Camelot

The wizard, forever young, provides little comfort. "It is the way of all things, my lord. Things fall apart, the center does not hold. The moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on. Tis no use to rage against the dying of the light, come let us enjoy what sunshine remains."

The king responds, "I cannot accept that."

A year past, the king’s best knight, Sir William of the brushed titanium, left on a quest and has been seen not. Other strong knights and ladies have made pilgrimages to foreign lands never to return. Season after season, the knights "vélocité de l’average" diminishes. The young squires of the land do not seek knighthood; instead the holy grail they seek is "inches of travel" and "single track". More disconcerting to the King: there is no honor in the peleton; it is every knight for himself.

The king rallies his knights at dawn.

"Knights of the round wheel, thirty years ago when we formed our league, our lofty goal was to encourage honor and respect for the laws of the road. And it has been a formidable task. We’ve fought cougars, jaguars, and falcons. Triumphed against mustangs, rams, and broncos. Been attacked by barracudas, cobras, and stingrays. And, in the end, we have always emerged triumphant. But now we face a new enemy, one who is stronger, more insidious than any we’ve ever fought."

"Who is he, my lord?" asks a knight on a valiant Bianchi steed, "is it the black knight of the fibrous carbon?"

"No, my good knight, it is a foe we cannot hope to overcome. My intent, however, is to delay his victory."

Off in the distance, I see a knight approach. But I cannot be certain who it is; the rider and steed are covered in dust. Ah, but the stroke is unmistakable! It is he who spinneth perfect circles, Sir William has returned! I shout, "Sire, a rider approaches!"

Wearily, Sir William weaves to the gate and nearly falls from his mistreated steed. Two squires rush to support him. In a ragged voice he says "I must have a word with the King".

The King hurries to his side, "Dear friend, you need to rest. We will talk soon after you have regained your strength."

"Nay, sire, I must tell you of my journey, for it has been a long and difficult one. I have crossed uncountable miles, climbed bitter mountains, traveled across endless plains. I’ve witnessed incredible beauty and incredible desolation."

"But, in all my days, I have not seen a more troubling site. Everywhere I’ve ridden, swarming masses of humanity claw for space. Their armored demons multiply without end. I’ve seen the future; the open road dwindles. Our kingdom is but an isolated enclave against the night."

The King reacts strongly to Sir William’s news. "Is he right, Wizard? Is our quest in vain? Are we but a fading remnant of a past long gone?"

The wizard responds, "Without hope of a better place, men falter. Without a higher cause, men fail. As long as Camelot stands men have hope. As long as our league holds, men have a higher service for which to rise. We are the last, best hope of those who choose to take their destiny into their own hands."

Resolve, like stone, sets in the King’s face. "Then we must make a stand men, or be swept aside. We shall continue to ride with honor and respect. We shall bequeath our legacy to our sons and daughters."

Suddenly, from the north, I hear the sound of cold laughter. It’s the black knight! The King follows my eye and shouts, "To your steeds, men!"

And as the sun sets, the King on his steel horse rides on.