Blood of Kings Read online

  Mildy looked up at the roaring mass of the audience and felt a mix of disappointment and relief that her father was absent. Arthur was away on diplomatic matters, and Mildy would not have to face the turmoil his presence caused inside her. Still, nobility from all over the isles packed the stands, and she would have plenty of opportunity to impress today.

  She gnashed her teeth in scorn at the tightly corseted gowns and oversize headdresses the fashionable ladies wore, imagining that men only liked such cumbersome attire for the physical helplessness they imposed upon women. One could hardly do anything in those prisons of heavy fabric! Among these shackled women was Arthur's wife Guinevere, who Mildy noticed flashing a coy smile at Lance as he rode by. The blonde queen was small, soft-spoken, and frail, the very ideal of feminine gentility and grace. Lance gave no response beyond a polite nod, for which Mildy was glad. What was there to admire in someone content in being weak?

  Tall and imposing in his golden armor, her cousin Gawain gazed down at her while she passed. "Crazy wench."

  She stopped and turned, looking up to stare him dead in the eye. "That you lost to," she said coolly before walking on.

  The jab displaced a bit of the commentary at her expense to her cousin, and Mildy smiled as she took her spot to await the melee. But despite her confident demeanor, she felt uneasy beneath the stares of participants and audience alike and worried that she might do poorly in the few remaining contests. She was a good fighter, but anyone could have a bad day—and for her, a bad showing might do more damage than to most.

  Next to her, Lance flashed her a grin. "That shut him up."

  "It was nice. Not as nice as when I beat him again."

  "I bet they'd all love you if you were a man." It sounded almost paradoxical in her ears. "Stupid brutes, can't they recognize a wonderfully special thing when they see it?"

  "They look at Ares like he's a damn faerie, too. Guess that's why I have to try so hard to prove myself all the time, and yet whatever respect I earn never really sticks..."

  Though she knew he loved her company during events like this, Lance asked unselfishly, "If you're so dissatisfied with being a knight, why don't you give it up and reinvent yourself as a proper lady? I'm sure plenty of knights would still find you comely, all scars aside."

  "No, I like being a knight, even if no one but you and Ares respects what I do. The sense of accomplishment after every victory I achieve, I'd give up for nothing. Besides, I'll win them over someday."

  Looking at them over all the other knights' heads, the black-bearded giant Lamorak said, "I respect you. You gave that Meleagant the thrashing he deserved, and I'm glad for it. He needed some putting in his place."

  Mildy chuckled. Lamorak would have respected a rat if it could fight. As she heard his name called, she wondered bemusedly who would be his first opponent—victim—and hoped for Gawain. The arrogant favorite of her father did need another beating. Unfortunately, the next name called was her own.

  "Damn, Lance, looks like my luck's cursed as always. Pray for me?" It was only half jape; Lamorak had carelessly killed five opponents in tourney over the years and crippled more than a handful more. With his immense strength and preference for large axes, getting hit by him could easily prove catastrophic. He wasn't known for holding back.

  "Good luck, Mildy!" Lance said with a smile. Mildy walked out into the bright sun, hoping that God heard her silent prayer. She was in trouble already!

  #

  Ares was lost. Stupid! He'd heard what he took for the screams of a maiden in distress, and tried to live up to Mildy's high expectations by attempting to follow them. But not only hadn't he been able to locate the source of the now stopped sounds, he couldn't even find his way back to the road. The shadows played over the forest floor, in his mind like hungry wraiths dancing between worlds. Yet more fearsome still were the real dangers Ares knew might lurk nearby.

  He felt like a joke for having screwed up so quickly. Four leagues, and he couldn't make it without getting in trouble. Had his family been right in doubting the wisdom of his journey abroad? He hoped he wouldn't starve or get eaten out here. Suddenly he heard movement and bristled, drawing his trusty shortsword. Though Mildy had instructed him in the use of weapons supposedly more suited to a knight, he couldn't bring himself to give up the one he'd first been trained with.

  "Come here, laddie," called a soft, lyrical voice.

  He knew not what spoke to him, but thought it might be something dangerous and tried to run away. In his haste, his ability to determine the sound's direction failed him, and he almost tripped over the body of a ravishing lady with oddly pointed ears in the brush below. The scent of sweet flowers floated up into his nostrils.

  Crying out in surprise as he noticed her, he saw a red line along the top of her small breasts. Concern overrode his fear, and he knelt to look at the wound. It wasn't deep at all, and had only bled slightly before clotting sealed it.

  "Can you walk?" he asked.

  Looking up with unfocused eyes, she said, "No, can't... move," and shuddered. Realizing how pale she was even for a fair woman, he touched her forehead and found her hot with fever. Did she have another wound? But he didn't see any.

  "What happened to you?"

  "Cut... fire inside..."

  Poison? It seemed unlikely that someone would resort to poison to murder such a delicate looking woman, especially poison delivered on a blade. But this was no time for questions; he had to help her. He hefted her in strong though slim arms, and found her quite light compared to the loads Mildy made him lift. Now, he just had to find the road...

  It was only as he made to leave that he noticed the blackened skeletons partially hidden in the brush. With a yelp he sped away, his burden nearly forgotten in his arms.

  #

  Covered in sweat after three minutes of intense combat, Mildy shouldered Lamorak back and braced for his next charge. She grunted when his axe grazed her new shield and wedged for a moment inside the oak face, then struck back with her three-headed flail just as he jerked it free. The heavy balls caught the axe below its head, tearing it from his hand.

  "Yield!" she demanded while he flexed sore fingers. She smiled as victory seemed to float closer to her grasp... then Lamorak's massive gauntlet blasted into her face, knocking her sprawling to the ground. The knight known for his ability to lift an iron portcullis held back none of his strength, and though Mildy was glad for the respect that showed, she was less happy about her split lips.

  Snatching his axe back up, Lamorak advanced as she stumbled to her feet. But despite her pain Mildy grinned, more confident than at the beginning of the fight. He was stronger than her, certainly, but not unmanageably so. She was quicker and more agile, and very strong for her size. Plus, her unusual fighting style seemed to confound him, and his main defense against it consisted of backpedaling out of reach.

  She loved her flail. While it wasn't as good for parrying as many other weapons, neither was it easy to defend against. Furthermore, her left-handedness only made defense even harder for most of her opponents. For Mildy, it was all about offense. Strike fast, strike hard, and win.

  Hardly ready to quit, Lamorak rushed her with an unexpectedly rapid flurry of slices. A graze from his unsharpened axe nonetheless put a dent in her armor, then he dropped into a crouch to lash out at her legs. Too dangerous. She leapt over the sweeping slash, spun into a roundhouse kick to Lamorak's head. Amazingly, it failed to knock him down. With a bellow he rose and threw an uppercut like an exploding volcano, catching Mildy solidly on the chin.

  A collective ooh came from the crowd at the blow that could have felled a bull. But though Mildy stumbled back and windmilled her arms as if about to fall, it was mostly a feint. When Lamorak swung his axe once more, she smacked it aside with her flail. She staggered him with an elbow followed by a hard shield blow to the head, then hooked her leg behind his calf and tripped him to the ground. Planting her foot on his chest, she raised her flail.

  "I
yield," he said, eyes wide.

  Mildy replaced her flail in her belt, then bent to help her opponent up and felt the ground undulate beneath her feet. He'd hit her really hard, but she tried not to show it, blinking in an attempt to clear her head.

  "Well fought, Lady Mildred," Lamorak said as he shook her hand. He frowned at her loose grip, and realizing she was hurt let her be. She made herself disappear, limping from the audience's sight. If she fainted, it wouldn't do for them to see.

  Making it to Lance's side, she fell-sat next to him. "Are you well, Mildy?"

  She nodded, swaying unsteadily. "I will be once my head clears. Don't mind me, concentrate on your fight. You do want to face me in the finals, right?"

  "Too bad Ares missed that bout. You were great. Never thought you could beat Lamorak."

  She gave his legs a weak shove and asked in an insulted tone, "You didn't think so? He may be big and strong, but I've beaten much bigger. Dragonslayer, remember?"

  Lance shrugged. "You looked like a wolf fighting a bear out there. I really didn't expect your punches to affect him as much as they did. What are you made of?"

  "Fey blood. I'm a magical being, remember? I could beat or seduce any man whenever I want. Seriously, though, he'd surely beat me if we were to arm wrestle. Though maybe not too quickly."

  "Still amazing."

  "Yeah, yeah. It's not so amazing when you think of all the crap I've been through, of course I had to toughen up to survive. So did you see any good horses not ridden by one of the knights, who its owner might lend out for a fee?" There were plenty of nobles around who'd brought their mounts, and she hoped to rent one that had been trained for combat for the joust. Hopefully, this one wouldn't die on her.

  "The Duke of Gence is here. He broke his arm last month in a sparring accident and can't compete, but came as a spectator on his prize warhorse Wraith. If you could land him, there wouldn't be a knight in the tourney with a better steed."

  Not bad at all. Duke Rofin was hardly a supporter of hers, but she expected to be able to goad him. He would want to see her humbled by the true knights, but she'd have to fight for that to happen. "I'll go talk to him after the melee."

  The announcer's shout brought them back to the present. "For the last time, will Lancelot du Lac come to the ring?"

  His eyes widening, Lance rose hurriedly and darted outside. Mildy giggled, and knights stared at the unrestrainedly girly sound. But she hardly noticed, curling around the sudden pang in her side.

  #

  "And the champion of the melee, Mildred... Pendragon!"

  "Nobody buys it," Lance whispered into her ear while she accepted her trophy.

  "Shut up!" Mildy raised her heavy golden chalice high with one arm, ignoring the sting in her flank. "I don't know how I'll ever beat that Green Knight in the joust. He doesn't go down!" Well, he had in the melee, but only after five consecutive flail hits to the body. Even then, he'd yielded on his knees.

  Lance nodded. "He is certainly a freak. What about you? You drew a pretty bad set of opponents, and you came through all right."

  That was true. Lamorak, Ywain, Bors, and the Green Knight had been among her opponents, and she'd beaten them all. She only wished she could've fought Lance as well—he'd lost to the Green Knight in the semifinals. "And you still doubt my lineage," she chided him with a smile.

  "It looked to me like you won because you're strong, skilled, fast, have an odd style, and don't know when to stay down. You're so bruised you can barely move, aren't you?"

  "Yes," she admitted, "and my side's killing me, but it was more than worth it. But where the hell is Ares?" She was getting worried, and a little annoyed he hadn't been here to see her victory. "He better not be lying on the roadside with his throat slit by bandits..."

  "I'd say I told you so, except that situation's a bit too serious for mockery."

  She cupped her hands over her face and groaned. "Oh God, Lance, what have I done? I promised him I'd teach him to be a knight, not a corpse!"

  Lance patted her shoulder. "Relax, he's probably not dead. Bet he's just lost."

  "Milady!" Ares yelled from a ways off, running onto the field. "Milady, help!"

  "Hold this," she said, shoving her trophy into Lance's arms, and limped to meet her squire. He was carrying a tiny woman in a nearly transparent white gown, who smelled faintly of flowers. "You brought a faerie out of the forest?!"

  "Is that what she is?"

  Mildy sighed and reminded herself that Ares was foreign, not stupid. Ignoring the muttering of the knights and audience, she examined the limp woman. The poor thing was so delicate, the little cut on her chest seemed to have her struggling for life. Not that it made sense. The wound had barely cut the skin let alone into flesh, literally a scratch.

  "Let's set up the tent, and get a better look at her inside."

  #

  Mildy really didn't get it. Why wasn't the woman waking up, and why was she so pale? She carefully examined the tiny body from head to toe, checking for any other injuries that might be the cause of her unresponsiveness, but found nothing. "Ares, do you have any idea what's wrong with her?"

  "Maybe she's sick. She said something about fire inside."

  "Poison?"

  "That's what I thought too, but why would anybody poison her?"

  Who would? Mildy could probably snap her neck—or back for that matter—like a twig, even if the woman was conscious and able to defend herself. She doubted too many people would be unable to overpower her if they intended to kill her, unless... "Maybe she has dangerous magical powers, or the person who tried to kill her was another weak faerie."

  "That could be. So what are we going to do?"

  "I don't know." She had no idea what really ailed the woman, and for now could only let her rest and hope she would recover on her own. "You stay here and take care of her, and I'll go and finish the tourney. Maybe you can find her a healer, if she doesn't start getting better."

  "Who's going to hand you your lances?"

  "Don't worry. I'm sure the queen of the melee can find some enthusiastic boy willing to render his services."

  #

  Without too much difficulty, Mildy was able to talk Duke Rofin into lending her his great black charger. She defeated Sir Bolide and Sir Arant, two relatively unknown knights from southern Britannia, and then faced off as she hoped against Lance. Her friend lived up to his name and gave her a great contest, but though neither of them managed to unseat the other, Mildy won on points and advanced.

  She made it to the semifinal round where she faced Lamorak once again. But this time she eventually lost, her weary body at last unable to hold its seat against the titanic force of his charge. Borne straight out of her saddle by his lance in her belly, Mildy spent close to a minute on her back, catching her breath in the dust. From the wetness on her side, she knew she had reopened the gash in her flank.

  But she wasn't too disappointed; at least she'd won one event, and seen defeat at the hands of one of the best. In the end, Lamorak gained ultimate victory, hitting the Green Knight so hard it tore his saddle off his horse and dumped the invincible warrior to the ground in spite of his uncanny resilience.

  In truth, she felt strangely comforted by her defeat at Lamorak's hands. He had held back none of his strength in either of their fights, as if he understood what she needed. She wanted no man to show her deference for any perceived feminine weakness. Warrior that she was, she had little desire for that kind of advantage.

  Mildy returned the Duke's warhorse and dragged herself back to her tent, a curious Lance following behind while she went to check on her guest. She found Ares waiting with a smile.

  "She woke up!" he exclaimed. "She's still a little weak, but I think she'll be fine. Lady Adene, this is my Lady Mildred and her friend Sir Lancelot du Lac."

  Adene looked up—at Lance. Mildy noticed the flowery smell was almost gone. "I've heard of you, and I'm thankful to be in the care of such a fine knight." Seeing Mildy's frown, Aden
e added, "I never knew there were female knights, considering how women are unsuited to combat. Are you any good?"

  She almost showed her skills in painful manner, but Lance quickly answered, "She's very good. Mildred is one of the most accomplished young knights in Europe, and just won the melee against the kingdom's best."

  "Maybe the two of you could help me, then."

  "With what?" Mildy asked hastily. She was eager for a new quest.

  "I come from a hidden glen nestled in the forest, where we all thought we would be safe from the outside world. But then a man came, a huge marauder clad in iron who delighted in bringing us suffering and death. Our charms had no effect on the evil one, and as we are peaceful creatures, we were no match in battle for his blade.

  "So we tried to run, but he hunted us down, and I believe I am the last survivor of my family. I sought refuge in another village, but the terror came there as well and slaughtered them. You have to stop him, before he takes more innocent lives!"

  Mildy clenched her fist at the thought of a man who dared to massacre women and children, but was also a bit confused. "How did one man kill everyone in your villages?"

  "We do not live in large settlements like you humans. Our villages often consist of one extended family each; due to our magic, we are not normally vulnerable to outside attack. But somehow..."

  So someone had overcome their wards. But a warrior who specialized in killing faeries? Mildy wondered what motivation such a man would have. "I'll help you deal with this villain. Where do you think he'll strike next?"

  Adene took a deep breath, ribs showing through her thin skin. "I don't know. There are many glens, and I know not his destination. But I'm glad a warrior as mighty as you is willing to help our cause. Goodbye, and thank you, Lady Mildred."

  The woman closed her eyes then, shuddering slightly, and took her last breath. A profound stillness settled over her form, and to everyone's shock her skin and flesh began to melt away. First the muscles were exposed, then the vital organs, and then there was nothing left but bone, which turned swiftly black. Frightened by the change which had come to the faerie in death, Mildy hesitantly reached out and touched the skeleton. At the brush of her fingertips it crumbled into dust, which blew away into the air despite the lack of wind inside the tent and disappeared as if it had never existed.