The Stoneholding

narrowed his eyes again to focus on Baldrick.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Queen and what she intended. With her hand extended to the right side of Baldrick's waist, she was reaching for the hilt of the dagger sheathed at his belt. She had moved so close to Baldrick that Frysan saw her wince at the sour reek of his unwashed body. She had the dagger, was lifting it free. The slightest of steps backwards and he would stumble on her. He would cut her down without hesitation. The Queen would not stand a chance.

"Come then. Bodes well for the Mindal, putting its trust in a hedge-born fishmonger like you," Frysan said. It was now or never. He had to close with Baldrick. Anything to move him away from the Queen back into the open area of the bedchamber. "Come get me. I'll wait for you on this spot -- right here, like a rooted tree," he shouted, brandishing his sword, tight with the expectation of combat.

"Crows and daws! You're looking at a fellow that's not stirring an inch. If you think I'm playing your game again! I've given you enough chances to oblige me. You come here to me! Come fetch your treat from Uncle Baldrick or shall I tell their royal highnesses you've wet your breeches and are indisposed?" Broadsword held with two hands before him in a guard position, ever watchful, Baldrick made a little half-turn and lurched back a step.

"What's this?" he exclaimed in mid-stride, his progress blocked, feeling the jab of the dagger as nothing more than a pinprick ...