Sal
It didn't work; Salyn simply twisted sideways more quickly than I thought possible and threw a condescending smile at me. The competition was hardly fair – I'd only picked up the blade six months ago, and Sal had been born with one near to hand. The next five minutes were full of close calls and near misses, leaving me bloody in six or eight separate places. I didn't have time to be exact.
All I could do, all the skill I could muster barely kept me alive, and I even then I knew Sal was toying with me. Our clanging spar took us up and down the great hall, across polished floors and around well-dressed lords and ladies who had come to see the prince pay for his crimes. Not a few smirked as I flew past, power-hungry fools who hoped my death would be their gain.
Sal danced me to the dais that held my mother, but I refused to look in her direction. A word or gesture from me would have her pale form rising, calling out for the battle to end, but that would do my cause no good. I already stood accused of treason, accused of trading secrets with the enemy. My accuser hadn't been revealed, despite my insistence, and my father seemed entirely to eager to believe that I had betrayed everything he had built over the last twenty years.
“Submit!” Sal grated, and I could see conflict in his eyes, concern for my well-being. We had grown up together, his father advising mine, and Sal always a step ahead of me – smarter, stronger, faster, but held back by the fact that his family came from a low stock. I'd teased him mercilessly, and though we'd developed a wary friendship over the years, it was one of convenience more than choice.
“Never!” I grunted through clenched teeth, bringing up a booted foot and kicking Sal hard in the chest. He stumbled back but didn't lose his footing – he was too agile for that, too quick. Pausing for a moment, he caught his breath, something that took him far less time that it did for me. In less than a minute, he had his sword raised and ready, while I was trying to take my hands off of my knees and at least meet death face to face.
“Wait.” That was my father, moving from his throne and coming down to floor level. “Son,” he said, dark eyes searching mine, “this is your chance. You have acquitted yourself well enough in combat, and if you simply tell the truth, an accommodation can be reached.” He stepped back, then spoke loudly enough for everyone in the hall to hear. “Of course, I cannot forgive your actions, but an exile can be arranged, a comfortable setting in which you may live out your days, away from the friends and family you have betrayed. I will guarantee your safety.”
It was an excellent compromise – better than anyone else in a similar situation would be offered. I had seen men and women murdered by my father's executioner and my father's own hand for far less than I had supposedly done. Only a fool would reject such a thing.
“I refuse.” I had never been particularly bright.
Father's face darkened, cheeks coloring underneath the white wreath of hair that framed his face. Refusal of any offer the King made was another good way to meet the headsman, and even I was on shaky ground.
The throne was secure, though my elder brother was currently away fighting one of father's wars, and it was only my position as the second son and potential ruler if Balron should fall that would keep me alive. Father was not so old, however, that he could not produce another son – or several. Many young maidens in the kingdom would jump at the chance to bear such a child.
“Think about what you are doing, son. Think hard.” Mercy did not come easily to the King, and were it not for my particular position, I would have been impressed. I shook my head.
“Fine,” father looked over his shoulder. “Sal, continue.”
Sal stepped forward, sword at the ready, smile on his face, and I tensed. Father's words had given me at least a reasonable time to recover, but I still had no chance of facing down my friend in a fair fight.
Stepping forward, Sal drew his blade back and lunged for me, but changed his aim in mid-air, cutting sharply down toward a new target.
My father.
I dove, sword coming up to meet Sal's steel, but the force of his blade was too great and it bit deeply into the King's shoulder, sending him to his knees.
“Sal!” I roared, pulling my blade along his own. My fury overcame his skill for just a moment, slipping past his guard and taking him in the neck. He went down in a gurgling heap, eyes wide.
Chaos erupted.
Mother was off the dais, cradling father in her arms, and at the doors to the hall I could see twenty noble guards with steel bared, trying to crash through the King's men to his body. Sal had not been operating alone, it seemed, and was hoping my poor skill and position with father would be enough to give him the opportunity he needed.
“Guards!” I bellowed. “The King lives. Kill the traitors!” They moved quickly, obeying their once-ousted prince.
“Son,” father said weakly, and I knelt. “I was wrong. It was was Sal – your accuser. He had evidence. Expect an attack.”
“Nobles!" I called, raising my head. "Raise the alarm!” Battle was coming.
- D
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