Tweet of the Day: How to Tell if Your Story Begins Too Soon
The green skins walked into the hall. A head taller than Kay, my cousin and the tallest man there. Wide of shoulder and with muscles sculpted by a lifetime of war. Their leader stopped in front of Father, took a knee and then bowed.
“Severus, friend of the Angles, blood brother of Kings, I Helgi, son of Sigurd bring ill omens,” said their leader in rough yet clear Latin.
Father put a hand on Helgi’s shoulder, “Rise Helgi, son of Sigurd, what news do you bring from the North?”
He did as he was told, “Our father is dead, as is my uncle. Uncle’s followers blame me for the deed and have gone to our ancestral home to seek more of our kin. The mean to destroy me and those who have pledged themselves to me, our allies and anyone my father called a friend.”
“They would break the covenant forged on Mount Badon?” asked Father, crow fingers stretched from the edge of his dark eyes.
“More than that, for they agreed to a truce with the painted ones and forfeited all bonds of fellowship and trust. They seek vengeance upon me and my kin and will not stop until we are all dead, Winter’s Champion,” said Helgi with a heavy sigh.
Merlin frowned at the mention of “Winter’s Champion”. He joined Father, Helgi and the rest of the warriors to the next room. Among them was Mordred. For a moment I noticed a glint in his eyes, like the rays of a morning sun upon fresh fallen snow. My stomach churned.
Ill omens indeed.