The Crown Conspiracy

“I have to know for certain. Besides, she needs to come down for the burning anyway and I must get back to the trial. Archibald, go get Wylin, my master-at-arms; he’s stationed at the castle gate. Tell him to come to the royal residence wing and provide assistance guarding the princess. I need tight security on this girl. Do you understand me, tight!” Braga now turned his attention to the dwarf. “You’ll have to fetch her. Take these guards with you, one of them has a gag. Make sure they use it before bringing her down.” To the guards the archduke added, “The princess has been corrupted by dark magic; she’s a witch and can play tricks with your mind, so don’t let her talk to you. Get her and bring her to the court.” The guards nodded and the dwarf led them down the hallway in the direction of the tower.

“I’ll do as you say, Percy, but I’m sure she is already gone,” Archibald insisted. “These bastards are incredible. They’re like ghosts, and they have no fear at all. They work right under your nose, steal you blind, and then have the audacity to send you a note telling you what they have done!”

Braga paused in thought. “Yes, why did they do that?” he asked himself. “If they took her, why let me know? And if they didn’t, they must have suspected I would immediately check to…” He glanced over his shoulder in the direction the dwarf had gone. “Get Wylin up here, now!” he shouted at the earl and shoved him on his way.

Braga ran up the hallway, following the dwarf and the two guards. They were just entering the north corridor, which led directly to the tower when he caught up to them.

“Stop where you are!”

The dwarf turned around, with a puzzled expression on his face. The guards responded differently. The larger of the two pivoted, drawing his sword, and moved to block the archduke’s passage.

-- 4 --

“Time to move, Royce,” Hadrian said, casting off his helm. The standard issue sword of the Melengar guard felt heavy and awkward in his grip.

Royce removed his helm as well, as he moved past the dwarf, running quickly down the hall.

“Stop him, you fool!” Braga ordered the dwarf, but he was too slow to react. The thief was already far down the hall and the small dwarf ran after him. Braga drew his own sword and turned his attention to Hadrian.

“Do you know who I am? I know we met in the dungeon recently when you were hanging in chains, but are you aware of my reputation? I am Archduke Percy Braga, Lord Chancellor of Melengar, and more importantly, the winner of the title of Grand Circuit Tournament Swords Master, for the last five years in a row. Do you have any titles? Any ribbons won? Any awards bestowed? Are there trophies shelved for your handling of a sword? I have bested the best in Avryn, even the famous Pickering and his magic rapier.”

“The way I heard it, he didn’t have his sword the day you two dueled.”

Braga laughed. “That sword story is just that—a story. He uses it as an excuse to account for his losses or when he is afraid of an opponent. His sword is just a common rapier with a fancy hilt.”

Braga moved in and swiped at Hadrian in a savagely fast attack that drove him backward. He struck again and Hadrian had to leap backwards to avoid being slashed across the chest.

“You’re fast. That’s good, it will make this more interesting. You see, Mister Thief, I’m sure you have the situation here all wrong. You may be under the impression that you are holding me at bay while your friend races to the rescue of the damsel in distress. How noble for a commoner like yourself. You must entertain dreams of being a knight to be so idealistic.” Braga lunged, dipped, and slashed. Hadrian fell back again, and once more, Braga smiled and laughed at him. “The truth is, you are not holding me at all. I am holding you.”

The archduke feinted left and then short-stroked toward Hadrian’s body. He dodged the attack, but it put him off balance and off guard. Although Braga’s stroke missed, it allowed him the opportunity to punch the hilt of his sword hard into Hadrian’s face, throwing him back against the corridor wall. His lip began to bleed. Immediately, Braga lashed out again, but Hadrian had moved, and the archduke’s sword sparked across the stone wall.

“That looked like it hurt.”

“I’ve had worse,” Hadrian said. He was panting slightly, his voice less confident.