Chapter Thirteen

Brothers

When I was Nicolo's squire, I'd often run through the halls and corridors of the King's Tower on some errand or another—it would never have done to keep Master Nicolo waiting.

But never had I run like this, never had I been so anxious not to keep him waiting. Not that he was waiting for me; he could take care of himself and had a squad of his own to back him up. Maybe I was being a fool. But I was in love, and when you are in love being a fool is allowed. It's practically obligatory.

The king's apartments towards the top of the tower comprised an extensive suite of rooms, the epitome of comfort and luxury, well-guarded by the Royal Guard, Balduin's most loyal warriors, and accessible via only one entrance (though there were said to be several secret exits). The most difficult part of attacking Balduin here was that there was no way to get past the Royal Guard without a fight, and the fight could give the king time to abscond. How much difference having me there would make I didn't know, but I was determined to be of what use I could.

I heard the sound of the fight before I reached the floor on which the apartments were situated, and drew my sword to be at the ready.

On the stairs, I met one of the Royal Guard, who had been posted to raise the alarm in case of reinforcements. It was possible he thought one slightly built girl wasn't a danger worth raising the alarm about. I was able to teach him the error of his ways in quick time. Though I was aching from the run up the stairs, I was also on an adrenalin high and I ducked his swinging blade with ease, kicked out his legs and dispatched him, all in less than five seconds.

Continuing up, I found the hall leading to the king's apartments strewn with the dead. They all seemed to be Royal Guard, which was a relief, and a testament to Nicolo's skill as a swordsman, but the fight clearly continued up ahead in the apartment itself. I ran again, going through the door like an arrow in flight and cannoning into the first guard I saw, knocking him down.

"Charlotte…" gasped Kerys, surprised to see me.

"Not right now!"

Kerys remembered herself and returned to the fight, all her street-fighting viciousness coming to bear on guards who hadn't been trained for this sort of fighting. The room was a welter of battle. Though many of the Royal Guard were dead, the revolutionaries were still outnumbered, and I was glad of a chance to redress that balance somewhat.

Seeing Jeric in trouble, pinned by two guards, I raced to his aid. The guards saw me coming and the fight became more even as one broke off to deal with me.

As I crossed swords with the guard, my attention was also flicking to other events in the room and, predictably, my mind was on one question; where was Nicolo? At first, I'd just assumed he was hidden from me in the heat of battle, but there were not that many revolutionaries and that meant one thing: he wasn't here.

But a door was open, leading to the king's bed chamber beyond. Nicolo must have gone after the main target. My suspicion was confirmed as I cut down my guard and Jeric yelled at me.

"Get to Nicolo!"

The other revolutionaries all had their hands full, so were unable to help. I was damn sure Nicolo could take care of Balduin—I'd watched their practice fights enough to know who the superior swordsman was (even if Nicolo had always allowed Balduin to win), but there was no way the Royal Guards would have let him get close without a fight.

I charged through the bedroom door to find Nicolo desperately fighting against five of the Royal Guard, while Balduin stood on the bed, watching in grinning glee.

"Don't kill him yet! Make it hurt!"

It struck me that the guards, even though they outnumbered Nicolo, were fully involved in trying to stay alive, never mind ‘making it hurt'. Nicolo's blade was like a whirlwind, sweeping around him in swift, yet strong arcs of steel. There was nothing random or chaotic about it. He wasn't just swinging the sword in the hope of keeping them all off, every strike had a purpose, every thrust, every parry. His face was bloody from a cut across his cheek and I could see other wounds on his body where the swords of his adversaries had found their mark, but he fought on, keeping them all back.

"Go on! Stab him again!"

So caught up was Balduin in torturing his friend that he hadn't noticed me enter. But, even though he had far more on which to concentrate, Nicolo had, and I saw his eyes flick across to where the king stood on the bed.

Every fiber of my being was screaming at me to go to Nicolo's aid, to take out a few of those damn guards before they even knew I was there, before they could hurt him again. But that wasn't what he was telling me to do and while my heart argued one way, my head knew Nicolo was right; the king was our number one goal. Killing defenseless men wasn't something I prided myself on, but I would make an exception where Balduin was concerned. He'd done too much harm to too many for this chance to be missed.

So, I ran at him.

As soon as I moved, Balduin saw me, and I saw the terror in his eyes.

"To me!" he shrieked.

I grabbed for a throwing knife, but two of the Royal Guards hit me before I could throw it, taking me to the ground. I drove the knife into one of them, and used his body as a shield against the sword of the second.

With only three guards left on him, Nicolo was able to go on the offensive, killing one of his attackers. But the turning tide hadn't gone unnoticed. Balduin rushed across the room to a large standing wardrobe, opened the doors and went in. It was too much to hope that he'd just found himself a nice hiding place, this was clearly one of his escape routes.

Nicolo dispatched one guard with a jab through the stomach then kicked the other aside and ran towards the wardrobe. He paused to look at me, anxiously, unwilling to leave me as I'd been reluctant not to help him.

"Go on! Go on!" I yelled, kicking up at the guard on top of me and finding his most sensitive area in a way that was very satisfying for me and immensely unpleasant for him.

Though it clearly bothered him to do it, Nicolo dived into the wardrobe.

I rolled out from under my guard and sent a throwing knife spinning across the room into another before following Nicolo and Balduin, heading for the wardrobe. The king wasn't getting away so easily. As I plunged through the crowding of silk shirts and velvet cloaks (also some stuff in leather that didn't bear looking at too closely) I heard the voice of Jeric from the outer room behind me.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

To whom he was talking and why he was so surprised to see them were questions that would have to wait as the floor seemed to vanish beneath me.

"Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii…"

Balduin's escape route was a trapdoor, dropping away into a steep shaft of polished stone, down which I slid, my ass skidding, my arms bouncing off the walls as the shaft described a convoluted path. At one point, I was sure I executed a loop-de-loop. I wanted to use my feet to slow myself down but momentum seemed to be important in keeping me going, and getting stuck halfway through this damn shaft would not be good.

"…iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"

The steepness of the shaft seemed to relax in a measured and carefully calculated fashion so that my descent slowed and when I reached the exit, my natural momentum had reduced so much, that I was simply deposited on my feet. I didn't know which past king had installed this particular route, but the designer had done one hell of a good job of it.

Despite the long drop, I now stood on the flat roof of one of the Great Castle's barrack buildings (testament to the height of King's Tower), housing part of the military might the king commanded. But where were Nicolo and Balduin?

I raced to the edge of the roof and looked down. Below me was the domed roof of the soldier's chapel, and it was on the edge of this that Nicolo and Balduin now stood. They were just picking themselves up, having clearly landed there. It put me in a bad position. I could jump down, but I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't knock Nicolo off the roof, or that Balduin wouldn't knock me off as I landed. Jumping that distance was an inexact science. Falling off the dome, however, would be an extremely exact one; you would just die. At this range and with the two men standing so close, a throwing knife was out of the question, even a bow and arrow would have been risky. So, there was nothing I could do but watch.

"How many times have we fought?" asked Balduin, drawing his sword.

Nicolo shook his head. "We've never fought."

"Interesting, I recall beating you on a regular basis."

"Balduin," Nicolo held out a hand to the king. "Surrender now. It doesn't have to be like this. Surrender, abdicate, and I will make sure you are well-treated. You have my word."

"And what is that worth?" Balduin spat the words at him.

Nicolo shrugged. "I don't know, but I feel it's better than the alternative. I don't want to kill you."

"You're not going to."

Balduin lunged forward, thrusting his sword at Nicolo, who parried it away and sprang back, balanced on the edge of the dome, ready for the attack. But I saw him wince as he did so; those guards had injured him, and perhaps more seriously than he was letting on. Balduin, by contrast, was fresh.

"Feeling alright over there, ‘old friend'?" laughed Balduin nastily. "Hope my guards didn't cut you up too much."

"If you'd cared about them at all, you and I could have met one on one to start with."

"The king's life is more important than theirs."

Balduin struck again and Nicolo met the blows, their swords clashing, steel rasping against steel. There was little room for fancy footwork where they were precariously perched: it was going to be a matter of trading blows and trying hard not to fall off. I wished there was something I could do, some use I could be, but I could only be a spectator. There looked to be a ladder that went up the side of the building, but that would mean tearing myself away from watching while I went to go find the other end, and I couldn't bring myself to do that. I was just too worried about Nicolo.

Perhaps it was for the best; I got the strong impression that this was Nicolo's fight, the one to which his whole life had been leading. His life had been defined by Balduin's (and it thrilled me to note that Nicolo showed no sign of Balduin having any influence over him now). That bond was definitely broken.

What did Balduin think would happen if he won? His illness would then return. If he knew about the community of Fenians in Rand (and presumably he did if that was where he'd found Arthur) then perhaps he thought it was just a matter of picking up another violet-eyed boy. Or perhaps he didn't plan to kill Nicolo, but would simply incapacitate him and imprison him in a cage like what he'd done to Arthur. Either way, I was sure King Balduin had a plan, that he would find a way to cheat death and stay in power. He had to be ended, and I felt more and more that it had to be Nicolo who did it.

The fight went back and forth along that narrow stretch of wall, while my heart clutched tightly in my chest, feeling as if it might simply forget to beat. In peak form, I knew Nicolo had this, but his injuries were starting to tell; his left foot dragging slightly; a wince on his face each time he raised his right arm to block; and I could see the patch of blood on his shirt growing. Every stumble made my constricted heart leap into my throat, as I half-expected to see him plummeting from the roof to the ground below.

Yet, he still continued to hold his own, his skill and strength shining through even though he was obviously in pain, but, though I hated to admit it, Balduin wasn't without skill too—they had trained together all their lives, something had to have rubbed off. It wasn't a balanced fight, and I realized Nicolo was weakening with every passing minute. With every slash he had to block, with every swipe he had to duck, his reserves of strength ebbed a little more. Balduin didn't have to win this fight, he just had to hang in there, waiting for Nicolo to tire and drop.

If Nicolo was going to win, then it had to be fast. He had to make his move now. And as I watched, my fingers clinging to the wall around the edge of the roof, I could see Nicolo coming to the same realization. It was a risk, because he might not have the strength to prevail, but it was his only chance.

As Balduin came at him again, Nicolo didn't back down and parry as he had been, but instead went on the attack, blocking and jabbing, forcing the issue. Fear and confusion overtook Balduin's features and he lashed out wildly. Striking like a snake, Nicolo caught his wrist and twisted till Balduin dropped the sword.

"Yes!" I hissed, trying to keep quiet so I didn't distract Nicolo. He had won.

But he did nothing.

Nicolo's sword was poised at the king's throat, but the thrust didn't come. Even at this distance, I could see the blade shake, not from weakness, but from uncertainty, as Nicolo stared into the despairing eyes of the man who had been like a brother to him.

"Nicolo," I could just hear Balduin's words. "My friend. Please."

"You call me ‘friend' now?"

"You came for me, Nicolo," Balduin said. "Not the other way around."

"You hired an assassin to kill me."

Balduin nodded, but flinched as he felt the sword point. "Because I knew I couldn't do it myself. I was frightened of you—I admit it—of how powerful you were becoming. But I couldn't kill you myself. Not the man I shared a life with."

I wanted to scream, ‘ Don't listen to him! ', but it wasn't my choice to make.

"We had good times, didn't we?" begged Balduin.

"The happiest of my life." I could hear the catch in Nicolo's voice as he no doubt thought back to the innocence of the childhood they'd shared.

"Don't let it end like this, please," Balduin continued. "I'll abdicate. In favor of whoever you want. I'll leave the Gath and never come back, if that's what you want. Or… By the great god, help me, Nicolo. Help me to become a better man. If you can learn, then so can I."

That was what did it. That was what broke Nicolo's already shaky resolve. He knew he, himself, had done wrong, that he'd hurt others. How then could he stand as judge and executioner to his oldest friend? Nicolo wanted to believe that, given the chance, Balduin could change, that they could be friends again.

"There are taverns we haven't drunk in, games we haven't played," Balduin pleaded. "Give me that one chance."

Nicolo's sword dropped and he offered a hand to his friend. Balduin smiled and took it, allowing himself to be helped up.

"Thank you. What will you tell your rebel friends?"

"That you are my friend—that you've had a change of heart and you want to be a better man. I will vouch for you, but you will never be in a position of power again."

Balduin nodded. "You are a good man, Nicolo, you always have been."

Nicolo shook his head. "No. But I always will be."

He turned. And as he did so, I saw, as if in slow motion, an expression of pure hatred suffuse Balduin's features. He reached for his dropped sword.

I felt the scream rising in my throat, but it too seemed to come in slow motion, forcing its way forth. Balduin grabbed the sword and raised it, thrusting the blade forwards towards Nicolo's turned back.But as he did so, a figure flew forwards from the top of the ladder, where he'd been crouched, hiding for the latter part of the fight. Arthur ran towards Balduin with hands outstretched and shoved the king.

Balduin's sword went wide as Nicolo turned to see where the running footsteps were coming from. He was just in time to see Balduin toppling off the wall, clawed hands reaching out desperately but finding nothing. As the sound of his shriek pierced the night, time seemed to return to normal and I watched him fall. Nicolo grabbed Arthur, trying to hide his eyes, but the boy pushed Nicolo's arms away. He wanted to see.

He didn't smile as the body of his captor and torturer hit the ground, instead, he watched with a somber expression, as if witnessing the end of something. An ugly end, but a necessary one.