“Hang on!” Royce shouted as he pushed off the step. The two flew across the gap to the door. He grabbed hold of the large iron door ring, and they each found footholds on the ledge of the doorjamb.
“He locked it,” Royce informed her. He looped one arm through the door ring and removed his lock-picking tools from his belt. With his free hand, he worked the lock. A deep, resonating thunder shook the castle, and suddenly the rope tied to Royce went slack. The thief dropped his tools and pulled out his dagger. He cut the rope around his waist just as the stone slab attached to it passed them heading down. The rest of the tower was collapsing now.
Royce drove his dagger deep into the wooden door for another handhold as the tower fell around them. Walls hollowed out by the dwarf splintered into shards, which burst and flew in all directions. Rocks and stone pummeled them as Royce and Arista cowered under the scant protection of the narrow stone arch of the doorframe.
A fist-size stone struck Arista’s back. She lost her tenuous foothold and screamed as she fell. In an instant, Royce grabbed her. Grasping blindly, he caught the back of her dress and a substantial amount of hair. “I can’t hold you!” he shouted.
He felt her sliding down his body, the back of her dress tearing. Royce gave up his own toehold, hanging by his arm hooked through the door ring, so that he could wrap his legs around her. The princess’s fingers clawed his body frantically, and when they finally found his belt, she latched on.
Royce was temporarily blinded by a cloud of dust and powdered stone. When it settled, he found they were dangling in the brilliant sunlight on what was now an exterior wall of the castle’s keep. The debris of the tower fell into the moat, making a pile of broken rocks seventy feet below. The crowd of trial watchers screamed and gasped, pointing up at them. “It’s the princess!” a voice shouted.
“Can you reach the ledge?” Royce asked.
“No! If I try, I’ll fall. I can’t—”
Royce felt her slipping again and tried to tighten his leg hold on her, but he knew it would not be enough.
“Oh no! My fingers—I’m slipping!”
Royce’s arm, crooked in the ring, was wrenching his shoulder badly. His other hand, which gripped Arista’s dress and hair, was slowly losing hold. She was sliding down once again; soon he would lose her altogether. Royce felt a tug on his arm. The door opened, and a strong hand reached out and grabbed Arista.
“I’ve got you,” Hadrian told her as he hauled the princess up. Then he pulled the door open wide, dragging Royce into the hallway with it.
They lay on the floor exhausted and covered in bits of rock. Royce got to his feet and dusted off his clothes. “I thought I felt it unlock,” he said, getting up and retrieving his dagger from the face of the door.
Hadrian stood in the threshold, looking out at the clearing blue sky. “Well, Royce, I love what you’ve done with the place.”
“Where’s the dwarf?” Royce asked, looking around.
“I didn’t see him.”
“And Braga? You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“No. I locked him in the chapel but it won’t hold. Which reminds me, could I borrow your sword? You’re not going to use it, anyway.”
Royce handed him the falchion sword that had been part of his castle guard disguise. Hadrian took the weapon, slipped it from its sheath, and weighed it in his hand. “I tell you, these swords are terrible. They are heavy and have all the balance of a drunken three-legged dog trying to take a piss.” He then looked at Arista and added, “Oh, excuse me, Your Highness. How are you doing, Princess?”
Arista got to her feet. “Much better now.”
“For the record, we’re even, right?” Royce asked her. “You saved us from prison and a horrible death, and now we’ve saved you.”
“Fine,” she agreed, wiping the dust from her torn dress. “But I would like to point out my rescue of you was far less death defying.” She ran a hand through her disheveled hair. “That really hurt, you know.”
“Falling would have hurt more.”
A loud bang echoed from down the hall.
“Gotta go,” Hadrian told them. “His Lordship is loose.”
“Be careful,” Arista shouted after him. “He’s a renowned swordsman!”
“I’m really tired of hearing that,” Hadrian grumbled as he started back up the hall. He had not gone far when Braga rounded the corner, coming toward them.
“So, you got her out!” Braga bellowed. “I’ll just have to kill her myself, then.”
“You’ll have to get by me first, I’m afraid,” Hadrian told him.
“That won’t be a problem.”
The archduke charged Hadrian, swinging at him in a fury. Braga hammered stroke after stroke on him in a rage. Hadrian fought to deflect the fierce blows, which fell so fast they whistled in the air. The look on Braga’s reddening face was one of hatred as he continued to pummel Hadrian.
“Braga!” Alric shouted from the far end of the hall.
The archduke spun, panting for air.