“The Merchant’s Guild is pleased with the infrastructure improvements, Your Imperial Highness. They have promised to show support for the new grain initiatives,” said Revon, the Minister of Economics, standing before the large mahogany desk that dominated the private office of Lupton est Dracoern, Emperor of the Dracoern Empire, King of the Dracoern Highlands, head of House Dracoern, High Priest of the Holy Order of the Shield, Protector of the Realm, and Chief Sage of the Court. The Emperor was seated behind the desk in a plush, heavy chair — elbows on the armrests, fingers steepled. His thick, jet black hair and beard were now interspersed with gray, with the middle of the beard almost entirely gray. He wore something reminiscent of a military dress uniform — all black, with a high, standing collar. The famous ebony cloak, edged with gold trim, hung on on a rack behind him.
“This is excellent news, Minister,” the Emperor replied. “And how goes funding the new laboratory for the Mage—“
Lupton was cut off midsentence as a young man burst through the door. The guard at the door had him by the back of the shirt collar, and was trying to yank him from the office.
“Your Highness, they’re attack—“
The shirt collar ripped and he fell forward onto all fours. The guard moved to collect him, but the Emperor stood, hand raised. “Let him talk.”
“They— they are attacking, Your Imperial Highness,” the boy said breathlessly.
Lupton grabbed the cloak from the rack and swung it over his shoulders, preparing for what may come. “Who?!” he exclaimed.
“The prince, your son. And our army.”
He had barely finished speaking when the sounds of screams could be heard from outside the office. Swords clashing. Lupton’s hand clutched the hilt of Vox, the ancient longsword sheathed at his hip, and looked to the Minister of Economics, and then the guard, who had moved into the office, sword drawn, facing the door. Lupton could see that the guard was terrified. If they were this far into the palace, this quickly…
Suddenly, the screams and noises stopped. There was only silence. The young man got to his feet.
And that’s when he came around the corner and walked through the door. He was a giant of a man, covered in gleaming black plate armor accented in gold, with the golden dragon insignia of House Dracoern emblazoned on the chest. His already dark red hair was painted with blood. Prince Dante est Dracoern, Lupton’s only son, was the commander of the Dracoern army, and it was clear he had now led them to take this palace.
Without any hesitation, Dante lifted the massive greatsword he carried with one hand and cut down the young messenger. The guard then rushed him, sword swinging, but the prince caught his sword arm with his free hand, and ran him through with the other.
The economics Minister shrank into the corner of the room as the emperor stepped forward, blade
drawn.
“Dante! What is this?! Why?!”
The son towered over the father. His gauntlet clad hands wrapped around the hilt of the greatsword. “You’ve become weak,” he growled. “You’ve made US weak. When I was a child, a murderer wasn’t hung or beheaded. He was sentenced to face you in a fair duel to the death. But everyone knew that was still a death sentence. That’s how feared and invincible you were. But now…”
The towering prince lunged at his father who barely parried away the greatsword, stepping aside as the two-handed blade crashed through the desk.
Dante lifted the weapon and chopped down at him again. “Our armies make bridges, not war.” Lupton caught the edge with his own, the force sending him to a knee. “We protect neighbors we should be CONQUERING!” Dante swung again. Lupton, kneeling, held the sword above him defensively as the wild swings kept raining down. “It’s time for a new era.”
Another hard swing, and the Emperor’s arm gave out. On one knee, his sword held limply in his hand, arms at his side, he looked up at his son. “You’re making a mistake.”
“No,” he replied. “I’m fixing one.”
Dante est Dracoern lifted the colossal blade for the final time, preparing to bring it down upon his father’s neck. Suddenly, a flash of light enveloped the room, blinding them both. The Emperor felt a firm hand on his shoulder and a word from an ancient tongue was shouted. Dante’s greatsword came slicing down, but cut through only air. “No!”
Lupton blinked repeatedly, steadying himself as dizziness wobbled him. The hand on his shoulder steadied him. He looked up, but he knew who he would see: Eldon, the Imperial Mage, and one of his closest friends and advisers. “That was close,” he said quietly.
“Rather close, Your Highness,” the mage whispered.
The Emperor rose to his feet, looking around. He sheathed the longsword he was holding. The room was barely big enough for the two of them. “Where are we?” Lupton matched his whisper.
“In a closet, a few floors down. I didn’t have time to take us farther, and the wards around the palace prevent me from teleporting us outside.”
Lupton nodded understandingly. And they both went silent as the sounds of heavy metal footsteps passed by.
When they were gone, Eldon continued, handing him a large, drab hooded cloak and baggy clothes. “Put this on. You will have to sneak out the rest of the way. They are mostly on the upper levels, no doubt looking for any loyal members of the government. And now you, of course.”
“What happened?!” the Emperor whispered incredulously, eyes fixed on Eldon.
“The prince convinced our restless army to join him.” Eldon was matter of fact. “The guards here just let them in. No one sounded any alarms. Only a fraction faught back, and they were slaughtered. Dante will have control of the empire by nightfall.”
Lupton stood there in disbelief. The mage pushed the clothes into his chest again. “You have to go. You need to escape. There is a horse waiting for you down by the old library. You remember it, right?”
Lupton looked down at the garb he was holding. “But… it’s over. What is the point? And where will I go? To live in hiding in the country for the rest of my days?”
Eldon met his eyes and put his hands on his shoulders. “You’ll go to the city of RhyDin, to the Red Dragon Inn. You will take up your old room there — we have kept it for you all this time, exactly the same as when you lived there. And then you’ll go downstairs, to the basement arena, and you will duel again. You will remember who you were. You will return to the roots that made you the man you are today. And then, when you’re ready, you will challenge and become Overlord of the Duel of Swords. Then you’ll be ready to face your son again, and the people will know. That title still means something. If you return as the Arena’s Overlord, face your son in combat, and defeat him, the Empire will follow you again. But first, you have to go.”
Lupton stared at his friend a moment and then nodded in agreement. He quickly put on the clothes. “Thank you, Eldon.”
“You can thank me when you retake your throne. Now go!” The mage opened the closet door and the Emperor stepped out into the hall.
Using the assassin training of his childhood and his intimate knowledge of the palace and all its secrets, Lupton made it to the bottom floor and then finally outside through an entrance typically used by servants. A short jog and he was in the nearby forest — a forest he had hunted in for years, many times with the son who had now betrayed him. Staying off the main road, he hiked into town, to the old library, and found the horse there waiting for him, rations and provisions thoughtfully tucked into the saddlebags.
A town cryer called from his perch, “Lupton has fallen! Emperor Dante now rules! The future is bright for Dracoern! Our future will be reclaimed!”
Lupton mounted the horse and started the long trek toward the Red Dragon Inn. It had been ages since he made it, but he still knew every step of the way.
