Realm of Dragons

“I am king in this place,” he said, to both his son and the ambassador. “The only king. Go and tell Ravin that. Tell him that his father made threats, and his father before him. They came to nothing, and neither will his.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Rodry stood there while Ambassador D’Entre walked from his father’s hall unharmed. He stood there because he couldn’t believe it was happening. He was already angry that the boy he recognized from the House of Weapons had just been dragged away. Now, this so-called emissary had come into their kingdom, into their castle, into their home, and made threats, yet he was walking away.

“Father,” Rodry began, approaching his father’s throne as King Godwin resumed his place there.

To his shock, his father held up a restraining hand. “Not now, Rodry. Do you think there’s anything you can say about this situation that I haven’t already considered?”

“But you’ve let him go alive and unharmed!” Rodry said. “The terms he offered were an insult!”

“Keep your voice down, boy,” his father snapped back, even though Rodry wasn’t a boy but a man, a knight. “I have done the best thing for this kingdom. Now, someone fetch me Master Grey. He’s walked out, and we have important matters to discuss.”

Important? As if the Southern Kingdom threatening war wasn’t important? As if they were simply supposed to let an insult like that go?

Rodry kept from saying that, but only because he knew it wouldn’t do any good. His father wasn’t going to listen, wasn’t going to act. That meant that Rodry had to do it. Rodry had to be the kind of man who would act to defend his kingdom and his sister from these insults.

He stalked from the hall, and a couple of his companions followed, falling into step with him. The ambassador was ahead, with a couple of men who must have been there to guard him on his journey. The southern fighters had curved swords and kite-shaped shields, with deep purple surcoats over chain armor. The ambassador was smiling, and one of them must have made a joke in the southern tongue, because the three of them laughed as they left the castle.

If Rodry’s blood hadn’t been up enough by then, it was now. He and his companions followed the men out of the castle and down to the stables, where three large, fine southern horses were waiting, ready and saddled as if the ambassador had known he wouldn’t be staying. Back in the courtyard, there might have been celebrating people, but here in the stables, there were a few stable hands, but no guards, and no courtiers who might run back to his father.

“You’ll apologize before you mount those beasts,” Rodry said. His friends took up positions to the side, a little way from the guards.

“Apologize for obeying my instructions from our king?” the ambassador replied.

“Ravin is not king of these lands,” Rodry snapped back, “and every word you said in there was an insult to my father, to my sister, to all of us.”

“If I were you,” Ambassador D’Entre said, “I would concentrate on getting your father to change his mind. King Ravin will not be pleased that his generous offer has been rejected. He will not be happy with the message.”

“Do not try to command me,” Rodry said. His hand went to his sword.

“If you draw that—” the ambassador began.

Rodry’s sword sang from its sheath. This was what these men deserved for the threats they had helped to make.

The two bodyguards moved to intercept him, of course, drawing their curved blades and readying their shields. Rodry waved his companions back as they moved to intercede, because they couldn’t be a part of this in the way he could. Besides, he didn’t need their help for this. He was a Knight of the Spur, and they were not.

He stepped forward toward the bodyguards, then slammed into the first of them, their swords clashing together. Rodry kicked out, knocking the man back, then turned to hack a blow through the chest of the second even as he raised his blade to strike.

The first came back at him then, attacking with one blow after another. Unarmored as he was, Rodry could only give ground, parrying as he went until the moment came when one of the man’s slashes was slightly too extended. He caught the blade on his, binding it in a circle and pushing at the man’s elbow with his free hand. He thrust his sword home in the guard’s throat, hearing the gurgle of his final cry as he fell at Rodry’s feet, still in death.

Rodry turned his attention to the ambassador then, bloody blade still in his hand.

“Pick up a sword,” he demanded.

The ambassador shook his head. “If you wish to strike me down, you will do it in cold blood, as a barbarous northerner.”

That was almost enough to get Rodry to do it. Instead, he turned to his companions, who were still standing there, obviously unsure what they should be doing.

“Grab him,” Rodry ordered. “Hold him still.”

Two of them did it, one holding each of the ambassador’s arms as they forced him down to his knees.

Very slowly, Rodry cleaned his sword on the ambassador’s fancy shirt, leaving a smear of blood behind. He sheathed it and drew a dagger.

“I’ll not kill a man in cold blood,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll stand by while he threatens me and my family. So I’m going to take something from you that I suspect a popinjay like you values more than anything.”

He set his blade to the man’s face and cut sharply, drawing a shriek that was initially terror, then outrage as he realized that Rodry hadn’t cut through his flesh, but through his mustache, the end of it dropping to the ground like a fallen feather.

“Hold still, or I will end up cutting you,” Rodry said, and kept going, hacking at the ambassador’s beard and hair, scraping it away from him. His dagger was sharp, and several times the man cried out as Rodry nicked him, but he kept going. He deserved this, and more than this.

When he was done, the ambassador was all but bald, with cuts and scratches on his skull from Rodry’s work.

“You,” he called out to one of the stable hands. “A man like this doesn’t deserve a fine horse. Find him a donkey.”

“Yes, your highness,” the young man said, obviously not daring to argue with the prince in this mood. Rodry didn’t care if he was frightening at this point. He was a prince protecting his kingdom.

He pointed to one of his companions. “This fool tried to bring a prisoner’s bracelets for my sister, so let’s see how he likes it. Find some shackles.”

“Where would I—”

“In the dungeon, of course,” Rodry said.

The ambassador stared up at him. “You will pay for this. Your actions here will have consequences.”

Rodry shook his head. “These are the consequences of your actions. My father was right. What are you going to do? March an army half a dozen at a time across one of the bridges? You came here to do nothing but insult, and I’m going to show you up for the fool you are.”

The young man he’d sent for the donkey came back with one soon enough, and the companion he’d sent for shackles arrived shortly after. They were rusted old things, but that was fine by Rodry.

“Stand up,” he commanded the ambassador. He fitted the shackles to the man’s hands himself, then threw him across the saddle of the donkey, as ungainly as a sack.

“Set the dead men across their horses,” Rodry said. “At least they were willing to fight.”

“Manhandle a dead body?” one of his friends, Kay, said. He made a face. “We’re noblemen, Rodry.”

“And you keep saying you want to be knights,” Rodry reminded the young man. “You shouldn’t be squeamish about a couple of bodies when you’re supposed to be ready for battle.”

“You’ll get all the battles you want and more,” the ambassador promised them. Rodry cuffed him around the ear.

“You’ve talked too much already,” he said. “Speak again, and I’ll stuff your mouth with straw for the ride back. Kay, these three will need someone to see them to the border.”

“And it’s to be me?” he said. “But then I’ll miss the wedding, and the dancing. One of Princess Lenore’s maids has been—”

“If she loves you that much, she’ll still be here when you get back,” Rodry said. “Think of it as a knightly task, a quest.”

“That would impress her…” Kay mused aloud. “May I take the ambassador’s horse?”

Rodry shrugged. “It’s probably best if you do. I doubt my father will be happy about this.”