Michael Sullivan - Wintertide

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, leaving 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 on 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.

"Anyway," Ethelred went on, dusting off his hands so that bits of glass rained on the desk. "Who could have guessed a knight would turn down an offer to rise to the rank of marquis and command a whole kingdom as his fief? The piss-proud pillock! And what's he doing it for? Loyalty to Archie Ballentyne. Who hates him. Always has. It's ridiculous."

"Which brings us to why you're here, Mr. Blackwater," Saldur said. He used a lace handkerchief to gingerly sweep the broken glass off his desk into a wastebasket. "As much as I would like to take credit for it, this is all Guy's idea." Saldur nodded toward the sentinel.

Guy never changed his wooden stance, remaining at attention as if it was his natural state.

"Finding you in our courtyard, Guy realized that you can solve our little problem with Sir Breckton."

"I'm not following," Hadrian said.

Saldur rolled his eyes. "We can't allow Breckton to reach his army at Drondil Fields. We would be forever at the mercy of Archie. He could dictate any terms so long as Breckton controlled the loyalty of the army."

Hadrian's confusion continued. "And…?"

Ethelred chuckled. "Poor Sauly, you deal too much in subtlety. This man is a fighter, not a strategist. He needs it spelled out." Turning to Hadrian, he said, "Breckton is a capable warrior and we had no hope of finding anyone who could defeat him until Guy pointed out that you are the perfect man for the job. To be blunt, we want you to kill Sir Breckton."

"The Wintertide tournament will start in just a few days," Saldur continued. "Breckton is competing in the joust and we want you to battle him and win. His lance will be blunted while yours will have a war point hidden beneath a porcelain shell. When he dies, our problem will be solved."

"And exactly why would I agree?"

"Like the good regent explained," Guy said, "killing seret is an executable offense."

"Plus," Ethelred put in, "as a token of our appreciation, we will sweeten the deal by paying you one hundred solid gold tenents. What do you say?"

Hadrian knew he could never murder Breckton. While he had never met the man, he was familiar with Breckton's younger brother Wesley, who had served with Royce and Hadrian on the Emerald Storm. The young man died in battle, fighting beside them at the Palace of the Four Winds. His sacrificial charge had saved their lives. No man had ever proven himself more worthy of loyalty, and if Breckton was half the man his younger brother was, Hadrian owed him at least one life.

"What can he say?" Saldur answered for him. "He has no choice."

"I wouldn't say that," Hadrian replied. "You're right. I am a trained Teshlor, and while you've been talking, I've calculated eight different ways to kill everyone in this room. Three using nothing more than that little letter opener Regent Saldur has been playing with." He let his arms fall loose and shifted his stance. This immediately set Ethelred and Guy, the two fighters, on the defensive.

"Hold on now," Saldur's voice waivered and his face showed strain. "Before you make any rash decisions, consider that the window is too small to fit through, and the men in the corridor will not let you leave. If you really are as good as you say, you might take a great many of them with you, but even you cannot defeat them all."

"You might be right. We'll soon find out."

"Are you insane? You're choosing death?" Saldur erupted in frustration. "We are offering you gold and a pardon. What benefit is there in refusing?"

"Well, he does plan on killing all of you." The man with the chess piece spoke for the first time. "A good trade really-forfeiting one knight to eliminate a knight, a bishop, and a king. But you offered the man the wrong incentive. Give him the princess."

"Give-what?" Saldur looked puzzled. "Who? Arista?"

"You have another princess I'm not aware of?"

"Arista?" Hadrian asked. "The Princess of Melengar is here?"

"Yes, and they plan to execute her on Wintertide," the man answered.

Saldur looked confused. "Why would he care-"

"Because Hadrian Blackwater and his partner Royce Melborn, better known as Riyria, have been working as the Royal Protectors of Melengar. They've been instrumental in nearly every success either Alric or his sister has had over the last few years. I suspect they might even be friends with the royal family now. Well-as much as nobles will permit friendship with commoners."