Blood of Kings

by Billy Wong

  He rebounded into action as she came within sword's reach, slashing powerfully at her hip. She hopped back and swiped at his head. He ducked, stabbed at her gut. Mildy's armored gauntlet slapped it aside, and she aimed a crushing blow at his knee. Her flail thudded against the ground as he took a step back, and he chopped at her neck.

  She leaned away, Excalibur slicing into her shoulder before she whipped her flail back up. Crunch. The heavy metal balls slammed into Arthur's helm, putting a deep dent into rounded steel, and Mildy knew he was dead. As he spun around from the force of the blow, remorse and grief for the father she'd never known filled her eyes with tears.

  But he did not fall, and instead continued the spin to face her again. Before she could react, he plunged Excalibur into her chest. Blood rushed into her mouth, and she gasped while unbearable agony stole her strength. She collapsed, the legendary sword rising like a gravestone from her ruined breast. Arthur fell beside her, his mortal wound at last claiming his strength.

  On her back, Mildy lolled her head sideways to see the battle coming to an end. Countless dead surrounded her, enemies and allies alike. Had the duel between father and daughter really lasted that long? Her memory was fuzzy, but the evidence lay right there, bloody corpses strewn like so much refuse across the quiet field. But she could hardly focus on them, her eyes drawn to the sight of the sword rising and descending with the motion of her heaving chest. Try as she might, she could not catch her breath, and the whole world was pain.

  Footsteps approached, and she saw a battered knight appear to kneel at Arthur's side. Bedivere, he was called. "My lord, please tell me what to do. I can see nothing of the dream we shared, only pointless death. Is it all over?"

  Somehow, the king with his crushed skull was still alive. "It's never over. Bring me my sword." Bedivere only stared. "Bring me my sword."

  "You need it no more, sire. The battle is finished."

  "Bring it!"

  The knight glanced around, and focused on Excalibur in its sheath of Mildy's chest. He reached for it, and she gave him a discouraging look. Bedivere recoiled. "You're alive..."

  "What?" Arthur asked weakly.

  Only distantly aware of what she was doing Mildy stood, her legs barely able to support her trembling body, and yanked Excalibur from her breast. Blood rushed out like a grisly waterfall, and her vision swam. She saw somewhere in the distance a tranquil lake untouched by suffering and strife, raised her arm, and sniffed.

  "No more," she said, and flung Excalibur away.

  It fell with a splat on the muddy shore feet short of its destination, but the point was made. Arthur exhaled, closed his eyes, and finally died. Her hand pressed over the hole in her chest, Mildy looked at Bedivere. No words were needed anymore, and he dragged the corpse of his king away. He would not attack her from behind, she thought. She was dying anyway.

  She scanned the carpet of dead, searching for Ares among the carnage of Camelot's fall. The last time she saw him, he had been fighting valiantly at her side. Not a coward at all. But all she could see now were corpses, corpses which all looked the same to her hazy eyes. She hoped Ares wasn't one of them, or buried underneath like the crushed flowers she knew to be there. He would have to take care of himself, this time. Her knees quivered; they would not carry her far.

  She turned back to gaze upon Irethine's corpse and began to cry in earnest, not only for the equine fey but everyone else as well, Arthur most of all. He hadn't shown her anything to love, but he was her father, and somehow she loved him for that alone. Not that love was enough. It wasn't even enough to prevent two people from killing each other. Falling to her knees, Mildy pressed her face into Irethine's cooling flank and wept. Before long, her vision faded into night.

  "Milady?" a frightened voice asked, snapping her out of her coma of grief. She rolled herself slowly over, the sunset surprising her weary eyes, and looked up at the young man who stood over her. "How are you?"

  "I just killed my father."

  Ares knelt beside her, working at the straps of her shattered armor, and said softly, "It looks like he stabbed you right in the heart, or too close to it."

  "I know."

  "We don't have the Grail or even a unicorn now."

  "I know."

  "I can't believe you're still alive. Stay that way."

  She considered her condition. "It might be easier to be dead, the way I feel now. To kill your father is the worst of sins, and when he's your king as well... I'm a wretched being."

  He didn't answer for a long time, only bandaging her wounds to the best of his ability. Finally, he said, "No you're not, Milady. You did the only thing you could."

  He didn't know what it felt like to kill his father. No one could, unless they'd done it themselves, so she didn't say anything to try and explain the utter emptiness of her soul. She simply sat up a bit and draped an arm about his neck as if to let him help her rise. But instead, he tucked an arm underneath her legs and slowly stood cradling her in his arms. As he began to walk, Mildy felt a little surprised at his strength.

  "We won," he said, "if you want to know. Though we lost so many, it's hard to call it that."

  She tried to nod and felt her senses again begin to slip away, her chest growing tighter with each breath. Hearing her struggle for air, Ares pleaded, "No, Milady, don't die! Hang on, please just hang on."

  "For what?" she managed to ask. And for how long? There wasn't much to be done for her wound, and the pain seemed greater than any mortal was meant to take.

  A few long seconds passed. "Something. There's always something to make life worthwhile." When she did not respond, he paused, then added, "Me, then. Live for me. I don't know what I'd do without you."

  Though she couldn't really make out the expression on his face, she could hear just how much he didn't want her to die. "Fine, Ares. Just for you, I'll try and survive."

  Chapter 10

  Morgan helped Ares set the wounded warrioress down in the great tent at the center of camp and strip the remnants of her armor away. Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of her daughter's riven breast. Evidently, she believed Mildy would die. Would she? The fire in her chest was almost impossible to bear. But at least she still felt pain.

  "These wounds," Morgan breathed as she smoothed Mildy's blood-caked hair. "A normal person would already be dead. My strong, strong daughter. I'm so proud of you."

  "Can you s-save her?" Ares asked, his voice breaking.

  Morgan fell silent while she looked over Mildy's body, seemingly overwhelmed by her myriad injuries. "You look exhausted, Ares," she finally said. "Get some rest. I'll take care of her."

  He departed reluctantly, and Mildy gasped as Morgan began to dress her wounds. "I'm dying, aren't I?" she asked in a shaking voice.

  Morgan's look was frightened yet resolute, as if sheer will could make her words true. "Don't you dare say that! Mildred, you have to live. I can't lose you."

  Mildy nodded, more frightened somehow of disappointing her mother than dying itself. "I'm trying, I am. But my chest really hurts."

  "I can give you something for the pain, but as to the wound itself, there's little we can do. Just don't give up. I know you can hold on, just like you did with that gut wound." She paused, smiling. "You did it, my girl. You avenged me."

  She'd never wanted to. Mildy sighed. "I hated it, Mom. He may not have been a nice man, but he was my father." How could life be so cruel? How could God be so cruel?

  "I'm sorry. I know it must be hard."

  Mildy cried a while before she spoke again. "So what happens now, Mom? What happens to Britannia, now that you've got your wish?" Even though Morgan hadn't actually caused Arthur's death, Mildy felt a bit angry at her for wishing for it. Now that it'd happened, everyone would suffer for it.

  "You're going to happen, Mildred. You're going to take your father's place. You just have to live to do it."

  She wondered if Morgan was only saying it to encourage her to fight for her life. But if that wa
s the case, the idea appealed less to Mildy than Morgan might have expected. Take over Camelot? Become queen? Okay, so she was the closest thing to a heir to the dead king, but she'd killed him! And she feared she would make a poor ruler.

  "I'm not a queen, Mom. I'm not even a real knight. Just a strong girl who used to wish she could be one. I just want to rest now."

  "Mildred, you've already led a people in war. What makes you think you can't in peace?"

  She said it like she believed it, but Mildy's frown only deepened. Now that Morgan's dream of revenge had been fulfilled, she wanted her other one of living as royalty again to come true too. Like before, her daughter would be her tool of choice for achieving it.

  "But it was a different people, Mom. And leading in battle's not the same as running a kingdom, for sure."

  "Why are you so scared of this? You're a princess, Mildred. This is what you were born to do."

  No. She had been born out of a battle-crazed king unknowingly raping his own sister, and right now it seemed this tragedy was the culmination of her fate. "Let's talk about it later, Mom. When we know I'll live."

  Morgan stroked her cheek and smiled. "You'll survive, Mildred. No God could be cruel enough not to let you."

  Even if she didn't understand her, Morgan did love her. Mildy forced herself to return the smile. "He did give me quite the physical gifts. Let me rest, though. I'm tired."

  Her mother nodded and walked slowly out of the tent. A period of torturous rest followed, Mildy unable to sleep and feeling with dreadful clarity the pain of every heartbeat. Just when she thought she could take no more, that she would soon have to die, her consciousness faded away.

  She couldn't tell how much time passed, but Mildy eventually awakened to find herself back in a world of agony. As she suffered quietly on the floor, she heard footsteps approaching. She opened her eyes to see Ares come inside, and took a small measure of comfort in his arrival. Despite all the pain, she would welcome the chance to talk to a trusted friend.

  "How long have I been asleep?" she asked. She knew gravely wounded people often did not wake for long periods of time.

  "Three weeks." Ares grinned at her answering frown and knelt to pat her shoulder. "No, I'm joking. It's only been a night, though a worrisome enough one. I'm glad you woke up."

  So was she, but being awake was killing her. "So did you just come to visit?"

  "I came to check on you, but since you're awake, Gawain's here. He's outside the camp, asking to speak with you. I know you're hurt, so if you don't want to talk..."

  Mildy had little heart for confronting an enemy, but neither did she want to use her infirmity as an excuse for anything. "Does it look like he'll try and kill me?"

  Ares paused, thinking. "I don't know, Milady. I'm not good at reading people."

  "Oh, just say yes or no. I'm not looking for absolute certainty here."

  "No."

  "Then let him in, and let's see what he has to say."

  #

  After a bit of a fuss Gawain entered Mildy's tent, relieved of his weapons and escorted by half a dozen guards with spears pointed at him. Forced to sit out the final battle, he still bore a slight limp on account of the groin injury she'd given him. She wondered if he bore her a grudge for it.

  He stared at the bloody bandages all over her body. "You don't look well."

  She smiled grimly. "I should be dead, but hell didn't want me. So, what do you want?"

  He managed to surprise her this time. "I'm here to offer my help. I want to join you."

  "What? Gawain, what are you talking about? You've never liked me. And I killed your uncle."

  Anger flashed through his eyes, but he blinked it away. "Yes, but he was your father. I know you didn't want to do it. Bedivere told me how you cried."

  "It doesn't make it any less wrong what I did." She was a monster either way.

  "You didn't have a choice."

  Hardly able to believe Gawain was actually defending her to herself, Mildy asked, "What exactly do you want to do?"

  "Rebuild Camelot."

  Her eyes narrowed, and she wondered if he and Morgan had spoken. "And I'd guess that you want me on the throne?"

  "Yes. You're Arthur's daughter, Mildred, and the best hope for restoring the stability he built in his life."

  Before realizing the change in her tone, she snapped, "What, put me in his place? Want me to be your figurehead, so you can preserve your privileged existence without your leader? I won't be used as a pawn, not when I'm finally free."

  Though she held infinite guilt and sadness for killing her father, she did feel somehow free. Not that it was nearly as happy as freedom should have been, but she would no longer have to endure her mother's urge for revenge and her father's hate. Still, she could hardly see any light in her future.

  Gawain shook his head. "What privileged existence, Mildred? Life will be hard now, whatever we do. But if you help us, I promise we'll have the chance to build a completely new nation, Camelot only in name."

  "And will it be any good?"

  "It'll be up to us to make it good. Us survivors will have to make the decisions that shape our nation's future, now."

  It sounded worth a try. But Mildy didn't know if she could do much of a job of leading the way to change. "I'll think about it when I'm in a little less pain. But if I agree... no more hunting faeries, right?"

  "That wasn't me."

  "I know." Mildy grinned. "This is some surprise. What, could we actually become friends someday?"

  "No, I doubt that." He knelt beside her and took her hand firmly in his own. "But we are siblings. I'm ready to know my mother, and I suppose I'll have to put up with her daughter in the meantime. So get well, so I don't have to watch our mother suffer from losing you."

  "That's a start. Thanks for the good wishes."

  "I leave you to your rest. " He left, his escort following him from the tent.

  Ares, who had been watching the whole time, sat by her side. "Odd, isn't it Milady? Everybody seems to accepting your royal status now."

  "Not so odd. They want to use me to get what they want, that's all."

  He frowned. "I don't think your mom would try to use you."

  "Oh, I don't mean she doesn't care about me or anything like that. I mean she, and Gawain, both want to live more a certain way, and think me useful in attaining their goals. I doubt my mom would ever knowingly put that above my well-being; Gawain, I don't know."

  "That makes sense. But what's so wrong with it?"

  "I'm not saying they're wrong. It's me I'm worried about. I'm not sure I'm worthy."

  Ares shook his head. "And do you think Arthur was worthy?"

  She didn't want to think about her father. "He wasn't perfect."

  "No, Milady. Royalty isn't a matter of merit, but of birth. You just have to make the best of what you're stuck with, that's all."

  "Am I doomed to be queen?" she asked with a little smile.

  "That's such a great choice of words. And I don't know."

  Mildy looked at the ceiling of the tent and sighed, wishing Lance were here. He'd know something to say to help her out.

  #

  Arthur had been killed, and his government all but destroyed. But Camelot still stood, and its remaining inhabitants—servants and guards, wounded knights and their families—roamed the halls in constant fear. Soon, battles would surely be fought over the old seat of power, and their long safety behind its walls would come to an end. But they seemed to relax a bit as Lance passed them on his way to see his love. They knew he would do them no harm.

  He had come back to Britannia at once when he heard of Arthur's defeat, not overly surprised at Mildy's success. Of course, he did worry a little over the mortal wound she'd allegedly suffered. She wasn't dead yet, but would she recover from having Excalibur thrust into her chest? Right now, though, he was more concerned about his love Guinevere, who lay flaccidly in her opulent bed, eyes dull and lifeless.

  As he sat at her si
de, he realized she was mumbling something, again and again. "It's all over, it's all over..."

  "Hey, Gwen. I'm here."

  She looked up, slowly focusing on his face. "Lance? You came back."

  "Of course I came back. I need you."

  "And I you. I missed you." She reached up to touch him, and he noticed with a shudder the scars on her wrists. Evidently, she had tried to kill herself after Arthur's death.

  He grabbed her arm, staying her hand, and made her look at her handiwork. "Why did you do this?! Are you stupid? Did you think you had nothing to lose?"

  She recoiled, startled by his well justified rage. She'd almost taken her own life for no good reason. He was still alive, and for her to give up so easily was unthinkable. They locked eyes, and she withered under his gaze.

  "I'm sorry, Lance. I didn't think you would return. But I'm glad you have."

  He let his anger go and embraced her tiny body. She'd gotten thinner since they last met, and her bones felt hard against his flesh. "Forgiven. But don't ever do that again."

  "I won't, not with you by my side."

  Though her body didn't give him the physical pleasure it usually did, her presence was enough to put his heart at ease, and he had no desire to let her go. "So is everything all right around here?"

  "Yes, for now. But I'm sure the Dread Lady will come for this castle soon."

  She spoke with an intense hatred aimed at her husband's killer, as was to be expected. Lance had never talked much of Mildy to Guinevere, and now wished he had. She did not know how good Mildy was, nor the pain she must have felt in slaying her own father, but only thought of her as the rebel who destroyed Camelot, the dark princess of the tales made after Arthur's fall.

  "She's not an evil person, Gwen. Mildy's an honorable soul, and if she takes Camelot, she'll probably do better than anyone else who might."

  Gwen began to cry, tears running down her cheeks. "She killed my husband, Lance. I hate her. I hate her so much."