I watched as the five seated figures on the dais reacted to this latest development. The preceptors for North and East looked to one another again, their surprise quite apparent. Peyla looked first to Hartman, then to me, an expression of wary disbelief on her face. Prince Tenarreau immediately attempted to suppress and conceal his reaction, but for a split-second he managed to look both relieved and amused. Borshank's look of eye-bulging fury was easily the most expressive of those gathered on the dais, his face very much resembling that of a particularly irate toad just then.

"Just what in the name of Belial's blue balls are you trying to pull?!" he roared, the tiniest bit of spittle escaping his lips. "You think this is funny? You now wish to play games with the highest court in all of Harael, is that it? If you think I'll allow this august assembly to be made fools of by some mewling, half-faced little ditch-rat-"

"Say, isn't this whole trial sort of formal royal business, or something like that?" I asked, holding up my palms and pretending to look surprised by his explosive outburst. "Why, I don't think that sort of language is appropriate, or even tolerated during important get-togethers like these. Please do try to take this whole thing a little bit more seriously, would you?"

The last of my words appeared to enrage him even further, which was handy, since that was the whole reason I'd chosen them....

"You'd best guard your tongue if-" Borshank began.

"Preceptor Borshank," Tenarreau interrupted, his voice cutting the larger man off mid-sentence despite the relative gentleness of his tone. "Please shut up."

"But Highness, he-"

This time, all it took was a quick turn of the prince's head and a sharp look to turn the irate preceptor mute, along with just about everyone else in the room. Based on the complete and utter silence the prince's look had earned, I suspected that very few people present were even breathing right at that moment.

"Our conversation that I'd originally scheduled for this later today is still on, quite obviously," Tenarreau said, slowly and deliberately. "We've got all manner of things to discuss, it seems... like how someone calling themselves a preceptor could become deluded enough to bring an innocent lord – a man he hates, from all accounts – to a trial involving the executioner's table, all based on a charge of murder so clearly fictional that the purported victim was able to attend it." He looked away from Borshank and regarded the figure standing next to me. "Lord Hartman, the Crown wishes to thank you wholeheartedly, for without your presence here at this time we might have unknowingly been witness to a very great tragedy here today. We are in your debt."

Hartman gave a single, respectful nod in Tenarreau's direction while simultaneously managing to look very pleased.

"Your Highness, there was a great deal of evidence to support the charges brought against Lord Tucat!" Borshank said, still sounding irate despite how much he'd modified his volume and tone. "More than enough to file charges of murder against him. The alibi he'd provided for himself, for one, and the subsequent confession we got from his knight, who was his purported alibi! And then there's the testimony of Lord Hartman's knights, as well as the discovery of large quantities of blood in Hartman Keep!"

"Oh, I believe I can assist on that score, and provide something of an explanation for those last two," said Hartman, smoothing his robes a bit as he spoke. "You see, there have been more than a few break-ins at Hartman Keep this past while, the sheer quantity of which convinced me to upgrade my security and better protect myself against theft." He waved a gesture at me. "Having recently done so, I invited Lord Tucat to break into my keep, in exchange for a modest sum of gold, so that he might test some of my newest safeguards and let me know how effective they were. I dare say, if a thief of his reputation were to be confounded by my new security, I'd consider it gold well spent."

"Why, thank you," I said, giving him a slight bow.

He nodded back. "And to make the whole thing particularly authentic, I chose not to inform any of my knights or other staff of what I had planned, which would likely explain why several of them came forward to testify regarding Lord Tucat's presence at my keep last night. For all they knew he was an actual intruder, and not someone I'd merely hired to test my security."

I risked a quick glance at Borshank. He looked fit to burst.

"Unfortunately," continued Hartman, "none of my newest innovations appeared to slow down Lord Tucat whatsoever, nor did any of my patrols. Many of my knights ended up being neutralized completely during the faux break-in."

"And the blood?" Borshank asked. "Do you care to explain that?"

"Yes, well, once the test of my security was done, Lord Tucat came upstairs to inform me how things had gone, as we'd arranged. He gave me a full report of my keep's defences, which included descriptions regarding the manner in which he'd eluded or disabled each of my guards. One particular move he said he'd performed intrigued me, and I asked for a quick demonstration, so that I might in turn teach it to my own knights. I proved a less than apt pupil." Hartman pointed to his face. "I bumped my nose upon his shoulder during one exchange, and it started bleeding. Copiously. Been a problem of mine since I was a boy, and I just couldn't get the damn thing to stop... blood seemed to flow out of it like wine from a pitcher. I got some on my rug, my sheets... just about everywhere."

"There was a lot of blood," I said, nodding in agreement.

"Very true," he said, nodding back. "In fact, I'd lost so much blood that Lord Tucat here became rather worried on my behalf, and offered to escort me to a healer to get my nose looked at."

"Well, it was sort of my fault, Lord Hartman. Terribly sorry about that."

"What? Oh, nonsense... the fault was entirely mine."

"Kind of you to say so, old boy."

"So, with Lord Tucat's assistance we went to see a healer, and I dare say it was a good thing we did. He was all but propping me up by the time we arrived, and the healer we spoke to was so concerned about my blood loss and the faintness I was experiencing that he insisted I stay in his care overnight." Hartman shrugged. "Thus, I was unable to return to my keep and explain things until late this afternoon, by which time I discovered what was happening to poor Lord Tucat as a result of this whole misunderstanding. And so, I came down here as quickly as I could in order to clear up any confusion."

"In barrister's robes?" Borshank practically shouted.

"Well, I did run into Lord Tucat's barrister just outside of the palace. It was his idea for me to come in like this, really... something about having to wait for hours listening to ponderous speeches before even being provided an opportunity to call his first witness, which would have been me. This seemed a much quicker way to establish Lord Tucat's innocence, when it comes right down to it."

Borshank's fists were clenched, and he turned his attention to Tenarreau. "Highness, you can't actually believe this malarkey, can you?"

Hartman chuckled. "Oh, yes... that's right. Your explanation of things is far more plausible, Preceptor. You saw right through this clever facade. I'm fabricating this whole thing, covering up for the fact that I was murdered last night, and am in fact lying dead somewhere at this very moment."

"Oh, be patient with him," I said in the loudest whisper possible, briefly crossing my eyes while tapping my knuckles against the side of my head. "He's a bit disadvantaged, mentally. The man's got a pretty bad laudanum habit from what I can tell... makes him a little soft in the skull at times. He's likely as high as the palace spire as we speak. Edgy and irritable lately, too... prone to fits of shouting! In fact, just watch his reaction to the things I've said just now!"

Both Hartman and I turned to regarded Borshank expectantly.

The man was turning red with suppressed fury, his hands balled into tight fists, and more or less just looking so unbelievably angry that I feared he might start convulsing right there on the dais. Despite all this he simply stood there, suppressing whatever outburst was threatening to erupt from him, his lips pressed into a thin line.

A few seconds passed.

"Wait for it," I murmured out the side of my mouth.

"Well," said Tenarreau, taking a moment to smooth one of the creases in the black robes he wore, "as much fun as this whimsical misunderstanding has been, now that things have all been sorted out I'm afraid I'm going to have to grab the reins a moment and point this carriage in a more meaningful direction, as I'm sure we all have better things that we could be doing right now. I know I'll be a doing something right away, following up with certain members of my staff to ensure Lord Hartman isn't accidentally struck from the civil list, since all evidence suggests he's clearly still alive and well. Ordinarily I'd get the South Preceptor to follow up on the matter, but given the circumstances, I think I'd much rather prefer to have something this important done correctly."

Borshank winced slightly at the prince's barb, but continued to say nothing.

"You know, I never knew how much fun this sort of thing could be," Hartman whispered out of the side of his mouth.

"Isn't it though?" I whispered back.

"What I think I'll have you do instead, Preceptor Borshank, is return to the palace jails, locate any property of Lord Tucat's you may have taken from him during his incarceration, and return it to him along with your most heartfelt apologies." Tenarreau looked up and to his left, considering. "In fact, why don't you run to the jails really, really fast so you can do it right away in front of all of us. You know, just so I'm sure it's been done properly."

"Oh, speaking of your property," said Hartman, who reached into his ill-fitting barrister robes around waist level, eventually pulling out an elegant-looking cane with a golden crook for a handle, "that reminds me... I really should return this to you. I thank you so much for allowing me to borrow it the other day, what with my sense of balance being so dreadfully bad during that whole ordeal. It's very nice, and I'd rather not part with it, but I have heard it said you've been walking with these lately due to some nagging leg pains."

I accepted the cane from him with a gracious nod, inspected it, and smiled.

"So that's where I left it. I remember now. Actually, it's the most amazing thing, Lord Hartman... I think that my recent visit to Gallow's Path may have fixed the problem with my leg completely! All those hours spent locked up and chained to the wall, maintaining that awkward posture for so very long, well, for some reason my leg appears to be good as new." I slapped my thigh and grinned at him, gesturing at the cane I now held. "Well, I suppose I won't be needing this thing anymore."

And with that, the eyes of all assembled upon me, I took the cane in both hands and brought it down on my right thigh, snapping it in two.

There was a pause. My heart skipped a beat.

A thunderously loud 'ka-doom' erupted from somewhere in the distance.

The volume of the noise was made slightly more terrifying by the vibrations that could be felt underfoot, as the stone floor we all stood upon trembled slightly.

For many uncertain moments the only sounds you could hear were various alarms clanging away in the distance, as well as several faint voices expressing either concern or surprise. Soon, a few other voices began expressing similar sentiments, louder than the ones from a few seconds ago, probably due to the fact that many of the voice's owners were there in the room with me. One of the dark, severe wooden panels on the wall to my right slipped out of whatever antiquated construction method had been propping it up all these years and fell to the floor with a loud thump.

I looked around me. Wherever I glanced I saw faces with wide eyes looking left and right, attempting to discern more about the source of the noise, determine if they were in danger, or otherwise figure out what the hell was going on. There were a few streams of dust and mortar trickling down from the ceiling, I noted.

Then, about fifteen seconds after the initial unbelievably loud ka-doom that had set everyone on edge, there came a second sound. Though not quite as loud as the first sound, it was likely just as surprising.

Gong!

It was the sound of an enormous metal bell somewhere a great distance above us. A very, very big bell, you would guess, based both on the pitch and resonance of the sound it was generating.

It was a sound I'd last heard when I was eight years old.

Gong!

Upon hearing the bell ring a second time, everyone did something. Some people chose to look stricken, their mouths slowly opening as they realized what was occurring. Others gave whoever they were standing closest to a look of bewildered astonishment, or clueless wonder, or any other expression that seemed to ask for some sort of explanation regarding what was happening, or had just happened.

Some of the men and women in the room with me were of an age that they'd probably never heard this bell sounding off before. Well, doubtless this particular sound would be one they'd remember till the end of their days.

Gong!

Tenarreau was doing his best not to look in my direction, which, given how much of him I felt I now understood, was probably for the best. As it was, though he'd stood up from his seat and was attempting to appear regal, staring off into space, a look of concern fixed firmly upon his face... I could tell he was struggling to keep a ghost of a smile hidden.

So was I, actually.

Gong!

I continued to look around, inspecting and taking note of the various expressions I saw on the faces of those in attendance. Hartman's eyes had gone the tiniest bit wide, I noticed, and his back was a little bit straighter than it had been before all the noise had started happening. He was also nodding to himself, almost imperceptibly, as though considering the noise and what it represented.

Gong!

And that made five. I felt my shoulders relax, and I allowed myself an extra-deep breath in celebration.

We'd all just been witness to an event that everyone would be talking about on the morrow, as well as the next day, and the next, and the one after that.

The August Foyer had been breached. The palace vault had been opened, and something taken from it. The palace alarm bell had sounded five times.

Prince Tenarreau had been robbed.

After a while, the distinct lack of disturbingly loud 'gong' noises lent a noticeable awkwardness to the silence that now surrounded us.

Prince Tenar-... sorry, strike that. Warren Tenarreau, former Prince of Thieves, coughed into his hand and appraised the room, his eyes never once meeting mine as he did so.

"Well," he said, coughing once again, then waving a hand in front of his face in an attempt to banish some of the mortar dust that hovered near him. "Everyone, it does appear as though my reign as Prince of Harael may be at an end. I would dismiss the murder charges against poor Lord Tucat here, but it appears I no longer have the authority to do so. Regardless, as per precept number four, this trial, in addition to all other activities I'm currently involved with in my capacity as Prince of Harael, are dissolved as of this moment. Lord Tucat is free to go." He gave the room a bit of a smirk. "Of course, Preceptor Borshank, you can still choose to charge Lord Tucat with Lord Hartman's murder a second time, once everything's been sorted out regarding exactly who will preside over the trial. However, considering the fact that Lord Hartman himself will likely be called as a witness for the defence, you might have a difficult time making those particular charges stick.

"Of course, since you were in charge of security for the palace vault, you may find yourself a bit too busy begging for your job, or perhaps coming up with some plausible excuses for how you could have allowed something to be stolen from the vault in the first place. I mean, it is possible you could remain a preceptor, should you prove adept enough at begging. Still, I suppose that would depend on what your new boss is like, and how well disposed he is towards you."

Now ashen-faced, Borshank stared hard at Tenarreau. Then he swivelled his head and looked to me, eyes widening slightly.

I looked up at the ceiling and began whistling innocently.

Borshank's face went through several very interesting expressions in the span of about a second or so, each becoming darker and angrier than the one preceding it. By the time he'd finished, his face was a mask of absolute manic rage.

Then, he growled at me.

"No!" Borshank bellowed, causing yet more spittle to fly from his lips. "I'll never let you be Prince!"

"What in Hades name are you talking about?" I asked cheerfully. "I couldn't have stolen anything from the vault – I'm standing right here!"

Borshank, still glaring murderously at me, drew his sword from his scabbard in a manner I'm tempted to call 'lightning-quick' and took a step forward.

Oh.

Hmm....

I hadn't really anticipated this reaction, to be perfectly honest.

I also became very uncomfortably aware of the fact that I was still bound in chains.

"Hey! How could I possibly be the new prince, you idiot?!" I asked, backing away slightly. "I've been standing here the entire time! Everyone here saw me! I couldn't have stolen anything from the vault!"

Either Borshank wasn't listening, or he didn't care. After advancing a couple more steps he encountered the executioner's table. Rather than walk around it, he knocked it aside with a grunt of effort, scattering its contents across the dais.

Even Tenarreau looked a bit surprised at what was now happening.

"Get to your knights!" I whispered to Hartman, who had already taken a few tentative steps backwards, away from the advancing preceptor.

I opted to do the same and stepped backwards as well, though far less tentatively.

Spinning away from Hartman, I sprinted my way over to the aisle on my left, chains jangling discordantly. Once I'd made my way there, I quickly headed towards the back of the room where the main entrance doors were located.

It was also where two rather large and well-armed guards were located.

Which turned out to be a bit of a problem.

Here's the thing. Nobody wants to be executed, obviously. Generally speaking, people who learn that they are perhaps minutes away from being executed never handle that bit of news particularly well. Some try to bargain, or beg, or continue to plead their case. Others simply break down and cry. Still others experience panic, and try to make a break for it in a last-ditch effort to preserve their lives.

Both men at the door were watching what was happening with great interest, and, since I now strongly resembled a condemned man attempting to flee, they both reacted exactly as guardsmen should under those circumstances - drawing their swords and moving to block my escape.

Obviously Tenarreau's 'Lord Tucat is free to go' statement hadn't quite penetrated their brains just yet.

Well, crap.

I quickly came to a halt, and began scouting the room for other options. Borshank was now slowly coming down the aisle towards me, his sword held low.

"Preceptor Borshank, you will stand down, right now!" Tenarreau shouted.

"You're no longer Prince of Harael, Warren," he called behind him, continuing forward.

I had an idea.

"South Preceptor," I said, "as your new prince, I command you to-"

Borshank bellowed at me as he leaped forward, his sword now raised and tensed to swing.

Yeah, I had a feeling that wasn't going to work....

I scrambled to one side, jumped up on one of the pews and began running down the length of it, my chains ringing noisily as I did so. There was a roar of effort behind me, followed by the sound of sharpened metal burying itself into a thick piece of wood.

Once I'd reached the end of the pew I leaped into the next aisle over and risked a quick look behind me. Borshank had already freed his sword from where it had connected and was now giving chase, clumsily attempting to navigate the same pew I'd just scrambled over. In the periphery of my vision I also saw Hartman quickly making his way to the door, a few of his knights surrounding him protectively. The rest of the people in the room were simply standing where they were, staring dumbly at either myself or the enraged preceptor who was coming after me.

"Say, anyone care to do something?!" I shouted, running down the aisle towards the front of the room. As I ran, I was frantically looking around for anything I could use as a weapon, or-

The executioner's table.

I sprinted to the front of the room, and over to the overturned wooden table, quickly scanning its spilled contents for anything that might prove useful. I nearly wept in relief at the sight of a rather large ceremonial dagger.

Then I nearly wept for other reasons.

The handle of the dagger sat in a pool of liquid, next to a broken bottle that was clearly marked 'poison'. Since I had no idea what type of poison it was, or what sort of effect it would have on the skin, grabbing the dagger suddenly wasn't an option.

I briefly attempted to pick up the large beheading axe sitting on the floor a short distance away, but immediately judged from its weight that I wouldn’t be able to wield it effectively.

"Vincent!" I heard Peyla call out, and I looked up.

Peyla was standing next to a guard at the far end of the room, positioned as though she'd just had him in a headlock, and once she saw she'd caught my attention she made a throwing gesture at me. Her aim was true, and I barely needed to move from my crouch in order to catch the jangling collection of objects she'd tossed me.

Keys!

Borshank had finally navigated his way into the aisle, and was now lumbering down it towards the front of the room, his face flushed and angry.

"A sword would be nice!" I announced loudly, standing up from my crouch and bolting away from the overturned table, heading for a completely different set of pews next to a guard who was standing along the wall there. Even with my chains and cuffs, I was quicker than Borshank when it came to traversing the pews, so keeping some furniture between he and I seemed like a good idea.

Another good idea would be to get rid of these chains, obviously. My fingers determined there were a total of three keys on the ring I'd been tossed, so I attempted to single out one of them out with my left hand as I ran.

"Stop him!" Tenarreau shouted.

The guardsman I was heading towards looked startled for a moment, seemed to come awake a second later, drew his sword and headed in my direction.

In retrospect, Tenarreau probably should have been a little less vague when it came to who he wanted his men to stop....

"Not me, you idiot!" I said, as the young guard prepared to swing at me. "He meant Borshank, who-"

I had to veer past the guardsman and to his left to avoid the inexpertly wielded sword that was suddenly coming at me. The move caused me to stumble slightly, and I fell to my hands and knees a couple of steps later, which was accompanied by the sound of my chains rattling against the floorboards.

Chains. Heavy chains.

Right....

Keeping my wrists close together, I hopped back up into a crouch and spun to my right, extending my arms and swinging my length of chain wildly.

The folded tip of the chain connected with the guardsman's gloved right hand, causing him to both drop his weapon and issue a sharp exclamation of pain. He curled himself around his injured hand, his head now bowed slightly.

I head-butted him in the side of his jaw, knocking him to the floor. Immediately following that, I dropped to a crouch and picked up the young guardsman's sword, which he'd dropped, and I-

"Vincent!" a voice cried out.

I turned around just in time to see Borshank's sword coming at me, point-first. I awkwardly parried his lunge to one side, and then managed to prop myself onto my feet once more.

Borshank let out a furious cry and brought his sword around in an overhand crescent. Rather than try to block it, I dropped back into a crouch and rolled to my right, away from where I saw his strike would land.

Halfway through the move, I realized I'd forgotten about the guardsman I'd just laid out in that particular spot.

My roll was an awkward one, mostly due to my shoulder landing on the young man's stomach rather than the floor like I'd intended. The end result was rather sloppy, but it accomplished what it was supposed to, and I managed to avoid Borshank's sword completely.

The same could not be said of the unfortunate guardsman lying on the floor, however.

Borshank's sword sliced a deep wound across the young man's thigh before the tip hit the floor with a sharp ringing sound. Blood began welling from the fellow's wounded leg almost immediately.

Instantly, Borshank brought his sword back around in order to swing at me a second time, using both hands. I could see that from the angle he'd chosen that, were I to dodge the blow, things wouldn't fare too well for the young guardsman on the ground next to me.

I threw everything I had into another clumsy parry, attempting to arrest as much of the strike as was possible.

The ring of steel on steel assaulted my ears, and vibrations from the impact travelled down both arms and set my teeth on edge. Once I could feel that his blade was no longer pressing quite as desperately against mine, I spun in place, still crouched, and performed a simple swinging cut directed at Borshank's shins.

He leaped backwards, as I was expecting, and I used the opportunity to perform a second shoulder roll in order to distance myself from both Borshank and the unfortunate, wounded guardsman who lay bleeding on the dais. Scrambling to my feet, I took up a standard guard pose, pointing the sword I held at Borshank's chest from a distance of eight or so feet away.

It's a difficult sort of thing to do properly when your wrists are chained together.

"Not to belabour the point or anything, but would anyone care to do something?!" I cried, taking several steps backwards. I gestured at the wounded guardsman with my free hand, provoking a few jangling protests from my chains. "He's bleeding out!"

Borshank advanced, and I retreated, matching him step for step, my sword levelled at his chest just as his was levelled at mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Peyla sprint over to the injured guardsman on the dais. Nobody else in the room was moving, at all, and all eyes were upon Borshank and myself.

Nobody knew what to do in this situation, I realized. The prince was no longer in charge – what were all of the guardsmen and other assorted individuals supposed to do?

Subduing a berserk preceptor or offering me support could be considered their duty under these circumstances... but it could also be considered high treason should Borshank retain any of this authority once a new prince was crowned. Most of the armed individuals in the courtroom likely reported directly to Borshank, which probably meant that in a freakishly bizarre sort of situation like this they'd opt to play it safe and simply stand where they were, watching this whole thing play out.

Peyla was attending to the injured guardsman on the dais, the other two preceptors were of an age that seemed to prohibit them from involving themselves in any useful capacity, Tenarreau appeared to be unarmed, and both Hartman and his knights had removed themselves from the room.

Great.

I took a quick step forward, feinted at Borshank, then turned around completely and ran like a bastard towards the nearest collection of pews. As I ran, my left hand singled out one of the keys on the ring I'd been tossed, and attempted to thrust it into the lock of the band of metal encircling my right wrist.

After five seconds of running for my life, I realized that the key I was attempting to use wasn't the one I was looking for.

In situations like that, you never get lucky your first try.

A part of my brain realized that at the speed I was running I was about to slam into the wall directly in front of me, so I quickly planted my feet, slid on the floor a little ways, and then reversed direction, hoping that the element of surprise would provide me with an even better way of high-tailing it for my life. I raised my sword and charged at Borshank, crying out in a manner I hoped seemed aggressive and ferocious.

He gave an equally ferocious cry, swinging his sword in a two-handed arc that was aimed at my neck.

My counter-strategy was simple and effective. Parry, counter-thrust, riposte... run like a bastard.

I was much faster than he was, I noted. Hell, I could jog laps around this entire courtroom with him chasing after me and not be concerned in the slightest, save for the fact that guards were posted at regular intervals along the walls, and I had no idea how they might react to me running past them, or if they'd end up trying to stop me somehow. I veered slightly and leaped upon another set of pews, the ones located near the center of the room. As I did, I happened to glance at the front of the room where Tenarreau stood, and was watching everything unfold with an expression that resembled concern.

The pew I landed upon swayed uncertainly underfoot once I'd landed upon it, then shifted to one side rather suddenly.

I found myself falling, and my shoulder connected sharply with some portion of the pew behind it, which spun me around just enough so that my back was slammed against the cold stone floor.

Ow.

I'd had the wind knocked out of me, and couldn't breathe, but there was no time for such concerns. An attack was imminent.

I raised the sword I was still clutching in my right hand, determined to parry whatever attack was coming at me.

Nothing.

Clang!

"Stand down, you fool!"

Another clang!

Borshank wasn't towering over me, swinging his sword at me or otherwise attempting to end my life.

He seemed to be occupied somewhere off to my right by someone who was swinging a sword at him for a change.

I decided to breathe in with a painful 'huuurrrk!' and attempted to scramble back to my feet, my first impulse being to put some distance between myself and where I figured Borshank currently was.

My second impulse was to wonder if there was something useful I could be doing in the meantime.

Breathing. Excellent idea. I took another deep 'huuurrrk!' in an attempt to fill my lungs with air. What else could I be doing right now?

Keys! Right.

As I fumbled with the set of keys in my left hand, attempting to locate a second key to try, I quickly glanced in the general direction the 'clang's were coming from.

One of the guards in attendance had screwed up his courage and decided that the best and most lawful thing he could do under the circumstances was to draw upon his preceptor, and was currently standing half on the dais, half off, clumsily parrying the wild and furious swings being levelled at him by Borshank. It quickly became obvious that the younger guard was not Borshank's match when it came to fencing.

Second key, into the lock. I gave the bit of metal a quick twist, and heard a 'clack', which was accompanied by a sudden lessening of pressure around my right wrist.

I shook the unlocked cuff off, gripped the handle of the unfamiliar sword I was wielding, and then leaped over the frontmost pew. Once my boots hit the stone floor, I shouted something unintelligible and charged at Borshank.

Both of the duelling figures seemed surprised by this new development, and Borshank abandoned his attack on the young guardsman mid-swing, opting to leap backwards and take up a defensive guard, his eyes now locked on me. Once I was in range, the guard who had been engaging him took a few steps backward and chose simply look at the two of us, not quite knowing what he should do. A well-intentioned fellow to be sure, one who gave me just enough time to free my sword arm from the shackles that had been keeping me at a distinct disadvantage all this time. A fellow who, given my estimation of his level of skill, would quite simply be in the way at this point.

I gave the fellow a quick glance and a toss of my head, indicating that he should continue backing up a ways, then focused all of my attention upon the grey-haired man before me.

Well, not all of my attention, actually.

My hours of training with Theo rapped their knuckles against my forebrain and reminded me of the sort of things I was capable of. A good chunk of my brain got busy considering my assets, figuring out how to proceed.

I now had two weapons – the sword in my right hand, and the three foot length of heavy chain that was still strapped to my left wrist. Borshank had a longsword held in his right hand, which was likely of a better quality one than I was wielding, but his left hand was empty. My off-hand attack would be key. He'd probably have the advantage when it came to maintaining a guard stance, but I had more options than he did when it came to attacking. He was a fair hand with a sword, from what I'd heard. But then again, so was I.

Time to begin....

My first attack at Borshank was an overhand crescent, which had a significant amount of follow-through. Once he'd blocked it I spun in place and came at him from the other side. Having blocked my primary strike calmly, he moved to block my second, spinning attack fairly expertly.

The amount of force I put behind that second, spinning attack wasn't something he was completely prepared for, however.

Borshank's sword was knocked out of position a fair ways as a result of deflecting my blow, which left him a bit open and unguarded for my off-hand attack... which arrived in the form of a metal shackle located at the end of a chain bound to my left wrist.

The metal cuff clipped him across his cheek. Merely hearing the loud 'clop' sound it made as it struck let me know I'd gotten his attention.

Borshank clawed at his cheek with his free hand and the portion of his face I could see appeared to wince from the blow, though his sword had immediately returned to perfect guard position. His eyes, now watering slightly, still managed to burn with a fiery intensity.

"Liked that, did you?" I asked.

He responded with a sound that might be spelled something like "Rrraawwwwrr!" and practically flung himself at me, charging forward as he thrust his blade forward, lunging aggressively.

Downward sweeping parry, followed by a second parry to block the backhanded swing he'd levelled at my neck after his failed lunge. Parry, parry, beat-parry, riposte, circle-parry... at which point I began a rather furious series of beat-attacks upon his sword, which seemed to surprise and confuse him a little.

After my fifth counter he deflected my attack with a beat-parry of his own, knocking my own sword out of position slightly, at which point he executed an overhand crescent that suggested his intent was to cut me into two perfectly symmetrical pieces, from top to toe.

A quick step left and I was out of danger, and I used the opportunity to send him a quick remise, then jumped back a full step to disengage. Upon doing so, I spun around in a full circle once again, extending my left arm and swinging wildly.

The guard Borshank was maintaining was both properly positioned and high enough to block a spinning sword attack without too much issue. Something flexible, however, like a hunk of metal on the end of a length of chain, was a different matter altogether.

Chain connected with sharpened steel, at which point the weighted metal tip curled inward slightly and headed directly for his face. From my vantage point, even while in the process of spinning around, it looked like the metal cuff I'd swung at him had smashed him in the teeth.

The blow sent him reeling back for a moment, and it appeared as though he might lose grip of his sword, but a mere instant later he charged forward at me with a roar, swinging his sword at me in a way that was both clumsy and disconcerting.

(While he was roaring at me, a part of me noticed his teeth were suddenly rather bloody. Definitely got him good there...)

I countered strike after strike firmly and without too much trouble, being extra careful to watch my angles and fully parry his wild, angry swings. After blocking about ten of these particular swings, I noticed two things. First, I noticed that I was now strictly on the defensive, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, given how much energy he was likely expending.

Second, either Borshank's blows were becoming stronger, or I was beginning to flag a little.

I'd been through a lot, recently, not the least of which involved the amount of time I'd forced myself to stay awake this past while. Even if Borshank did use laudanum, that wouldn't account for his attacks becoming more powerful as we fought, as laudanum wasn't exactly the sort of thing that gave you an extra leg up energy-wise when you needed it.

So, all things considered, I was definitely starting to flag.

As if to punctuate these thoughts, I could suddenly feel the muscles in my right arm start to cramp.

I managed to belt out a reasonable beat-parry to one of his overhand swings, then crouched a little and feinted as if to spin in place again. Rather than attempt to block, Borshank leaped back a pace, suggesting that he was both capable of learning, and had become rather tired of the whole notion of my shackle smashing him in the face.

In the half-second of time that gave me, I quickly looked about the room.

Dozens of faces were staring at the spectacle – a preceptor and a lord duelling in the Executioner's Hall. No-one was moving, not in the slightest.

"A little help would be nice!" I managed to growl between clenched teeth as I positioned myself to block Borshank's next attack, another overhand crescent.

Clang!

My right bicep informed me that, while it was trying its best to keep up with my wishes, it just couldn't handle much more of this sort of thing.

Something occurred to me just then.

Every single attack from Borshank had been right-handed. He possessed no off-hand weapon. He didn't carry a second weapon around with him, and thus might not be all that well trained when it came to fencing left-handed.

So, if Borshank suddenly couldn't fight effectively with his right hand...

A glimmering of an idea bubbled to the surface of my thoughts. Risky, to be sure, but it wasn't like I had many other options at this point.

I turned and ran from Borshank as I'd done previously, gathering the chain bound to my left arm as best I could as I did so. After about twenty feet or so I turned in place to face him, at which point I faked stumbling slightly, going down on one knee. I made a particular point of widening my eyes as Borshank charged forward, his sword raised above his head as he came at me.

Rather than attempting the obvious parry, I lurched forward and threw myself at his knees. In addition to removing myself from the whereabouts of his quickly moving blade, I also managed to knock his legs out from under him, his momentum causing him to fall forward.

He recovered enough to land on his left knee rather than fall face-first upon the floor, and his swiftly-moving sword clanged upon the floor-stones loudly, at which point he appeared to fully recover from the whole experience, and quickly brought his right arm around in an attempt to cleave off whatever valuable part of me it could.

I wasn't attempting to distance myself from him, as I would otherwise be doing during something like that. I was in close, tied up with him, and though I was focused on avoiding his sword, another part of me was focusing very carefully on the whereabouts of his right arm.

Snick!

Once I knew I had it, I simultaneously stood and pushed against Borshank's chest as hard as I could, propelling myself backwards and upright as he was shoved in the opposite direction, causing him to tumble backwards. He mumbled a curse under his breath, and scrambled back to his feet quickly enough to be impressive, holding his sword before him in his usual classic guard position.

He was a good enough swordsman to know that that there was something different about his guard all of a sudden. It took a moment or two for him to figure out what it was.

Borshank now had a metal cuff encircling his right wrist. Attached to it was a fairly heavy length of metal chain, which, in turn, was attached to my own left arm.

He looked at it, then he looked at me.

"Gotcha," I said, grinning broadly.

Rather than transfer his blade to his left hand, Borshank decided to growl angrily at me and made as if about to swing his sword.

I yanked my end of the chain sharply behind me with my left hand, pulling his wrist out of position mid-swing. His attempted attack fell short of my chest by at least a foot.

Face twisting with rage, Borshank brought his sword hand back behind him a second time, readying himself for what promised to be a massive blow, his chest expanding due to the air necessary for whatever bellowing cry he was about to deliver.

I yanked on the chain again, quite a bit more firmly than I had the first time.

As his hand was pulled forward unexpectedly, the momentum of Borshank's sword caused the sword handle to twist out of his grip, resulting in his sword falling to the ground with an apologetic 'ting-clank'.

Borshank, realizing his predicament, crouched in place and reached for his fallen sword.

This time, rather than simply yanking on the chain, I took two strides backward and pulled upon it with all my might.

The grey haired preceptor was jolted forward and fell heavily upon the stone floor, his chained right arm extended comically towards me.

Ignoring the protests of my various muscles, I leaned back and pulled hard on the chain, dragging him across the floor several feet, further away from his sword. That done, I leaped forward with my own sword extended, pointing the tip at the back of Borshank's neck. He was breathing heavily and deeply, I noticed.

So was I, actually.

I nudged him with my boot, using it to convince him to roll over onto his back, at which point I positioned the tip of my sword so it was hovering at the hollow located just below his throat.

On impulse, I placed my right foot atop his heaving chest, looking down my blade at him. I didn't put any weight on it, or anything like that. I mean, I'm not a complete ass. It just seemed like the dramatic and definitive sort of thing to do, in the moment.

For several seconds nothing could be heard but the labored sounds of Borshank gasping for breath mixed with my own lungs attempting to do the same. Though exhausted, I took the opportunity to look around at the various faces of those present in the room with me. Despite this whole ordeal, it seemed that hardly anybody in attendance had moved a single inch. There had been that one guardsman, Peyla, and Tenarreau, but that was it. Nobody else had moved a muscle this whole time.

Anger and frustration, in equal amounts.

"You're all fired," I managed to pant, looking at the collection of faces around me, feeling my upper lip twist into a sneer.

It wasn't exactly a very nice thing to say, all things considered. Nor was it in any way an accurate statement. I wasn't the new Prince of Harael, after all, and thus couldn't fire anybody currently employed by the Crown. But then again, nobody actually knew that yet.

Scowling slightly, I looked over to the dais.

Peyla's hand was clamped firmly upon the injured leg of the fallen guardsman, which, given the amount of blood I could see staining his leggings, was probably a good thing. Tenarreau was in another portion of the room entirely, excitedly motioning to a fellow who was dressed in healer's robes, pointing at the dais where the injured guardsman was. He gave me a few concerned glances as he hurried back to the dais, though whether his concern was for me or his sudden impotence when it came to telling people what to do, I couldn't really tell. Nobody else was doing anything of note. This included the North and East Preceptors, who were even now still sitting in their chairs, looking dumbfounded and confused by the events of recent minutes.

Privately, I wondered exactly how long the two of them would be holding their respective offices.

Though appointed to their positions because of their apparent problem-solving skills and ability to take charge, North and East had managed to orchestrate precisely nothing during this whole weird, awkward ordeal. Peyla had at least possessed the presence of mind to save a guardsman's life, and had even appeared somewhat calm and composed while doing so. The West Preceptor had even managed to wrestle a set of keys from a nearby guardsman and toss them to me, which had likely made the difference when it came to this whole fight. And then there was the South Preceptor, who-

Who was currently underfoot.

I stared down the length of my blade at him.

"Vincent," I heard Tenarreau call out to me, "are you okay?"

"Looks like," I said, smiling down at my quarry.

Borshank took a couple of deep breaths, deliberately exhaling through his nose as he looked up at me. A familiar scowl found its way upon his face.

"Do it," he snarled up at me, displaying a good number of blood-laced teeth as he did. "Death would be so much better than seeing someone like you take the throne. So go ahead... do it!"

"Hey, this is sort of deja-vu, isn't it?" I asked, trying my level best to sound annoyingly cheerful. "You remember, right? Our encounter in the vault? It almost sounds like you're trying to steal my lines, in fact. And, oh... I'm not certain if you happened to notice, but technically, I can't be the new prince. If someone stole something from Tenarreau, it sure as hell wasn't me. I mean, I've been here the whole time. Did you not perhaps notice?"

His scowl eventually turned into a look of puzzlement. He took a few more deep breaths through blood-speckled lips before speaking again.

"Who then?"

"How in the name of Baal's beard should I know?" I asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

"You... you're not the new prince?"

"Hades, no! Are you that slow to process, seriously?" I asked, tapping my head with my left hand, causing the chain connecting our wrists to jangle slightly. "I've been right here, in this courtroom, in front of you and all three other preceptors this entire time! Were you not paying attention, just now? How in the name of Belial's bulbous butt do you figure I could have stolen something from the palace vault while still managing to remain here in this room?"

"But... this whole thing! You-"

"This whole thing," I said, my voice lowering to a whisper as I moved my face closer to my felled opponent, "was never about you. Ever. It was about finding out who murdered my family. That's it. Nothing more than that. That's all this has ever been about. My family. This has been about acquiring information, and achieving some measure of justice."

Or revenge... whatever.

Borshank stared up at me blankly, his look of puzzlement becoming one of confusion, laced with just a hint of fear.

"But... I- you can't think-" he began, interrupting himself in order to swallow hard so that he might begin again. "Your family... I mean, I didn't... you can't just kill me! I had nothing to do with that! I-"

"I know you didn't," I said, bending forward just enough so I could reach over and pat him insultingly on the cheek, shaking my head sadly as I did. "I mean, seriously. You? Murder my family? No, no, no... Terrence, you're far too stupid and obvious to have even hoped to accomplish such a thing. And really, I mean... kill you? I'm not the murderous sort! Surely you know that much about me by now."

I can't really describe what sort of expression he wore at that point, as I'd never experienced that level of confounded amazement before.

"It... but then," he began, haltingly, breathing still slightly ragged, "you and me. This... all of this, the... you being out to get me, this whole time, it's..." He swallowed hard, yet again. "Why me? I'm... I don't understand. What-"

"You know, I hate to tell you this, chuckles, but none of this was ever about you. You weren't even in my wheelhouse, originally. You just happened to piss me off, and took it upon yourself to take exception to some of my quasi-legal shenanigans. In the end, all you really ended up doing was showing me and the rest of Harael what sort of a person the South Preceptor really was. Didn't really know or care what kind of a person you were myself, but there you are. And now you're done. Finished. Your career, over. Your reputation, in tatters. Your future, if you could call it that, is very, very bleak. And you know what the funniest thing is? You did all of this to yourself. I never had any sort of issue with you, none whatsoever... right up until the point where I did. And that's all on you, and your actions. Your decisions."

I removed my sword point from the whereabouts of Borshank's neck so I could lower myself into a crouch, moving slightly closer to where he currently lay. Smiling, I cocked my head slightly at him.

"By the way," I said, my voice little more than a whisper, "this is that moment I was talking about earlier. You remember the one. Destroying you?" I smiled an extra-cheerful and annoying smile. "You're finished. You may be too stupid or too wound up to realize that right this moment, but give it a second. You'll figure it out eventually, I'm sure."

A profound look of weariness found its way to Borshank's face, and I saw the muscles of his shoulders relax a second later, as though they were acknowledging defeat on his behalf.

I stared down at him a while, enjoying the moment despite the level of exhaustion I felt. Eventually I began raising myself from the awkward crouch I had positioned myself in. Halfway to my feet I stopped, and then quickly returned to my original position, regarding the grey-haired preceptor intently once more.

"Oh, and by the way," I whispered, pausing just long enough to ensure I had Borshank's full attention, "this is for a beautiful young lady I know."

That being said, I pulled my hand back and rammed the pommel of my sword as hard as I could directly upon his nose.