jackal-among-snakes-16091326
chapter-269

“The mantle will look splendid on you, prince Levin,” the male tailor complimented, both of them admiring his figure in the mirror.

Indeed, Levin agreed with the assessment. Rather than traditional Vasquer colors, he had elected to don new colors—a rich burgundy, accented by gray and golden buttons. Three days from now, he would form the Kingdom of Atrus, and take the name Levin of Atrus—his new house bore gray and burgundy as its colors. It signified his intention to abandon his claim on Vasquer.

The colors didn’t go quite as well with his physical features as black and gold, but it was more than sufficient. He wore a heavy ceremonial garb, overtop it all a thick royal mantle. Somehow, the tailor had managed to make a gradient on the fabric, from a dark maroon to light on the lower portions. It had cost a fortune… but then, the king’s treasury had ample coin to pay any and all.

“This will do nicely,” Levin adjusted the mantle. He would, ostensibly, only wear this once… perhaps it was a waste. Even still, he did like the way it looked.

A commotion broke out in the hallway, and Levin’s head jerked to the side. The tailor stepped away from Levin, alarmed, and set his scissors down on the nearby table. He stepped to the door, yet before he could open it burst open.

“Bernard! Wait for the soldiers!” a voice called out from deep down the hall, but a fully armored knight burst past. His sword rushed out at the tailor, piercing the unarmored man’s throat easily.

Levin braced himself for combat, staring upon this new assailant. He was a knight of Duke Rizzart, the man whom he’d collaborated with in forming the kingdom of Atrus. Levin was betrothed to his daughter. Either he’d been betrayed, or there was an infiltrator amongst the Duke’s man. He mentioned soldiers, so Levin thought it might be the former.

“I won’t wait,” the man called back to his friend in the hall, pulling his blade free of the tailor. “He’s seeing the tailor, got no weapons... if I get his head, I’ll be moving up in the world. So, little rebel… die nice and easy.”

The other knight joined up with them. Levin eyed them both, eerily calm despite the situation. He grabbed at his royal mantle, unclasping it from his shoulder. One of the knights rushed, preparing to cast a spell. Levin pulled off the mantle and threw it at him, his other hand casting a flame spell to set it alight.

The fiery cloak wreathed the man, and Levin darted towards the table, grabbing the tailor’s scissors. He split them in two, now bearing in hand two improvised knives. The other knight took a cautious stance, ready for Levin, yet the prince ran towards a window. With a spell of wind, he broke the glass. Managing the scissor blade awkwardly, he pinched his fingers together and whistled through them—loud and shrill, it echoed out the window.

“Jump,” the knight suggested to Levin. “Do a flip, even. Might be you live, little wayward prince.”

With his signal sent, Levin faced his two opponents neatly. He placed one finger in the hole on each scissor handle and spun them about, silently taunting his opponents. One of them seemed capable of casting spells, and Levin watched this man warily.

Hide your hand. Wait for an opportunity, he judged even as the man prepared a spell.

Lightning struck his chest in a moment too fast to process, and the distance was narrowed. Levin returned the spell then cast a simple ward—a quick barrage from the opposing knight broke it. Emboldened, they both pressed forth. Just then, Argrave used the ring on his finger to cast a B-rank ward, splitting them in two.

Levin dropped one scissor blade and caught the wrist of the right-side knight as he swung his sword, then jammed the other blade into the knight’s helmet socket. The blade wasn’t long enough to penetrate deep, but the man roared in pain, half-blinded. Keeping his grip on the blade, Levin kicked the man away.

Changing targets, Levin tackled the other knight, using his superior size to his advantage. The cold metal of his foe’s steel plate made the tackle hurt dreadfully. Landing atop the knight, he pushed past his pain, grabbed the man’s helmet to expose his neck. Levin knifed the man in the neck half a dozen a times, only turning when he saw movement in the corner of his eyes—the other knight swung his sword.

Levin flinched away, yet the tip of the sword cut deep into and out of his shoulder. He hissed in pain yet grabbed the blade of the man he’d killed and rose to his feet. His shoulder felt as though it was aflame, yet the prince could give no time to the pain. Steel met steel second by second as they clashed, each parrying and attacking with all the ferocity of men who felt they might die. What few breaks each gave the other were soon filled by magical assaults.

Eventually, the half-blinded man, lacking depth perception, made a fatal miscalculation of the length of his blade, coming just short of slicing Levin’s face off. The prince stabbed his sword into the man’s knee where the joint of the armor offered entrance. The man was forced to kneel. Levin seized the opportunity, stabbing the man in the neck with the blade of the tailor’s scissors. He pushed on it hard, then pulled it free. The man gurgled, then collapsed to the floor.

Levin stood there for a moment, eyes jumping between the two of them. He gazed down the long hallway, his breathing heavy and his heartbeat erratic. Remembering his place, he healed the wound on his shoulder with his magic and stepped to the window.

The prince’s personal guard—not the royal guard, but those he’d picked personally—were locked in combat with some of the castle garrison. And beyond the castle, beyond the town… a steady stream of soldiers made their way to the gate. They did not prepare for siege… but rather walked towards the wide-open entrance. Everything was executed perfectly. If not for these overeager knights, he would not have known the threat came.