To the Victor

by Samantha M. Derr

  "Two knights with brandished swords against a child and a knight clearly unarmed seems a bit of an unfair fight," a voice said from the same corridor where Lamorak had entered. Agravaine paused and a look of uncertainty replaced the stupid sneer on Gaheris's face.

  Lamorak stiffened but didn't turn, didn't take his eyes from Agravaine, from the sword now wavering between him and the unknown person approaching.

  "Stay out of this," Agravaine hissed. "We're nephews of the First Consort."

  Lamorak flinched, disgusted all over again that he had wanted to rely on the same tactic to save himself.

  "And I am a child of the stars," they said. Which was surprising. The religion was barely practiced in Camelot or Hessia or even the Runic Empire. The Starlit Lands were far to the west, and few who followed the Stars fielded suits in tourneys. "And a knight errant. I need bow to no lord but for the one who knighted me, and neither you nor your First Consort are they."

  Finally they stepped beside Lamorak and he got a look... and his heart leaped. The figure was shrouded in normal-sized black armor and black cloak and hood, with a black mask with red trim and green glowing eyes, nearly an exact match to the much larger suit he had seen just for an instant before crashing. The knight perilous. This had to be the pilot.

  "No man can talk to me so and live," Agravaine said, raising his sword and squaring his shoulders.

  "Good thing I'm an enby, then," they said.

  "Unless you're also immortal, it matters little." Gaharis laughed.

  Lamorak cringed, but the knight merely drew their sword.

  "If they erect a marker here to commemorate your fall," they said, "know that it will say I gave you clean deaths, which is more than you deserve."

  Despite the danger and the circumstances, Lamorak couldn't help but feel his pulse beat a bit faster. Whoever they were, they had style, and Agravaine faltered, doubt creeping into his expression, his stance. Behind him, Gaheris's blade moved away from Percy and into a guard position. Lamorak let out a sigh of relief even as he prepared himself to act. Without a sword, he was still more of an obstacle than a fighter, but even sore from his earlier exploits, he was hardly without skills.

  "And if it's you to die, vagrant," Agravaine said, "what name shall we record on your tomb?"

  They charged as their answer, and Lamorak launched himself after them, around them, aiming himself toward Gaheris, wanting to keep things from becoming two on one. He didn't watch as their swords met, kept himself focused entirely on Gaheris, who smiled as he saw Lam approach.

  "So eager to die, son of a pig?" Gaheris asked. Then the smile slipped from his face and he faltered, eyes going wide.

  It was all the distraction Lam needed. As Gaheris made to turn, Lam was jumping, tackling him in a flying leap that caught him in the side. His sword dropped and they both landed heavily in a jumble of limbs. Lam didn't wait to stand, made a fist and aimed for Gaheris's temple and swung. Pain shot through his knuckles as he connected and Gaheris moaned, lolled to the side. Lamorak didn't pause, rolled on top so that he was straddling Gaheris's body, pinning him to the ground. Again his fist connected. And again. And again until the world seemed to dim and something was pulling at him, something was—

  "Lam, it's over," Percy said, tugging at his shoulder.

  Lam stopped, fist raised again to strike. He couldn't feel it. Not the pain he knew should be there. Not anger. Not fear. Swallowing, he looked at his brother, felt his heart skip when he saw blood dripping down his hand, down the short blade of a dagger trembling in his grasp.

  "Thanks for that," Lamorak said, and Percy tried at a smile, seemed only capable of a sort of grimace.

  "Father always said to go unarmed was a quick way to go to your death," Percy said.

  Lam tried not to look away but couldn't hold his brother's gaze. It was too much, hearing their father's words like that. Another of his failures. How many other little sayings would he have to hear from Percy's lips? Maybe, "A man who lets himself be used as a whore shouldn't be surprised when he's treated like one." Something inside him burned and he looked down at Gaheris's limp form, felt the desire to grab Percy's dagger and end him. He didn't understand why Lot's sons hated his family so—they'd probably get along great with Pellinore.

  It was only then that the ring of steel on steel broke through the haze of violence. And with the noise came the pain in his hand, intense and searing. Still he managed to stand, to collect the sword Gaheris had dropped. He turned, realized he needn't have bothered.

  Agravaine was bleeding from a half dozen wounds, his stance sloppy, wobbling. He was probably the weakest fighter among his brothers, and whoever the knight perilous was fighting him, they were good. Slapping Agravaine's sword aside, they scored another hit, this one to Agravaine's thigh. He fell with a cry.

  From the ground, it was obvious the fight was out of him. But not the deviousness. "Murder!" Agravaine yelled as loud as he could, and the sound froze them all. "Thieves! Murder!"

  Lamorak wished he could have enjoyed the sight of Agravaine's face meeting the flat of a blade a bit more. But even as blood spurted from Agravaine's nose and he collapsed still, Lam knew the damage was done. Two knights perilous and a young squire, alone among the bloodied bodies of two nephews of the First Consort? There wouldn't even be an investigation, just a quick beheading.

  "Follow me," he said, and ran. Any path out from the tents would only make them easier to spot, so Lam aimed from the uncharted labyrinth of canvas corridors that stretched the entire length of the tourney field. Each camp was vaguely separated, but there were enough connections that Lam knew of that could at least get them away from the Queen's delegation.

  It was like stepping through time, back to being a squire from Aglovale during tourneys, racing through the small hours of the morning in order to make it back to his tent unseen. At the time, it had been a thrill, of quiet pain and hushed words, of hiding the marks his lovers would make on his flesh while helping his brother to dress, and keeping his head down under the stern gaze of his father. Only now the danger was of more than a lecture and a beating. He ran, unable to tell in the twists of the tents whether the others were keeping up.

  And then he was stepping out into the bright light of day, his hand still throbbing pain and his whole body sore, exhausted. He slowed to a stop, glad that no one seemed concerned with his abrupt appearance. Even when Percy and their mysterious savior emerged a moment later, none gave them a second look. Lamorak stepped back into the tents long enough to toss Gaheris's sword—not something he wanted to be found with—and only then did he let himself breathe.

  "You have my thanks, stranger," he said, trying to remember the correct customs among the Children of the Stars.

  As if sensing his dilemma, they reached forward and grasped Lamorak's shoulder, gave it a squeeze. Lam returned the gesture, wincing as he tried to flex his hand.

  "If you have a moment," they said, "I would ask a favor."

  "Anything," Lamorak said, perhaps a bit too fast. And though he could not see their face behind the mask, he thought he felt them smile.

  *~*~*

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Lamorak was bothered that Gaheris and Agravaine hadn't relieved Percy of the cognition seal. But then, for them, it likely had nothing to do with a stolen piece of suit. And if a small voice asked why they had been so eager to end him, Lam ignored it. He had more interesting things on which to focus. Like the knight whose tent he was admiring.

  "I don't suppose you'd tell me your name, now that we're alone?" Lam asked, and the knight paused in their admiration of the suit of armor that dominated the relatively small space. Red and black, it was exquisitely made and looked well maintained. Powered down, the eyes were slate gray, but the memory of them still burned in Lam's memory, green and piercing.

  With a sigh, the knight reached up and pulled off their mask. Beneath was a face, tawny skin and a wide nose over a faint mustache. Short, straight black hair poked out from their hood
. And piercing, green eyes stared back as Lamorak tried to memorize the features, tried to place them. Starlit, definitely, though the eyes...

  "My father was Hessian," they said, pushing back the hood and dropping the mask on a work bench. "The green eyes are his. All my siblings have them."

  "And did he give you a name as well?" Lam asked.

  A cold glare stopped him from pressing the issue.

  "In the Starlit Lands, we value the names we take for ourselves above our fledgling titles," they said.

  Lam put up his hands and bowed his head.

  "I'm sorry for my ignorance," he said. "I will admit I've never been to the Starlit Lands, nor met many from there." There had been a woman who had worked the stables a few years before he left. She'd liked to sit on his face while he masturbated. Ainira. But she had never spoken of the life she had left behind, and they had never done much talking.

  "My name is Safere," they said. "My pronouns are ey, em, eir."

  "And I'm Lamorak," he said, bowing lower this time, which was good for a smile, at least. "He, him, his."

  "I am aware who you are," Safere said.

  Lam chuckled. "Does my reputation really precede me so far?" he asked.

  "It does," Safere said, tone serious but there was the hint of a smile on eir lips, and a heat in the way eir gaze drifted down Lam's body.

  "Well, I can tell you it's all false," he said, standing straight and puffing out his chest, "except the bit about being an amazing lover. That I will take full ownership of."

  Safere rolled eir eyes and shook eir head. "I think it might have been a mistake to save you," ey said.

  "Not that I'm ungrateful," he said, "but why did you save me?"

  Safere paused, bit eir bottom lip, then turned to the work bench. The lights in the mask had gone out the moment ey took it off, but the memory of them made it look nearly alive.

  "Well, if that's a secret, perhaps you'll tell me how you managed to make those eyes." He didn't want to push too hard, too fast, despite how fun it might be to—

  "I built it custom," ey said. "The interfaces for suits have to be so large because the suits themselves are large, but for smaller devices, they can be rigged up very small." Ey picked up the mask, slid it onto eir face. There was a faint click and a whir and the eyes blazed green again.

  "All it takes is a few new connections," ey said. "I can vary the intensity at will, and if I want..."

  The eyes flashed, a light so bright that Lamorak flinched back, shut his eyes. It was like staring into the heart of a fire, or an explosion, but he felt no heat from the burst of light.

  "What was—" He opened his eyes, vision blurred but clearing, and gasped. Two green, glowing orbs hovered inches in front of his face, the black of the mask making the whole world seem consumed by those points of color, which flickered with intensity.

  "It's something of a dirty trick, I admit," ey said, and Lam shuddered as he felt eir hand brush against his hip. "But it has helped me out of many difficult situations. And into a few..."

  Lam swallowed. "I bet."

  The green of the eyes dimmed, diminished until it faded entirely, and he could see eir real eyes staring at him from beneath the mask.

  "I've always been good with mech," ey said.

  Lamorak had no doubt it was an understatement. He guessed that even Ruwena, who knew more than anyone Lam had ever met, would be impressed by the craft and ingenuity.

  "And you're not bad with a sword, either," Lam said. Not that Agravaine was the most skilled, but he had been trained since he was young to fight, to exploit weakness. That he had found none in Safere meant ey was no fool with a blade.

  Safere took a step back and shrugged. "You should see my brother," ey said. "Palomides is the greatest knight who ever lived. I've never seen him lose."

  That was a name that Lamorak had heard before. Most had. The scourge of Camelot knights. The Starlit Knight. Sir Palomides the Heathen. And Safere was right—he had never been bested. In the two years since he had appeared at a small provincial tourney, he had taken prize after prize. But news on his exploits had dried up recently.

  "You're his squire?" Lam asked, looking up at the suit that towered over them. With a squire like Safere on his side, his performance made even more sense—knights were often only as powerful as their squires were talented.

  Safere nodded. "Until he disappeared," ey said. "Which is why I'm here. Which is why I stepped in when I did. I fear he has gone in search of the Questing Beast."

  Lam recoiled as if struck, felt the words like a physical assault. The Questing Beast. His father's never-ending mission. The reason he was only home for holidays, and even then only rarely. The reason he couldn't be bothered to talk to his sons about their lives, the reason he'd rather marry them off than deal with listening to them. The reason Lamorak didn't have a second parent—because who would stay when their husband and lord was gone three quarters of the year and forbade you from taking a lover, on pain of death?

  "I'm afraid I don't know much about it," he said, and he could tell that Safere was confused, alarmed. Ey hadn't expected this reaction, no doubt, but Lam didn't care, didn't want to explain.

  "But your father—"

  "My father has nothing to do with me," Lam said, "and I have nothing to do with him. I'm a knight perilous, like yourself. I have no lord or allegiance."

  Safere pulled away the mask, revealing pursed lips and narrowed eyes. "I saved your life," ey said, "and you agreed to grant me a favor. I cannot believe you know nothing about this. Please, I need to find my brother, to know that he is safe."

  An image of Percy passed through Lam's mind, and he grimaced. How would he feel if his brother had disappeared? If his only lead was a cryptic hunch?

  "My father and I... don't exactly see eye to eye," Lam said. "On many things. He regards his hunt of the Questing Beast higher than he values his family." Not that it was all bad. It had meant that Lam had a lot of time on his own. Aglovale and Durnore had never been successful in keeping him out of trouble.

  "I'm sorry," Safere said, and from the expression on eir face, Lam could see ey was. "I understand the belligerence of family. My brothers are all that I have, and Palomides especially has always been my closest ally and friend. But he is taken to... obsessions. And I'm afraid that while we were out hunting one day, the Questing Beast crossed our path. So strange was the creature that he... he said he wouldn't pursue it until we could talk it over, but the next thing I knew, he was gone."

  "It has that effect, I've heard," Lam said. He wondered if it was something magical about the Beast that made its hunters so... single minded. Or was that just his childish hope that his father couldn't be in his right mind, that something was making him choose the hunt over his family. Now that it mattered now. Lam's head shot up, though, as Safere's words sunk in. "Wait, if you were his squire until he disappeared and immediately went in search of him, who knighted you?"

  The way that Safere grimaced and turned away was all the answer he needed.

  "I was hoping to have found my brother before it became an issue," ey said.

  "Before it—" Lam looked around, suddenly wary, lest they were being observed. "If they discover that you've been playing at knight without being knighted... the punishments are not kind."

  "I have no intention of being discovered," Safere said. "I have my brother's official crest from the Starlit Lands and have been entering perilous so that I don't have to display it. As very few people know my brother more than by reputation, I haven't had any problems."

  "So that's why you didn't give your name before," Lam said, and ey nodded. "But why are you telling me now?"

  Emerald eyes narrowed and Safere glanced away, refused to look directly at him. "First, and most, is that I need your help, and it wouldn't be right to deceive you," ey said. Then ey took a deep breath and looked back at him, eir gaze intense. "Second, and least... I feel that I can trust you. The way that you risked yourself for your brother, the way
you fight. The way you tried to walk in your suit despite the faulty cognition seal. You do not seem like the type to betray me."

  Lam could do little but nod. He felt hot, and the pain from earlier seemed to melt away, buried under a sudden desire to close the distance between them. His mouth was still sore from earlier, and a part of him wondered if he wasn't just as bad as his father said. Going from what he had done with Uwain to what he now felt stirring inside him... he pushed it away. There was nothing wrong with his desires.

  "I will help you as I can. And I promise I will tell you what I can about the Questing Beast. What do you say to meeting after the melee tomorrow, at my tent?"

  Safere laughed. "I say that it sounds like a date," ey said. "I wouldn't mind having a word with your squire, after all. Anyone who can get that heap of scrap to even stand up, much less survive a melee, is someone I'd very much like to talk shop with."

  "I don't intend to merely survive the melee," Lam said, and wet his lips with his tongue. "I'm going to win it."

  *~*~*

  Lamorak walked into his tent nearly whistling. He felt electrified, alive. He felt—his enthusiasm died when he saw the look of terror on Percy's face as he came into view. Without thinking, Lam rushed forward, again regretting his absent sword as he put himself between his brother and—

  "Well, here's our master now, Lord Merlin," Ruwena said, and Lam stopped cold as he took in the scene in the rest of the tent. A man in blue robes stood staring up at Lam's suit, which even kneeling was over ten feet tall and dominated the space. He thankfully stood with his back to where Percy and Ruwena were standing, their bodies rigid and wary.