“None whatsoever,” the dwarf said with a tone of total confidence. Braga looked back and forth between Ballentyne and the dwarf, scowling.

“I have to know for certain. Besides, she needs to come down for the burning anyway and I must get back to the trial. Archibald, go get Wylin, my master-at-arms; he’s stationed at the castle gate. Tell him to come to the royal residence wing and provide assistance guarding the princess. I need tight security on this girl. Do you understand me, tight!” Braga now turned his attention to the dwarf. “You’ll have to fetch her. Take these guards with you, one of them has a gag. Make sure they use it before bringing her down.” To the guards the archduke added, “The princess has been corrupted by dark magic; she’s a witch and can play tricks with your mind, so don’t let her talk to you. Get her and bring her to the court.” The guards nodded and the dwarf led them down the hallway in the direction of the tower.

“I’ll do as you say, Percy, but I’m sure she is already gone,” Archibald insisted. “These bastards are incredible. They’re like ghosts, and they have no fear at all. They work right under your nose, steal you blind, and then have the audacity to send you a note telling you what they have done!”

Braga paused in thought. “Yes, why did they do that?” he asked himself. “If they took her, why let me know? And if they didn’t, they must have suspected I would immediately check to…” He glanced over his shoulder in the direction the dwarf had gone. “Get Wylin up here, now!” he shouted at the earl and shoved him on his way.

Braga ran up the hallway, following the dwarf and the two guards. They were just entering the north corridor, which led directly to the tower when he caught up to them.

“Stop where you are!”

The dwarf turned around, with a puzzled expression on his face. The guards responded differently. The larger of the two pivoted, drawing his sword, and moved to block the archduke’s passage.

“Time to move, Royce,” Hadrian said, casting off his helm. The standard issue sword of the Melengar guard felt heavy and awkward in his grip.

Royce removed his helm as well, as he moved past the dwarf, running quickly down the hall.

“Stop him, you fool!” Braga ordered the dwarf, but he was too slow to react. The thief was already far down the hall and the small dwarf ran after him. Braga drew his own sword and turned his attention to Hadrian.

“Do you know who I am? I know we met in the dungeon recently when you were hanging in chains, but are you aware of my reputation? I am Archduke Percy Braga, Lord Chancellor of Melengar, and more importantly, the winner of the title of Grand Circuit Tournament Swords Master, for the last five years in a row. Do you have any titles? Any ribbons won? Any awards bestowed? Are there trophies shelved for your handling of a sword? I have bested the best in Avryn, even the famous Pickering and his magic rapier.”

“The way I heard it, he didn’t have his sword the day you two dueled.”

Braga laughed. “That sword story is just that—a story. He uses it as an excuse to account for his losses or when he is afraid of an opponent. His sword is just a common rapier with a fancy hilt.”

Braga moved in and swiped at Hadrian in a savagely fast attack that drove him backward. He struck again and Hadrian had to leap backwards to avoid being slashed across the chest.

“You’re fast. That’s good, it will make this more interesting. You see, Mister Thief, I’m sure you have the situation here all wrong. You may be under the impression that you are holding me at bay while your friend races to the rescue of the damsel in distress. How noble for a commoner like yourself. You must entertain dreams of being a knight to be so idealistic.” Braga lunged, dipped, and slashed. Hadrian fell back again, and once more, Braga smiled and laughed at him. “The truth is, you are not holding me at all. I am holding you.”

The archduke feinted left and then short-stroked toward Hadrian’s body. He dodged the attack, but it put him off balance and off guard. Although Braga’s stroke missed, it allowed him the opportunity to punch the hilt of his sword hard into Hadrian’s face, throwing him back against the corridor wall. His lip began to bleed. Immediately, Braga lashed out again, but Hadrian had moved, and the archduke’s sword sparked across the stone wall.

“That looked like it hurt.”

“I’ve had worse,” Hadrian said. He was panting slightly, his voice less confident.

“I must admit, you two have been quite impressive. Your reputation is certainly well earned. It was very clever of you two, slipping in the sewers behind those rat catchers, using them as a decoy. It was also intelligent of you to send that note causing me to direct you right to the princess, but your genius ended there. You see, I can kill you whenever I want, but I want you alive. I need at least one person to execute. The mob will insist on that. In a few moments, Wylin and a dozen guards will come up here, and you will be taken to the stake. Meanwhile, your friend, whom you are sure is rescuing Arista, will be the instrument of her death and his as well. You could run and warn him, but oh—that’s right—you are keeping me at bay, aren’t you?”

Braga grinned evilly and attacked again.

Royce reached a door at the end of the hall and was not surprised to find it locked. He pulled his tools from his belt. The lock was traditional, and he had no trouble picking it. The door swung open, but immediately Royce knew something was wrong. He felt, more than heard, a click as the door pulled back. His instincts told him something was not right. He looked up the spiral stairs that disappeared around the circle of the tower. Nothing looked amiss, but years of experience told him otherwise.

He tentatively put a foot on the first step and nothing happened. He moved to the second, and the third, inching his way up. Listening for any telltale sounds, he searched for wires, levers, or loose tiles. Everything appeared safe. Behind him down the hallway, he could hear the faint sounds of swordplay as Hadrian entertained the archduke. He needed to hurry.

He moved up five more steps. There were small windows, no more than three feet tall and only a foot wide, just enough to allow light to pass through, but nothing else. The brilliant wintry sun revealed the staircase in a colorless brilliance. Weight, rather than mortar, held the smooth stone walls together. The steps were likewise made of solid blocks of stone also fitted with amazing artisanship so that a sheet of parchment could not slip between the cracks.

Royce moved up to the sixth step, and as he shifted his weight to the higher stone block, the tower shook. In reaction, he instinctively started to step back and then it happened. The previous five steps collapsed. They broke and fell out of sight into an abyss below him. Royce shifted his weight forward again just in time to avoid falling to his death and took another off balance step upward. The moment he did, the previous step broke away and fell. The tower rumbled again.

“Your first mistake was picking the lock,” Magnus told him.

Royce could hear the dwarf’s voice from the doorway below. When he turned, he could see the dwarf standing just outside the door in the castle corridor. He stood there, spinning a door key tied to a string around his index finger, winding and unwinding it. He absently stroked the hair of his beard.

“If you open the door without using the key, it engages the trap,” Magnus explained with a grin.

The dwarf began to pace slowly before the open door like a professor addressing a class. “You can’t jump the hole you made to get back here. It’s already too far. And, in case you are wondering, the bottom is a long way down. You started climbing this tower on the sixth floor of the castle, and the base of the tower extends to the bedrock below the foundation. I also added plenty of jagged rocks at the bottom, just for fun.”