My mom swore I'd outgrow my tomboy phase. And she would teach me to be a lady or die trying. May she rest in peace. It's not that I didn't try, I just didn't have it in me. I admit Momma made some inroads before she died, but the compromises were all going my way.
Being a service brat has a few advantages, and my family was determined to get all of them for me. In fifth grade, Mom got me ice skates. We were in Connecticut, and she was thinking figure skating. We compromised on Pee Wee Hockey. The next year in Hawaii, I got hula lessons. And started karate.
Then Mom died, and while I was shook up, I got through it, and my education and deportment fell to my dad. And Daddy had some different ideas. Dad is in the Navy, and does something that involves a lot of swimming and jumping out of airplanes and other stuff I don't talk about. And he thinks everyone ought to be able to "take care of themselves."
He's a great dad. He's taken me skydiving and scuba diving. He taught me to shoot and swim and run. He did not teach me to drive but had a friend in the secret service do it. He encouraged me to keep at martial arts, and when he's around we lift weights together.
He finally remarried when I was a junior in high school. To a nice Filipino-Hawaiian girl about eight years older than me and she is like my big sister. And her dad is my main martial arts instructor, which is how they met anyway.
All this is kind of a long road to tell you how I ended up being the Mistress of Mayhem. That's my professional name and it's the name of my website. I got out of high school and was not ready for college and needed to make a living. I tried exotic dancing and that paid the rent but it was a real drag dealing with the a--holes, especially the ones who ran the clubs. So I met this guy who designed websites, and it was a lot easier and paid better and so I launched my career. I came up with the theme myself, so I guess I have no one else to blame.
I knew my dad really didn't want me being a porno queen on the web. Mostly 'cause of all the flak he'd get from guys on base. So what I came up with was "Mistress of Mayhem," which was this thing where I did a lot of photo shoots with me wearing these costumes of armor or leather and things, usually holding weapons, in settings all over California and also down in Baja. It didn't start off all that well money-wise until Freddy, that's my web guy, talked me into getting a boob job. So a nice pair of B's got turned into a couple of rather full D's and the money just poured in. Best ten grand I ever spent.
Anyway a couple of months ago we got into streaming video. You know, a bunch of pictures taken in sequence automatically. And I started staging these fairly elaborate "battles," usually with one of the guys I know who's into the local reenactment scene. The battles are fun to do, and the suckers, ah subscribers, really dig them. I usually prerecord them and play them with my color commentary like a sports event on my live shows once a week. And I have this whole persona thing going with it. It works really well, which is how I'm buying a house in southern California as a twenty-year-old self-employed dilettante.
So last night I'm doing my show, and it's going over really good. I have about forty subscribers on, and at least three new ones. I'm spinning the story with clips off my CD, and the new battle is just kicking. It's easily the best thing I've ever gotten on disc. Eric, that's the guy I'm fighting, is huge, hairy and really muscular, and he's also a theater major at UCSD who's into movie choreography and we worked this thing out really well. He's all in leather and I've got my chain mail nothing on, which is really just a couple of dance belts over my shoulders and crossing between my boobs, with a mail and elastic thong. It's my subscribers' favorite and more comfortable than most of my outfits.
And this battle looks really good, I mean real. Eric tosses me around the sand (we were at a beach near the Little Sur river) and I'm whaling on him. He used a couple of blood caps just like in wrestling, and, man, when we got there the viewers just went wild. I'm doing real well on the commentating and the show is just going great.
One of the newbies is really going on about this, like she (only about ten percent of my customers are female, but they are a very loyal ten percent) thinks this is real. Well, that's what live shows are suppose to be like, so I'm leading on like, "Well, yes, this is what I do." And she's asking like what do I charge for rescues? And I'm thinking she's giving me a come-on and that's cool. It's part of the business and besides, it's a good lead, 'cause in the next clip I finish trouncing Eric. Then my friend Morgen, who's spent the whole clip reclined on the dune behind us crying and cheering while wearing an anklet and a head band, gets to "reward" me with a little soft core girl-girl action. Nothing too hard, and I never minded doing the girl stuff. Morgen used to dance with me at the strip clubs.
So I made some fluff comment about working it out with the rescuee—I swear to Gods I don't remember exactly what I said, though I could play it back. Then this newbie types in, "It's a bargain!" There's this shimmering light, and all of a sudden—
I'm here. Looking at this chick in a see-through silk bathrobe who's looking at me like I'm the president or something. She's maybe eighteen, petite but filled out, and she is standing over what looks like a marble altar covered with wizard's gear and a magic mirror. It takes me a minute but finally I realize it is a marble altar covered in wizard's gear. With a magic mirror.
Before I can ask the seven hundred stupid questions guaranteed to make me look like a moron, she springs forward and drops to her knees, clasping my sword hand in both of hers and kissing it. "Oh thank you, mighty warrior, for championing my cause, for surely I need a champion in this dark hour."
If she'd said this with anything less than total sincerity with more than a touch of desperation, I'd have laughed in her face and blown the whole gig. But I managed to set my face into what my dad called a "mission face" and my drama teacher called a "stern countenance" and said in a level voice, "Just what is you current ah . . . problem?"
"The wicked lord of Wierdmark, John the Bastard's get, has challenged my right to rule from the throne of Ghemlan. And tomorrow I must send forth a champion to meet his and contest his claim. And I have none so mighty as to be able to best his champion, who is bespelled to be invincible to all in single combat!" she replied.
That didn't sound too good. And it did not explain how I'd become involved. Okay, so I had some strong suspicions. I wanted to hear it out loud and from someone who believed it. That way maybe I could too. So I figured to brazen it out until I got my feet under me.
"And how," I asked in what I hoped was a calm and steely voice, "did you come to choose me as your . . . champion?"
"When no one of my loyal subjects came forth who I thought could best John's champion, I assembled my late mother's magical apparatus to see if it would offer some hope. I used her magic mirror to scry the nearer dimensions. There I spied your combat with the hairy brute, and perceived your spells sent out to promote yourself as a sort of mystical champion. I followed the mystic threads from your image to the far place wherein you dwell, and using nearly all my mother's stores of magic power did summon you to me once you had agreed to my bargain," the princess fairly blurted.
Great, I thought to myself, she thinks I've already agreed. Terrific. Better not get in too deep.
"You're mistaken, I'm afraid. What you saw was mere entertainment. It's how I make my living. I record mock battles and play them out with a little sex on the side so my subscribers can get their, er . . . So they can enjoy the spectacle. I am a performer, not some sort of cosmic duelist. My reply was part of my act. I thought you were one of my subscribers." There, put it all out front. Now that she understood her mistake she could send me home and go back to looking for a real champion.
The princess looked like she was going to cry. I tried to head that off.
"Sorry about the confusion but I really can't help you. So just send me back and you can get on with your scrying out a real champion." I was going for nonchalant and missed it pretty wide, I'd guess.
Tears were streaming down the young woman's cheeks. I could tell she was really upset. And totally at a loss.
"B-but I can't send you back, it took all my mother's magic to get you here. It will take days to replace all that and send you back. And the challenge is tomorrow! And then I'll be destitute and won't be able to afford to send you back and, and, and you agreed! We have a mystical contract. You can't back out!" She was wailing now, tears in gushes and eyes getting all puffy.
Now I've never been much of a crier. I don't remember using tears on my folks but they would have been unimpressed with them. But I've never had to deal with them either. I felt so bad! I mean really. And I had agreed, I guess. And she looked so helpless and upset and all.
So I said, "What exactly does this challenge entail? I mean what do I have to do and who do I have to do it to? And when?"
"The challenge is tomorrow noon. A single combat, traditionally with swords though you may use any hand weapon. To death or surrender, with mercy dependant on the opponent's whim. You will fight Ursus Redbeard, Lord John's champion." The princess was drying up some.
"And just how good is this Ursus? How much experience does he have?"
"He has fought a half dozen duels as a judicial champion, and with high fee, till word of his bespellment spread. Since that time all who were faced with a challenge from his clients have capitulated their cases, rather than face a certain loss."
"Can you show me his last fight?" Looking around the stone walls and embroidered tapestries filling the chamber I started thinking MGM's Robin Hood. Probably not.
But the princess surprised me. "My mother's mirror can display all his bouts. But to what purpose? You have said you are no champion!"
I sensed another bout of tears coming on. I moved to head them off.
"Now look here. Look at me. Do I look like some soft actress fop? These muscles," I flexed my biceps. Not unimpressive, especially to a sheltered princess. "You don't think they just grew this way, do you? I won't back out of this deal unless I'm sure I don't have a chance. So turn on your magic mirror, princess, and let's look at the bad news."
And so she does. And the news wasn't all that bad. This Ursus guy was big and ugly, no doubts. His face looked stepped on and his arms had more hair than my . . . um, anyway, his gut hung way past his belt and while he struck with real power he was fairly slow on his feet. And he used a wide, slow broadsword, doubling up his hands for extra power or leaving his off hand to punch or grapple. He liked to move in on his guy but none of his opponents really tried to work around him and they were mostly armed like he was.
After watching all six of his duels about three times each, I had no doubts. I could take him. Except for the little matter of the spell.
"Just how do these spell thingies work? I mean what does the spell do to make this Ursus so invincible?"
The princess looked pensive and bit her lip at me. After a second or so she gave out a hesitant explanation. "It's not really a spell of protection. That could be countered. He paid a fen witch to cast a spell of prophecy. She pronounced that no single opponent would ever defeat him in battle."
"It must give him a real edge in a duel, knowing that. I mean confidence is important in these things." I ventured.
"Yes, indeed. And his opponents have also been confident of his victory. That has doubtless been a great boon to his career," the princess allowed.
"So if he thought we had his magic beat, he'd be behind a step, right?"
"If we had his magic beat? Perhaps but we . . ." She was backing off.
"I can take him!" I pronounced. "Provided you and I can agree to a fee." I gave my most evil grin. I had her squirming.
"I have seen your fees. If you win, I will pay it!" She looked quite nervous about this. I had forgotten about Morgen's part in my show. That wasn't going to be near enough anyway. I decided to twist the knife a little.
"That was a performance, not a fee. For a real bout at which I'll be risking my actual life and limbs, I require far more."
"What more?" The tears were welling again, but now I was armored. This much she had coming.
"I'll be saving not just your life but your throne! As such, additional payment is appropriate. Gold! Jewels! As much as I can carry. And I want some assurances. Medical coverage for any wounds I receive!" If she thought she could work this off in bed, she had another think coming.
"Done!" She cried out with such enthusiasm I wondered what perverse pleasures she thought I would demand. Another thing came to my mind.
Glancing down at my barely clad body with its chain mail cutaway bustier and chain and elastic thong, I grimaced. The only gear I had worth a hoot was my sword, a beautiful Persian-style scimitar I got for modeling for a knife-maker's catalog. The rest of my gear was costume junk. "I'll need some real armor. With padding. And some boots. Nothing too heavy, but I'll be damned if I am going to fight in this ridiculous bedroom gear!"
"My guards have a complete armory, and the royal cobbler can do wonders! Is that all?" The princess was looking quite relieved.
"Just one more thing. Does your highness have a name?"
"Serenity." She quivered as she gave it. But she looked me straight in the eye while she did.
So I said, "Princess Serenity, if you agree to these conditions, I'll be your champion."
And so I was.
It was not all peaches and schnapps from there on in, but it went pretty well. She pulled a silk rope which rang a bell and summoned a goggle-eyed servant, which reminded me of my state of dress. For about a second, after which I figured he'd survive it and forgot about it while Serenity summoned the royal cobbler. He measured me for footwear while I explained to him what I wanted. I don't know if his sweating was at my urgent requirements or my nubile proximity but he got his business over with in a hurry and that was done.
The armory was harder as there were about a half dozen guys there, healthy young guys, and they made sure to take a good look while I went about my business, but as none openly leered, I took it in good spirits. Dad always says a warrior gets what he can when he can, 'cause who knows? At least they didn't ignore me. That would have been unnerving.
It was getting late. I bundled up my new gear and Serenity showed me to a chamber not far from her apartments where I had come in. I laid my new gear down on a table, bundled my old gear up on the nightstand, set my sword atop it unsheathed. I then lay down on the bed, found it had a feather mattress and promptly fell asleep.
I woke up that morning only slightly disoriented and, unlike every story I have ever read, I knew right where I was and what had happened and I knew it was real. So much for reading preparing one for life. I judged from the sun hitting the wall through the window that it was about eight o'clock. I did my morning stretches and my daily dozens and glanced around for something to wear while I searched out breakfast. Not so much as a stitch apart from my armor and my work mail. I judged both too uncomfortable for day wear. So I sheathed my sword and swathed a sheet around me sari style and was just preparing to venture out when my hostess arrived, with breakfast in tow.
I could tell Serenity was nervous. Heck, she was having kittens. But I didn't want to talk battle strategy over breakfast. So we tried for girl talk. It didn't take well and we mostly ended up eating in silence.
She had figs and dates and eggs and porridge. Mindful of the upcoming fight I had one egg, hard-boiled, a small bunlike loaf of dark bread, some yellow cheese, and cider. After being shown to the privy I came back to don my armor, very glad I was not going to stay here.
As I suited up, Serenity had a chest brought in. It was about half the size of an army foot locker with a sturdy handle on each end. In it she had set some small gold bars so that they covered the bottom in a layer about two deep. She had me lift it. Not much of a challenge but she didn't look surprised. Her men added some more gold and I lifted again. Then we went back and forth this way for some time until the chest became quite burdensome. I finally said that was enough gold.
Serenity then laid a tray of thin wood over the gold and onto this she poured jewels from a doeskin pouch. There were a couple of dozen, green and red and purple and yellow and shiny white, which I took to be diamonds. They ranged in size from about the size of the stone in my mother's wedding ring (a third of a karat) to about the size of the end of my little finger (which Gods only know is how much).
"That's fine, thank you." I mean what else was I going to say? I replaced the gems in their pouch. Then I tossed my bundled bikini mail into the chest, hefted it once to show I could carry it (which was not that easy anymore) and indicated for it to be closed up. Then I strapped on my sword.
"How much time?" I asked.
"Time enough for me, I trust?" It was the royal cobbler, my boots in hand. I glanced down at my still-bare feet and grimaced.
"Indeed."
The boots fit tolerably well, which was good 'cause if they hadn't, I would have been obliged to duel barefoot. Still the time was getting on and the princess was getting nervous.
"Serenity, what's wrong?"
"Are you sure you can beat both Ursus and his magic? You haven't told me how you mean to do it." She pouted prettily when worried. She probably practiced her look in the mirror. Why not? I did.
"Trust me, your highness, I've got his number." She looked quizzically at that but we moved along to a large hallway that led out of the castle and to the upcoming duel.
I really don't know what I expected for a field of honor. I suppose I had envisioned a greensward surrounded by gaily bedecked stands. Like in the movie Ivanhoe. We didn't even leave the castle. Well, not entirely. The main gate of the castle (which was huge, I never did get a feel for the entire size of it) was at a right angle to the main wall as the circle of the main walls did not meet square on. Surrounding this area was another wall, nearly as high but not quite as thick, with two stout towers forming a sort of barbican with another gate between them at a right angle to the first. All the walls and gates formed a space which I remember my dad, during a trip to Spain on which we toured several castles, telling me was called a killing field. Well, hopefully not this day.
The walls were lined with people in gaily-colored clothing, but I could not really see them as they were all on the tops of the walls, while I was down on the ground level. I was escorted out on the ground by the princess and about thirty of her guards, including a few of the fellows from the armory last night.
I winked at one. Hey, a warrior gets what she can.
Lord John the Bastard's Get was oily and sly-looking, overdressed in velvets and heavy embroidery. Then again he wasn't fighting. I looked around for his champion. Finally I noticed him in Lord John's shadow. Not nearly as tall as I'd thought. Maybe six-two. Maybe. Still a good two-sixty, maybe two-seventy. Also greasy-looking.
While the official people talked official talk in loud voices I took a deep, cleansing breath. I tune out the words and just follow the rhythms. I'm centered. I'm focused. Another breath. I run through an old joke in my mind. Just as I am grinning at the punch line the talk stops. Good timing. I'm loose and relaxed and focused.
Greaseball steps up. The sound comes back on as I glide out to meet him. He grins at me and draws his sword out and he says, "I cannot be defeated in single combat. It is foretold."
And I smile sweetly at him as I slide my scimitar out of its scabbard and look him straight in the eye and I say, "I'm not exactly alone, you know. I'm pregnant."
The look on the greaseball's face would have made this whole thing worth it. Even if he killed me. Which he tried to do with unseemly haste, coming in with a fast thrust up the midline. Oh yeah, I'd got to him. But now I had to make it work.
It was really the wrong way for him to come at me. I mean he was a head taller than me and twice as heavy. My blade barely brushed along his as I stepped offline. His off hand reached out for me and I cut below it, toward his leg. He skipped away and I followed my blade in and around at another angle, high and hard. The scimitar's well-tempered tip sliced through his heavy leather gauntlet and a few of the links of his mail sleeve, drawing blood. He came back with a heavy overhand slash which passed right through where he thought I was going. But of course that's not where I went.
Now I was not going to kid myself. I'm in terrific shape and I've been doing martial arts training for half my life. I was much faster than this guy, I had a weapon he wasn't used to, and I had seen him fight. But he was a pro with battles under his belt and I wasn't going to give him time to figure out my style. If I did he'd gut me.
My dad always said if you sweat more in training you'll bleed less in combat. And I had really tried to live that in my training. Thank Gods. Ursus Redbeard was slow and fat and totally lacking in finesse, and if I ever had to go one minute with him a second time he'd eat my liver. But this one time I got him. And I got him just about how I planned.
Twice more he came in and I moved offline, cutting in on an angle and out on a second. And each time I cut him, but not badly. The next time he made to come straight at me again and then cut off at an angle. I was waiting for it. I had set it up for him to do. He still nearly had me.
I feinted an angled cut and then charged in. His blade whistled at my head and somehow I moved it out of the way. I locked up his arm, brought my pommel down hard right on the juncture of blade and hilt. Then I dropped my hips down and over he went, landing hard on his tailbone with his sword arm, sans sword, twisted behind his back and my blade at his throat.
I hissed between clenched teeth into his dirty ear, "Do you yield? Do you want my mercy?"
It might have taken him half a second to reach his decision. "Aye," he hoarsely croaked.
"Then swear you will champion no one but the princess Serenity forevermore as long as you live."
"I swear it." Still a dry croak.
"Then yield."
"I yield! The princess wins!" This much clearer and louder.
A great cheer went up. I released my hold and removed my blade, stuck out my hand and hauled him to his feet. "And since you're going to champion the princess you might want to start bathing regularly." Serenity got that one free.
The rest of the trip was very smooth. I came out of the fight without a single cut and only some strained muscles in my lower back. Not too bad, as I was still able to hoist my treasure chest. Which I did, right up the stairs and back to the princess' chamber. And I got the rest of my payment. Every penny's worth.
It took a couple of hours for her minions to gather the necessary wizard's stuff. I gave her the benefit of the doubt and assumed they had been working on it all day. I stood in a circle of silvery chalk and she did her thing (I didn't really see what) and I'm back in my bedroom in front of my computer holding a chest full of gold.
I was exhausted, so I took a quick shower and crawled into my bed. Sleep had never been so good.
This morning I woke up with the sun just peeking through my shades as usual. What was different was the nausea that sent me sprinting to the porcelain throne to loudly worship Ralph. And then leaning over the bowl after my second heave, it strikes me. I'm never sick.
And I thought I had pulled a smooth one over on old Ursus. Guess not.