by Ines Johnson
“I can’t let you sign-up,” said Geraint. “You heard what Plato said about Gyges and his sick games. And there are other stories about this guy. Remember the biblical story of King Solomon ordering the two women who claimed they were mothers to one child? He tricked them into revealing their true natures by suggesting they tear the baby in two? Rumor has it that was Gyges’s idea. And he wasn’t happy when Solomon didn’t follow through with splitting the baby into two pieces.”
That was pretty sick, but— “I’m not a mom. I don’t have any siblings. I can take on any opponent physically, including Baros.”
Well, I could hold my own with Baros. I’d never actually won a fight against him.
“It’s not just physical, Loren. It’s games of morality.”
I quirked a brow at Geraint. “You and I both know, despite my oath, that my morals are still pretty loose. It’s an advantage.”
“What about the psychological impact? Look at what happened to those two human brothers.”
The standing brother, the indebted one I’d learned, was off drinking with a bevy of pastel fairies. He didn't look in the least bit haunted at his brother’s demise. Though I wondered if he should be taking food from the fae. Weren’t there warnings about that?
We’d made our way to the tournament registration table. Surprisingly, there was no one in line. As I took a step toward the table, Geraint tugged at my arm.
“This game is life or death,” said Geraint.
“This job, being a knight, is life or death,” I said. “Real talk; I’m not sure if I’m ready to turn Baros over. That’s the truth.”
Geraint blew through his nostrils as his eyes narrowed.
“But,” I held up my index finger, “I am certain that no one, including Baros, should have the power of invincibility. That’s our true mission; to take the ring out of play.”
Geraint’s nostrils settled down. He rubbed his forefinger against his hairy chin. I took advantage and stepped up to the table. The bored fairy behind the desk handed me a stack of papers filled with legalese. My eyes skated over the words, which I wasn’t sure were in English or any kind of human language. I reached out my hand for the pen the fairy held out.
“Baros is good,” I said, palming the fancy fountain pen. “And he’s survived this tournament before. He’ll likely advance. If I enlist, Gyges would be a fool not to pit us against one another. Imagine that drama; former lovers, student against teacher, man against woman. It screams daytime soap opera.”
“And if you lose before you face off against Baros?” asked Geraint.
I snorted. “I won’t.”
Geraint rolled his eyes.
“The only person who could possibly take me with a sword is Baros … And you.” I quickly added when I saw Geraint’s affronted look. I pressed the pen to paper only to see that the well was dry. Before I could even look up to alert the attendant I felt a prick in the padded part of my thumb.
It was like being stuck with a needle. Red ink dripped from the tip of the pen. Looks like the well had been filled with my blood. I wanted to say ew and cool at the same time. I affixed my signature, with my own blood, and handed the paperwork back to the attendant who took it with a beleaguered sigh.
“If you’re signing up,” said Geraint, “then so am I.”
“You? You’re one of the most stoic, rigid, uptight knights there is.”
“I think you mean saintly, respectable, and upright.” Geraint winced as the pen took its due from his flesh. He affixed his signature to his own stack of papers.
“What I mean is, you’ll get crushed in a game of morality.”
“You know we took the same oath,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “But you probably said it with an open heart. And no fingers crossed. Kidding.”
“They’ll probably pit us against each other, like the brothers.”
I grinned. “Are you calling me your brother?”
“It’s the most logical thing for Gyges to do; to try to make us turn on each other. You should know, I won’t go easy on you this time.”
We made our way back to the arena just in time for the last bout to end. I didn’t see the contenders, only the cleanup crew that mopped up the blood from the ground. In the ring, Gyges was taking center stage again.
“Ladies and gentlefae, we have a treat for you tonight. We’ve had some late additions to the program. But we’ll get this party started early.”
Gyges didn't look our way, but I knew he was talking about us. And then, to put a point on it, a blindingly bright spotlight found us in the crowd.
“We are thrilled to have not one, but two knights from the Round Table of Camelot in our presence. Those noble do-gooders have come to battle it out in the arena.”
“Told you,” said Geraint.
“Up first, coming to you from the lost kingdom of Dumnonia, we have Prince Candor Geraint.”
Geraint sighed heavily as the crowd of female fairies tittered, craning their swan necks to get a good look at him.
“Prince?” I said.
Geraint ignored me as he started towards the arena ring. I tripped over my feet to keep up with him.
“As you know, my dear guests, Arthur and his knights sit at a circular table because they believe everyone is equal. They take vows of chivalry, to show mercy, to never harm a woman.”
Poor Gyges was in for a surprise. The oath wasn’t that simple. Knights were surrounded by witches, so they knew women to be powerful beings. No knight would ever hurt anyone who was defenseless. But if a witch or a druidess or a drunken sorority sister went on the attack, it was our duty to subdue them as best we could and protect those in harm’s way. So, under these circumstances, Geraint was covered.
In light of that news, I posed the most important issue to Geraint. “What kind of prince are we talking about?”
Geraint stepped away from me, but I grabbed onto his shirtsleeve before he could get away.
“I mean, are you like the Windsors who’re only a figurehead monarchy? Or are you like Middle Eastern or African princes with an absolute theocracy?”
“Loren!” He snatched his forearm away.
I let him go, holding up my hands in a defenseless motion. True to the rules, he didn’t attack me.
“And your opponent …” said Gyges.
I prepared to make my way into the arena ring, but the spotlight that had lit Geraint darkened, casting me in the shadows. Gyges turned to another corner. I noted it was where he’d been sitting and viewing the festivities. The spotlight shone on a woman sitting next to Gyges’s empty seat. The woman winced ever so slightly under the glare of light.
“Enid, my dear,” said Gyges.
The crowd gasped. I wasn’t sure if it was because of Gyges’s choice or because of the exquisite creature his open hand indicated.
You had to be close up to see it, but Enid’s throat worked. She unfolded her hands, which had rested primly in her lap, and stood. As she came into the ring it was clear to see that she was absolutely lovely. Her skin was pale lavender, like Gyges’s. Her royal blue hair was done up in intricate knots and swirls.
Yeah, I think it was her beauty that made the crowd gasp, not the choice of her as an opponent. Her gaze was hooded allowing me to see her pink eyelids, the same shade of pink as Gyges’s. Her demure lips were also the same rosy shade as the man in charge. She looked like the definition and the connotation of femininity brought to life. I smelled a rat.
I tugged at Geraint’s shirtsleeve. Then I had to tug again. Just like the crowd, he was mesmerized by Enid’s beauty. “This has to be a moral or psychological trick,” I said.
It took him a moment to blink and tear his gaze away from the fairy. “Are you sure?”
“Gyges wants you to think he’s pitted you against some defenseless maiden,” I said with certainty, looking at the unassuming damsel. “She may look the part, but she’s competing for some reason. She wants the ring. Don’t fall for the helpless act.”
<
br /> Geraint reached into his bag and pulled out his weapon; a masinko. Our swords were able to hide what they truly were outside of Camelot. My sword took the shape of a folded cane. Geraint’s took the shape of the guitar-like musical instrument whose music he loved. He tossed his bag to me and then gave the masinko a shake. His blade took shape, glinting in the stage lighting.
Geraint took his mark. “Please choose your weapon, my lady?”
Enid did not. She stayed still and mute, her eyes cast down. She was a great little actress. But I knew that at any moment she would attack.
Geraint looked at Gyges. The fae had taken his seat back in the special box where Enid had left. He grinned as he watched the festivities play out.
Geraint tossed a look over his shoulder at me. I gave him an encouraging nod. When he still hesitated, I flicked my fingers at him to get on with it.
He turned back to Enid. She still stared at the floor, not making a single move. It looked like she was barely breathing. I wondered if she was weaving a spell, like a witch?
Geraint took a fighting stance. And held it. I knew he wouldn’t strike out first. And so we all waited.
And waited.
And then waited some more.
Finally, Geraint lowered his sword. He turned back to me. But I could only offer him a shrug. I couldn’t figure out this chick’s game.
Geraint tossed me his sword. He turned back to Enid and took a few tentative steps towards her. I groaned. He was going to lose the battle as chivalry won the day.
But no. Wait. Geraint surprised us all. He came toe to toe with Enid, and then the prince put up his dukes. I pumped my fists in the air. Take that, you psychotic faerie. Gyges wasn’t going to pull a fast one on this knight.
Enid chanced a glance up at Geraint. She bit at her lower lip. Geraint’s eyes followed the move, but he didn’t lower his defense.
A movement below caught my gaze. I saw Enid’s fingers twitch. Was she about to reach for something? Was she preparing to do magic? Her slender fingers began to unfurl.
“Geraint, look out,” I shouted. “Her hand.”
His gaze went down to her hand. Then his own fist struck out. There was a collective gasp from the entire crowd, then silence.
You could hear a pin drop as Enid’s head snapped back. Crimson blood rushed under the skin just below her eyes. She blinked twice and then sank to her knees in a puddle of pastels.
All the color drained from Geraint’s face as he took her in. A woman sunken down to his feet. Her empty hands went to her bruised face.
Geraint dropped down to her. But she shrank away from him. Enid cowered before him and curled herself into a protective ball.
Maniacal chuckling filled the arena as Gyges made his way back into the ring. “And the winner.” Gyges raised Geraint’s hand. “Chivalry is dead.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I’m going to hell.”
“No,” I soothed, rubbing Geraint’s back. He was doubled over as we both sat on the lowest rung of the arena seating. “You might qualify for a reality television show, but hell? Nah.”
“I’ve never hit a lady before,” he said, straightening. He looked truly forlorn and shaken. “I mean I’ve battled you, and the Banduri, and an evil witch once. But none of that counts. What woman doesn’t know how to defend yourself? My God. Listen to what I’m saying. I’m blaming the victim.”
Geraint crumpled back into his seat. The people and fairies around us openly stared and pointed at him. It was a knight’s worst nightmare—purposefully inflicting pain on an innocent.
I looked back out into the arena as Gyges made his way to the center to announce the next bout. This was truly a sick and twisted game. Even if you won, you lost. And it looked like I was up next.
“Hey, Lolo.”
“Hey, Lenny.”
Baros held a xiphos in his sword hand. The weapon was the traditional Spartan short sword that had a slightly curved blade. It was mainly used in fighting close combat.
My sword was magical. It could adjust to my needs. Before I knew that it was from the same family as Excalibur, I’d already given it a name. I’d deemed it Inigo for obvious fan of the 80’s reasons.
“Nice blade,” Baros said.
“Yours, too.”
There was no waiting for me to make the first move. Baros was not chivalrous. He raised his sword.
“You’re not going to try and talk me out of his fight?” I asked.
He grinned. “I know you too well. You never back down from a fight. Even when you’re going to lose. But I promise I’ll kiss it better if you come to my rooms after.”
I raised my sword. “The only thing that’s getting kissed is the handle of my blade by you.”
He grinned. “I’ve always loved your trash talking before a fight.”
“I know, both on the mat and on the mattress.” And with that, I made the first move.
I came at him with a wrath strike, which he easily parried, taking a step back and exposing his inside. Seeing the opening, I lunged for the unprotected area, extending my sword. Only realizing a second too late that it was a mistake.
The moment my foot lifted to slide forward and sink into the deeper stance for a lunge, Baros raised his own foot ever so slightly. The toe of his boot connected with my instep and sent me off balance. I tucked and rolled, quickly returning to my feet with my sword at the ready.
“Don’t lunge,” Baros said. He swaggered a few steps around the arena, swinging his sword as he strode. “The second it takes to sink your weight into the longer stance is a second filled with vulnerability.”
“Thank you for the tip.”
He inclined his head.
I lifted my blade and charged. This time, I sliced down toward his right shoulder. He stepped back with his left foot, and I met air.
I immediately wind-milled my sword arm and went for his left shoulder. He stepped back with his right foot, and I met the air on the other side of his body. I knew better than to repeat the pattern. The problem was, I was already drawn forward.
It made sense to go for his shoulder again. But when I raised my sword, he was ready for me. I advanced toward his right side. He slipped behind my left shoulder, grabbing my sword arm.
“Don’t go where your opponent leads you,” Baros growled in my ear.
I inhaled at the feel of his hot breath on the tip of my ear. The feel of his heartbeat pushed the back of my shirt and caressed my spine.
“Lenny? Is that another sword in your pocket? Or are you just happy to see me?”
“Yup.”
“Wait,” I said. “Which one?”
He gave my back a push. My body tumbled forward, where he’d directed it. His grip stayed on my sword, and he stripped it from my hand.
I looked down at my empty hand. Then at my beautiful blade that was snug in his hold. Hmm? I’ve never been jealous of steel before, especially when it was my sword.
“Sorry to do this to you, Lolo. You were always my favorite student.”
My head jerked up to his face. “Favorite?” I frowned. “You take that back. I was the best. I am the best.”
A slow grin spread across his face as he tilted my sword up so that the blade caught the light. Evidence to my lowered stature from best to favorite.
“Oh, that?” I shrugged and flipped my wrists as though to brush off the trivial matter of losing my sword. “That was just a momentary loss of concentration. I was admiring your other weapon.”
Baros’s grin fell. His lips thinned, and his eyes narrowed. It was his teacher's face. “I taught you better than that. Don’t let emotions cloud your judgment.”
“I know, I know,” I sighed. “No such thing as fairytales. Don’t be a damsel. No such thing as love.”
“I never said that.”
And then the bastard looked at me. You know how men look at you with something that steps outside the boundaries of desire but is a good distance from fondness.
My throat felt dry u
nder his pale gaze. My heart raced. My belly grumbled with upset. “Don’t mess with me like that, Lenny.”
But his gaze held. His pale eyes softened, as did his voice. “We’ll talk later when you come to my room for that kiss.”
“Oh,” I chuckled, placing my hands on my knees as I doubled over. “You thought this was over?”
I straightened and opened my hand. Power surged into my palm. I gave a yank and Inigo slipped Baros’s grip and returned to me where he belonged.
Baros’s eyes widened. A gasp went through the crowd that had been quiet, listening in on this intimate entertainment. There was momentary shock on Baros’s face. But then his grin split wide. Battle lust and carnal lust clashed on his features.
“You were holding back on me,” he said.
“You were holding back on me,” I said. “Did you really think you had me with that little reversal move? Though I totally appreciate the stand to attention.”
Baros’s grin spread, and he took a fighting stance. He motioned me hither with his long fingers. I managed to stave off the assault of toe-curling memories and took up a fighting stance of my own. And then we charged.
The sound of metal clinking, clashing, slicing, and slashing mixed with the cheers of the crowd. As I tried to run him through with my blade, I couldn’t help but admire Lenny’s form.
There were many legendary warrior nations. Erikson’s Vikings, Kahn’s Mongols, and Caesar’s legions. But there was nothing like a bare-chested, tree-trunk thighed, well-hung Spartan.
The entire culture was focused around the army. Weakness was not tolerated. Boys entered the military at age seven. Only the men who passed the agoge were made full citizens and had rights to land in exchange for military service. War was a Spartan’s whole life. There was no militiaman that had other professions. A Spartan warrior’s sole responsibility was war and the glory of Sparta.
But Spartans fought as a group, as a unit. I’d only ever fought on my own. The one for all and all for one stuff had only happened to me recently. Baros was used to tight formations and having someone at his flank–like a wingman before there were air pilots. He had weaknesses. And I knew them.