Hadrian saw the prince standing at the far end of the corridor. He was dressed in plate armor and a white tabard marred by a spattering of blood. Alric’s hand rested on the hilt of his sheathed sword, and at his side were the Pickerings and Sir Ecton. Each wore a grim and dangerous look.
“Put down your weapon,” the prince ordered in a powerful voice. “It’s over. This is my kingdom!”
“You filthy little creature!” Braga cursed at the prince. He turned his attention away from Hadrian and began walking toward Alric. Hadrian did not follow. Instead, he joined Royce and Arista to watch.
“Did you think I was after your precious little kingdom?” Braga bellowed. “Is that what you think? I was trying to save the world, you fools! Can’t you see it? Look at him!” The archduke pointed at the prince. “Look at the little maggot prince!” He turned and pointed back at Arista. “And her, too! Just like their father; they aren’t human!” Braga, his face still red from the fight, continued down the corridor toward Alric. “You would have filth rule you all, but not me. Not while there is breath in this body!”
Braga charged forward, raising his sword as he moved. When he came within reach of Alric, he brought it down toward the prince. Before Alric could react, the attack was deflected. An elegant rapier caught Braga’s blade mid-stroke. Count Pickering held Braga’s sword in the air, and Sir Ecton pulled the prince out of harm’s way.
“You have your sword, I see. So there will be no excuse for you this time, dear count,” Braga said.
“There will be no need for one. You are a traitor to the crown, and in memory of my friend Amrath, I’ll end this.”
Blades flashed. Pickering was as much a master of fencing as Braga, and the two moved elegantly, their swords appearing as extensions of their bodies. Reaching for their weapons, Mauvin and Fanen started forward, but Ecton stopped them. “This is your father’s fight.”
Pickering and Braga fought to kill. Sword strokes swept faster than the eye could follow, their deadly blades whistling a song to each other, crashing in chorus. The incredibly lustrous blade of Pickering’s rapier caught the faint light in the corridor and glowed as it streaked through the air. It flashed and sparked when steel met steel.
Braga lunged, nicked Pickering’s side, and, sweeping back, cut him shallowly across the chest. Pickering barely blocked a second stab with a quick parry, which allowed him an overhead stroke. Braga raised his sword to block, but Pickering ignored the defense. He swung down with force and speed, streaking light from his sword.
Hadrian instinctually cringed. The high, overpowered stroke would leave Pickering vulnerable, open to a fatal riposte by Braga. Then the metal of the swords clashed. A brilliant spark flared as, incredibly, Pickering’s blade sheared Braga’s sword in two. The count’s stroke continued unabated into the archduke’s throat. The lord chancellor collapsed to the floor, his head rolling a foot away.
Mauvin and Fanen rushed to their father’s side, beaming with obvious pride and relief. Alric ran down the hall to where his sister stood between the two thieves. “Arista!” he shouted as he threw his arms around her. “Thank Maribor you’re all right!”
“You aren’t angry with me?” she asked, pulling away from him with surprise in her voice.
Alric shook his head. “I owe you my life,” he said, hugging her again. “And as for you two—” he began, looking at Royce and Hadrian.
“Alric,” Arista interrupted, “it was not their fault. They didn’t kill Father, and they didn’t want to kidnap you. It was my doing. I was the one who forced them. They didn’t do anything.”
“Oh, you are quite wrong there, my dear sister. They did a great deal.” Alric smiled and placed a hand on Hadrian’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
“You’re not going to charge us for the tower, I hope,” Hadrian said. “But if you are, it was Royce’s fault and should come out of his share.”
Alric chuckled.
“My fault?” Royce growled. “Find that little bearded menace and take your payment out of his stubby little hide.”
“I don’t understand,” Arista replied, looking confused. “You wanted them executed.”
“You must be mistaken, dear sister. These two fine men are the royal protectors of Essendon, and it appears they have done a fine job today.”
“Your Lordship.” Marshal Garret appeared in the hall and approached the count, glancing only briefly at the dead body of Braga. “The castle has been secured and the mercenaries are slain or have fled. It would appear the castle guard is still loyal to the House of Essendon. The nobles are anxious to hear about the state of affairs and are waiting in the court.”