by Billy Wong
His fears seemed justified enough when he picked up booming footsteps which grew louder with each passing second. No human could have made these sounds, and none did. A giant stepped into view, thirteen feet of muscle with a crone's wrinkled hide and hair like a great scrubbing brush stuck to his head. His mouth was wide and thick-lipped, his eyes tiny, his nose flat and round, and his teeth very uneven.
But what set this giant apart from any other was his choice of dress and weaponry, and the fact he could actually make such a choice. Shockingly, the brute wore a passable suit of plate armor, complete with helm. In his hands, he held a sword over ten feet in length and a shield like a fortress gate.
"Oh, God," Mildy whispered. "He thinks he's a knight."
"Thinks?! I am Grus the undefeated, greatest of all knights! Today it is you who will die under my blade, and yours whose armor I will add to mine!"
If not the greatest, Grus was the most imposing Ares had ever seen, and he could tell why no knight had defeated him before. How were they even supposed to penetrate his armor? But this question did not seem to discourage Mildy.
"Ladies first?" she offered. How crazy was she, to consider fighting this thing one on one?
Galahad shook his head. "Ladies first only applies if the results would be good for the lady."
"What, you don't think another notch on my belt would be good for me?"
Grus' thick brow rose as he guffawed. "Come on, then. Prepare to be eaten, maiden."
Mildy shook her flail angrily at the creature. "How does everyone know I'm a maiden? Do all you nonhuman beings share some kind of sixth sense?"
Ares did remember similar talk from the dragon. He tried to examine the giant's armor for weak points, but mail covered those joints left exposed by the plates. He wondered if the creature had made the suit himself, or if someone else had crafted it for him. A more disturbing question came to mind. And how many dead knights' suits would it have taken to make it?
Mildy continued to argue with Galahad. "I'm just as worthy to fight this monster as you."
Galahad shrugged. "Fine, let's settle this with a coin toss. Heads, I win." He flipped. "Heads."
"Shit."
The knight spurred his stallion to charge, lance aimed at the giant's lower belly. Ares had to admit Galahad and his mount looked quite well-matched to Mildy and Irethine. The white horse flew across the ground like a lightning bolt, and for a moment he thought the armor might actually be breached. But when the lancehead made contact with the plate over Grus' oversize gut, the shaft snapped and Galahad was left holding a useless pole in hand.
The giant's sword swept down, and Galahad ducked just in time to avoid being cut in two. But his horse did not have the sense to do the same, and the magnificent animal fell without its head. So much for complementing Mildy's unicorn.
Galahad rolled to his feet and ran undauntedly at his towering opponent, dove between his legs and came up slashing at the back of the knee. The vulnerable back of the knee. Chain hose was still less impenetrable than plate.
Even so, Galahad's strike proved inadequate for cutting through the extra-large links. Ares wondered if he had used up his last chance. Grus kicked backwards, knocking him down, then turned and raised a foot to crush him. Galahad rolled aside and tried again at the back of the knee. No good.
"Mildy! What am I supposed to do?"
"Nothing you can do!" Grus answered with a laugh, reaching for Galahad with a massive hand. The sword swipe at his fingers glanced off his gauntlet, and twisting aside the knight barely avoided the grab. Galahad stared helplessly at his foe, unsure what to do.
"His face!" Mildy cried, and he threw his sword high. Ares wouldn't have thought it the wisest choice to attempt the attack right after it being loudly suggested, but Grus did not react in time. The blade hit him, lodging in his upper cheek.
The throw lacked the force to break the thick bone beneath the giant's flesh, and though Grus howled in pain his wound was minor. Knowing his weak spot now, he reached up to pull out the sword and close his great helm.
"No more chances!" he roared. He chopped down at Galahad. The knight dodged, but Grus laughed in triumph. He flung his huge shield atop his opponent, pinning him to the ground.
"My turn," Mildy said without seeing if Galahad could escape his predicament, dismounting to charge Grus on foot. She mustn't have thought bringing Irethine into this fight a worthwhile risk. Did she intend to defeat the metal-encased giant with her flail? How? Grus grinned and slashed low with his sword. She rolled under the blade and came up, tackling the giant's leg to push against it with all her strength.
What was she doing? It was impossible for her to move the giant with strength alone, and Grus knew it too. He lifted his foot, grinning while he dragged her into the air. Her plan obviously wasn't going to work... except that both Ares and the giant had been fooled by her. Mildy quickly let go of Grus' leg, and before he realized what she intended, threw herself sideways and slammed an armored shoulder into his other knee. Unable to keep his footing in his unbalanced state, he fell heavily on his back.
"Beautiful!" the pinned Galahad yelled. But Ares still had doubts about how she would finish the giant off. She ran alongside his body, flail in hand. As Grus rolled to his side to face her, she stopped in front of his head. Her flail rang hard off his armored temple, an attack that would have reduced a man's brain to mush even through a protective helm.
The mighty giant did not die, but the heavy hit stunned even him. Mildy struck again, and again. She was going to win! Grus' fist shot forward without warning, its metal casing giving his powerful punch even more potential for damage. The horrid snapping of bones filled Ares' ears as Mildy's body flew, rolling to a limp stop at his feet.
Her eyes were closed, but her pained gasps told him she was still conscious. Ares' heart urged him to help, but fear rooted him to the ground. Mildy groped at her belt for a long knife, her teary eyes fixing upon Grus with intense determination. But he drew closer, and she did not move. Had it taken her last strength to draw the blade? Seeing Grus eye the fallen woman with lustful eyes, Ares forced himself to act. He charged forward, only to hear Mildy yell, "No!" behind him.
Several things happened in rapid succession then. Grus' sword began its long arc towards Ares' side, and his mouth dropped open in terror. Suddenly Grus screamed and fell to one knee, Galahad's sword having finally found its way through the back of a huge knee. Then Mildy's knife sprouted in the giant's eye, buried to the hilt to reach the brain. Ares breathed a great sigh of relief as Grus froze and died. But then the body toppled, and its great bulk fell upon him.
#
"Ares!" Mildy screamed, dragging herself towards the gigantic corpse from underneath which Ares' upper body protruded. "Are you alright?!"
He looked up, blood staining his lips, and asked with heartbreaking pain, "What do you think, Milady?"
Galahad knelt at the squire's side. "His lower body's crushed. He's as good as dead."
Mildy averted her gaze from the Greek youth, who would clearly not make a miraculous recovery on his own, and took a deep breath. "Looks like we won't be able to keep our secret after all."
"What secret?" Galahad asked.
Even if she could somehow get Galahad to leave the scene while she treated Ares with the Grail, there was no way she would be able to explain his recovery with anything as mundane as an iron constitution like she had her own. And she would probably need Galahad's help to get the giant off him anyway. "You'll see. Please don't hate me." She fetched her pack, sighing as she rummaged within. Misery awaited around the corner, but she had to do anything she could to save her friend. She pulled out the Holy Grail and set it on the ground.
Staring at it, Galahad asked, "Is that..?"
"Just help me get Ares free. Please."
They dragged him out without another word, and seconds later Ares began to convulse in his death throes. Mildy put the Grail to his lips and forced him to swallow, refusing to look at his body
below the waist. The glimpse she'd been unable to avoid had already been too much. His injuries were so severe even the Grail healed them slowly, and nearly a minute passed before it seemed clear he would survive.
Galahad glared at her, brow furrowed with anger. "So you had it all along. All this time, while you were trying to talk me out of looking for it."
"Yes, Galahad. This is indeed the Holy Grail you seek."
He sneered. "You lying witch."
"I'm sorry," Mildy tried to explain. "I didn't think it would be a good idea to disclose the Grail's recovery to the world right now. I tried to warn you not to go after it."
"Yes, many times. But you're still a chronic liar. Now, would you mind handing me my place on the Round Table?"
The Grail, he meant. Mildy still didn't want to give it up, when allowing its presence to be known might cause so many problems. But now that Galahad knew, he could simply tell on her if he wanted. She had to try and convince him not to.
Looking down at Ares, she saw that he was unconscious. She would get no help there. "Don't you know that when people find out about the Grail, they'll come to try and take it?"
"It'd be better defended in Arthur's court than in your hands."
"Sure, but people don't know I have it."
"You really think you can keep it a secret forever? I already know about it. How many others do?"
While she trusted Lance and Morgan, she remembered how she had suspected Laerin and admitted, "Yes, it's hard to keep it hidden—especially since it heals wounds, and we get a lot of those. But I'm just trying to put off conflict. Besides, people coming after me won't be as bad as armies fighting, will it?"
"You might die."
"I risk my life all the time. And if my possession of the Grail did become common knowledge, then I would be willing to give it up. No point in trying to hide what's already known."
"Where did you find it, anyhow?"
"In the pack of a crazy, evil man."
"That's some place to find the Grail."
Mildy could tell he felt conflicted. She waited, and he said finally, "I still want the cup."
"I won't let you have it. Please trust me, I'm only trying to do what's best."
"Trust you? You've been lying to me for weeks."
She sighed. "I told you, I was trying to do the best thing. I can't just hand the Grail over like it's no big deal, when it certainly is."
His hand moved, and she feared for a moment he would draw his sword and force a battle she did not want. Instead, he rubbed his head and said, "Well, you found it. I suppose you have the right to do what you want with it." He paused. "But I really do think it would be put to better use in King Arthur's hands."
But Arthur was not so perfect as Galahad thought. "I'm begging you, please don't tell anyone about this."
After a brief silence, he nodded. "All right. I hope you'll come around soon, Mildy. This is stupid."
"No it's not, and if you were me you'd see that. How about this? If I do someday decide to bring in the Grail, I'll let you take credit for it."
Galahad's eyes widened curiously. "What, you'd do that?"
"What would I need the credit for? In this world, I will never amount to much more than a good fighter who's seen as a little crazy. You, on the other hand, could actually live your dream." But after her own disillusionment, she thought it might not turn out as happily as he imagined.
"I think if you found the Holy Grail, you could definitely change your reputation."
Mildy supposed that might be true. It was the greatest relic of Christianity. "We'll see, Galahad. But anyway, thank you for understanding. I liked how you fought the giant."
"I liked you, too. So, where do we go next?"
"We?" she asked with a start.
"Why not? My search for the Grail is done, and I get good healing if I stay with you."
She smiled, surprised and happy for his prompt forgiveness. "And here, I thought you'd get really mad over this."
"You explained it well. So you toughed it out all those hours with that nasty stab, just to hide the Grail from me?"
"Yes. It was hard!"
"You're a good woman." He smiled at her look of surprise. "You fight so hard for what you believe in, even when there's no one on your side."
She met his eyes. "Are you on my side?"
"I think so. What am I, your second friend among the knights of the realm?"
She supposed so. But two, at least, was better than none.
#
Looking around the empty moss-lined cave, the wizened old man asked, "Nimue, where are these herbs of which you speak?"
"They're roots," she lied at his back. "You'll probably have to kneel to see them."
Merlin knelt, and Nimue took a deep breath. This was her teacher, the man from whom she had learned all her skills. It was a regrettable thing that she had to kill him. But if she didn't, she would not be free to manipulate his greatest pawn, the one that would guarantee her success.
He began to dig, and she knew her moment would soon be past. Still, she hesitated. What if she could not bring him down in the first attack? With his experience, she did not know if she could defeat him. But then, he had named her his greatest student. Finally, she raised her staff and struck.
The hard oak slammed into the back of his skull, and Merlin cried out as he sprawled on the ground. But he held on to consciousness, and Nimue recognized the beginnings of a spell among his moans. She tried to hit him again, but snakelike roots burst from the ground to ensnare her body and arms.
"There are no roots here," she muttered while they tightened around her.
Merlin rolled to his back, grimacing as he clutched his head. "There are, further down than you would care to look. Why did you betray me? You were my brightest student."
"I never wished to harm you, teacher. But you would never allow me what I need before all else, and so you must die."
He shook his head sadly. "Who is about to die?"
"You." Nimue moved suddenly, kicking at the downed man. He should have made sure his roots had bound her legs. The toe of her boot caught him in the throat, and he began to cough and gasp for breath. As he lay incapacitated, she summoned a cloak of flame which enveloped her body. The fire did not burn her, but dried the roots binding her so that an effortful flex of her muscles broke them.
Nimue strode forward, letting the flames die down when she knelt before the still choking Merlin. Tilting his head back, she drew the small knife she wore at her belt. But she stopped, unable to bring herself to slice his throat. He had to die, but she owed him too much to butcher him like a pig. Instead, she pried open his mouth and grabbed his tongue. Fumbling the knife into his mouth, she sawed it off. Now he would not be able to cast any spells to prevent her from leaving.
She walked outside and turned back to the cavern. Merlin was still alive, and she needed to finish him. She dared not allow him any chance to ruin her plans. She put blood-drenched hands on the rock beside the cave mouth and called out to the living earth. Stone trembled beneath her fingers, and the whole cave began to shake.
Yes! To use such a mighty spell was exhausting, even painful, but then that why Nimue was such a good mage. As much as the magic taxed her, she relished the pain. Pain excited her, pleasured her, and to endure it made her feel powerful. She continued to impose her will on the earth, to squeeze it with her power, and the mouth of the cave collapsed. There was no more hole in the hillside, but a solid rock wall where it had been.
Without his magic, Nimue knew that Merlin had no chance to escape. He would die of thirst, if he did not suffocate first. It was probably a worse death than a cut throat, but at least Nimue wouldn't have to watch it. Now she was the master, and Camelot her kingdom. And while Ironheart was gone, his war would continue at yet mightier hands.
Chapter 8
Arthur stared as Merlin settled into his chair in that stiff, pretentious new way of his. It had never been his inclination to sit so rigidly, but re
cline with easy dignity in any seat—the relaxed posture of a man who need make no effort to inspire respect. Merlin seemed to have gained a new consciousness of his royal surroundings, and a need to carry himself as if just another member of its social hierarchy. But he wasn't, and he'd always known that. He was beyond the court, beyond the merely human. Wasn't he?
"You seem uncomfortable," Arthur said. "What is happening with you?"
"I'm fine, my lord. I'm only worried about Nimue. She's been missing quite a while now."
The wizard's student had disappeared a few days ago, and neither Merlin nor Arthur's men could find any trace of where she had gone. But that didn't explain the old man's strange posture, nor the fact he'd called Arthur "my lord." He should have called him by name, like he always had.
"Merlin, I think perhaps you need some rest."
"No, I don't. Why would you think that?"
"You're acting very odd."
Alarm showed in the wizard's voice. "I-I am?"
"Yes. Quite."
"I'm afraid, Arthur." He sounded it. "I think the fey are out to get me. I've been having these dreams lately..."
Arthur began to grow convinced that his most trusted friend really was losing his mind in his old age. Merlin had always trusted his faerie allies with all his heart, as well he should have. "Why would you suspect them of holding foul intentions against us? In all the years, they have never done us harm. They even gave us this." He patted Excalibur at his hip, and smiled at the memory of the blade cutting down his foes in battle after battle back in the day. What he wouldn't give to go back to his youth, and Merlin's sanity!
"My dreams tell me their vile intentions, and they have never been wrong."
But they had never been so unlikely, either. Arthur nodded gravely and stole a glance at his wife Guinevere in the shorter jeweled throne besides his own. Did her alarmed expression indicate that she shared his doubts about the wizard's credibility, or did she actually believe Merlin? Likely the latter, Arthur knew. His queen had been raised among a backward Pictish tribe, and therefore would put much trust in the master of the old ways.