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Michael Sullivan: The Crown conspiracy

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Michael Sullivan The Crown conspiracy

The Crown conspiracy: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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"I've got you," Hadrian told her as he hauled the princess up. Then he pulled the door open wide, dragging Royce into the hallway with it.

They lay on the floor exhausted and covered in bits of rock. Royce got to his feet and dusted off his clothes. "I thought I felt it unlock," he said, getting up and retrieving his dagger from the face of the door.

Hadrian stood in the threshold of the doorway looking out at the clearing blue sky. "Well, Royce, I love what you've done with the place."

"Where's the dwarf?" Royce asked looking around.

"I didn't see him."

"And Braga? You didn't kill him, did you?"

"No. I locked him in the chapel, but it won't hold. Which reminds me, could I borrow your sword? You're not going to use it anyway."

Royce handed him the falchion sword that had been part of his castle guard disguise. Hadrian took the weapon, slipped it from its sheath, and weighed it in his hand. "I tell you, these swords are terrible. They are heavy and have all the balance of a drunken three-legged dog trying to take a piss." He then looked at Arista and added, "Oh, excuse me…Your Highness. How are you doing, Princess?"

Arista got to her feet. "Much better now."

"For the record, we're even, right?" Royce asked her. "You saved us from prison and a horrible death, and now we've saved you."

"Fine," she agreed, wiping the dust from her torn dress. "But I would like to point out my rescue of you was far less death defying." She ran a hand through her disheveled hair. "That really hurt you know."

"Falling would have hurt more."

A loud bang echoed from down the hall.

"Gotta go," Hadrian told them, "his lordship is loose."

"Be careful," Arista shouted after him, "he's a renowned swordsman!"

"I'm really tired of hearing that," Hadrian grumbled as he started back up the hall. He had not gone far when Braga rounded the corner coming toward them.

"So, you got her out!" Braga bellowed. "I'll just have to kill her myself then."

"You'll have to get by me first I'm afraid," Hadrian told him.

"That won't be a problem."

The archduke charged Hadrian, swinging at him in a fury. He hammered stroke after stroke on the fighter in a rage. Hadrian fought to deflect the fierce blows, which fell so fast they whistled in the air. The look on Braga's reddening face was one of hatred as he continued to pummel Hadrian.

"Braga!" Alric shouted from the far end of the hall.

The archduke spun, panting for air.

– 12 -Hadrian saw the prince standing at the far end of the corridor. He was dressed in plate armor and a white tabard marred by a spattering of blood. Alric's hand rested on the hilt of his sheathed sword, and at his side were the Pickerings and Sir Ecton, each with a grim and dangerous look upon his face.

"Put down your weapon," the prince ordered in a powerful voice. "It's over. This is my kingdom!"

"You filthy little creature!" he cursed at the prince. He turned his attention away from Hadrian and began walking toward the prince. Hadrian did not follow. Instead, he joined Royce and Arista to watch.

"Did you think I was after your precious little kingdom?" Braga bellowed. "Is that what you think? I was trying to save the world, you fools! Can't you see it? Look at him!" The archduke pointed at the prince. "Look at the little maggot prince!" he turned and pointed back at Arista. "And her, too! Just like their father; they aren't human!" Braga, his face still red from the fight, continued down the corridor toward Alric. "You would have filth rule you all, but not me. Not while there is breath in this body!"

Braga charged forward raising his sword as he moved. When he came within reach of Alric, he brought it down toward the prince. Before Alric could react, the attack was deflected. An elegant rapier caught Braga's blade mid-stroke. Count Pickering held Braga's sword in the air, and Sir Ecton pulled the prince out of harm's way.

"You have your sword, I see. So there will be no excuse for you this time, dear count."

"There will be no need for one. You are a traitor to the crown and in memory of my friend Amrath, I will end this."

Blades flashed. Pickering was as much a master of fencing as Braga, and the two moved elegantly, their swords appearing as extensions of their bodies. Reaching for their swords, Mauvin and Fanen started forward, but Ecton stopped them. "This is your father's fight."

Pickering and Braga fought to kill. Sword strokes swept faster than the eye could follow, their deadly blades whistling a song to each other, crashing in chorus. The incredibly lustrous blade of Pickering's rapier caught the faint light in the corridor and glowed as it streaked through the air like a wand of light. It flashed and sparked when steel met steel.

Braga lunged, nicked Pickering's side, and sweeping back, cut him shallowly across the chest. Pickering barely blocked a second stab with a sweeping parry, which allowed him an overhead stroke. Braga raised his sword to block, but Pickering ignored the defense. Instead he swung down with force and speed, streaking light from his sword.

Hadrian instinctually cringed. The high, overpowered stroke would leave Pickering vulnerable, open to a fatal riposte by Braga. Then the metal of the swords clashed. A brilliant spark flared as incredibly, Pickering's blade sheered Braga's sword in two. The count's stroke continued unabated into the archduke's throat. The Lord Chancellor collapsed to the floor, his head rolling a foot farther away.

Mauvin and Fanen rushed to their father's side, beaming with obvious pride and relief. Alric ran down the hall where his sister stood between the two thieves. "Arista!" he shouted as he threw his arms around her. Thank Maribor you're all right!"

"You aren't angry with me?" she asked, pulling away from him with surprise in her voice.

Alric shook his head. "I owe you my life," he said hugging her again, "and as for you two-" he began, looking at Royce and Hadrian. "Alric," Arista interrupted, "it was not their fault. They didn't kill father, and they didn't want to kidnap you. It was my doing. I was the one who forced them. They didn't do anything. I was-"

"Oh, you are quite wrong there, my dear sister. They did a great deal." Alric smiled and placed a hand on Hadrian's shoulder. "Thank you."

"You're not going to charge us for the tower I hope," Hadrian said. "But if you are, it was Royce's fault and should come out of his share."

Alric chuckled.

"My fault?" Royce growled. "Find that little bearded menace and take your payment out of his stubby little hide."

"I don't understand," Arista replied, looking confused. "You wanted them executed."

"You must be mistaken, dear sister. These two fine men are the Royal Protectors of Essendon, and it appears they have done a fine job today."

"Your lordship," Marshal Garret appeared in the hall and approached the count, glancing only briefly at the dead body of Braga. "The castle has been secured and the mercenaries are slain or have fled. It would appear the castle guard is still loyal to the House of Essendon. The nobles are anxious to hear about the state of affairs and are waiting in the court."

"Good," the count replied. "Tell them His Majesty will address them soon. Oh, and send someone to clean this mess up, will you?" The marshal bowed and left.

Alric and his sister walked hand-in-hand down the corridor toward the others. Hadrian and Royce followed behind them. "Even now it is hard for me to believe him capable of such treachery," Alric said, looking down at Braga's body. A large puddle of blood stretched across the floor of the hallway. Arista lifted the hem of her dress as she passed by to avoid staining it.

"What was all that ranting about us not being human?" Arista asked.

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