Free Wintertide by Michael J. Sullivan Page A

recognize the last man in the room. The stranger, dressed in an elegant garnache, sat near a chessboard, casually rolling one of the pieces back and forth between his fingers.
    “Mr. Blackwater,” Saldur addressed Hadrian, “I’ve heard some pretty incredible things about you. Please, won’t you sit?”
    “Will I really be staying that long?”
    “Yes, I am afraid so. No matter how this turns out, you’ll be staying.”
    Hadrian looked at the chair but chose to remain standing.
    The old man leaned back in his seat and placed the tips of his fingers together. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here instead of locked in the north tower or at least why we haven’t shackled your wrists and ankles. You can thank Sentinel Guy for that. He has told us an incredible story about you. Aside from murdering seret knights—”
    “The only murder that day was Fanen Pickering,” Hadrian said. “The seret attacked us.”
    “Well, who’s to say who did what when? Still, the death of a seret demands a severe penalty. I’m afraid it’s customarily an executable offense. However, Sentinel Guy insists that you are a Teshlor—the only Teshlor—and that is an unusual extenuating circumstance.
    “Now, if I recall my history lessons correctly, there was only one Teshlor to escape the destruction of the Old Empire—Jerish Grelad, who had taken the Heir of Novron into hiding. Legend claims that the Teshlor skills were passed down from generation to generation to protect the bloodline of the emperor.
    “The Pickerings and the Killdares are each said to have discovered just a single one of the Teshlor disciplines. These jealously guarded secrets have made those families renowned for their fighting skills. A fully trained Teshlor would be…well…invincible in any one-on-one competition of arms. Am I correct?”
    Hadrian said nothing.
    “In any case, let’s assume for the moment that Guy is not mistaken. If this is so, your presence presents us with an interesting opportunity, which can provide a uniquely mutual benefit. Given this, we felt it might encourage you to listen if we treated you with a degree of respect. By leaving you free—”
    The door burst open and Regent Ethelred entered. The stocky, barrel-chested man was dressed in elaborate regal vestments of velvet and silk. He, too, looked older, and the former king’s once-trim physique sported a bulge around the middle. Gray invaded his mustache and beard in patches, leaving white lines in his black hair. After pulling his cape inside, he slammed the door shut.
    “So, this is the fellow, I take it?” he said in a booming voice as he appraised Hadrian. “Don’t I know you?”
    Seeing no reason to lie, Hadrian replied, “I once served in your army.”
    “That’s right!” Ethelred said, throwing up his hands in a large animated gesture. “You were a good fighter, too. You held the line at, at…” He snapped his fingers repeatedly.
    “At the Gravin River Ford.”
    “Of course!” He slapped his thigh. “Damn nice piece of work that was. I promoted you, didn’t I? Made you a captain or something. What happened?”
    “I left.”
    “Pity. You’re a fine soldier.” Ethelred clapped Hadrian on the shoulder.
    “Of course he is, Lanis. That’s the whole point,” Saldur reminded him.
    Ethelred chuckled then said, “Too true, too true. So, has he accepted?”
    “We haven’t asked him yet.”
    “Asked me what?”
    “Hadrian, we have a little problem,” Ethelred began. As he spoke, he paced back and forth between Saldur’s desk and the door. He kept the fingers of his left hand tucked in his belt behind his back while using his right to assist him in speaking like a conductor uses a baton. “His name is Archibald Ballentyne. He’s a sniveling little weasel. All of the Ballentynes have been worthless, pitiful excuses for men, but he’s also the Earl of Chadwick. So, by virtue of his birth, he rules over a province that is worthless in all ways