Blood of Kings

by Billy Wong

  "Me?"

  "She's consumed with hatred for you. She keeps talking about how she longs to kill you, but that you're too strong, so she keeps dreaming about it instead. It's quite sad. I know she loved Arthur, but he's dead and I'm alive. I wish she would let go of the past, and focus her attention on the love she could have now." Mildy saw a lonely tear roll down his cheek.

  "Crap. I'm actually getting scared here." What if Guinevere really started making plans to kill her? Despite her prowess she was still mortal, and the former queen far too close for comfort.

  "Then order her to leave. I'll go with her, and hopefully she'll improve away from you."

  But then Mildy wouldn't have him. "I don't want you to leave, Lance."

  He laughed. "Don't worry, Mildy. We could stay in the town, and I'll come and visit all the time. Just get us out of the castle, and you won't have to watch your back for Gwen's sake. She'll be distressed at having to live in a mere house, but better that than the two of you being near each other."

  Mildy couldn't help a smile. "So I'll have to banish you after all, huh? Like father, like daughter?"

  "Don't worry, you're much sweeter than he was. I used to think you were just a lovable loon, and now look at you. Queen Mildred of Britannia. Just like a fairy tale."

  Of course he didn't mean to hurt her, but he did. "No fairy tale would have the princess killing her father to become queen, or that her father raped her mother to make her, or that she got stabbed in the heart taking her crown..."

  "Sorry, sorry! Don't cry." He poked her sternum with his index finger, grinning. "How is your big old chest? Does it still hurt to breathe?"

  She let his soothing tone calm her a bit and smiled. "A little, but I'm fine. Hope we can find the Grail once you leave." She paused. "You're great, Lance."

  "I know. You're the second ruler of Britannia to say so."

  "Always a big player, aren't you?" She grabbed him in a tight hug, and stood on tiptoe to touch noses with him. "I'll miss you, friend."

  "I'll only be a few minutes' walk away."

  Mildy shrugged. "Still, Camelot won't be the same."

  He rolled his eyes. "So, then. When are you going to banish me?"

  #

  The announcement of Guinevere's exile went fairly smoothly, as Mildy stayed out of her sight and let her none too thrilled staff do the talking. But during the time allotted to Guinevere to pack, Ares noticed her missing from her room and decided to look for her in case she decided to do something stupid, like commit suicide. He found her doing something worse.

  Morgan lay sprawled at Guinevere's feet, her hair bloody against her scalp as she tried to crawl away. A large vase lay in pieces around and over Mildy's wounded mother. The former queen pulled a dagger from her belt and began to ramble furiously.

  "This is for my husband, you faerie-loving witch! Some great warrior you are. I'm going to make your daughter suffer with your death. I'm going to slice your throat you old buzzard, and your black heart's going to pump you dry. You're going to hell, I'm sending you there-"

  "Stop it," Ares said, voice unsteady. "She didn't do anything."

  Morgan looked up, and her dazed eyes filled with relief at the arrival of help. Didn't she know what bad help Ares could be? He was shaking like a wet dog.

  "Don't you dare, squire," Guinevere snarled. "Don't you dare!"

  Dare what? He was just telling her to stop. She knelt as though to carry out her threat, and Ares found out what he dared. He took a quick step forward and kicked at her hand, hoping to knock the knife out of her grasp. Unfortunately, she saw him coming and slashed him on the shin. Though it wasn't a deep wound, he hopped back in pain, and Guinevere attempted again the murder she planned.

  This time, Ares kicked at her head, his leg stinging as he connected with her jaw. She fell in a heap at Morgan's side, and he realized with amazement that he'd just knocked out royalty. He couldn't help imagining he would get in trouble.

  He picked up the dropped knife and looked at Morgan. "Are you all right?"

  She rubbed her head and nodded. "Yes. I'm not much of a fighter, but I'm used to pain."

  He helped her to her feet. "Let's get that looked at. It looks like you might need stitches."

  "And to cut my hair?"

  Ares smiled and followed her towards the door. Before he could get one foot into the hall, he heard the noise behind him and realized Guinevere was getting up. He hadn't expected that; he must not have hit her as hard as he'd thought. He spun while the crazed woman threw herself at Morgan behind him. Right onto her own dagger. She gasped when the blade slid between her ribs, and her body stiffened as it crashed into his own. She managed to pull herself free, her mouth an open hole. Then, she took two steps back and crumpled to the floor.

  Staring at the fallen woman, Ares wished she would move, scream, do anything to indicate she was still alive. But she was no Mildy, and when he finally mustered the courage to check her pulse, he found exactly what he'd expected and feared. Guinevere was dead.

  Chapter 11

  Still seated in their chairs following the former queen's funeral, Mildy patted her squire's back and tried to comfort him. "Ares, you did good. You saved my mom, and didn't get yourself killed. I'm really glad you were there when you were."

  "You are? I made your best friend hate you." Ever since Guinevere's death four days ago, Lance had hardly spoken to either of them. Mildy's chest pained her no longer, the Grail having been found in Guinevere's room, but the hurt she felt at witnessing her friend's all-consuming grief seemed even worse.

  Resting her weary head in her hands, Mildy sighed. "I'm sure he doesn't hate me. He's just devastated by what happened. Anyone would be." And he probably blamed himself for Guinevere's death. He'd suggested her banishment, and it seemed that trauma had been the last straw for her sanity.

  Ares nodded. "Just when we thought things were beginning to go well..."

  "I know. The past just won't let go, or rather people won't let go of it. It's hard."

  "If this was the last tragedy brought about by past grudges, I'll be glad."

  She wasn't sure it would be. There were still so many prevalent links to the violent past. Her father's foreign allies, whose relationships with Britannia had been thrown into turmoil over his death. The apparent obsession over Excalibur as a symbol of power shared not only by her allies, but many enemies as well. The pagan tribes who now demanded rewards for their help against Arthur. Bedivere, who rumors said plotted her demise in revenge for his dead king. Hell, everything about their lives now was tied too closely to their ugly past.

  When her only reply to her worried friend was with slow tears, Ares hugged her and patted her back. "At least it was me this time, not you."

  "For once, yes. Don't worry, I'm fine. Life goes on."

  #

  An awkward air hung heavily over the Round Table each night when Mildy and Ares ate alongside the distraught Lance. While the young queen kept fearfully silent towards her friend, her mother knew healing could only begin with communication. So one night, Morgan sat down next to Lance.

  "My daughter's afraid of you. She doesn't have to be, does she?"

  "No, of course not. I've never betrayed my monarch, and I never will."

  Morgan was unsure who the fire in his voice was directed towards, but replied, "She thinks you blame her for your loss. You need to talk to her. Tell her-"

  "What, that it isn't her fault? But would that be true?"

  "She didn't want any of this to happen. You know that."

  "Sure. But she killed Gwen's husband and took over her home. Who wouldn't want vengeance for that?"

  But Guinevere had tried to kill Morgan for her vengeance, and she hadn't done anything. Recalling the shock and terror as the vase came down on her head and she fell bleeding and dazed, she snapped, "She went about it the wrong way, and paid the price."

  "She was a harmless woman, and any squire with half a brain could have subdued her in a harmless way." />
  She hadn't seemed too harmless to Morgan when she'd nearly cracked her skull and cut her throat. "Ares did the best he could. He never expected her to be that persistent."

  "He should have done better. Mildy should have taught him better."

  Morgan saw Lance's eyes moisten, and thought maybe she shouldn't say any more. Instead, she asked meekly, "Do you hate her?" She would be so afraid if another, even more dangerous person who despised her daughter was now loose in Camelot, and she knew how much Mildy had always relied on Lance.

  "I don't know. I'm just angry."

  Of course he was. But Morgan didn't like where it was being directed. Mildy didn't deserve this. If anything, Lance had erred in insisting his lover be allowed to stay so close to a woman she hated. "Forgive her. She didn't do anything."

  He turned away from her and did not reply. Morgan watched him stare at Mildy for the rest of their dinner, and did not speak again out of growing fear.

  #

  Mildy missed Lance's usual cheer, but Camelot continued to rebuild its strength, the warrioress finding herself better in negotiation with local leaders than she'd expected. Though a woman and no experienced diplomat, she was straightforward and honest, and many seemed glad for the change of pace from her father's bullying ways. And she compromised readily, rarely being one to argue with great fervor on fine points. So she did all right, except with regard to those who hated her or simply would not respect her authority. Still, it would be some time before everyone accepted her as High Queen of Britannia.

  Though she had little idea how to go about implementing the new policies she wanted, Mildy knew she was not quite respected enough to make much change without great dissent. She took heed of her advisors' council to try and retrieve Excalibur, and sent men out to hunt for it. It was like the quest for the Holy Grail all over again, except the Grail was home now, adorning the altar behind her throne. At least if she got injured again, she'd have ready access to the best of healing.

  Her seekers of the sword came back with as much success as the early hunters of the Grail—that is, none—and Mildy began to entertain thoughts of going herself. Not only was she flustered by the formalized social customs of the court, but she wanted away from Lance's disturbingly silent scrutiny of her and Ares. She could hardly wrap her mind around the fact that her best friend seemed no longer her friend, and might even consider himself her enemy. Maybe some time away would dull his anger.

  When she proposed her travel plans to her new Round Table, Gawain asked, "Already leaving us? I don't think you've given people enough time to accept you as the new mistress here."

  Was her presence really needed? "What, don't you think you're good enough to take care of things for me while I'm gone?"

  Laerin laughed. The displaced fey had found himself unfulfilled with life with his new faerie neighbors, and come to Camelot to join Mildy's incarnation of the Round Table. The new inner circle did not possess the martial prowess of the old, but varied quite a bit more in its composition, including two faeries, a mighty and uncouth pagan warrior by the name of Gagros, and three women counting Mildy and her mother.

  "We're good enough," Laerin said. "We may not be good, but we can't do much worse than you."

  She took no offense. She was sorely lacking in necessary gentility, and being a woman still worked against her on an unsubtle level. "That's one person who assents. Who else?"

  Ares agreed eagerly, and Lance stiffly raised his hand. He probably just didn't want to see her, either. Morgan gave her support, and the smelly Gagros roared, "Woman king make too much fuss! King should go when want to, not ask like weak woman!"

  He was the only one here who would've said that out loud, and Mildy knew many of the others would not have kept the man around if they had their way. But he was a breath of fresh air in Camelot, and she knew his perspective was one shared by enough of Britannia's residents to matter. A few more hands went up in Mildy's favor, leaving the vote split.

  "It'll be a good thing for the people to see the queen's a woman of action," she argued.

  Gawain frowned. "They already know that—it's how you got here. What you need to prove is that you're a real queen."

  "You said I'd be queenlier if I had Excalibur."

  "And you said you didn't need a silly sword."

  Mildy felt somewhat amused by their switch of sides. "I never meant to give up being an adventurer, when I let you make me queen." Her desire to go wasn't strong, really, but she would be better off away than here.

  "I suppose when you're gone, I won't have to stand losing to anyone in the yard. Fine, go. I've always wondered what it would be like to play at being king."

  "You think you'll do a better job than me, don't you?"

  "Of course I'll do better than you. After all, I was actually raised properly. It's too bad you're the one who had a king for a father."

  Mildy was sure he wouldn't have enjoyed having to suffer all she had. She laughed. "If you think you're so good, why don't you do everything for me and I can be your puppet queen?"

  "Sounds good." He raised his hand, and a handful of knights who had been waiting on him joined in.

  "Looks like I have a majority," Mildy said in relief. "You all take good care of this place!"

  #

  Mildy and Ares rode together again, heading for the last place Excalibur had supposedly been sighted. As their horses walked noisily over an old arched bridge, Ares mused, "I hope this rumor has more to it than all the false ones from before. Sir Erraut sure had enough trouble with that."

  Mildy grunted. "Erraut's an idiot. Chasing after a replica Excalibur? Come on! It looks good on the wall, though."

  "But we're chasing after another person rumored to have Excalibur, too..."

  The latest story went that a charismatic stranger had appeared in southern Britannia who claimed to be the next God-blessed leader in the tradition of the fallen king, a knight who happened to possess Arthur's old arms and armor.

  "Even if it isn't the real deal," Mildy said, "it'll be useful to see what this potential enemy's like, and what kind of threat he could be."

  Ares' eyes grew fearful. "What if he tries to kill us?"

  "I don't think he'll try that right now, when his following hasn't yet grown large. If he's at all smart, he won't risk our allies' wrath without the means to defend against them."

  "So what are you going to do if he does have Excalibur, ask for it?"

  "I don't know yet. We'll have to meet him first, I suppose."

  Arriving in the town of Grens where the mysterious knight had taken refuge, they found him discussing plans for strengthening a nearby bridge with the mayor. Trying to endear himself to the locals, huh? And it seemed to be working; the old mayor's voice was eager, though Mildy doubted the knight would provide all that much help for this suggested improvement.

  She waited for the stout, square-faced knight to notice her arrival. "So you're the one who's to be our new leader. Who do I have the honor of speaking to?"

  "Tirant," he replied in a deep, confident voice, and Mildy recognized his French name.

  "Brittany?" she guessed while he waved the mayor out of the room. It was the closest place.

  He nodded. "Yes, very perceptive. So you must be Queen Mildred. The woman who killed her father to take his throne."

  Mildy was surprised by the lack of emotion in his voice, as if it was a commonplace occurrence to commit regicide and patricide in the same act. Or more likely, he just didn't care. "I didn't kill him for the throne," she felt the need to clarify. "I did it for the people he threatened for all the wrong reasons."

  Tirant just sat there, his expression passive. "Whatever the case, you're a strong warrior to have defeated him. But you're not the right leader for these people."

  And he was? "You're one to talk, Frenchman. Why do you say that, and what do you want here?"

  "You're a woman. Oh, I know women have ruled before, but it's not for our time and place. As for me, I simply want t
he kingdom I deserve."

  "What makes you think you deserve Britannia?"

  He smiled. "Did I say Britannia? I said kingdom; one will do as well as another. I was cheated out of my own, if you must know."

  She looked at the bejeweled hilt protruding from his belt. "Do you really have Excalibur?"

  He slid a handspan of sword out of its sheath, revealing the unmistakable heavenly sheen of the blade. It certainly didn't look like a replica. "It's quite magnificent, don't you think?"

  Mildy shuddered at the sight of the blade, remembering the cold rigidity of the metal in her chest. At this point, she didn't really even want it. "That doesn't belong to you," she forced herself to say.

  "And it does to you? Your father never recognized you as his heir, and you murdered him."

  His words hurt, but didn't carry the passionate disapproval that would have sharpened their sting. "I won it fair and square. You just picked up the scraps."

  "You didn't take it when you could. Now it's too late."

  "I want it back."

  Tirant looked her calmly in the eye. "I won't give it up so easily. I worked hard to find it, and now it's mine."

  Worked hard to find it? So he'd come here to Britannia intending to take advantage of its troubled state. "Our realm's suffered enough. It doesn't need any more strife."

  "I agree. That's why I ask you now to step down, and allow me to take your place."

  Mildy had never been overly enthusiastic about her role as queen, but just couldn't believe how bold Tirant was being. "And what makes you think you'd make such a better ruler than me? At least I'm a true native of Britannia. You're nothing more than a vulture hoping to pick up my scraps."

  He grinned. "I'm a man. Think about it. How much weaker will you be in negotiations with other lands, just for your sex? Camelot won't be the same power it was with you at its head."

  "I may be a woman, but I'm hardly weak," she said, her confidence wavering.

  "They won't see your strength. You're not planning to fight all of them, are you?"

  "They'll have heard about what I've done."