Just then the portcullis dropped.
“There’s no escape,” Guy assured him.
From a nearby door, a handful of guards trotted toward Hadrian with their swords drawn.
“Stop!” Guy ordered, raising his hand abruptly. “Don’t go near him. Just fan out.”
The men waiting in line looked from the soldiers to Hadrian and then backed away.
“I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Blackwater,” Guy said in an almost friendly tone. “But we truly have you outnumbered this time.”
Hadrian stood in an elegantly furnished office on the fourth floor of the palace. Regent Saldur sat behind his desk, fidgeting with a small bejeweled letter opener shaped like a dagger. The ex-bishop looked slightly older and a bit heavier than the last time Hadrian had seen him. Luis Guy stood off to the right, his eyes locked on Hadrian. He was dressed in the traditional black armor and scarlet cape of his position, his sword hanging in its sheath. Guy’s stance was straight and attentive, and he kept his hands gripped behind his back. Hadrian did not recognize the last man in the room. The stranger, dressed in an elegant garnache, sat near a chessboard, casually rolling one of the pieces back and forth between his fingers.
“Mr. Blackwater,” Saldur addressed Hadrian, “I’ve heard some pretty incredible things about you. Please, won’t you sit?”
“Will I really be staying that long?”
“Yes, I am afraid so. No matter how this turns out, you’ll be staying.”
Hadrian looked at the chair but chose to remain standing.
The old man leaned back in his seat and placed the tips of his fingers together. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here instead of locked in the north tower, or at least why we haven’t shackled your wrists and ankles. You can thank Sentinel Guy for that. He has told us an incredible story about you. Aside from murdering Seret Knights—”
“The only murder that day was Fanen Pickering,” Hadrian said. “The seret attacked us.”
“Well, who’s to say who did what when? Still, the death of a seret demands a severe penalty. I’m afraid it’s customarily an executable offense. However, Sentinel Guy insists that you are a Teshlor—the only Teshlor—and that is an unusual extenuating circumstance.
“Now, if I recall my history lessons correctly, there was only one Teshlor to escape the destruction of the Old Empire—Jerish Grelad, who had taken the Heir of Novron into hiding. Legend claims that the Teshlor skills were passed down from generation to generation to protect the bloodline of the emperor.
“The Pickerings and the Killdares are each said to have discovered just a single one of the Teshlor disciplines. These jealously guarded secrets have made those families renowned for their fighting skills. A fully trained Teshlor would be… well… invincible in any one-on-one competition of arms. Am I correct?”
Hadrian said nothing.
“In any case, let’s assume for the moment that Guy is not mistaken. If this is so, your presence presents us with an interesting opportunity, which can provide a uniquely mutual benefit. Given this, we felt it might encourage you to listen if we treated you with a degree of respect. By leaving you free—”
The door burst open and Regent Ethelred entered. The stocky, barrel-chested man was dressed in elaborate regal vestments of velvet and silk. He too looked older, and the former king’s once-trim physique sported a bulge around the middle. Gray invaded his mustache and beard in patches and left white lines in his black hair. After pulling his cape inside, he slammed the door shut.
“So this is the fellow, I take it?” he said in a booming voice as he appraised Hadrian. “Don’t I know you?”
Seeing no reason to lie, Hadrian replied, “I once served in your army.”
“That’s right!” Ethelred said, throwing up his hands in a large animated gesture. “You were a good fighter too. You held the line at… at…” He snapped his fingers repeatedly.
“At the Gravin River Ford.”
“Of course!” He slapped his thigh. “Damn nice piece of work that was. I promoted you, didn’t I? Made you a captain or something. What happened?”
“I left.”
“Pity. You’re a fine soldier.” Ethelred clapped Hadrian on the shoulder.
“Of course he is, Lanis. That’s the whole point,” Saldur reminded him.
Ethelred chuckled, then said, “Too true, too true. So, has he accepted?”
“We haven’t asked him yet.”
“Asked me what?”
“Hadrian, we have a little problem,” Ethelred began. As he spoke, he paced back and forth between Saldur’s desk and the door. He kept the fingers of his left hand tucked in his belt behind his back while using his right to assist him in speaking, like a conductor uses a baton. “His name is Archibald Ballentyne. He’s a sniveling little weasel. All of the Ballentynes have been worthless, pitiful excuses for men, but he’s also the Earl of Chadwick. So, by virtue of his birth, he rules over a province that is worthless in all ways except one. Chadwick is the home to Lord Belstrad, whose eldest son, Sir Breckton, is very likely the best knight in Avryn. When I say best, I mean that in every sense of the word. His skill at arms is unmatched, as are his talent for tactics and his aptitude for leadership. Unfortunately, he’s also loyal to a fault. He serves Archie Ballentyne and only Archie.”
Ethelred crossed the room and took a seat by hopping onto Saldur’s desk, causing the old man to flinch.
“I wanted Breckton as my general, but he refuses to obey the chain of command and won’t listen to anyone except Archie. I can’t waste time filtering all my orders through that pissant. So we offered Breckton a prime bit of land and a title to abandon Ballentyne, but the fool wasn’t interested.”
“The war is over, or soon will be,” Hadrian pointed out. “You don’t need Breckton anymore.”
“That is exactly correct,” Saldur said.
There was something in the detached way he spoke that chilled Hadrian.
“Even without a war we still need strong men to enforce order,” Ethelred explained. Picking up a glass figurine from Saldur’s desk, he began passing it from hand to hand.
Saldur’s jaw clenched as his eyes tracked each toss.
“When Breckton turned us down, Archie threatened to use his knight and the Royalists against us. Can you believe that? He said he would march on Aquesta! He thinks he can challenge me! The little sod—” Ethelred slammed the figurine down on the desk, shattering it. “Oh—sorry, Sauly.”
Saldur sighed but said nothing.