Mad Queen, page 32
He thrust Cindlar's Blade upward, seeking the gap beneath the Red Knight's arm, another spot where rust had eaten away at his armored protection. The deadly drakhem found its mark, punching through the weakened metal to bite deep into Ironside’s flesh. He roared in pain and fury, his elbow slamming down with crushing force on the back of Thomas' bleeding head. Stars exploded again across Thomas' vision as he crumpled to his knees, Cindlar's Blade slipping from his nerveless fingers.
The Red Knight staggered backward, bright red blood flowing from the wound to his side. He clutched at the wound, but he still held onto his weapon in the other hand, standing there while Thomas knelt defenseless on the ancient stones. “Regain your weapon, Sir Dragon,” Ironside said, his voice heavy with both pain and respect. “We shall finish this as true knights, not with me dishonored by striking an unarmed opponent.”
His vision swimming as consciousness threatened to abandon him, Thomas didn’t say it, but he was grateful for the momentary respite. He found Cindlar’s Blade on the stone beside him, closed his fingers around the grip, and pulled himself upright, using the weapon as support. He shook his head, the world still whirling around him in a dizzying diorama. Blood filled his mouth from where his teeth had gashed the inside of his mouth. He tried to spit it out.
“Are you ready?” Ironside asked.
His honor was all that had given Thomas precious moments to steady himself. Even so, he wasn’t ready, but he knew it would be equally dishonorable to delay. He nodded. “Yes.”
They faced each other once more, both warriors pushed beyond their limits. Blood flowed freely from multiple wounds to both men, their breathing labored, their movements showing the strain of prolonged combat.
But neither would yield.
Both warriors committed fully to their attacks, they came together in a fresh clash of blades. They danced back and forth across the courtyard, their weapons meeting with a resounding crash that sent shockwaves reverberating through their arms while Thomas’ crew—his friends—watched helplessly from the sidelines.
Finally, they came together, meeting in a blade lock. For a moment they were static as each warrior poured his remaining strength into the contest. Then Thomas felt something give way in his grip, a subtle shift that told him his strength was finally failing beyond the ability of Arthur’s essence to compensate. Despite Thomas’ desperate resistance, Ironside’s broadsword began to push Cindlar’s Blade slowly aside.
No! The thought flashed like lightning across Thomas’ mind. Not like this. Not when I'm so close.
But his body had reached its limits. The accumulated damage from the long battle, the blood loss, the sheer physical exhaustion had all combined to betray him at the crucial moment. His guard collapsed, leaving him exposed as Ironside's broadsword swept through the gap.
Ironside felt the moment of victory approaching like sunrise after a long night, sweet and inevitable. Sir Dragon's defenses had crumbled. Lancelot’s training hadn’t been enough. Arthur’s essence wasn’t enough. The younger man's strength was finally failing after their prolonged battle.
Guided by centuries of experience and the desperate hunger of a legend refusing to fade, Ironside’s broadsword met minimal resistance as it swept Thomas’ blade aside, seeking to deliver the killing blow. This was what he had been created for, the moment of triumph when skill and will converged to claim victory from the jaws of defeat.
Sir Dragon stumbled backward, his balance compromised as exhaustion finally claimed him. Ironside followed relentlessly, his broadsword weaving through the air. The younger man tried to raise his guard one final time, but his sword trembled in his grip, too heavy for an arm that had given everything it had to give, the other one useless.
The Red Knight's fayrilite blade swept aside the feeble defense like a scythe through wheat, seeking the weak points in Sir Dragon’s armor with unerring accuracy. There, between the breastplate and pauldron, where the joint left flesh exposed. The perfect target for a killing thrust.
Ironside committed everything to the strike, pouring the last of his strength into the blow that would end both the duel and his long quest for validation. The broadsword's point drove forward, aimed directly at Sir Dragon’s heart.
Thomas tried one last desperate parry, his blade moving to intercept the thrust, but he was too slow, too weak, too broken by the sustained battle. His drakhem sword barely deflected the attack, changing its angle by a mere two or three inches rather than stopping it entirely.
But those inches made all the difference.
Instead of piercing Sir Dragon’s heart, the broadsword's point caught him in the shoulder, punching through armor and flesh to emerge from his back in a spray of crimson.
Thomas gasped and dropped his sword. His knees buckled as shock and exhaustion sapped the last of his strength.
Ironside wrenched the blade free and stepped back, watching as Sir Dragon collapsed to the ancient stones. The duel was over. Victory belonged to the Red Knight, as it always had.
As it always would.
But as he stood over his fallen opponent, broadsword dripping with Sir Dragon’s blood, Ironside felt no satisfaction. Only emptiness, vast and cold as the void between stars. He had won, but what had he truly gained? Another borrowed moment of glory? Another hollow echo of past greatness?
Sir Dragon lay motionless on the courtyard stones, blood beginning to pool beneath his arm. Around them, his crew stood frozen in shock, their faces reflecting the sudden and brutal reality of their leader's defeat.
The Red Knight raised his bloodied blade toward the dying light of afternoon, claiming his victory before witnesses who could carry word of it across the galaxy. But the gesture felt hollow, meaningless, a pretense of triumph that could not fill the aching void where purpose should have resided.
He had won the duel. But in that moment of victory, Ironside wondered if he had lost something far more valuable—the chance to be more than just an echo of what he had once been.
The Red Knight stood victorious, but utterly alone.
Thomas lay gasping on the stones, each breath coming harder than the last. Inside him, Arthur's essence continued struggling to heal his wounds, the efforts beginning to flicker within him like a candle in a storm.
Through failing vision, he could see the rest of his crew, their faces reflecting horror and disbelief. Halvy stood frozen, Arthur's shard dim around his neck, tears streaming down the young wizard's pale cheeks. Norsp trembled with barely contained rage, one hand gripping his sword hilt, the other on Halvy’s quaking shoulder, offering comfort.
Beside them, Thorgrim’s face was beet red with fury and fear, but he couldn’t act to save his captain. None of them could. Honor bound them as surely as chains, the sacred laws of single combat preventing any intervention, any attempt to save him despite their anguish. Thomas had agreed to those terms, had accepted the consequences of defeat, and now they all had to live with the results.
Thomas’ eyes finally settled on Kaelithan’s. His friend’s face had paled, a single track of moisture trailing down his jaw. The blood spreading beneath him carried with it the hopes of a galaxy that had dared to believe in redemption. Around him, the courtyard spun in his vision, the weathered walls blurring together as shock claimed more and more of his awareness. Only grim thoughts remained.
So this is how it would end. All of it. The rebellion, the hope, the dream of a better galaxy. Why Aelan? Is this what you foresaw? Will my death lead to a brighter future for Avalon? If so, it was the only silver lining he could find. If so, then perhaps it would all be worthwhile.
Ironside stepped closer, his bloodied broadsword gleaming in the fading afternoon light. The Red Knight's wolf-helm shrouded his borrowed features, but Thomas saw something unexpected in those familiar mismatched eyes—not triumph, but a hollow emptiness that spoke of victory's bitter taste.
The broadsword's point came to rest against Thomas's chest, the fayrilite pressing through his armor as though it were cloth to touch the skin above his heart. One more thrust, delivered with what might be all that remained of Ironside’s strength, would end everything Thomas had fought to accomplish.
"Any final words?" Ironside asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Thomas tried again to speak, but only blood emerged from his lips. Arthur's essence was still trying valiantly to help him. In moments, he would be gone, and with him the last hope for Avalon's redemption.
He thought of Lancelot, trapped somewhere within his own flesh. His friend had remained silent throughout the duel, bound by honor not to interfere despite the cost. But Thomas knew Lancelot could see everything that had happened. He would be forced to witness the failure of everything they had worked to achieve.
I'm sorry, Thomas projected the thought with the last of his strength, hoping somehow Lancelot could hear him. I tried. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough.
You did all you could, Merlin replied as the only one who could hear him. You fought as bravely as Arthur ever did. I’m sorry I failed you, my boy. Your Majesty.
The broadsword pressed deeper, its tip finding the gap between his ribs where it could reach his heart with minimal resistance. His quest would end in failure on the stones of a forgotten keep.
Ironside stood motionless above him, the weapon poised to deliver death, victorious but somehow diminished by the very completeness of his triumph. The Red Knight had reclaimed his legend, had proven his superiority through strength of arms, but the hollow expression in his eyes suggested the price of victory might have been higher than he'd anticipated.
Around them, as the fayrilite blade hovered at the threshold between life and death, the ancient stones of Olenwynd held their breath, waiting to witness the conclusion of a duel that would reshape the fate of the galaxy.
Time hung suspended in that instant, balanced on the knife's edge of destiny, one heartbeat away from the end of hope, one breath away from the victory of despair.
The tip of Ironside's blade pressed against Thomas's chest, promising an end to everything he'd fought to accomplish.
Merlin hadn’t failed him.
He had failed them all.
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the book! For more information on the next installment in the series, please visit mrforbes.com/thestarshipinthestone10
OTHER BOOKS BY M.R FORBES
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Already trapped in the worst day of his life and desperate for a way out, he decides to play along. Except there is no joke. The starship is real. And Ben’s life is going to change in ways he never dreamed possible.
All he has to do is sign the contract.
Joined by his streetwise best friend and a bizarre tenant with an unseverable lease, he’ll soon discover that the universe is more volatile, treacherous, and awesome than he ever imagined.
And the only thing harder than owning a starship is staying alive.
Wraith (The Convergence War)
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A retired captain. An experimental starship. A war like no other.
When the research starship Galileo vanishes without a trace, the powers-that-be are quick to bury the incident, eager to prevent escalating tensions that could lead to war. As a former POW, Soren refuses to give the ship up for lost.
His daughter is one of the missing.
Taking matters into his own hands, Soren starts pulling strings and calling in favors, determined to launch a clandestine mission to bring Galileo home. When an old friend offers him a ship for the operation, he expects a rusty relic headed for the scrapyard.
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Forgotten (The Forgotten)
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Some things are better off FORGOTTEN.
Sheriff Hayden Duke was born on the Pilgrim, and he expects to die on the Pilgrim, like his father, and his father before him.
That's the way things are on a generation starship centuries from home. He's never questioned it. Never thought about it. And why bother? Access points to the ship's controls are sealed, the systems that guide her automated and out of reach. It isn't perfect, but he has all he needs to be content.
Until a malfunction forces his wife to the edge of the habitable zone to inspect the damage.
Until she contacts him, breathless and terrified, to tell him she found a body, and it doesn't belong to anyone on board.
Until he arrives at the scene and discovers both his wife and the body are gone.
The only clue? A bloody handprint beneath a hatch that hasn't opened in hundreds of years.
Until now.
Man of War (Rebellion)
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In the year 2280, an alien fleet attacked the Earth.
Their weapons were unstoppable, their defenses unbreakable.
Our technology was inferior, our militaries overwhelmed.
Only one starship escaped before civilization fell.
Earth was lost.
It was never forgotten.
Fifty-two years have passed.
A message from home has been received.
The time to fight for what is ours has come.
Welcome to the rebellion.
Hell’s Rejects (Chaos of the Covenant)
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The most powerful starships ever constructed are gone. Thousands are dead. A fleet is in ruins. The attackers are unknown. The orders are clear: Recover the ships. Bury the bastards who stole them.
Lieutenant Abigail Cage never expected to find herself in Hell. As a Highly Specialized Operational Combatant, she was one of the most respected Marines in the military. Now she's doing hard labor on the most miserable planet in the universe.
Not for long.
The Earth Republic is looking for the most dangerous individuals it can control. The best of the worst, and Abbey happens to be one of them. The deal is simple: Bring back the starships, earn your freedom. Try to run, you die. It's a suicide mission, but she has nothing to lose.
The only problem? There's a new threat in the galaxy. One with a power unlike anything anyone has ever seen. One that's been waiting for this moment for a very, very, long time. And they want Abbey, too.
Be careful what you wish for.
They say Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. They have no idea.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
M.R. Forbes is the mind behind a growing number of Amazon best-selling science fiction series. Having spent his childhood trying to read every sci-fi novel he could find (and write his own too), play every sci-fi video game he could get his hands on, and see every sci-fi movie that made it into the theater, he has a true love of the genre across every medium. He works hard to bring that same energy to his own stories, with a continuing goal to entertain, delight, fascinate, and surprise.
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M.R. Forbes, Mad Queen
