Blood of Kings

by Billy Wong

  "Please, Gawain. I only want to save us a worse fight to come."

  "You're well intentioned, I'm sure. But no one person can be right all the time. That's why we have a round table, to help us decide such matters among our peers."

  Except he wasn't treating her like a peer right now. No, he wanted it all his way, and wouldn't even consider a compromise. "Why don't we discuss this matter with our peers, then, and see if yours is the way the others prefer?"

  He agreed, and they sat down to debate how to deal with the threat of Tirant. As her gaze drifted over the Round Table, Mildy wondered how much its members' views towards her had changed between her recent departure and return. As they talked, she realized that she had indeed lost much of her favor with those she'd selected to stand by her in her new Camelot.

  Gawain's Camelot, now. His influence had strengthened greatly during his short time in control. Though Mildy retained the steadfast support of her closest allies—among them Lance, Ares, Morgan, Laerin, and Gagros—she suspected she would be defeated by a healthy margin if it came to a vote.

  What was worse, the discussion soon shifted focus to the issue of who deserved to rule, and there too she found herself on the losing side. She groaned at the injustice of what Nimue's interference had done to her standing in Camelot. Despite the credibility Gawain should have lost for being tricked by the sorceress, it seemed many of the knights were eager for their leadership to be restored to a male.

  Infuriated by the reasonless way her chosen had turned against her, Mildy thrust herself to her feet and looked around the great hall with seething eyes. "Don't any of you remember? I'm Arthur's daughter, and the one who led you to victory over him. How dare you side with him, just because you've grown tired of having a woman in power?"

  One brave old knight spoke up. "When Arthur was king, he let us speak our minds. He encouraged us to tell him if we disagreed with him and considered our points. Why do you get so angry, when you're the one who chose to continue his tradition?"

  She tried to calm herself. "But Arthur didn't always listen when you didn't agree with him, did he? He was the king, and in the end what he said went." She'd heard so in minstrels' tales, and was she it was true. For all the consideration that could be given to advisors, someone still had be the leader.

  "Yes, he did. But he was king."

  "And I'm queen. So I say we go and crush Tirant before he does anything else."

  She almost screamed when a knight said, "But you don't lead us anymore. Gawain does now, and he chooses what we do."

  "What part of 'I'm Arthur's daughter' don't you understand?! I'm queen. He just took over the castle while I was away, and under a crazy witch's influence besides! How can you accept him so easily?" They certainly hadn't been so cooperative with her in the first weeks of her rule.

  Ares had an answer. "Because they have no sense of loyalty, that's why. Even though you made them what they are now, they'd abandon you in a second just because your rival fits their notion of a 'better' ruler. They must be blind if they can't see your value as a person and a queen."

  The table erupted into impassioned mutterings that died out as Gawain addressed Mildy. "Yes, because I am a better choice than you. I have the experience, and the sex. You'd do better to stand by me, and not keep trying to reach past your place."

  "I-I... my God! You stole my place well enough while I was gone, but don't you see it's time to give it up?"

  "I can't, Mildred. It wouldn't be the best thing to do."

  "Your sister did all the work," Morgan said, "beat my brother, and brought Britannia into a new age. Let her have what's rightfully hers."

  To Mildy's disbelief, Gawain asked harshly, "So because your brother raped you and spawned this monster woman, makes her the rightful ruler of Britannia? Or if not, because she killed her father? Only a barbarian would think such a thing."

  Mildy gaped at the way Gawain had just spoken to their mother. "As if it's any less barbaric to talk so to our mom."

  His gaze dropped with shame. "I'm sorry."

  "What made you hate me?" Mildy asked softly while she watched him tremble. "You didn't used to hate me so much."

  He shook his head, not able to look at her. "Hate you? Did I make you think that? I was just angry. But I don't hate you, and you're not a monster. I spoke wrongly, I admit that."

  "Why were you so angry, then? There's hardly a reason."

  "Because you want so hard. You want power, and I can't let you have it. I'm the one who deserves the power. It's not a insult to you. You're good. I'm better."

  Mildy put her hands on her hips. "Why? All the same old useless reasons? Because I'm a woman? Because of my birth?"

  "Only partly. But also because you don't know how to use it, Mildred. You're a warrior, not a leader."

  That was at least a more acceptable reason. "But why don't you think so? I think I've done all right for myself."

  "You've fought well, yes. But what we need now isn't just a warrior queen, and so your time has passed."

  "We need a warrior leader now as much as we ever did. Tirant's still out there." He did not respond. "Did you support me after Arthur's fall, with this in mind all along?"

  "No. But I have no regrets about usurping you when I got the chance, because I honestly believe I can do better for this land."

  "Because of your experience."

  "Yes."

  She had to admit he was more savvy in the world of politics than she. But she strongly believed she was right with regard to Tirant. "How about you let me be in charge of our military decisions, and I'll leave everything else to you? I'm good in a fight, as you said."

  "No, Mildred. A king's rule must be absolute."

  Even after she'd offered to give up almost everything, he would not agree to one little compromise. "Draw your sword," she snapped, her patience stretched to its absolute limit.

  "What?"

  "We'll settle this the old way. You win, I leave. I win, and you obey me from now on."

  "Whatever else you are, you're certainly a warrior." And he fell silent, considering her proposal.

  Ares pulled on her arm. "Do you really want to do this? He's your brother."

  She looked around to see many worried faces, her mother's most of all. "Relax, I won't kill him. Just beat the tar out of him, and settle who will rule here once and for all."

  "You thought you weren't going to kill Percival either," Ares reminded her. "And you weren't even angry then."

  "Accidents happen. But I won't let Gawain steal my crown."

  Gawain seemed less adverse to a duel than her friends and mother did. "Fine, Mildred, let's decide this in combat. It's barbaric, but better than another war. I've been watching you closely in the yard, just in case it came to this."

  "I never fight for real in the yard."

  "We'll see. You're strong, but still not a man."

  "I've killed men."

  "Not cut from the same cloth as you."

  Mildy smiled bitterly as she whispered, "Yes I have, Gawain. I killed my father."

  By the time they stood across the yard from one another, her words had begun to get to him. She never relented in boring her gaze through his eyes and into his soul, and he walked hesitantly towards her like he faced a demon straight out of hell. Mildy was at once ashamed and proud of the frightful image of herself she must have put into his mind. She had done terrible things; she might as well embrace that darker side of herself and use it to her advantage. Dread Lady, she could be.

  She approached Gawain and let her sword dig lightly into the loose dirt at her feet. "Ready?"

  "Yes."

  She flicked the tip of her sword up out of the ground, throwing dirt high into the air and her brother's face. He waved his sword blindly while he rubbed at his eyes, and she trapped his crossguard with her own. She hooked a foot behind his leg, trying to trip him. He stumbled, but caught his balance as he fell into a crouch and tried to spring up. The sword pointed at his throat stopped hi
m. Fight over.

  But though she had won, Gawain's look told Mildy he was not satisfied. He still felt he deserved the throne more than her, and might yet be tempted to strive for it again. Perhaps she shouldn't have tried to end the contest so quickly, without giving him what he thought a fair chance. Mildy made a huge decision. She tossed her sword up, where it spun through the air before falling to land hilt-first in Gawain's hand.

  "What are you doing?" he asked, as she spread her arms to expose her chest.

  "I've won," she said, "fair and square. So I won't abide you not accepting me as queen. If you can't stand me being your rightful ruler, just kill me here and now."

  Their gazes met and held for long seconds, then Gawain lowered his blades. "You'd die over the crown? Then it's yours. I won't murder my sister for it."

  Mildy sighed in relief. She hadn't really been willing to die, but taken the risk in hopes of achieving the result she had. Now, perhaps, Gawain would be content to serve.

  Slowly, he extended his hand. "That was impressive, Mildred."

  "Impressive?" she asked, abandoning her frightful demeanor.

  He nodded. "I didn't want to lose. But at least you didn't kill me, and things are settled now. And the hardest work will be up to you."

  "How much did you really care about being king?" Mildy asked with a frown. "You fought so hard for it in our battle of words, but you don't seem all that upset now."

  "I cared a lot. I really wanted to be able to shape Britannia's future. But while I disagreed with your point of view, I also knew you felt just as strongly about it. So we had to decide it one way or another, and we did."

  "But do you still disagree with me?"

  "Yes... I think I'd have made the better ruler. But I intend to respect our deal, and with no regrets."

  At least she'd have the chance to prove him wrong. She took his hand and shook it with all her considerable strength. "Thank you. Now, let's secure Britannia from our real enemy. Tirant—you're dead."

  #

  The next morning, Mildy noticed that Lance still hadn't shaved or cleansed himself after his return to Camelot. It would have been the first thing on his mind in the old days. "You look like a hermit," she said while she watched him practice with blunted swords in the training yard.

  "I'm as poor as one," he agreed, before knocking his aging opponent down with a ferocious series of blows which might have cracked a rib or two. Mildy grew alarmed. Lance could have killed the man if he'd hit him in the head. "In the heart."

  She realized he still blamed himself over Guinevere's death. "I know what you mean. Is there anything-"

  "No, Mildy. There's nothing you can do."

  It was hard to watch him in such misery. Though she knew no easy cure existed for his pain, she also knew what could lighten her mood when the past weighed too heavily on her mind.

  "Hey Lance, let's spar. Maybe you can take some of your frustrations out on me."

  He scoffed. "That won't help me."

  "You can't know that until you try. Besides, we'll be able to hone our skills as well, won't we?"

  He nodded, and she stepped into the most real fake battle she'd ever fought. His strokes felt stronger and more committed than ever, as if all human doubt had abandoned his broken heart. Before she could even get into the rhythm of the match, he was battering her back across the yard. Growing worried as she noted the ferocity of his attacks, she called it to a stop before she could get seriously injured.

  "You're getting better," she said dumbly. Lance's eyes smothered with self-loathing, and her attempt to help seemed to have done no good at all.

  "Got nothing else to live for."

  Mildy sighed. She hoped he'd change his mind soon. Battle was no good reason for a man to live.

  #

  "Not only a traitor, but a useless fool of an ally at that," Tirant spat as he walked in a tight circle around the seated Bedivere. "What use are you to me when with all my men at your disposal, you still could not hold onto my prize?"

  "I tried, Prince Tirant. But God gave them His favor that day."

  He stared at the knight who had betrayed his last ally, and wondered just how much he should trust his word. "God favors me, Bedivere. He gave Excalibur and Morgan right into my hands, remember? Don't blame Him, when it was human incompetence that allowed my enemy to take her mother away."

  Bedivere shook his head. "I tried my best. My lord, Mildred was right there! My life's to kill her. I wouldn't have done any less than all I could."

  Really, he probably hadn't betrayed him this time. But the knowledge his incompetence was genuine only annoyed Tirant further. "Killing Mildred is your life, you say?"

  "Yes."

  "Prove it. Tell me how to kill this Mildred. Your life depends on it." He waited, wondering what kind of plan Bedivere could come up with to save himself. Maybe it would even be good, when everything was on the line.

  Finally, Bedivere began to speak. "As you know, lord, Mildred is supreme in open combat. No one she has faced on the field has been able to match her head to head. But if we could stack the odds against her..."

  Tirant kept listening, and soon a smile split his face.

  Chapter 13

  Only two days after her duel with Gawain, Mildy got word of increased military activity at Grens. Right away she declared it was time to act, hoping to foil whatever Tirant might be plotting. "Should we take the Grail with us?" Ares asked. "It's bound to be useful for the injured."

  Yes, but if they lost... well, if they lost, she supposed Camelot would be finished anyway, and Tirant could just take the Grail along with the castle. "Yeah, let's take it. It'll be good for me, I'm sure."

  She gathered her forces and headed for Grens, glad the end was near for one struggle. At least her first big challenge as ruler of Britannia would be past. She hoped things could only get easier from then on. As her army came into sight of Grens, a man ran out and yelled, "Message!"

  She motioned him forward, warily eyeing his every step. "Well?"

  "Do not attack, we are not your enemies! Tirant's army is no longer here. They left early this morning, and are headed for the southern coast."

  Did he speak the truth? As they drew closer to town, Mildy saw no sign of an army. She sent a few men inside to make sure, and soon confirmed Tirant had gone. But where was he going? "Maybe he finally realized he can't beat us," Gawain said, "and decided to run away while he still had the chance."

  "Maybe so, but I doubt he'd just give up like this. More likely, he'd like to delay our battle until he can have it in his time and place of choice. So what do you think we should do?" Mildy hardly looked forward to losing any more allies in bloodshed, but feared Tirant might come back even stronger if allowed to flee and build up his forces. As well, she was still quite angry over what he'd done to her mother.

  "Let's hunt him down and kill him," Lance suggested. "Make an example of him to all the other would-be conquerors."

  There was that, too. Mildy looked to Ares. "I don't know, maybe we should let him go. More war isn't good for anyone, and it might make us look bad to annihilate a fleeing foe."

  "We crush them!" Gagros bellowed. "They hurt us, now we make it right!"

  Gawain shrugged. "I personally think it would do our reputation some good, to go after them and prove our strength."

  "It's unnecessary," Laerin said edgily, as if among these warlike knights, he was reminded of the armored villain who'd slaughtered his kin.

  Mildy remained conflicted. More of her allies were for than against pursuing Tirant, but it was a close thing and she was tired of war. "Let's pursue him. Even if we decide not to fight, we should see what he's really up to before doing so."

  They followed after the departed army, and their fast march soon brought the rear of Tirant's force into view. A bit too soon, Mildy thought. The French knight rode through his ranks towards her, then stopped a ways away and smiled as he met her harsh glare.

  "Where do you think you're going?" she
asked.

  "To Camelot," he replied with triumph in his eyes. "Attack!" And arrows rained down from the trees around them.

  It was a familiar trick, and Mildy realized Tirant had probably chosen to stop on this section of road for just this purpose. All around stood the ready cover of thick brush and trees, and Camelot's army found itself assailed from every side. Mildy yelled for her infantry to deal with the archers, then charged into the thick of the melee. She smashed her way toward Tirant, dead set as always on defeating the greatest foe.

  But her brother reached Tirant first, and once again pitted trusty steel against the mystic blade of Excalibur. Gawain's speed and reach helped negate his opponent's advantage in strength, and their exchange of blows looked almost an even match. Almost, except for their weaponry.

  Mildy's own charge faltered as a sea of armored flesh separated her from her target. Among them, she saw more former knights of Arthur's Round Table than she had thought still alive. She realized some of these men must have fallen wounded rather than dead, and gone into hiding after Arthur's death only to reemerge now. Most of the ones she recognized were lesser vassals of the old king, knights mostly unknown beyond the shores of Britannia. But they were nonetheless strong foes, and their ambush lent them a distinct positional advantage.

  Still, she and her allies were the best Britannia had to offer in this day, and their tight formation held off the enemy. A huge axe swept forward, forcing Mildy to leap back, and she stared warily at the giant emerging from the opposing ranks.

  "Lamorak! What are you doing here?"

  Again he slashed at her. "Getting one more shot at you. You've beaten me before, and I you. Now I'd like to see who is truly the greater warrior."

  Now this was stupid. "You'd ally yourself with a monster like Tirant just to be able to fight me? Why couldn't you just challenge me on a normal day?"

  "Only in real battle can one's strength be measured in full."

  But Mildy could see that Lamorak might not get to fight the honorable battle he sought. Bedivere appeared to join him, slicing a gash down her arm as he screamed, "Die, demoness!"