A dark empty expanse was spread out all around me. A soft feminine hand rested in mine, and I looked about the lightless, colorless expanse. Guinevere was beside me, her belly heavy with child. She wore a snow-white dress trimmed with gold and a dark choker around her neck.

A roar sounded in the distance and she and I turned to face it as something vast and formless loomed like a mountain before us. It advanced towards us, the ground didn’t tremble, there was no gust of wind to herald its presence, but a creeping existential dread filled me.

-

I woke from the dream. Guinevere still slept in my arms, her body like a furnace against my skin, her breath coming in and out over my skin. I smiled and gently shifted, setting her down on the mattress. I kissed her eyelids and mouth. She murmured stirring but I slid the covers over her and she settled back down. If I did die, I wanted to give her the memory she had requested; of last night being her last memory of me. There were no more words to say between the two of us so I opened a portal and stepped into my tent.

I looked at the plate armor I’d worn to all my duels. It was still dented and rent from my last fight; I didn’t bother fixing it. That wasn’t what I would wear to this last duel, Sir Ismael the Knight would die today for good, and Mordred the Warlord would take his place in the arena.

---

Arthur looked out over the city towards where he would be fighting Ismael today. After this fight and the wedding with Guinevere he would travel back across the sea to face the Warlord.

Ammerila leaned against him she wore only a silk robe that did little to preserve any modesty clinging to her body like a second skin showing all her curves.

“Thinking about Mordred again?” she asked.

“How can you tell?” he asked.

“You always get that look when you’re thinking about him,” Ammerila said.

“You know what’s weird,” Arthur said. “I’ve fought him over four times, killed him most of them but I’ve never seen his face. I should have thought to check his body, but it never occurred to me.”

“I’ve seen him, or I did when he was still in Mortal rank, he got a lot bigger as he ranked up,” Ammerila said. “Apparently some people do that based on abilities they get and the changes to their attributes.”

“It’s more common for people from outside our world,” Arthur said with a nod. “What did he look like?”

“He a handsome but savage appearance,” Ammerila said. “At the time his hair was long, and he was starting to grow a beard. What I remember most was his eyes they were a shade of brown that almost looked yellow, and he had the scars from some beast over the left side of his face.”

Arthur’s blood ran cold.

“What?” Ammerila asked.

“Your divine ability you got from your god,” Arthur said it lets you hide your description, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Ammerila admitted uncomfortable at releasing even that common enough knowledge. “Why?”

“Because I think the Warlord might have gotten a similar ability when he killed you in the Event,” Arthur said the pieces sliding together in his head. “I have to go.”

Arthur stormed down the halls of the palace. He reached the hall leading to Guinevere’s chambers.

“Sir I don’t think you’re allowed here,” one of the guards said uneasily.

“Out of my way,” Arthur said barging past them.

His fist pounded on the door to Guinevere’s chambers. “Guinevere open up!” he shouted.

“Go away!” Guinevere shouted from inside.

“Open up right now or I will break down this door!” Arthur shouted back at her.

Silence followed then the door cracked open. Arthur shoved forward and Guinevere stumbled back almost falling, she wore only a nightgown and stepped back her eyes suddenly as wary as a cat as they watched Arthur and flicked around the room. Arthur took in a breath, and he could smell him, he didn’t often use his senses like this there were to many things he didn’t want to smell in a city of this size but now as he focused, he could smell the scent of another man and the stink of sex on the sheets and Guinevere’s skin.

“Get out of here,” Guinevere said.

“I know who he is,” Arthur growled.

She froze. “Who?” she asked, her eyes flicking around even faster, her hands going over her stomach her left hand nervously twisting the ring on her finger.

“Mordred,” Arthur snarled the word like a curse on his tongue. “Sir Ismael, one and the same.”

Everything was so much clearer now he felt like he had been blind. The brazenness of the Warlord marching in was just something he had never imagined. But the familiarness between him and Guinevere, the mysterious woman in the Event coinciding just with when Guinevere had disappeared from Camelot. The brutal way the man fought and his disregard for life… it all fit together.

Guinevere looked like a frightened rabbit caught in a snare and the way she held her hands over her belly…

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“Your pregnant,” he said the realization coming to him.

The fear in her eyes flared and she lunged across the room, her sword suddenly in her hand. “You won’t lay a finger on my baby!” her voice was like the snarl of a lioness.

Arthur took a step back. “You think I would harm an innocent child?” he asked in shock. He shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t know me as well as you think Guinevere. No harm will come to your child,” his voice hardened. “But the father must die, you will watch today as I cut him down in the arena. That is the penance you must pay for your betrayal.”

He turned around, storming out of the room, his anger and hurt at the betrayal twisting a knife in his heart his lungs burning as if they were on fire.

---

Standing in the darkness of the tunnel I looked at the iron portcullis that led into the massive arena. The size of this one was more than three times the size of any of the other arenas I had fought in. It would have put the roman Colosseum to shame its stands rising up into the sky like a football arena back on my world enough to fit a hundred thousand people at least.

I brought the Armor of Ares out of my storage pouch and set it down. Taking out the cloak I had made for myself from the pelt of the World Boss, Warden, I fastened it around my shoulders. My last cape had only gone down to around my waist while this one went down to my ankles. I slid my feet into my old boots tightening their laces feeling their familiar comfort. Next, I put on the Pteruges of Ares, followed by the pauldrons and the maninca.

Before I could slide on my helm the sound of the door opening came from behind me. I stepped into the shadows behind a pillar. Two pairs of footfalls sounded as whoever opened the door entered.

“Ismael?” Aisha called out. “Are you here?”

“I told you not to come,” I said. “Who is that with you?”

“Its me,” Vone said. “I wanted…I wanted to ask you not to fight Arthur.”

I sighed. “Why?”

“I like you,” Vone said. “I don’t know why but I feel like I can relate to you. Since I’ve come to this world, I’ve had trouble connecting with people, I didn’t expect it to be so different. I know that must make me sound stupid but… you feel, I don’t know… familiar?”

“You don’t love me,” I said. “If you knew who you spoke with now you would draw your weapon, not ask for me to be with you.”

“Enough with the riddles,” Vone said. “You always do this just say what you mean.”

I stepped out from behind the pillar. My real description was over my head now no need to pretend anymore. “Words are not necessary.”

Vone stepped back as I came into the dim light of the tunnel. Aisha looked at my armor quizzically, but she’d never seen me before and couldn’t read the description above me since she wasn’t gifted.

“What is it?” Aisha asked.

“He is the Warlord,” Vone said her glaive appearing in her hand.

“I go by Mordred,” I said. “The Warlord is a little too pretentious for everyday use.”

Aisha went pale and froze her flight or fight response locking up. She stammered but couldn’t get any actual words out.

“You’re not in any danger Aisha,” I said, you may not be my vassal, but you are under my protection.

“People need protection from people like you,” Vone said.

I sighed. “What do you know about people like me? You came from America like me based on your accent, you came to this world to serve and give justice but now are in world fighting alongside people whose concept of freedom is very different than your own. Can you trust anything they say, do you know what this tourney is all about?”

“It’s about winning the hand of Guinevere,” Vone said her tone suddenly uncertain.

“It’s about forcing someone into marriage against their world. That should go against every American sentiment of freedom you ever learned but here you are. You say you represent freedom,” I said. “Well, the woman I love is being forced into a marriage against her will, does her freedom matter?”

“That’s…that’s…” Vone stammered.

“What? It’s different because she entered into it willingly? As if a child has any understanding of the ramifications of the oath she was told to give,” I said.

“What do you want me to say?” Vone asked her voice trembling with what might have been grief, fear or indecision.”

“I don’t need you to say anything,” I said. “Or do anything. I need you only to do what you claim to stand for.”

“And that is?” Vone asked.

“Give me freedom,” I said. “The freedom to save the woman I love.”

“And what about the people you’ve enslaved?” Vone asked. “All the people under your domination.”

“I rarely do that,” I said with a shrug. “I only do that when the choice is either that or just kill them. I’d prefer to give them a chance to keep living. Its not like I demand them to kill their families, if someone is a reluctant servant I just let them do their own thing if it doesn’t go against me.”

“And if it does?” Vone asked.

“I am entitled to self defense just like anyone else,” I said with a shrug. “You want to give people freedom. Which is admirable but take it from the person whose home country has spent years trying to bring democracy and liberation to the world. Freedom means nothing unless you fight for it yourself.”

“And if I don’t give you the freedom to walk out into that arena?” Vone asked.

I looked her straight in the eye my voice like an executioner’s axe. “Then I will take it for myself.”

Vone stepped back and I turned to Aisha. “You should run home, get anyone you care about to safety, I don’t intend anyone but Arthur to die today but I can’t make promises for the actions of others.”

Aisha turned and fled. I looked at Vone now, she didn’t move but also didn’t try to attack me.

---

Arthur tightened the straps of his breastplate. He normally didn’t wear his full set of gear when doing these duels, but this fight wasn’t a show for the crowd. While he was confident, he could beat Mordred, he had underestimated him before and wouldn’t give him anything less than his best today. He looked through the iron portcullis out to where the other gate was closed, and the Warlord waited. His teeth grit as he remembered his scent across Guinevere’s skin.

A knock at the door sounded and Merlin walked in. Arthur nodded to his uncle unable to contain his rage enough to give a civil greeting.

“Is the dome prepared?” Arthur asked.

“Yes,” Merlin said. “Though I’m not sure why you needed a protection dome of that strength for a duel without abilities.”

“Because this is going to be a very different duel than my others,” Arthur said. “He will lay dead in the sands by the time this is over.”

Merlin smiled when he heard that but quickly schooled his expression. “While as personally gratifying as that might be, politically it is unwise.”

“It must be done,” Arthur said. “You will understand when it begins.”

Arthur didn’t want to tell anyone who Sir Ismael really was. He was sure his father and Merlin would try some attempt to ambush him and take him down with overwhelming force and he was also sure that the Warlord would slip out of the noose somehow. No, the only way to end this was to answer his calling as a champion and as the Duelist and settle this matter personally.

“We’ve been studying him, and we have reason to believe he is not who he says he is,” Merlin said. “I believe my daughter knows his true identity, if we put her to the question and force her…”

“I know exactly who he is,” Arthur snapped interrupting him as he yanked the straps on his gauntlet tight.

“Then we should call off the fight and…” Merlin began but was interrupted again.

“No!” Arthur snapped his voice irritable and with a deep rage barely contained. “This fight has been a long time coming, he won’t get away from me this time. Under no circumstances are you to lift the dome.”

Merlin was silent, the outburst from Arthur something he had never seen before. He bowed his head in recognition and stepped back.

“As my prince commands,” he said and left.

Arthur looked through the bars of the portcullis again. In a few minutes the duel would begin, and this would all be over.