Blood of Kings

by Billy Wong

  "No," a confident female voice said, "I'm Morgan le Fay, the legendary warrior-witch. You had better run away, because that was your last warning."

  Ironheart took a step back, seemingly fooled by the bravado of Mildy's mother. "What is wrong with women nowadays? I've had more than my fill of female warriors recently." He looked down at Laerin, and a wicked gleam came into his eyes. "You may be strong, but you're far away. I'll bet you can't save your friend." And pushing down casually, he dug the tip of his sword into Laerin's shoulder.

  The agony and nausea of the iron piercing his flesh made Laerin thrash and wail, and his vision disappeared in tears. Somewhere beyond the fog of pain he heard Ironheart speak, loud and confident. "As I suspected. You're not even moving to help him. You're scared of me; you're no great warrior. I'm going to make you suffer for trying to trick me." The iron withdrew from Laerin's shoulder, though fiery anguish only continued to spread through his body, and Ironheart walked on towards the woman who'd dared to defy him.

  #

  Morgan backed away while her heart tried to jump out of her chest, her mind chiding her for the stupidly brave action her heart had made her take. Why couldn't she just have tried to sneak away? She'd had minimal training with her old longsword, but having never used it for over twenty years, the hunk of steel felt heavy and cumbersome in her hands. She could barely hold onto it with the sweat coating her fingers. The giant stalked assuredly towards her, quickening his pace to close the gap even as she continued to retreat. Before she knew it, he stood nearly within sword's reach. It was now or never...

  Calling on fuzzy memories of fighting against Arthur's men, Morgan threw herself at her opponent. She remembered unhappily that she'd never been successful against a fully prepared opponent without help from her allies. Hence, she was unsurprised to watch her sword pushed aside by his parrying blade just before he reversed the stroke and cut into her side.

  She gasped, doubling over as she clutched at the wound. A heavy kick drove her to her back, her sword landing with a splash in the mud beside her. She raised her forearm in a vain defensive gesture, and the glint of sun off Ironheart's sword burned into her eyes.

  Somehow, she was able to roll out of the way, the blade chopping into the ground where her head had been moments ago. Grabbing up her sword, she slashed at the huge man's knee. A good effort, but her blow proved too weak to penetrate the armor covering the joint. Almost lazily, he kicked her back down.

  Before Morgan could react, he stomped on her hand, and daggers of pain shot up her forearm as bones shattered under his iron boot. She wailed, prying at his foot with shaking fingers and all but helpless with agony. The man could have killed her then and there, but instead grabbed her by the hair and jerked her painfully upright. A hard punch to the face made her see stars, and the second, even stronger, blow crushed her nose nearly flat on her face.

  Hanging semiconscious by her hair in his grasp, she heard him say, "See? I told you you'd suffer for trying to trick me. Serves you right for siding with devils, I'd say." He smiled with his eyes, and she thought he would surely kill her. Instead he released her hair, letting her collapse in a limp heap. "Watch how your friend dies, and learn what manner of creature they truly are." Turning his back, he walked away.

  Though terrible pain misted her eyes, Morgan dragged herself towards the faerie who had been stabbed in the shoulder, sucking air through her mouth while blood poured from her destroyed nose. Pressing her good hand against the gash in her side, she raised herself to her knees. He didn't seem to be bleeding too much.

  "Are you alright? It's not such a bad wound."

  "It was iron, lady," he reminded her in a surprisingly calm voice. "I'm dying."

  Having nothing helpful to say, she patted his shoulder uselessly. Then she looked around at the rotting remains of the people who had taken care of her for over two decades, bowed her head, and wept.

  #

  The men followed Mildy through the portal only her unicorn could see, and the group returned to Morgan's village without a hitch. But the eerie quiet which pervaded the air disturbed them all, and they wondered what was going on. The smell of flowers was gone. Morgan limped out of a hut, looking wretched with a battered, swollen face and bloodied side. Her nose was crushed against her face, and her voice shook.

  "He came here and killed everyone—the faerie-killer, that is. Me and Laerin are the only ones left, as far as I know, and I don't think he has long to live."

  "And are you okay?" Mildy asked, staring at her mother's ugly wounds. Her teeth ground together, as only now she noticed Morgan's horribly twisted hand.

  "It hurts, but I'll live. I'm not a faerie, so he didn't poison me. Though you probably should fix up my hand and nose before they heal wrong."

  Her mother's physical toughness surprised Mildy, but then again, they were kin. She snapped the broken bones back into place and wrapped Morgan's hand with long strips of cloth. "Does your side need stitches?"

  "It's not that bad."

  She had Ares take a look anyway. Entering the tent from which her mother had emerged, she found a pale Laerin lying on a mat, his breathing weak and shallow.

  "You tried to attack him too, didn't you?" she said with a false smile.

  "No, I ran. But he caught me. It hurts, Mildy."

  "Is there anything I can do?"

  Laerin's eyes were blank with hopelessness. "I don't think so."

  Mildy wasn't ready to give up that easily. "How long do you have?"

  "Hours, maybe even a day. The wound isn't so bad, and hence neither's the poisoning. But it'll kill me, in the end."

  "Can't Irethine help you?"

  He rolled his eyes. "A unicorn cure my iron poisoning? That shouldn't work, for obvious reasons."

  "Then I'll find Ironheart, and take the means to save you from his corpse."

  Lance asked the question Laerin must have been about to. "How? What do you mean?"

  "You know how I was sure I killed him last time, but he came back good as new? He may claim God's favor, but I think he has some magical means of healing himself, else he'd be very dead right now." She could only hope the magic resided in some item he carried with him.

  "It's too late," Laerin said. "You'll never find him in time."

  "How long ago did he leave here?"

  "About an hour or two."

  "Then it's definitely not too late to find him, especially on horseback. Come on, Lance."

  Ares stepped into the hut as Mildy turned to leave. "Your mother will be fine. It's just a flesh wound."

  "Good. We're going hunting."

  #

  The sky had begun to darken with the onset of night when the huge armored back came into view down the road. "Ironheart!" Mildy cried. "Turn and face your end!"

  He turned and laughed as she dismounted Irethine, intending to face him on even terms. "You again? Your little trick did you well, I'll give you that. But I'm ready for you this time."

  "Good. It's time I take your life and your pride, for what you did to my mother."

  "What, that madwoman calling herself Morgan le Fay is your mother?"

  "Calling herself? That's her name." Even if her life had not been what legend made it out to be.

  Mildy charged. Ironheart's sword flashed at her head to skid off her raised shield. She landed a glancing blow to his left bicep with her flail, and he stumbled away with a grunt of pain. He spun back towards her with a quick slash. But she was ready and angled her shield to deflect the blow. The blade slowed as it scraped along the wooden face and Mildy took advantage, kicking Ironheart in the gut to send him back a step.

  He came on again a moment later. She sidestepped a vertical chop, unsure if her shield could withstand such a blow. He intercepted her next flail strike with his sword, but the blade was knocked down and to the side, leaving his face open. Mildy brought her thick shield up, smashing the rim into his chin, and knocked him down.

  "I've got two weapons," she taunted, then stepped fo
rward with a downswing intended to crush his skull. He kicked at her knee, forcing her to hop back, and stood with a slash which bit into her left forearm.

  Ignoring the pain while she swung her flail again and found it knocked aside by a powerful slash, Mildy took a cut across her belly. It glanced off her armor and she made good use of the lucky break, stepping in to ram her elbow into Ironheart's face. He stumbled back. Her flail came down on his right shoulder, hopefully breaking it. No such luck; he rolled the joint as if to shake off the pain, still able to move it.

  Not wanting to give him a chance to recover, Mildy continued her assault, battering Ironheart about the upper torso. They were not particularly strong or precise blows, but he dropped to his knees under the ceaseless hammering. Suddenly he put his hand on her codpiece and shoved her back. While she tried to regain her balance, he slashed hard at her shins.

  She reacted quickly, diving over his head as he swung. It was tough to do in full armor, but she wasn't about to lose her feet. Landing behind him, she rolled up and turned with a powerful twist of her hips, whipping her flail through the air at head level. Her expectations proved correct as their weapons clashed together, but this time Ironheart's sword broke at the center, upper half disappearing among the bushes some fifteen feet away.

  "You're good," Ironheart admitted as he thrust at Mildy's heart with his broken blade. She stepped to the right, allowing it to glance off the side of her breastplate, and drove him to one knee with a grazing hit to the head. He grabbed her ankle, yanked her off her feet and reared up to stab down at her face. She jerked her head aside, but found herself pinned under the huge man. He grinned.

  Struggling with all her considerable strength, she managed to pitch him off herself. They both stood. He slashed at her with his half-sword, but with his shortened reach she only had to lean back to avoid the blow. Her flail caught him on the hand, forcing him to drop what remained of his weapon. But his gauntleted fist smashed into her cheek, spinning her around, and she fell facedown gasping in pain. A huge arm encircled her face and pulled, straining to break her neck. She reached back and tried to rake his eyes, but only touched hard metal; his visor slit was too narrow.

  Mildy forced herself up to her knees and threw herself backwards, landing atop Ironheart while he continued to try and break her neck. No good... wait. His sword, in the mud, within arm's reach. She grabbed the broken blade, angled it down, and stabbed it into his side with desperate strength. His grip loosened and she broke free, panting for breath.

  Ironheart stood and pulled the sword from his flank to slash at her face. Still weakened by lack of air, she fell on her back when she tried to dodge, but kicked him in the groin and pushed him back. He tried to ignore the pain, his knees bent as he struggled to remain standing. Just a little more... she kicked him again, knocking him down, and ran for her flail.

  She heard Ares' shout of warning just before she felt the stabbing pain in her back. Mildy crashed face first into the mud, her left arm going limp and useless even to break her fall. Heavy, deliberate footsteps drew ever closer while she struggled to push herself up with one working arm, and she heard Ironheart say, "How do you like the taste of your own medicine, wench?" He reached down, gripping the handle of his sword in her back, and began to wrench it back and forth.

  She screamed, her senses giving way to red agony, and her body threatened to fall into a fatal swoon. But she couldn't give up. She wrapped her legs around one of Ironheart's and pulled. He fell behind her, ripping his sword out as he did, and she rolled agonizingly to her back. She closed her eyes and moaned, shaking with anguish.

  Mildy lifted her head, trying to get a look at her opponent, and saw him bending for the sword dropped in his fall. Summoning a last burst of strength, she dragged herself up and rushed. Her arm flopping at her side, she tackled him just as his fingers brushed the hilt. Taken off guard, he stumbled back several feet and tripped, Mildy landing atop him. His hand shot up, seeking to gouge out her eyes. She caught his fingers in her mouth and bit down, ignoring the taste of salty blood and bitter grime. But his other hand reached up, and she looked frantically for something with which to finish the fight.

  A heavy rock lay just out of reach, and she shifted her body a bit to grab it. His fingers spasmed inside her mouth when she smashed it into his face, and he tried weakly to block with his free hand. She raised it again and brought it down again. The twitching slowed. And she kept doing it until the fingers she bit moved no more than roasted chicken wings would.

  "I beat him, Lance," she said breathlessly, still straddling Ironheart's motionless body.

  Lance's voice was soft with concern. "That was impressive, but you ought to have taken better care of yourself fighting him. Are you alright?"

  "I don't know. I got stabbed. At least there's no blood coming up my throat."

  "Try to stay awake."

  "I am trying." It would be hard to sleep anyway, considering how much she hurt.

  Ares ran to her side. "Damn," he whispered. "Your back..."

  "It's bad, isn't it?"

  He hugged her, careful not to touch her wound. "I thought you were done when he stabbed you—don't let us down now. Can you move?"

  She groaned as she shifted into a sitting position, a river of warm blood running down her back. The pain was incredible, and she still couldn't move her arm. "Where's my unicorn?" Eyes fixed on her injury, Irethine trotted eagerly before her and lowered his horn towards her body.

  "Wait," Lance said. "If he heals you and collapses, how will we get to Laerin in time? We're not getting back into the glen without the unicorn. Can you handle bearing that wound a while longer?"

  "As long as necessary," she bragged, hiding her worry. What kind of damage had the sword done to her?

  "Neither of you ever asked the other to surrender," Ares said, "even when it looked like one of you had the victory. Why was that? I thought it was knightly custom to ask the opponent to yield."

  "It isn't when the knight wants her enemy dead. As for him, I don't think he even is a real knight. Bet he's a barbarian in disguise." She reached down and opened the giant's visor to find him fair-skinned and blond, with a long beard beaded in the Nordic fashion. Somehow, he wasn't quite dead yet, but with his pulped face, blood oozing from every orifice, Mildy knew he soon would be. "A foreigner, like I thought. But I wonder why he was here?"

  "Maybe a faerie wronged him, and he came looking for revenge. But we can think about that later. Be quiet, Milady. Save your strength."

  Lance looked through Ironheart's things while Mildy let Ares inspect her wounds, and she felt her squire's hands tremble as they touched her back. It must have been really bad. Feeling weaker and weaker as blood continued to pour down her back, she glanced hopefully at Lance. "You find it yet? Maybe whatever he's got can heal me too." He didn't answer her at first, and she looked more closely at the object in his hands. Her eyes bulged with the realization it could only be one thing. "Lance, is that..?"

  "I think it is. The Holy Grail."

  Chapter 5

  "The thing that heals all wounds when you drink from it?" Ares asked. "It must have been what he used to heal himself... so come and give your crippled friend a sip, will you?"

  Mildy frowned. "Crippled?"

  "The sword lodged in your shoulder blade. It pretty much shattered the bone, actually."

  "No wonder my arm's not listening to me."

  "Yeah... I don't know how good its chances are of healing properly."

  "Well, then, give me that cup!" Lance handed it over, and Mildy took a big gulp of the water which magically flowed when she tipped it to her lips. The pain disappeared from her wounds, and for a moment an unbelievable itch replaced it, like they were healing all at once. Then her hurts were gone, and she flexed her right arm appreciatively. She felt more refreshed than she had at the beginning of the day. "Now that feels good! I just hope I didn't exhaust the healing."

  Lance laughed. "I'm sure you didn't. It's the Grail, not
a unicorn."

  Mildy sprang to her feet and leapt gracefully onto Irethine's back. Her muscles were bursting with new energy, but more than that the discovery of the Grail had recharged her mentally as well. The relic could do so much to better the world, and that she had found it gave her new hope. Right now, though, there was one particular person it needed to save.

  "We're coming, Laerin," she breathed while she nudged Irethine into a brisk canter. "Just hold on!"

  Along the way, Lance mused in a confused tone, "How could a monster like Ironheart come to possess the Holy Grail, when every knight worth his name hasn't been able to find it since forever? Was he truly a favored servant of God?"

  Mildy scoffed. "No knights found it before, but we did, didn't we? And we beat him doing it, or I did. I'd like to believe that he was the challenge to test its pursuers, and I the one who proved worthy of it."

  "But you weren't even looking for the grail," Ares said.

  "I sort of was. We went after him to find a way to save Laerin—it just happened to be the Grail. So what do you want to do with it, after we heal the faerie?"

  "You don't know?"

  "Like you said, I never thought I'd find it." Her joy lessened as she considered her options. "I know many knights would offer it to King Arthur if it were up to them, but after all I've learned, I wouldn't feel that good about leaving God's greatest treasure in his hands."

  "I wouldn't either," Lance said. "But who else would we give it to? Seems like it would take an awful lot of power to keep it from being stolen, if its location got out."

  "Oberon," Mildy suggested.

  "Who?"

  She smiled. "I don't even know if he really exists, though if faeries do, I suppose he could too—the high king of the fey, who rules from the mythic isle of Avalon."

  "Where is that?"

  "I'm not sure, but maybe we can ask Laerin later. Now, nobody say anything about the Grail to anyone, alright?"

  Both men agreed, and Lance started to laugh. "I sure am glad I followed you on this quest. Now I get to share the credit with you, even though you did all the work."