He raised a brow. “Ye think ye can take what’s mine? I daena hae tae stand here.” I saw him meet the eyes of a soldier beside him. The man quickly shook his head.
Rannald grunted. “Yet I canna leave.”
“What did ye say?”
I thought tae tug m’ear but kept m’hands down by my side.
“My vessel daena work.”
“Why nae?”
“Did ye do it?”
I narrowed my eyes. I had a vessel in a pocket in my coat, but twas under my tactical vest. I couldna check it, my focus had tae remain on this arsewipe.
I hit the call button on m’radio. “Did ye hear it, Ryan?”
His voice came back, “Hold on, I’m checking ours…” Silence, then, “The one I have works.”
I tried tae hold m’face passive. How had this happened, that Rannald was trapped? How were we capable of fleein’? I remembered once he fled the battle after he was wounded, but had he been trapped before? I had never thought tae ask.
This was verra fortunate for us.
Rannald said, “I can tell by yer face that yer vessel daena work…”
He watched me carefully, I shrugged.
He said, “Or maybe it does, if it does, then I will want it.” His eyes swept the courtyard. “Which of yer men has it?”
I sneered, contemptuously. “Why would I tell ye, and besides, we daena hae just one, we hae many. The battle has turned, usurper, we hae the upper hand.”
“I will find them.”
“Nae, ye arna gettin’ tae any of us, ye can try, but ye winna succeed.” I planted my feet ten paces from him with my claymore loose in my grip.
The battle might hae raged behind me, but my vision had tunneled, my senses focused, making the courtyard seem calm, as if everyone were frozen as we negotiated our duel. The screams were faint, there was nae gunfire. The wail of those cursed guitars had ended.
Twas just him and me.
The Usurper and the Sword.
“Ye are done, Rannald. Yer throne’s a lie, and today I end it.”
He laughed, high and mocking, and drew his sword. “End it? Yer cause is weak, the brothers of the failed king hae been fightin’ for years. They canna beat me, and every time they try I exact a harsh punishment — they lose someone from their family, a brother, a mother, an uncle… Now ye are here, husband tae the fugitive princess, och, ye’ll bleed out here, and yer precious princess will watch her world burn. I will win this — ye are naething but a flea on a lion’s back.”
His words blew over me, bristlin’ my hair, raisin’ my ire — he was blusterin’, believin’ he had won, but I was fury made flesh. He was a villain and thief. How dare he address me like this! How dare he set his grotesque arse on m’laird’s throne!
Heat rose inside me.
I swallowed down m’rage, steadied my muscles, and focused my gaze.
I charged.
My steel met his. Sparks flew with the clash of our blades. He was faster than I expected, but I was a storm — force, power, energy. I overpowered him. I pressed him back against the wall, feinted left, and hammered him from m’right. A crack from a pistol, behind me, a shot grazed m’hip. I twisted on my knees and stumbled forward, a sharp burning pain as, in my ear, many voices, Alexandria saying, “Oh my god, are you hit?”
My focus was lost by the enemy breakin’ the rule of war. Behind me the walls roared with retribution. Bullets whined off stone, ricocheted against castle parapets. Guardsmen screamed as our rounds took them — bodies fell tae the ground in cruel thuds, twists of limbs and mail, crashin’ tae the flagstones. Or jerkin’ backward as our drones spat bullets against their walls.
All of it a furious storm at my back while I leaned on m’sword, drops of blood in the dirt.
