“I hear you have been mistreating my daughter.”
Ian blanched at Edmund’s blunt statement. “You . . . you have heard wrong.”
“Really?” Edmund regarded him coldly. “You do not consider ‘whoring around’ mistreating my daughter? I wasn’t aware that was a common practice in Gyunwar, though perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. You are a barbaric filthy nation, aren’t you?”
Ian’s heart hammered wildly in his chest. “No,” he mumbled. “I mean . . . I haven’t been doing that!” Thoughts of Josephine naked, chained to the floor, flashed briefly across his mind.
Edmund reached the top of the stairs and stopped. “That is the rumor spreading across the city. Why would such a rumor exist if it wasn’t true?”
“What?” Ian’s jaw dropped. Someone must have witnessed him with Josephine earlier? The wardens! Had they seen him leave the warehouse after her? “No . . . it’s a lie! The rumor is a lie!”
“The king was rather disappointed when I related that bit of news to him.”
“It’s not news. It’s a lie. Why would you . . . You told the king?!”
“Of course.” Edmund smiled. He turned and waddled down the long stone corridor, wheezing softly. “He has such misplaced fondness for you and that mongrel child of yours. I think it’s about time he learns the truth about you.”
Ian gave him an incredulous stare. “That ‘mongrel child’ is your grandson!”
Edmund glanced over at him, his round face hardening. “That idiotic half-breed will never be my grandson.”
The hairs on Ian’s neck bristled. “How dare you speak that way about my son?” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “You intolerant ass!”
“Watch your tongue,” Edmund warned. His expression darkened, as he stopped in front of the king’s closed door, “Or I will instruct the wardens to drag you out of this castle by it.”
“Don’t threaten me,” Ian roared. The events of the past few days coupled with the pain in his shoulder had worn him out and his patience was at an end. All sense of diplomacy left him. “The king will hear of this! He will hear of all this . . . CRAP!”
Edmund gestured simply toward the door. “Go ahead; tell him about all your crap.”
Red faced, Ian stormed through the door. “King Henrik!” He tried to lower his voice, but the prince’s unprovoked words fueled his usually mild temper. He glanced around the spacious suite and spied a four-poster bed with the curtains drawn at the far end. “King Henrik!” He stalked across the room and tossed the flimsy curtain aside.
King Henrik lay in the center of the bed. His grey-green eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, his mouth hung open as if in surprise. Ian blinked and leaned in close. “King Henrik?”
A dagger was buried in the king’s chest.
“Oh!” Ian inhaled sharply. “No! No, no . . . no . . . no!”
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!!” Prince Edmund bellowed from the door.
Ian looked down at the king and back at the prince again. “No!” He gulped for air. “Oh no! I didn’t do this! He was already dead!”
The prince drew his sword and charged into the room. Frantically, Ian grabbed the wooden chair beside the king’s bed and held it up in front of himself. The prince growled and slashed at the chair reducing it to kindling within seconds. Ian backpedaled away searching for anything else to put between himself and the rage-maddened prince. A table, a bookcase, another chair, the prince plowed through them all, shoving them aside or hacking them to pieces.
“I didn’t kill him!”
The prince wasn’t listening. He closed the final distance with a swift thrust. Ian leapt aside, wincing as he landed roughly on his already wounded left shoulder.
“I swear, he was already dead!” Ian shouted, regaining his feet. Still, the prince came on. Rage danced in his green eyes. Ian backed up until he hit the far wall. He had nowhere else to go. “You must believe me, I didn’t kill him.”
His words had no effect. Edmund raised his sword arm. Ian drew his own blade. He didn’t want to, but he had no choice. He could either protect himself or die where he stood. The prince made a strange noise in the back of his throat. It almost sounded like a laugh.
“GUARDS!”
Ian glanced over at the king and back at his drawn sword. A dead king was bad enough but standing there with his sword out would only make matters worse once the guards showed up. He had to escape now, or he was dead man.
Ian made a move to get around the prince, but Edmund was quicker than he looked. His blade whipped forward and forced Ian back. Ian tried again, and the prince nearly ran him through. Ian lashed out with an attack of his own, a thrust designed to give him an opening, but the prince deflected it easily.
“GUARDS!”
In the distance, Ian heard running feet.
His time for escape was almost gone. What could he do? Think. What would Alan Weatherall do? No, Tyran was sneakier. What would he do? He remembered the fight Tyran and Kylpin had performed in the sitting room. Tyran had nearly caught Kylpin unaware with a sequence . . .
Ian swung his sword in a similar fashion, a couple of quick attacks aimed for the neck, one at the knees a feint up high and a single straight thrust . . .
The prince parried, parried, parried, reacted to the feint and was forced to twist aside awkwardly just as Kylpin had done. Ian used the narrow opening to race past and flee toward the door.
The running footsteps were just outside.
He needed another way out!
He whirled around and found the bearish prince charging after him again. Ian sidestepped another vicious blow that would have likely cut him in two and made another simple thrust. He wasn’t trying to injure the prince, nor did he have delusions of fighting his way to safety, but the tip of his sword slipped past the prince’s defense and carved a thin line across his fleshy right cheek.
Ian gasped.
Edmund slapped his sword away and touched the red line that now marred his face. For a moment, both stood still staring at the other. Ian recovered first and ran for the only other exit, a door near the fireplace. With renewed fury, Edmund followed, cutting him off and slashing low right, left and then coming in high on the right. Ian parried the first two, but the third slipped past his sword and opened his left forearm. The wound wasn’t deep, but Ian winced at the shock of the pain and danced away. Seconds later, another strike cut across his thigh. Ian stumbled and dropped to one knee.
“Please, don’t . . .” Ian begged, half-crawling, half-limping away from the prince.
Edmund, apparently sensing no danger from his wounded prey, charged forward again, his sword ready for the final, terrible blow. Ian lifted his sword to parry it and knew instantly he was moving too slow to intercept it.
Instead, he ducked under the attack and countered with another thrust of his own. As the prince’s blade whistled past his ear and glanced off his wounded shoulder, Ian’s sword-tip caught the prince in his hip and spun him around sideways. Edmund roared in pain and fell back, cursing violently.
Seeing a final chance to escape, Ian struggled to his feet, but the trio of wardens pushed into the room, two through the hallway door, and one through the door by the fireplace. They saw the injured prince, and the dead king . . .
And him with blood on his sword.
“I didn’t do it!” Ian tried.
The wardens weren’t listening to him either. They spread out to cut off his lanes of escape.
“Kill him!” Edmund shouted. Spit dribbled onto his chin. “Kill that bloody Gyunwarian bastard!”
Lightning streaked across the sky nearby and thunder shook the castle. Ian glanced at the closest window. If he stayed, he would surely die, but if he jumped . . .
Ian ran. He ignored the pain in his leg and shoulder. He shoved all thought of consequences aside. He was beyond that now. The prince screamed. The wardens shouted.
Holding his arms in front of his face, Ian dove for the window. He heard the glass break, felt the co
ld rain suddenly splatter against his bare skin, and then for what seemed like a very, very long time, he was falling.
# # #
Here ends Part One of The Savage Nobles: Stolen Dagger. The story continues in Part Two – The Savage Nobles: Stolen Justice.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Shawn Wickersheim lives in historic Woodstock Illinois with his wife and children. He enjoys being an Indie Author and is currently hard at work on his next book. When he is not writing, working, hanging out with his family, or working around the house, he is usually shocked that he has ‘free’ time. He usually fills this ‘free’ time by reading, watching movies, bike-riding or occasionally sleeping.
BOOKS BY SHAWN WICKERSHEIM
The Penitent Assassin
* The Savage Nobles: Stolen Dagger (Part One)
* The Savage Nobles: Stolen Justice (Part Two)
* The Savage Nobles: Stolen Crown (Part Three)
* (formerly titled The Rush of Betrayal books)
CONNECT WITH SHAWN WICKERSHEIM ONLINE
Twitter: STWick
Facebook: Shawn Wickersheim - Author
Blog: The Ink-Competent Writer
Goodreads: If you’d like to connect with me on Goodreads, please send me a ‘friend request’ and if you feel so inclined, drop me a line and let me know what you think of my books. I’d love to hear from you. Happy Reading!
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