This was when the fighting grew thick: as we wound through the narrow streets that led to the elevated keep. There was no choice but to fight through the men that stood in our way. Gridot’s estate was perched on the top of a rocky overlook that loomed over the rest of Antedale, with two winding sets of stairs that led up to its golden, arched entrance. Those spiraling stairs were known as the Twin Serpents, a striking but horrifically impractical Antedale landmark.
They were horrible to fight through. We had no choice but to slice through whoever stood in our way. The stairs were so narrow that only a maximum of three men could stand shoulder-to-shoulder in the best of circumstances. Fewer, of course, with swinging weapons.
Despite my best efforts, my staff grew slick with blood, which covered my fingers, my hands, my face.
If I’d been willing to kill recklessly, I could have set my weapon alight with fire and flung opponents over the edges of the stairs. Easier still, with the help of the Valtain wielding winds in our favor.
But I wasn’t willing to make those sacrifices. I fought twice as hard — three times as hard — with my staff split in two and flames carefully controlled, my strikes aiming for legs and limbs instead of throats and hearts. Still, I began to slip into a version of myself that I’d hoped to never see again. Soon, I was not given a choice. Our opponents were vicious. Death became unavoidable. The battle around me blended with the past.
By the time we fought our way to the top of the stairs, I must have looked like a demon. I was drenched in crimson, my hands and blades ignited with flames. My soldiers were just as terrifying, the Valtains’ white hair smeared with red, all of our uniforms drenched. When I pushed open the doors of the keep, I left bloody handprints on the beautiful chestnut engravings.
The inside was eerily quiet.
Guards stood at attention, their spears held firm and unmoving. Maids clasped their hands in front of them and bowed their heads, watching us with wary eyes.
The entryway was beautiful. It opened to a massive room of stone and silver, with a high, arched ceiling inset with stained glass that refracted the cloudy sky. Two majestic staircases swept around either side of the room, mimicking the shape of the Twin Serpents outside. In the sudden silence, my footfalls were deafening against the polished tile.
I stepped forward slowly, lifting a hand in a silent command to the soldiers who followed me — hold.
“King Zeryth Aldris commands the surrender of Lord Gridot for treason,” I said. “We come only for him.”
My voice echoed. The maids and guards regarded me in silence.
“If he surrenders to us,” I said, “we will leave all of you and your city in peace.”
Do it, I pleaded, silently. Just end this.
No response.
I heard footsteps. From beneath the shadow of the twin staircases came a man. He was dressed in fine clothes, tall and straight-backed with a neat beard.
“Maxantarius Farlione.” His voice was surprisingly strong for a man his age, at odds with his slight figure and white beard. Nothing in his face or his stance betrayed anything other than steady composure — nothing except for his eyes, which cut into me with utter rage.
“I heard the rumors, but I admit that I was skeptical. Maxantarius Farlione coming out of retirement to fight for the crown of a street rat swaddled in silk.” He clicked his tongue. “What a disappointment.”
“You wouldn’t be the first to think so.” I cast a pointed glance behind me, where the room was slowly filling with my blood-drenched soldiers. “I believe that we have you cornered.”
“That, I think, is undeniable.”
“I don’t intend to kill you. In fact, we’re all a bit anxious to get out of here. We’ll happily leave, so long as you leave with us.”
Gridot let out a small scoff. “You know, I knew your father quite well. He was an honorable man.”
I inclined my chin. “He was.”
The old man strode forward with long, smooth steps. I tensed.
“It’s perhaps a blessing,” he said, “that he isn’t here to see this.”
“I have no desire to kill your men or destroy your city, Gridot. And I have no desire to kill you.”
He was now just a few feet away from me. His eyes crinkled with silent laughter. “And what do you think that Aldris will do with me, when you shackle me and drag me back to the capital?”
Dread rose with my quickening heartbeat. I noticed that one of Gridot’s hands was tucked into the pocket of his jacket. I recognized the rising fire in his otherwise-composed eyes.
“He is a reasonable man.” The lie was acidic on my tongue. Gridot let out a bitter laugh, his lips curling.
“I’d rather die by the hand of a war hero than on my knees in front of a no-name false king,” he spat.
And my heart sank.
It happened so quickly — everything that I had been dreading. Gridot’s hand flew from his pocket, wielding a dagger with an artful, well-trained grip. He lunged for me. Fast enough to make a true and admirable swing for my throat — fast enough to open a river of blood across my shoulder when I dodged.
But he was an old man, and he knew that. His skill alone ensured that his strike was only as good as it needed to be to force a proper counter. I had no choice in my response — a blade buried in his side. He fell to the ground in a heap.
I called the healers to him, but he faded in seconds. He smiled at me as he died, a mouthful of crimson blooming over his teeth.
We stayed in the city only for a few days, just long enough to sort through the logistics as we waited for Zeryth to send additional forces for ongoing occupation of the city. When I returned to camp
