Blood of Kings

by Billy Wong

  Ares slew him from behind, running him through the chest while he focused solely on detaining Mildy. She flashed her squire a grateful smile as they sprinted out the door. "Looks like you did rescue me after all. Now let's get out of here!"

  They ran together from the father who refused to hear her words, who now bellowed for his knights to join the chase. "That fast?" Ares cried.

  "He didn't even let me talk! He's crazed..."

  Behind them, Arthur screamed, "Stop running and face my justice!"

  Mildy didn't reply but ran faster, daring a glance back to see most of the knights still far away. Unfortunately, Ares too was trailing behind, while despite his age Arthur was keeping pace just fine. He wasn't even breathing hard, as if his anger had opened up a well of stamina somewhere deep inside. "Ares, hurry up! What good are you, if you can't run with your build?"

  He sped up enough so that they reached their mounts before Arthur could catch up, and throwing herself onto Irethine's back Mildy figured she would at least survive the day. She pulled Ares up behind her, and their fey steed took off like a bolt of lightning. The pursuing knights pounded into view on their huge horses, but Irethine abandoned the road for the forest and left them behind. While the warhorses were fast, they and their riders did not know to negotiate the woods like the unicorn did.

  Of course, that didn't mean everything was all right. As Irethine led them towards a destination Mildy did not know but trusted to be safe, she began to sob.

  "What's wrong?" Ares asked.

  "What's wrong? Everything! My best friend got banished from the land, my other friend got murdered by my father for doing nothing at all, and Arthur will be hunting the fey soon! Poor Galahad... and it's not as if Arthur's just going to let me go, either."

  "What are we going to do?" His voice was small and shaky, and Mildy recognized that she must sound the same way.

  She paused for a bit. "I'll fight. I can't let myself get killed over no fault of my own, not even by my father."

  "You can't stand against him alone."

  "I know. But I'm going to help the fey, however I can." But she in fact felt totally helpless. She was a good warrior, but against all of Camelot's resources did not think she could make much of a difference.

  He nodded grimly. "I'm so sorry, Milady."

  "Ares? If you don't want to stay here, if you want to go home, then it's okay. I won't make you risk your life for such stupidity's sake."

  "Go home?" He stared at her like she'd turned into a frog. "What, just run away when things get tough? No way. You're my knight, and I won't abandon you no matter who we have to fight. I've gotten used to risking my life."

  She wasn't as surprised as she would've expected to be. "Thanks, Ares. You can be sure you'll be the first one I knight, when I'm queen."

  "When you're queen?"

  "I'm the rightful heir to the throne, remember?" Mildy chuckled. "No, Ares, I'm joking! I do hope we can settle this before anything too bad happens." But she doubted very much that peace could be negotiated without bloodshed. Her father was not known for compromise.

  #

  Irethine carried his riders into a vibrant glade, with trees which seemed older and statelier than in any other they had visited. He led them before a tall faerie woman with a pale, ageless face, whose gray eyes appeared older than any of the great trees. Mildy dismounted, and the woman glided over to hug Irethine.

  "It's been a long time, hasn't it? But I see you're as picky as you've ever been." She turned towards the humans. "Lady Mildred, isn't it? I am Titania, Queen of the Faeries. Your faces tell me something terrible has happened. What is it?"

  Mildy patted Irethine appreciatively. The unicorn had known just where to bring them. "Arthur will come soon. He has sworn to destroy the fey."

  The faerie woman exhaled sharply, but her voice was steady when she replied, "Arthur himself? He has been nothing but a friend all these years. What has happened?"

  Mildy explained, breaking into tears again. At her revelation she had found and lost the Grail, the faerie frowned and hung her head. "You must tell all your folk to flee," Mildy said, "away from these isles. I'm so sorry."

  "We cannot flee. Our lives are tied to this land, and if we leave we will die."

  Suddenly, everything seemed even more hopeless than it already had. "But you can't stand against him. You are few, and cannot fight. How can you possibly hope to win?"

  "We are not without allies, friends who would not stand for our slaughter. Besides, there are still those who remember Arthur's brutal conquest of the land, and begrudge him for it. We may not be warriors, but those who cannot fight can learn. Long have I dreaded a war with the humans who follow the new ways, but there is no other choice."

  It took Mildy a while to come to terms with Titania's next words. "And you will lead us."

  "Me? I'm a loner, not used to leading many warriors, and there must be more seasoned commanders among your allies."

  "Yes, but none who would be easily accepted by the rest, and we cannot afford to bicker amongst ourselves. But you are a new face, an unknown quality, and I believe you can win them over. Arthur was younger than you when he set out to become High King, and already we believed he would do great things. You are his daughter, and in you I see that same strength."

  Mildy's body shook while she weighed her decision. She couldn't help thinking how cruel it was, for a daughter to be forced into war against her father. But slowly, she began to believe the fey would have a better chance of surviving if she led them. Anyone else's judgment would likely be clouded by fear of mighty Arthur, but not hers. She dreaded the thought of fighting her father, but she would not cower before his rage. She nodded grimly.

  "I'll do it. I got you into this mess, and I'll try my best to get you out. But first, I have to go and pick up my mother."

  #

  Mildy and her allies enjoyed a short respite, for Arthur had killed his only wizardly ally in Nimue and could no longer find the hidden refuges of the fey. In that time the faerie smiths crafted new armor for their champion—a enchanted suit of golden plate, lighter and yet stronger than her familiar steel, though she was unsure if it reflected her spirit better than Melegant's black plate. Still, if not great proof against Excalibur, it would ward her well against lesser blades.

  The fey gathered together like they had never done before, preparing for the war that would decide their fate. They called upon all who would fight with them to come to their aid—those who still begrudged Arthur's war against the pagan tribes years ago; knights and lords who owed friendship to the faerie folk; friends of Galahad and Nimue who sought to avenge those two dead; and others who simply wished to oppose an unjust war.

  As well, there were all manner of supernatural creatures born of nature and kindred to the fey, some of which Mildy would normally have considered enemies. Goblins and leprechauns, trolls and giants, unicorns and dryads, and even the odd dragon joined her side. The unlikely and often volatile alliance grew and grew, forming a diverse and vast army second only to one in all of Europe—Arthur's.

  Though the faeries themselves were at first reluctant to take up arms, they learned quickly, and Mildy found herself impressed by the basic skills they acquired in the short time they had. Particularly noteworthy were their accuracy with the bow and their empathy with horses. While they would not be the elite of the army, every warrior would be valued in such a desperate fight.

  Camelot's resources remained without equal, and Arthur soon hired an entire cadre of magicians from Arabia to his aid. Upon finding out the enemy could again attack their mystically hidden bases, Mildy's army took the initiative and made a preemptive strike. But though her forces did much damage to supplies and morale in that first hit-and-run assault, they hardly scored a decisive blow.

  For bloody months the two armies picked at one another in skirmishes all over the kingdom, destroying Britannia's economy as Arthur pumped its wealth into the war. The outpowered rebels relied on surprise and ma
gical deceptions to do some damage here and there, while Arthur sought to destroy them with brute force, raiding their hideouts wherever they could find them.

  Again and again Mildy contacted Arthur via bird and messenger, begging him to meet her in talks of peace. But he would not reply, and she was unwilling to expose herself to his wrath without guarantee of her safety. Once she met Gawain in battle, and pleaded with him to help make her case to her father. For a moment he considered, then seemed to remember his watching allies and attacked. Not wanting to kill him, she tried to incapacitate him with a strike at the leg. But he shifted at an unfortunate time, and her blow landed on his groin. As he sped away moaning on his horse, she hoped the damage wasn't permanent, and that they could still reconcile their differences someday.

  Both sides garnered their share of success in the ongoing battles, but the allies of the fey steadily dwindled in number while there seemed no limit to the troops Arthur could raise. Knowing the end was near, Mildy led her forces into one last all-or-nothing confrontation with her father.

  Her plan was simple enough. Bit by bit she snuck a portion of her army into hiding in a faerie glen connected to a hilltop in Lyonnesse, then gathered the rest of her forces and led it towards Camelot. Arthur, eager as he was for her end, wasted no time in marching to meet her. After a brief clash Mildy ordered a retreat, and as expected Arthur pursued without hesitation. The army of Camelot passed the fateful hill, only to find themselves caught between the jaws of Mildy's trap.

  Even pressed from two sides, though, Arthur's army still had discipline and numbers on its side, and as the rear held Mildy's offensive began to falter. She blinked back tears while she made her decision, knowing the key was to remove her father. He, the glue which held Camelot together, always fought at his army's head, and in that lay her one chance. But even if she succeeded, she knew victory would not sit well in her heart.

  Across the meadow she spotted Excalibur rising and falling in the thick of the fight, already dripping with blood and gore. She rushed for that grisly marker, her blows caving in many a skull and chest while she hammered down any knight in her way. She bore these men no personal grudge, nor cared anymore for the honor she would gain in their defeat, but killed them for her very survival, every man she felled one less to threaten her life. Mildy knew she fought for the right cause, that she had justice on her side. They had to win; she would not die for nothing but Nimue's lies.

  Finally, she found her father among the fields of death and tried one last time to argue her case. "I didn't mean to kill him, father. It was an accident, and none of us here meant to harm you. Can't we stop this?"

  "It's a bit too late to stop."

  "I'm your daughter. How can we be sitting here, ready to shed each other's blood? We don't seek much from you, not even to win—only to survive, to live in peace again—is that so much to ask?"

  "Yes, it is. You killed Percival, who I loved as the son I never had. I'll have your head for that."

  "But I'm your daughter!"

  "You are still saying that after all these years. What proof do you have? If I am your father, who is your mother?"

  She wanted not to answer, but if she didn't one or both of them would die today. That would be worse than any secret. "Morgan, father. Your sister is my mother."

  Arthur glared at her with slitted eyes, Excalibur rising slightly in his grasp. "How dare you speak such vile words!"

  "I dare because it's true. That female warrior you raped when you fought the tribes"—God, she hoped there hadn't been more than one!—"that was her. Your sister."

  "How can you know about that? Lancelot must have told you, didn't he? Perhaps I was too lenient in merely banishing that adulterous dog after all."

  "No, Lance didn't tell me. Morgan did. She's alive, and never forgiven you for what you did. She wants me to kill you."

  Slowly, he nodded. "It makes sense now. You're doing her dirty work, you and the hated faeries who took her in."

  So he finally believed she was his daughter, and yet didn't seem to care. Mildy could tell nothing that mattered had changed between them, that in his eyes she was still the crazy girl he had to kill. But what really surprised her was that he seemed unmoved by her revelation Morgan was her mother.

  "You knew who you raped, didn't you?"

  For the first time, his tone softened a bit. "No... not then. But I figured it out later, after it was done. I was so ashamed, I wanted to kill myself. But I couldn't do that. I was destined to be king. I thought she was dead, and so I tried to forget. I almost succeeded—until now. My sleep will never know peace again."

  Mildy was a bit afraid to speak, but finally found her voice. "Father, I didn't start this war. Percival, no, Nimue did. So let's stop this before any more die."

  In an instant his voice turned cold again. "Enough. I won't hear any more of your lies, Dread Lady. We came here to fight and die, not to toss blame back and forth between us."

  She spread her arms helplessly. "But I'm not blaming you. I'm telling you what is."

  "And my mind tells me another thing."

  "This is so stupid. We're family, and you won't even give me a chance to plead my case. How can you be so callous, so ready to throw away the life of the daughter you never knew?"

  He scowled. "You may be my daughter, but you killed the man who was to be my son. And you'll destroy me, if I allow your words to poison my heart. You would be the downfall of Camelot, except I will never allow that to pass."

  "Damn Nimue..." Mildy bowed her head, tears streaming from her eyes. Then she looked up, meeting her father's venomous stare. "I give you one last chance. Talk to us of peace, or I'll end this war, any way I have to."

  "Then end it," he spat, and spurred his great black charger on to meet her. As they closed the roaring battlefield melted into a disconnected blur, in which only she and Arthur seemed real. She struck first, her flail crashing against his wide shield. But he tore a strip of iron rim from her own shield at the first return blow, and his second slash cut into her leg. Staring at the blood running down her calf, she realized just how little her even her magic armor was worth against Excalibur.

  She punched at his face with her shield. He jammed his crossguard against the rim and pushed it aside. Before she could recover her guard, he smashed his shield into her chest. She reeled in the saddle, and Excalibur swept down. Mildy tried to block, but the magic sword bit right through her shield and into her forearm. Damn that blade!

  Too late for doubts; she would just have to make do. She drove forward on Irethine, the unicorn pressing up against the king's warhorse. Mildy and Arthur grappled awkwardly, and Excalibur drew a shallow cut over her neck in passing. Knowing he could slit her throat if he got control of the blade, Mildy raked desperately at her father's eyes.

  He leaned away, clutching at his face. She dented his breastplate with a heavy blow from her flail. She urged her mount after him, and again they exchanged wild blows. He hit her again and again, and soon her armor hung in pieces from her torn, bleeding body. He was so strong and fast, she could hardly believe he was three decades older than she—as powerful as any knight in his prime, with the finely honed instincts and killer's wit of a true master warrior.

  But that just made them much the same. Mildy refused to give in, returning every blow with equal zeal, knowing she was battering him to a pulp inside his dented armor. Hundreds of blows fell, and dozens landed so that Mildy lost count of her hurts. Her body seemed to float in a sea of pain, her breaths grew ever more ragged. Still she pressed the attack, knowing if she faltered she would never get a second chance.

  Slowly, she began to get the advantage, Arthur forced to back away on his whinnying horse. Hunched with fatigue over Irethine's neck, Mildy nonetheless pursued him. But as she closed, he lashed out at the unicorn's snout, and too far back Mildy could do nothing to stop it. Oh, God... Irethine's face split apart, and in her horror Mildy barely retained the sense to leap from her falling mount. She rolled to a crouch
and glared up at her father.

  "You killed my friend," she snarled.

  Arthur sneered, towering over her on his steed. "It was just a stupid horse."

  "What kind of knight are you, father?"

  "I am not a knight. I am a king."

  Mildy threw aside her broken shield, only to wince at the white of bone exposed through a rent in her arm guard. She charged her father on foot, and his horse reared to strike her. She spun past the flailing hooves, moving towards Arthur's back in an attempt to force him to twist awkwardly to meet her attack. But his well-trained horse turned to keep her within easy reach of his sword. Excalibur flashed down.

  She dodged chopping blows at her shoulders and head, barely able to mount any offense of her own. The magic sword glanced along her upper arm, tearing another plate loose. She couldn't beat him like this. With no other choice left, she twisted and whipped her flail into his horse's armored head. It fell sideways, and Arthur came tumbling off.

  Almost calmly, he pushed himself to his feet and raised Excalibur again. "You're bleeding like a pig, Mildred. You can't last long."

  "And you? I'm amazed you can even stand." His armor was misshapen from her many blows, and blood had begun to seep from the gaps.

  Arthur looked down, seeming to notice his wounds for the first time. He exhaled, and ever so slightly his head and hands seemed to dip. But then he straightened again, the great warrior unwilling to bow to pain.

  "You are a worthy enemy."

  "I wish it weren't so," she replied, and they met again. Their blows rained down on each other as intensely as they had on horse. Like a berserker immune to pain Arthur seemed as strong as ever, and though Mildy felt weak nearly to the point of death, she simply refused to slow. At this rate, she just might die on her feet. By now, her armor was painted almost completely red with her blood.

  For ages their weapons rose and fell, flashes of sun interrupting the blur of their dancing steel, until finally Mildy thought she saw victory hover close to reach. She landed a lucky blow to Arthur's thigh, not enough to break the bone but robbing muscles of their strength. He punched Excalibur's hilt into her mouth, making her spit blood, and went into a staggering retreat. She charged after him, determined to finish him off.