The old man held his iron crown in his hand as he surveyed his empty court. He let out a long, low rumble of a chuckle that echoed through the stone hall, rising over the dying sounds of the low-burning flames in the braziers.

"Traitors," he whispered, gripping his crown all the more firmly. "Traitors all." He squeezed it so tightly that his fingers began to bleed. The gray bearded man fondled it, then stood up from his throne, reaching for the blade that sat beside it. His pale knuckles whitened further as he lifted it up, eyeing the magnificent weapon with a smile. The prince had never lost a fair fight with that sword in hand. It would bring him victory, he knew.

In the distance, he heard the sound of something heavy crashing down. A boulder, he presumed, cast from a catapult into the fortifications surrounding the keep. They would be coming soon.

"Regus," he called out. "Fetch my Captain of the Guard. Fetch my armor, too. Battle is near."

But there was no response from Regus, only the crackling of the fire.

"Regus," the prince called again. Still no soul answered, so he lifted his sword and stepped away from his throne. He spoke again, darkly this time: "Regus... Have you abandoned me, too? Have I been surrounded by cowards and sycophants all this time?"

"I'm afraid he won't be able to answer that," came a voice from behind. "He's dead. Slipped on his own dagger, so I heard."

"Who?" began the prince, his blade lowering for a moment. But he made his realization, and he hefted it back up, twisting both hands about the hilt in a death grip that made the skin of his knuckles white and stretched. "Aquila."

The Tilean had come to his court as a mercenary captain, offering his services in a time of need. With Aquila's men, soldiery and grasp of tactics, he'd been able to expand from a state with a fort and a single village to two forts and three villages - a grander feat than it might sound in the ever-shifting Borderlands. But now...

"How long have you been plotting this, snake?" asked the prince, turning about and staring at the room around him. Where was Lorenzo? He had to draw him out. "How long have you yearned to make my realm your own?"

"A fair question!" came Lorenzo's voice, loud and clear as if he were right beside him. The old prince whipped around with a slash of his blade, but he only struck air. "And as it is a fair question," continued the unseen man, "I will give it a fair and honorable answer."

The graybeard glared around him, still unsure of the traitor's position. He was toying with him. But he had no intention of simply humoring him and letting him strike when he pleased. He listened carefully, and started pacing around the throne room, searching for something he could use...

"You see, my liege," began the Tilean in the darkness, "I came in good faith and served you diligently. You paid well, and your plans for a new realm were bold and admirable. I have no qualms serving a leader I believe will take me places, you know."

"Is this some last attempt at parlay?" wondered the mad prince with a laugh. "It won't help you. When I find you, I'll cut you open and step on your pig guts as they slip onto the floor."

"You'd need to find me first. And how will you do that bumbling about in the dark like a lost child, Tarin?"

Prince Tarin slashed at the air again. Again, he touched nothing; but it was truly more for show than anything else now. A plan was forming in his mind, and he needed only to keep the fool talking. "Spare me the pleasantries, Aquila," he growled. "Get on with your little story, then come out and fight like a man."

"Oh, you consider yourself an honorable soul, do you?" came the bite of Lorenzo's tongue. "You believe you deserve to be engaged honorably? So honorably as you treated your son?"

The Prince paused for a moment. "My son?" he mused. "My son? I have no 'son', only the memory of some afterbirth that crawled out from one of my wenches that thought it could rule my realm better than me. Did I not have it strung up a warning to all would-be traitors?"

"He was not plotting against you, you addled ape!" hissed the Tilean from the dark. He sounded closer this time. "He did not want to force you from your throne! He was clever, canny, with a good head for law and trade; he would have made your realm stronger! He would-"

"It would have given power to the peasants and planted ideas in their heads they should not have," the prince snapped back. "Treachery. So I had the thing hung and fed to my pigs."

There was silence, sweet silence after that. Only the crackle of the braziers could be heard. Some understanding came to the prince, then, and he could not help but smirk.

I would not have taken you for that sort of man, Aquila, he thought to himself.

"Yes, I fed my 'son' to the pigs," he went on, pacing about the stone floors of the throne room with a contented sigh. He could swear he heard footsteps behind him. "You know, I seem to remember that the next week, on your victorious return to my court, we had a feast in honor of your deeds. Do you remember the main course? Pork, wasn't it? Succulent pork."

Whatever plan the Tilean had until that point fell apart in that instant. He heard choking and gagging from behind him, and that was all the opportunity Prince Tarin needed. The old man swiveled about and lurched forward, slashing his blade a third time, this time finding flesh. Lorenzo's magical facade faded; invisible he had been, but now he rematerialized before the prince, one hand clutching his sword, the other now pressed against his bleeding chest.

"Did you think you were the hero of this story, boy?" yelled the prince as he swung again. This time Lorenzo was able to parry, but only barely. "Did you think you would deliver a speech to me and then end my 'terrible' reign? You're no soldier at all!" He swung a second and then a third time, that third one making a blow against Lorenzo's hand, knocking his sword from his hand. "You really are just a puffed up merchant's son, a turkey that thinks itself a peacock! You poor, stupid fool!"

Kicking his younger opponent in the stomach and knocking him onto his ass, the old man slammed his knee into the younger fellow's chest and smacked him against the floor. "I'd hoped for so much more from you," mused the old prince. "You presented such talent when you came to my court, and I heard such good things about your exploits. A merchant's son that wisely decided being a dog of war would be a safer profession than playing politics in Tilea, a cunning commander who owned the respect of his men. You were ruthless, my advisers told me, and not one to waste opportunity." The prince chuckled. "They must have been talking about someone else."

Kneeled on his defeated foe, Tarin allowed himself one more pause to gloat. "I may lose my realm," he said with a sneer, "but I will escape with my life. And when I return, I will deal with this little rebellion you've sprung up..."

Hefting his sword up, the prince prepared to make the lethal blow, a quick chop that would sever the traitor's head from his body. But he felt an odd, pricking sensation against his thigh... and then he was stiff. He fell over, numb and unable to move or speak.

Coughing, Lorenzo stood up, holding up a small crossbow that fit easily in one hand. It was his turn to sneer. "I never had any intention of fighting honorably. I'd hoped to just slip my blade into your back rather than waste a good, poisoned bolt on your worthless hide, but I suppose that was my mistake. Oh, you definitely had me," he admitted as he picked up the prince's own sword, "I lost that fight. But you overestimated your control of the situation. You should have slit my throat while you could."

Tossing his crossbow aside, Lorenzo thrust the sword into the prince's lungs. Pain coursed throughout the old man's body, and though he could barely move, his eyes and ragged breaths expressed his torment all too well. Lorenzo smiled. "You are right, though. I shouldn't waste good opportunities," he told the dying man. "Eat shit and die."

With that, he cut off the prince's head.

Intriguing. Will we see a new map location pop up north of Myrmidens? This Lorenzo doesn't seem to be anywhere near his dwarven allies.

Nah, he's led an expedition force down to help his dwarven allies. He can't bring more people from the Borderlands without hiring mercenaries and other ilk of that sort.

He does hope to eventually, when the war is over, try to colonize something near Ekrund so he can be protected by the aforementioned dwarven allies. He thinks his stolen princedom is shitty, and that exclusive trade deals opened up with Ekrund could be worth resettling for.

Really, just think of him as a mercenary that stole some land and decided to change real estate after he started ruling it... or at least get a good trade deal out of this mess.

Very well written. Gripping story

Awesome stuff right there.