Oath of Fealty by Elizabeth Moon Read Free Book Online

Rolyan stepped sideways to brace for a thrust with the poles, slipped on the dropped tablets, stumbled into the wall, and missed. He saw the sword in the air fall; saw Marrakai dive to retrieve it; saw the prince snatch at his own sword and draw it, saw Verrakai, his own sword now in his hand, make some movement with the other that once more stilled them.
    “You!” Verrakai said, turning to Rolyan, where he sat sprawled against the wall. Rolyan tried to push himself up, but could not. “You would attack a duke, would you?”
    “You would attack a prince, would you?” Rolyan said. He saw the telltale shift of Verrakai’s weight, and parried with the pole as Verrakai’s sword came down. The blade hung momentarily in the linen roll; Roly threw himself forward, over the scattered tablets on the floor, drawing his dagger left-handed, and stabbed at Verrakai’s knee, but the blade didn’t bite. Armor? It didn’t feel like hitting armor.
    Before he could yank the pole free of Verrakai’s blade, he heard a
thunnnk
as someone’s sword—he couldn’t see whose—hit Verrakai in the back. Verrakai whirled, stumbled over Roly’s legs, staggered, and half fell on him. Roly stabbed frantically with his dagger, holding on to one of the man’s legs as Verrakai kicked and struggled to his feet again, but the blade would not go in. More magery? Cold sweat slicked his hands. Magery was evil; he’d heard that all his life. He could hear more sword blows to Verrakai’s body now, and yet the man did not cry out, did not stop fighting, did not bleed.
    Someone’s boot and a lot of weight landed on his ribs; he grunted, now blinded by masses of dark blue cloak—Verrakai’s—and he couldn’t get his breath. Pressure eased; blades clashed, he heard thuds and clatters as things fell. He tried to get out from under, swiping at the cloak, but it snugged tighter around him, as if it were alive. Someone kicked his head; something whacked his hand hard enough that he lost the dagger. More yells from outside somewhere, more people rushing in—and a hand slid in, under the cloak, lifting it with a dagger blade. He rolled forward and sank his teeth into the hand.
    The cloak whirled away from him, lifting to Verrakai’s shoulders, and he could see again, see that he had his teeth in Verrakai’s heart hand, just as Verrakai dropped the dagger he held. In that moment, arms free at last, Rolyan pulled the saveblade, black as death, from his boot, and surged up, striking at anything he could reach. He had a momentary glimpse of Verrakai’s sword … and then the old blade slid in, like a hot knife into butter.
    Over his head, a blade clanged, then screeched, as Verrakai sagged, his weight coming onto the knife blade, hot blood spurting down, soaking Rolyan’s arm.

CHAPTER FIVE

 
    “A re you hurt, Roly?” Mikeli knocked Verrakai’s blade aside before it fell. Was that a stain near the tip? Was it poison? He looked around the room, now crowded with the men he had asked his friends to summon. Sonder Mahieran, Duke Marrakai, Counts Destvaorn and Kostvan; his friends crowded behind them, near the door, eyes wide.
    “N-no. I—I just—I killed him.” Roly was still trembling. Mikeli felt his own hands shaking; he knew what Rolyan was feeling. Neither of them had ever killed a man before; neither of them had ever been so near violent death. He’d been told it was like hunting: it wasn’t. The stench of blood and death in the room sickened him. He wanted to spew; he did not want to shame himself in front of the others; he hoped he did not look as green around the mouth as Rolyan. He swallowed, hardening his jaw against the rush of nausea.
    “Gods be praised for that,” Juris said. He, too, was pale. He glanced at his father and Duke Mahieran, now inside the room. “You saved us, Roly. He was going to kill all of us and blame me and my family.”
    “Gird’s blood, what a mess!” That was Duke Mahieran, kneeling beside the