The heavy door fell forward with a thud.

  Baldemar stared from his seat. He sat at the head of a long, rectangular table, on the opposite side of the destroyed door. Many of Attre’s lords and ladies had come upon his summons, though now the discussion had fallen silent. The soldiers who lined the walls unsheathed their weapons, while the Duke eyed the decorative pieces on the walls.

  As the dust settled, a figure walked forward. They were adorned in dark plate, with a helmet made to resemble a human skull. In their right hand, they held a staff with a glowing white orb mounted on top. The metal clinked as the sorceress used it as a walking stick, moving forward.

  His men, all heavily armed and armoured, moved swiftly, leaving their ceremonial posts to interpose themselves between the Duke, his guests, and the intruders.

  Baldemar’s face curled in disgust as he realised who was now desecrating his home. He moved to speak, but as soon as he opened his mouth, the figure began speaking, voice echoing with sorcerous power.

  “By the will of Her Majesty, Queen Calanthé, sovereign of these lands, Duke Baldemar of Attre is to be executed for high treason. In recognition of his former loyal service, the duchy shall remain in the hands of his son, Windhalm. That shall be the full extent of the Queen’s mercy.”

  Baldemar sat up, the beginnings of rage tinting his vision red. He was a huge man, over two meters tall, with bulging muscles. His head was bald, not from age or poor heritage, but from the burn scars which covered much of his scalp and face, gifted to him by one of the intruder’s kind.

  “The Queen sends her foreign dog,” he spoke, voice low and heavy, “A witch,” he spat, “To execute the rightful ruler of these lands, who fought beside her a mere few years ago.”

  He spread his hands, “This, this is how loyalty is rewarded in Cintra!”

  The soulless blue eyes of the witch watched him dispassionately. Who knew what the creature that had so effectively gotten its claws into the Queen was thinking? Sorcerous whores, one and all. He had figured the Queen’s response would be heavy-handed, but she had made a mistake by sending the witch. He would enjoy seeing her retreat in humiliation, though it was a shame that the Blacks’ ploy did not work out. As expected of the skulking rats.

  Baldemar saw some of the lords nodding. The witch was looking as well.

  “We have served the crown with honour, and look at our rewards!” He spoke, voice loud and unwavering, “Ard Rhena spits on our loyalty and our blood!” Baldemar all but shouted, “By my right as the ruler of these lands, and in defence of our dignity and future, I declare Attre FREE! WE SHALL NO LONGER BEND THE KNEE!”

  His face remained stony as the nobles cheered.

  “Treason,” A cold voice silenced the cheers. Baldemar scowled as the present nobles remembered the executioner amongst their midst, though much of the previous fear was replaced with defiance.

  “Who are you to judge us, whore!” One of the, likely drunk, lords shouted.

  The witch surveyed the hall, noting the defiance present on the faces of his subjects. Then his heavily armed soldiers.

  ‘Yes, run away with your tail between your legs, freak,’ he thought. With her rashness, Calanthé had given Baldemar everything he needed to convince his vassals.

  The sorceress nodded, possibly to herself, then spoke.

  “Kill them all.”

  The hall froze.

  Then, all hell broke loose.

  Before anyone managed to react, the sorceress tapped her staff on the ground. A white flash erupted from her staff, making Baldemar curse as he was blinded.

  When he managed to blink away the stars, the witch had seemingly multiplied. Where before stood one, there were suddenly five, all charging forwards, the Royal Guards following swiftly behind, mercilessly cutting the unarmoured attendees down.

  Baldemar roared in rage, before tearing one of the decorative greatswords from the nearest wall.

  The four illusions were quickly revealed as such by icicles flying through their chests, skewering whatever unlucky bastards had been trying to fight them.

  As the hall descended into chaos and slaughter, Baldemar saw red.

  With a roar, he charged the real sorceress, swinging the large sword with all his strength. A metallic ding resounded as the sword impacted her staff, leaving Baldemar to stare open-mouthed, as the witch did not move an inch.

  The grinning skull-face of her helmet seemed especially mocking in that moment.

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  “DIE!” He screamed, flowing seamlessly into a redoublement, striking from the opposite side, hoping that the witch would not be quick enough to block.

  He aimed for her neck, yet instead of a satisfying snap of bone, Baldemar was left baffled once again as the witch dodged with supernatural speed, leaning backwards with her entire body, his sword passing right above her face.

  The Duke did not have long to contemplate what had just occurred. Having put much of his strength into the attack, he was left utterly overextended and thus vulnerable to a counterattack.

  The witch capitalised instantly, thrusting forth with her staff and hitting him straight in the sternum.

  Baldemar gasped as he was launched backwards with inhuman force, before using his sword to stabilise himself. Some of his ribs were broken, if the sharp pain was any indication.

  He spared a glance behind himself, at the door which led further into the castle. Quite a few of the nobles were clawing at it, trying to get it open, yet the entire thing was frozen over.

  The Duke snorted at that, ‘Rats.’

  As he watched Death approach, he couldn’t help but laugh as he noticed the icicles flying throughout the room. Even when fighting him, she had kept supporting her men.

  A glowing blade now shone on the top of her staff, but Baldemar was undeterred.

  Thrusting forward with a stab, he was unsurprised to find it deflected. As the witch’s staff descended in a counterblow, he took a step back to minimise her reach at the same time as he moved his sword into a block with practised ease.

  The glowing blade went straight through his sword, cutting it in two. Then, a second later, through his skull.

  ‘Well, this is unfortunate,’ I thought to myself, surveying the carnage. Barring a few servants and guards who had surrendered, the hall was now filled with the dead.

  Our side escaped mostly unscathed. Some cuts and bruises, with Edwyn having the worst of it with a broken arm.

  I glanced towards the broken down entrance, my mind thoughtful, “Change of plans,” I spoke up, breaking the silence, “We will stay.”

  Edwyn looked at me like I was crazy, but I wasn’t overly worried. Frankly, the local forces had proven a lot less prepared for a hostile sorceress than I had anticipated. We could quite possibly fight our way out if things went further south.

  Unfortunately, leaving was suboptimal for the same reason that letting the gathered nobles live was. Attre was needed. If we left now, the Duchy would likely fall into chaos, and I certainly did not understand local politics enough to predict what sort of beast might emerge from it, but a beast it would be.

  I grimaced at the blood covering my armour. That would be a pain in the ass to clean.

  ‘Perhaps I should look into an apprentice,’ I mused. While armour maintenance wasn’t exactly in the duties of a normal apprentice, they could certainly manage. Squires tended to be aged similarly and could do so well enough.

  It didn’t take long for more people to arrive, the old knight from the bridge at their head. He missed a step as he entered, taking the scene in.

  I nodded amiably to him, “Ser,” I began, “I would appreciate it if you could bring forth the late-duke’s wife, so that we may discuss Attre’s future.”

  The knight stared at me in silence, his face unreadable behind his helmet.

  “You’ve killed them all,” he whispered.

  “Lawful execution,” I explained, before snapping my fingers towards one of the kneeling guards, a young man with short hair and wide eyes, “Tell the good Ser what the Duke attempted.”

  The guard's eyes somehow widened even further, before he looked around himself.

  “Yes, you,” I encouraged him.

  “Uh, uh,” he began elegantly, “Hi- His Grace, he declared independence?”

  I nodded, “There you have it. The gathered men and women shared in his treachery, so they shared in his sentence as well. Reasonable, wouldn’t you say?”

  The knight stared in silence, so I looked at the men behind his back, most of whom took a step back when my eyes landed on them. Attre really was in dire straits if the first response to an attacking force in the Duke’s castle was composed of soldiers as green as to be intimidated by simple eye contact, but it was to my benefit today, so I wouldn’t complain.

  Seeing the knight’s silence, I hastened to incentivise, him more, “Rest assured, the Queen, in her mercy, spared the Duke’s family from her judgement. Windhalm is now the rightful ruler of Attre, though he’ll need a regent until he comes of age,” I paused, “provided there is no further treachery, of course. That might jeopardise the Queen’s mercy.”

  I assumed the knight’s vows were towards Baldemar’s house instead of the man himself, as was usual. Making sure he knew that the future of House Attre was safe would hopefully be enough, though I didn’t want to offer false reassurance as well. Should the rot be even deeper, it was possible Calanthé would strip Windhalm of his titles.

  “You,” the knight began, speaking to one of the other knights present, “Bring the Lady.”

  The other knight nodded, quickly departing, while the hall fell back into tense silence, only broken by one of the newly arrived guards vomiting.

  I tapped my staff impatiently, my eyes scanning around, ready for treachery. Since they had not chosen to attack immediately, our chances of ending this peacefully had increased dramatically, but really, it all now depended on what sort of person Baldemar’s wife was.

  Staying was a risk, but not much more so than leaving immediately. The city would be swarming with guards right now. Regardless, it was a moot point. I couldn’t have just told Calanthé that the duchy was a write-off, not without at least trying to salvage things. The course of events was unfortunate, but also necessary.

  The second knight returned after a few minutes, bringing with him a frazzled-looking woman, who I assumed to be the Duchess. She was in her forties, in good shape and with lustrous long hair. Her green eyes were opened wide.

  “Good day to you, Duchess,” I bowed slightly, “As your retainer has hopefully informed you, your husband has been executed for treason, making your son the rightful ruler of Attre. The Ser here, “ I nodded towards the old knight, “Can provide you with the Queen’s orders.”

  “I cannot,” he spoke up.

  I turned towards him, my question obvious in my posture.

  “It’s in the moat,” he replied drily.

  “Unfortunate.”