The Stoneholding

him, fearing yet another cold prick of the dagger.

But it was not the Queen that met his eyes as he turned. The King himself in nightshirt tottered towards him gaunt-faced, his cheeks sunken and right eye drooping. With two hands he bore the sword lost by Frysan.

"Stand, Asturia -- Back, Guardsman -- He's mine," commanded the King, his voice weak and breaking.

Baldrick froze in place. From the King's sword there emanated a faint glow. The soldier rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. He took a deep breath. Then again his eyes narrowed as a cruel grin played across his face.

"Why, if it isn't our anointed sovereign of sighs and groans come back to life. Arvon's very own lump of gilded clay ready for battle! And most becomingly dressed. I'm shaking in my boots, sire. Well, we'll just take care of first things first, kings before commoners and all that." Despite the jeers his eyes betrayed a hint of doubt. His face grown pallid, he winced at the searing pain of the knife wound. The advancing sword kept its glimmer.

"For all that, I am King."

Fear shadowed Baldrick's face. King Colurian shuffled closer. Baldrick raised his broadsword over his head, preparing to throw ...