“Very clever,” the dwarf replied, clearly disappointed.
Royce continued to leap two steps at a time until he moved around the circle out of sight of the dwarf. As he did, Magnus shouted, “It’ll do you no good. The gap at the bottom is much too far for you to jump. You are still trapped!”
— 9 —
Arista was still crouched on her bed when she heard someone outside her door. It was probably that dreadful little dwarf or Braga himself coming to take her to the trial. She could hear a scraping and an occasional thud. She remembered too late that she had not resealed the door with her gemlock. As she moved toward the door, it swung open. To her surprise, it was neither Braga nor the dwarf. Instead, there in the doorway was one of the thieves from the dungeon.
“Princess,” was all Royce said entering with a respectful though brief nod in her direction. He quickly moved passed her and seemed to be looking for something, his eyes roamed over the walls and ceiling of her bedroom.
“You? What are you doing here? Is Alric alive?”
“Alric’s fine,” Royce said as he moved about the room. He looked out the windows and examined the material of the drapes. “Well, that’s not going to work.”
“Why are you here? How…did you get here? Did you see Esrahaddon? What did he say to Alric?”
“I’m a bit busy just now, Your Highness.”
“Busy? Doing what?”
“Saving you, but I’ll admit, I’m not doing very well at the moment.” Without asking permission, Royce opened her wardrobe and began sifting through her clothes. Then he rifled through her dresser drawers.
“What do you want with my clothes?”
“I’m trying to figure a way out of here. I suspect this tower is going to collapse in a few minutes, and if we don’t get out soon, we’ll die.”
“I see,” she said simply. “Why can’t we just go down the stairs?” She got up and crept to the doorway. “Sweet Maribor!” she cried as she saw every other step missing.
“We can leap those but the last six or seven steps at the bottom are totally gone. It’s too far to jump to the corridor. I was hoping maybe we could jump out the window to the moat, but that looks like instant death.”
“Oh,” was all she could utter. A scream was growing in her and she covered her mouth with her hand, holding it back. “You’re right. You’re not doing very well.”
Royce looked under her bed and then stood up. “Wait a minute, you’re a sorceress, aren’t you? Esrahaddon taught you magic. Can you get us down? Levitate us, or turn us into birds or something?”
Arista smiled awkwardly. “I was never able to learn much from Esrahaddon and certainly not self-levitation.”
“Can you levitate a board or stone we could jump to?”
Arista shook her head.
“And the bird thing?”
“Even if I could, which I can’t, we’d stay birds because I couldn’t turn us back after changing now could I?”
“So, magic is out,” Royce said and began pulling the feather stuffed mattress off Arista’s bed revealing the rope net beneath it. “Okay, then help me untie your bed.”
“The rope isn’t long enough to reach the bottom of the tower,” Arista told him.
“It doesn’t have to be,” he replied, pulling the rope through the holes in the bed frame.
The tower shuddered, and dust cascaded from the rafters. Arista held her breath for a moment, her heart pounding in anticipation of a sudden plummet, but the tower steadied itself once more.
“Clearly we are running out of time.” Royce coiled the length of rope over his shoulder and headed toward the door.
Arista paused only a moment to look back at the dressing table and the brushes her father gave her and then moved to what remained of the stairs.
“You’re going to have to jump down. The steps that are still there should be very sturdy and it should be easier than jumping up. Just be sure you don’t over jump, but if you do, I’ll try to catch you.” With that, he sprang down two steps so gracefully that she felt embarrassed for her own lack of confidence.
Arista stood on the landing and rocked back and forth, focusing on the first step. She leapt and landed on it a little too far forward. Waving her arms madly, she teetered on the edge struggling desperately against falling. Royce held out his hands ready to catch her, but she regained her balance. Shaking slightly she took a deep breath.
“Don’t over jump!” he reminded her.
No kidding, she thought to herself. As if I haven’t learned that lesson already.
The second jump was easier, and the third better still. Soon she developed a rhythm and moved down the steps at a brisk pace following Royce, who almost danced his way down. They were nearly to the bottom when Royce stopped.
“Keep going,” he told her. “Stop when you reach the last step and wait there.”
She nodded as he pulled the rope from around his shoulder and began tying it to the step he stood on. Arista continued to jump her way down, reminding herself not to be over confident. When she saw the open expanse at the bottom, her remaining confidence fled. The gaping hole falling away into darkness was enough to shake her back into terror.
“Well, well, princess!” the dwarf called to her. He stood in the open doorway of the corridor grinning, showing a mouth full of yellowed teeth. “I really didn’t expect to see you again. Where’s the thief? Did he fall to his death?”
“You disgusting little beast!” she cried at him.
The tower shifted once more. Its shuttering caused Arista to stagger a bit on the step and her heart to pound in fear. Clouds of dust and bits of rock rained down, clattering off the walls and steps. Arista cowered, covering her head with her arms until the shaking stopped and the debris settled.
“This old tower, she’s almost ready to fall,” the dwarf told her with a manic glee in his voice. “Such a pity to be so close to safety and yet still so very far. If only you were a frog you might leap it. As it is, you still don’t have a way out.”
A coil of rope fell from the heights above. Suspended by a stair, the rope dangled midway between the princess and the dwarf. Along the slender line, Royce descended like a spider. When he reached a point level with Arista, he stopped and began to swing.
“Now that is impressive!” the dwarf exclaimed and nodded showing his approval.
Royce swung onto the step next to Arista and tied the rope around his own waist. “All we have to do is swing across. Just hang on to me.”
The princess gladly threw her arms around the thief’s shoulders and squeezed tight, as much out of fear as for safety.
“You might have actually made it,” the dwarf said, “and for that you have my respect, but you must understand I have a reputation to uphold. I can’t have someone walking around boasting they escaped one of my traps.” Then without warning, he abruptly closed the door, sealing them in.
— 10 —
Hadrian heard the wail of a horn as he faced Braga in the corridor of the royal residence. “I think it will be quite some time until Wylin and the castle guards arrive,” he taunted the archduke. “I suspect the master-at-arms has more on his mind than responding to the demands of an earl from Warric to report to the royal residence when his castle is being stormed.”
“Mores the pity for you as I no longer have the luxury of keeping you alive,” Braga said as he lunged once more.
He swiped at Hadrian with lightning fast cuts. Hadrian danced away from Braga retreating farther and farther down the hall. The archduke showed perfect form, his weight centered on his back foot while only the toe of his front foot touched the ground, his back straight, his sword arm outstretched, and his other arm raised in an elegant bent L. Even the fingers of his free hand were elegantly posed as if they were holding up an invisible wine glass. His long black hair, peppered with lines of gray, cascaded down to his shoulders, and not a trace of perspiration was on his brow.
Hadrian in contrast acted clumsy and unsure. The Mele
ngar sword was far inferior to any of his own blades. The tip wavered as he tried to hold it steady with both hands. He inched backward working to keep a distance between them.
The archduke lunged again. Hadrian parried and then dove past Braga, barely avoiding a return slice, which nicked a wall sconce. He took the opportunity to run down the hallway and slipped into the chapel. “Are we playing hide-and-seek now?” Braga goaded.
Braga entered and crossed swiftly to the altar where Hadrian stood. When the archduke swung at him, Hadrian stepped back, ducked a swiping stroke, and then leapt clear of a slash. Braga’s attacks glanced off the statue of Novron and Maribor, taking part of the god’s first three fingers off. Hadrian now stood before the wooden lectern, keeping his eyes on the archduke while he awaited the next attack.
“It’s so poetic of you to choose to die in the same room as the king,” Braga said. He swung right, and Hadrian glanced the stroke aside. Braga pivoted on his back foot and swung his sword overhead in a powerful, downward stroke. Expecting this attack, counting on it, Hadrian dove and slid across the polished marble floor on his stomach in the direction of the chapel door.
Hadrian got to his feet and turned in time to see Braga’s stroke had sliced into the vertical grain of the lectern. His swing had been so forceful that the blade was now wedged in the wood and the archduke struggled to free it. Taking advantage of his distraction, Hadrian ran to the door, slipped out, and closed it behind him. Driving his sword into the jam, he wedged it shut.
“That should hold you for a while,” Hadrian said to himself, pausing to catch his breath.
— 11 —
“That little worm!” Arista spat through clenched teeth at the closed door.
The tower shuddered again, and this time larger pieces fell. One block of stone plummeted down, taking out a step only a few feet from them. Both shattered on impact and fell into the abyss of the tower’s foundation. With the loss of those blocks, the tower came free and began to twist and topple.
“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 door jam.
“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’ fingers clawed his body frantically and finally finding 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 slowing 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 of the doorway 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. He hammered stroke after stroke on the fighter 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.
— 12 —
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 with a grim and dangerous look upon his face.
“Put down your weapon,” the prince ordered in a powerful voice. “It’s over. This is my kingdom!”
“You filthy little creature!” he cursed at the prince. He turned his attention away from Hadrian and began walking toward the prince. 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.”
“There will be no need for one. You are a traitor to the crown and in memory of my friend Amrath, I will 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 swords, 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 like a wand of light. 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 sweeping parry, which allowed him an overhead stroke. Braga raised his sword to block, but Pickering ignored the defense. Instead 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 sheered 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 farther away.
Mauvin and Fanen rushed to their father’s side, beaming with obvious pride and relief. Alric ran down the hall where his sister stood between the two thieves. “Arista!” he shouted as he threw his arms around her. Thank Maribor you’re all right!”
Crown Conspiracy Page 26
