am humbled by your belief in me. Please be careful, and show the pretenders what real soldiers of the Crown can do." He stood up straight and produced a parade perfect salute.

Each and every man stood immediately and returned the salute with pride and emotion, Arthur could even see the odd tear in the corner of the tough men's eyes.

"Three cheers for the King, Huuuah, Huuuah, Huuuah." The sound echoed through the large briefing area. Arthur felt his face flush, the knowledge that all of these capable and brave men were cheering him, just a normal kid from Hong Kong, well mostly anyway.

"Alpha and Charlie, head out, Bravo move to the rally point and wait for the signal. Delta, Echo and Foxtrot, move to the secondary breach point. Golf and Hotel, over watch, I do not one single man without cover. Everyone knows what's at stake. Move out. Arthur, a moment." He said as the young man was about to move out with his minders.

"Geraint?"

"Arthur, you have grown amazingly in the last two years, I just wanted to let you know that the speech you just made took you from a good man to follow, to a leader and a King. I am proud to stand beside you and will for the rest of my life." He stood back and saluted the young man with all the respect and honesty that he deserved. "Now let's get this done."

Arthur didn't trust himself to respond, so he simply nodded and strode from the room. Geraint looked at the plans on the massive map table, momentarily wondering if he had allowed for all contingencies. It was too late now and dismissed his concerns and followed Arthur out of the room.

The night was dark, and not a breath of wind disturbed the mist that was slowly creeping across the streets outside the walls. Corporal Edward Striker walked the wall, not his favourite duty, but the quiet and the cool air relaxed him and he could think about what he was going to do once his time in was done. He had been raised in the poor, fume filled tenements of South London. The apartment complex was overcrowded and poorly maintained buildings were a dreary and oppressive place for children to grow up. Hence the high percentage of young ones that turned to the streets and petty crime to support the family. A great many had ended up in the work houses or worse, but he had decided early on that the military was a place where a man could be recognised for their qualities.

After ten years he was now a part of the elite of the elite, a Royal Guardsman. He was paid far better than he ever thought, and he was never in harm's way, he only ever stood guard at the palace and occasionally marched in celebratory parades. With the King off doing whatever, the palace was a quiet and safe place to be, he was living the dream, and for a soldier, there was nothing safer than a place, than where the King wasn't. He walked his point and looked over the parapet on occasion, but there was nothing to be seen. Good, the less to see the better he liked it. For a moment, he thought he heard a sound, but he dismissed it out of hand, sadly, he never got the chance to see his retirement. There was a sudden shock as a hand clamped over his mouth, a sharp pain shot through his back and the world went dark.

The black clad soldier slowly lowered the body of Corporal Edward Striker to the ground and moved on to the next target. All over the palace Royal guards were being neutralised silently and with total efficiency. Within twenty minutes there were only black clad soldiers standing in the palace grounds, over watch had not been required and they now turned their attention to the approaches to the palace walls. As Arthur watched, the main gates suddenly started raising, when they were open to a reasonable amount, one of the operators appeared in the gap and signaled Bravo and Arthur forward. The point men broke cover and ran across the open ground between the rally point and the gates.

The first man reached the gates and dropped to a knee and covered the street as the rest of Bravo crossed to the main courtyard. Arthur had just entered the courtyard when a loud scream sounded behind him. Arthur spun around and saw the point protection on the gate fall to the ground, still and unbreathing. The remaining Bravo Squad soldiers turned and opened fire blindly down the main street. Arthur moved to the stairs that led to the parapet and raced to the top as quickly as he could. He ducked down at the top and moved to the wall and took the quickest look he could without exposing himself un-necessarily. He saw a robed figure walking slowly up the street, fire dripping from his finger tips and a high pitched cackle emanating from the rictus of a face.

Arthur fell back before he was spotted and ran down the stairs as fast as he could, he had to get to the Sword. As he reached the courtyard, he could feel the hair on his arms standing on end and a crackle of power swirling through the air. Whoever this Mage was, he was headed to the palace and would be there momentarily. Arthur stopped and took in the view of the courtyard, there was a twenty-five metre run to get to the Sword, with no cover at all. He weighed up his options, took a deep breath, and then sprinted with all his strength toward the Executioners stone. The power in the air was getting stronger and the sound of more men meeting their end at the hands of this Mage. He was no more than five metres from the stairs to the stone when he stood on one of the border stones that lined the driveway leading to the front gate.

Nifor walked out of the Brothel, that little whore wasn't there, but he decided one was as good as the other. He was in a buoyant mood, the slut was lying broken and bloodied on the floor of the same room. It was that prick, Umberth's fault, her blood was on his hands, not his. As he exited the doorway, he saw something move up the street toward the palace. He stopped and peered through the darkness, yes, there was someone running to the gate. He stepped back to the shadowed doorway and watched for anything else. The first figure dropped to a knee and scanned the street with a large gun. Someone was attacking the King, he had to act, this was his moment to prove to the King he was worthy of a place at the King's side.

Nifor started chanting the power spell, his hands could feel the power building, and as it reached its crescendo, he focused on the figure squatting by the gate. He thrust his hands at the figure and lightening exploded from his hands which flashed across the distance between the two and smashed into the figure. He could see it was a man as the lightening lit the figures face, lifting him off the ground and smashing him into the wall to the side of the gates. The man fell dead and Nifor smiled, this was what he was meant to do, protect the King. He stepped further out and began throwing bolts of power at the other figures running at the gate. The first couple missed and hit the gates with an explosive force tearing divots out of the thick wood. The third and fourth found their targets, throwing the men against the unforgiving walls of the palace.

Arthur lay on the ground stunned for a moment, he wasn't sure what had happened and did a quick check of his body and limbs. He was uninjured, bar his pride, he had tripped over the stones lining the driveway. His face flushed and he forced himself up and stumbled toward the Executioners Stone. He reached the stairs and climbed them carefully and nervously, this was what they had done all this for, for him to take the Sword and begin the downfall of King Harold the First. He approached the statue of his father and stood for a moment staring at the remains of the man he didn't remember.

"Grab the Sword Arthur, we don't have the time." Geraint screamed from the gates. He looked at his friend, he was a little confused as to why Geraint was screaming, and then he remembered the screams of the men dying and the bolts of lightning flashing across the dark street. Arthur paused for a moment, the Sword was there inches from his hand all he had to do was reach out and take it.

In the back of his mind he heard a voice, a deep voice, one he felt he should know the voice.

"Son, you have grown into the man I believed you would be. I am sorry I was not there to assist you, teach you and be your father. I have watched you from afar and I have been so proud of you." It was his father's voice. "You are the man to wield the Sword of Power, Excalibur. The Lady of the Lake has blessed this blade and it will allow the good to triumph over evil. Take the blade, my son, take it and bring true and benevolent leadership to the Empire. I will always be watching you, Arthur. You are the greatest achievement of my life. Goodbye my son, I Love You."

Arthur felt the presence fade from his mind, and as he watched, the hand around the blade opened and moved free. Arthur reached out and grasped the Sword and pulled, but there was no resistance, it simply came free of the Stone. He looked at the gleaming blade and held it aloft. The runes engraved down the blade glowed bright blue, illuminating the entire the courtyard. Everyone stopped and stared at the figure on the stand holding the sword aloft glowing brightly. A figure slipped through the gates and stood looking at Arthur with pure, unadulterated hatred.

"Nooooooooo, you are not the one, you are not the one." He screamed and threw a massive bolt of energy at Arthur. The energy seemed move in slow motion arcing its way across the gap. Arthur turned and faced the bolt of energy, grasping the pommel of the Sword with both hands. The bolt bent up and struck the sword flush, but it absorbed the power and after a moment sent the bolt back to its sender, striking Nifor flush in the middle of his chest. Nifor froze, a rictus of horror on his face, slowly the power rose up his chest and neck, engulfing his face. Nifor tried to scream, but no sound came out, everyone in the courtyard was watching as Nifor's face turned red then blackened as the power took its toll. Arthur watched the Mage and thought nothing about the man or what he was or where he had come from.

Nifor couldn't understand what was happening to him, he was the Mage, and he was the power here. It turned out to be the last thing he ever thought, because his head exploded with a flash, there was no blood, no gore, just a massive clap of thunder and his head ceased to exist. The dead man's arms flailed around for a few moments before seeming to take a step, but the leg never made it all the way through and the body crashed to the ground. No one spoke, it was as silent as a church yard, and the sight of the Mages death had been shocking and completely unexpected. Arthur stood atop the Executioners stage, looking over the courtyard at his men standing around the stage in silence.

"Long Live the King." Geraint yelled, thrusting his fist in the air. A moment later the rest of the men were following their leaders example, all men were screaming their accolades with passion and gusto. Arthur slowly turned on the spot, brandishing Excalibur high above his head. The first nail was hammered into Harold's coffin, now it was time to retreat and plan his push to completely remove the loyalist threat.