by Robert Evert
“Liars!” Swaying, Markus took an uneasy step forward. “They’re all so enamored with the great Sir Edris. The youngest knight in history! The youngest knight to win a quest! Won his first quest!” He spit at Edris’s feet. “You’re not so big. You’re not so tough. I could’ve killed you scores of times.”
He stumbled toward Edris.
Edris thought about grabbing the lantern and throwing it, but that might burn the entire inn down, killing everybody else staying there.
“You’re not so special,” Markus went on. “I’m the son of a king. You’re the son of a mean, spiteful drunk.”
Edris winced as he inhaled, pain shooting through his rib cage. Perhaps if he kept Markus talking, somebody would pass by the still-open door.
“Regrettably,” he said, sounding lighthearted, “my father disowned me earlier this evening.”
Markus’s grin turned sinister. “So, he won’t put up a fuss when I gut you like a pig.”
He lunged, but Edris dodged the blow. He threw a hard-right jab into Markus’s face. Reeling, Markus dropped his dagger, his teeth awash in blood.
“Go home, Markus,” Edris ordered. “Go sleep this off.”
“Home.” Markus teetered. “You know what they’re talking about there? You! You fighting Kriton. You winning two quests in a row.” He drooled blood. “Even my sister keeps talking about how big and handsome you are. So, help me…if you ever get near her…”
“You’ll win the next quest. You’ll see.”
Markus smiled. With the lantern light flickering across his pale face, he looked like a drunken ghoul.
“Yes, I will. But first…” He snatched one of Edris’s swords. “I have something else to do.” He pulled the sword from its scabbard. “Beg for your life, Fatty Eddie.”
Gasping in pain, Edris picked up Markus’s dagger. “The only begging I’m going to do is for you to go to bed. Things will look better in the morning.”
Markus swung the sword, missing Edris’s neck by a foot.
Holding his side, Edris bounded toward the door. But Markus blocked his path.
“Will Jacob be alive in the morning?” He swung again, drawing closer to his target. “Will my father be talking about me?”
“What do you think your father will say when he learns you murdered me?”
“He liked Jacob. He’ll understand.”
Markus swung again. Edris ducked.
“I spoke with your father about Jacob.” Edris moved to his right. He grabbed a wooden chair. “He’s going to have an inquiry.”
“Inquiry?” Markus snorted. “Fat lot of good that’ll do. There was an inquiry after Raaf’s death as well.”
He brought the sword down. Using the chair as a shield, Edris blocked the blow, then drove forward, his shoulder barreling into Markus’s chest.
Tangled together, they fell to the floor, Edris on top. He wrenched the sword from Markus’s grasp and cast it clattering out of reach.
“Get off me!” Markus’s fists flailed, but his blows were wild and without power. “Get off! I’m the king’s son!”
Edris pinned his arms. “You need to let this go. I didn’t kill him.”
Tiring, Markus lay under Edris, breathing hard.
“I wish I would’ve stabbed you in your god-damned heart like you did Jacob. I should’ve killed you. Next time I will. Next time…next time I won’t just kill your fucking horse. Next time…”
Markus closed his eyes and stopped struggling, his breaths becoming shallow and even.
Edris stood and stared at him as he lay unconscious at his feet.
He’d admitted to setting the ambush in the hills. He also admitted he was never going to let him be. Markus might sober up. He might pretend to have forgotten about their many confrontations. He might even pretend to be Edris’s friend. But sooner or later, he’d do more damage than a cut across the ribs.
Quietly, Edris closed the door to his room. He regarded the bloody dagger in his hand, then set it aside. Kneeling, he cradled his cousin’s head.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I won’t let there be a next time.”
With a loud crack, he snapped Markus’s neck.
The End
Dear Reader,
Thank you very much for reading The Sword of Betrayal .
If you’ve enjoyed it, please tell your friends! Every e-mail, post, tweet, and review helps ensure that Edris’s adventures continue. Further, if you have any comments or suggestions on how to improve these stories, I’d love to hear from you.
Thanks again for taking the time to read my work.
Ride to good fortune!
Robert Evert
[email protected]
Dedication
I’d like to dedicate this book to me. That’s right—me! Not to my wife. Not to my kids. Not to my dogs or my eleventh grade English teacher. My wife hates fantasy and thinks it’s pointless. My kids are too busy looking at their damned cell phones to notice I’m around. My dogs are tearing up my yard and peeing on the rugs. And Ms. Heiten told me that I’d never be a writer. Screw them all. The bastards. This one was for me!