“So, the sword is magic after all.” Hadrian motioned toward the rapier.
“Hmm?” Pickering looked down at the sword he wore at his side and grinned. “Oh, well, let’s just say it gives me an edge in a battle. That reminds me, why were you letting Braga beat you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw you fighting when we first came up. Your stance was defensive, your strokes all parries and blocks. You never once attacked.”
“I was frightened,” Hadrian lied. “Braga has won so many awards and tournament competitions, and I haven’t won any.”
Pickering looked puzzled. “But not being noble born, you aren’t allowed to enter a tournament.”
Hadrian pursed his lips and nodded. “Now that you mention it, I suppose you’re right. You’d best see to your wounds, Your Lordship. You’re bleeding on your nice tunic.”
Pickering glanced down and looked surprised to see the slice Braga had given him across the chest. “Oh, yes, well, it doesn’t matter. The tunic is ruined from the cut anyway, and the bleeding seems to have stopped.”
Mauvin returned and trotted over to them. He stood next to his father, his arm around his waist. “I have soldiers looking for the dwarf but so far no luck.” Despite the bad news, Mauvin was smiling broadly.
“What are you grinning at?” his father asked.
“I knew you could best him. I did doubt it for a time, but deep down I knew.”
The count nodded and a thoughtful expression came over his face. He looked at Hadrian. “After so many years of doubt, it was fortuitous I had the opportunity and good fortune to defeat Braga, particularly with my sons watching.”
Hadrian nodded and smiled. “That’s true.”
There was a pause as Pickering studied his face and then he placed a hand on Hadrian’s shoulder. “To be quite honest, I for one am very pleased you’re not noble, Mr. Hadrian Black-water, quite pleased indeed.”
“Are you coming, Your Lordship?” Sir Ecton called, and the count and his sons headed off.
“You didn’t really hold back on Braga so Pickering could kill him, did you?” Royce asked after the two were left alone in the hallway.
“Of course not. I held off because it’s death for a commoner to kill a noble.”
“That’s what I thought.” Royce sounded relieved. “For a minute, I wondered if you’d gone from jumping on the good-deed wagon to leading the whole wagon train.”
“Sure the gentry appear all nice and friendly, but if I’d killed him, even though they wanted him dead anyway, you can be sure they wouldn’t be patting me on the back, saying, ‘Good job.’ No, it’s best to avoid killing nobles.”
“At least not where there are witnesses,” Royce said with a grin.
As they headed out of the castle, they heard Alric’s voice echoing: “… was a traitor to the crown and responsible for the murder of my father. He attempted to murder me and to execute my sister. Yet, due to the wisdom of the princess and the heroism of others, I am standing here before you.”
This was followed by a roar of applause and cheers.
CHAPTER 10
CORONATION DAY
Seventy-eight people had died, and over two hundred bore wounds from what became known as the Battle of Medford. The timely attack by the citizenry at the gate had precipitated the prince’s entrance into the city, and arguably had saved his life. Once news of Alric’s return spread through the city, all resistance ended. This restored peace but not order. For several hours after the battle, roving gangs took the opportunity to loot shops and storehouses, mostly along the riverfront. A shoemaker died defending his cobbler shop, and a weaver was badly beaten. In addition to the general thieving, the sheriff, his two deputies, and a moneylender were murdered. Many believed there were those who took advantage of the chaos to settle old scores. The killers were never identified, and no one bothered to look for the looters. In the end, no one was even arrested; it was enough that the violence was over.