He will be a wild donkey of a man,
His hand will be against everyone,
And everyone’s hand will be against him;
And he will live in hostility toward all his brothers. (Genesis 16:12)
I stepped off the boat paying the captain as I walked down the dock. I looked at the towering buildings of glass, wood, metal, and stone.
“I’ve got to admit this isn’t what I expected,” I said.
What did you expect? Ares asked.
“I don’t know a little something more medieval and a little less fantasy New York,” I said looking at the skyscrapers towering around me. “Based on the level of weaponry everyone uses I assumed this city would be a lot more like Dragon-hold.”
That city was just a backwater, Karnen said. You’ve never really comprehended how powerful your enemies are. Camelot is the largest kingdom in the world, they’ve been limited by treaties on how many troops they can send out.
“Not important,” I said shrugging.
I was getting weird looks from the people around me so I continued down the docks into the city. Venders hawked their wares around me but I ignored them push through, people made way for me. The heavy armor and my massive frame making people step aside as I approached. I wore no helm my face clean shaven apart from a few days of stubble my hair tied back. People flinched when they met y eyes, I don’t know what they saw there, but it frightened them.
I looked at the massive building towards the center of the city its golden roofs marking it as the palace.
“Which way to the Dragon Tourney?” I asked a street vender selling meat pies tossing him a silver coin.
“Its being held on the proving grounds next to the palace,” the merchant said handing me a hot pie. “You can’t miss it.”
Thanking him I moved on. I reached the edge of the place grounds and men busied themselves and horses maneuvered through the crowds of armored. Men I looked around noticing a booth with a small line in front of it. I got in line waiting my turn.
“You’re here to show off your skills in the tourney?” the man at the desk asked.
“I’m here to win,” I corrected him.
“Sure you are,” he laughed looking up, his eyes squinted for a minute as he analyzed me. “Sir Ismail the Storm Knight, well that’s a new title.” He filled through a book by his side. “I don’t have you registered in the kingdom’s log, who knighted you?”
“Duchess Guinevere,” I said.
“You lie,” the man accused me.
I shrugged. “I’m a knight of Camelot, who you believe knighted me doesn’t matter; am I signed up?”
“Yes,” the man said scratching a line next to my name. “Your scheduled to fight tomorrow.”
I stepped away and one of the people in line shook their head at me. “You shouldn’t have done that, he would have given you an easy fight if you hadn’t antagonized him.”
“Good, I don’t like easy fights,” I said stepping away.
A young boy ran out from behind the booth handing me a rolled up sheet of paper.
“This is the location of your tent and your personal attendant,” the boy said running off.
I opened up the scroll reading the contents. I stuffed it in my belt and moved through the crowd arriving at a black and red tent. I stepped inside, the space was about twenty feet wide in diameter It was empty apart from a small cot that looked like it would shatter if I sat on it.
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Footsteps sounded outside as the tent flapped moved behind me. I turned around and looked seeing a young woman with chestnut brown hair and fair skin. She wore a dress of white and blue cotton and carried a clipboard in her hand.
“Are you Sir Ismail?” she asked.
I looked her over but no description came up when I analyzed her, she was just a regular woman than not a gifted.
“I am, and you are?” I asked.
“I am Aisha,” she said curtsying to me. “I will be your attendant for the tourney, its my responsibility to prepare you for your fights and let you know their schedule.”
“Thank you for your help then,” I said. “When is my first fight?”
“Tomorrow at dawn,” she said. “I’ve been instructed to tell you to lose the fight, your opponent is the son of a baron, you will be rewarded for letting him win.”
I snorted. “You can tell them if he wants to win, than he can win. Victory is earned, never given.”
Aisha looked nervous. “They won’t like that.”
“I’m not here to make people happy, I’m here to win the hand of a princess,” I said I stepped over to the cot and bent down whispering the activation phrase for Hell-Dragon’s Armory strengthening it to hold my weight with dirt from the ground underneath us.
“Your going to try and win the hand of Guinevere?” she asked.
“Or die trying,” I said. “Go and tell them my answer, I will see them at dawn.”
I didn’t lie down on my cot instead I knelt in the center of my tent and meditated. My pulse pounded in my temple as I focused on my anger. My hearing expanded the shouts and conversations all around me drowned out by the pounding in my head. Hours passed and the noise settled as night fell. Footsteps entered my tent and I opened my eyes.
“Is it time?” I asked Aisha.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m too show you the way, I have to warn you they weren’t happy with your answer.”
“Don’t worry about making people happy,” I told her. “People have their interests at heart not yours.”
I followed Aisha to a wooden tunnel where a portcullis blocked passage into a small arena. There weren’t many people in the stands, and I waited in silence as Aisha shifted nervously beside me. Brass trumpets blared and the portcullis rolled up and I walked inside my opponent entering on the opposite side.
An announcers voice amplified over the arena. “For the next match Sir Ismael the Storm Knight against Lord Tarence of House Darsell. The rules are the standard, no active abilities or the use of spells, the fight will continue until one of you is unconscious, incapacitated or surrenders. Killing your opponent will result in disqualification, you will begin when the horns blare.”
I stood still my gauntlet sword equipped on my right hand. I stared down my opponent on the other side of the ring. The horns blew and he flew towards me, and I didn’t move, his sword slashed down, and I blocked side stepped and hit him with my left hand. The clang of metal on metal sounded as my fist collided with the side of his head. He dropped down to the ground and I kicked him in the head.
He didn’t move again his sword falling from limp fingers. I could hear his heart beating, so he was still alive and looked up to the stands where the announcer stood staring at me his mouth hanging open in shock, he was the same man as the one who had signed me into the tournament.
“Send me someone better next time,” I said turning and exiting the arena.
Aisha waited for me in the tunnel watching as attendants rushed onto the sand to drag away my opponent. “That was… fast.”
“Taking out the trash never takes long,” I said. “When’s my next match?”
“Um, well,” she said flipping through her papers. “If you did win this match you were scheduled to fight Sir Cedrick in three hours. Do you…need a healer or to rest?”
I smiled. “I’ll be fine, will the next match be here or somewhere else?”
“It’ll be here,” she said.
I tossed her a small purse of coins. “Then go get yourself something to eat, we’re going to be here all day I feel.”
----------------------------------------
Guinevere looked out over the lake that surrounded the palace the vial of poison resting in her palms as she felt it smooth contours as she rubbed the glass. Her other hand rested on her stomach trying to feel the growing life within her.
“Mordred,” she said looking out over the city. “I wish you were here.”
She popped the cork of the vial and held it up to her lips but paused. There would be no going back after this she lowered her hand the glint of the ring Mordred had given her catching the light. That had been the last gift Mordred had given her, he had spent a priceless gift from the system just to prove his devotion to her.
“I can’t do this alone,” she said to his ghost.
Arthur would have grounds to have her stoned for adultery despite his own child born out of wedlock. She also knew the fate of the baby if it was born would be tenuous, there was no protections in the law for bastards. The King could and would probably have it ripped from her arms and left in the woods to die as punishment.
“It’s better this way,” she said. “Quick and painless.”
She raised the vial to her lips again. She couldn’t do it; the ring hadn’t been Mordred’s last gift to her, and her hand went to her belly again.
“I chose to reach for the path of godhood, but I also chose to go down a path that represented beauty and life instead of death and war,” she said. “I’m not taking a step back the way I’ve come.”
She dropped the vial over the edge of the wall to shatter on the rocks below.
“I’ll find you a father,” Guinevere said to her baby. “And it won’t be Arthur, I’ll find someone to help me raise you and give you the protection and love you deserve.”