The Stoneholding

all his might into one lethal swing, a blow so powerful no smaller sword could hope to parry it, one that would cleave the frail King's torso in two.

The King closed with him.

Frysan cringed, edging his way towards the unevenly matched combatants, his own dagger now in hand. He found himself assailed by questions, entranced by the unearthly gleam of the King's sword, now grown more luminous still. Queen Asturia cried out.

Looming over the King, Baldrick abandoned all thought of subtlety and speed. He roared, his rage boiling over, and down fell the broadsword like a bludgeon.

Up came the King's sword to block, his arm slow and palsied, but quick enough to meet the blow. Frysan tensed for the brief clang and the murderous cut that would follow, ready to leap to the attack and plunge his knife into the king-killer.

His ears filled with the sound of shattering glass.

The King reeled, his sword unscathed, even as Baldrick stared dumbly at his ...