***
The throne room door flew open, and they raced into the room, challenging three dozen of the king’s guards, standing ready to defend Bart. They came to stand side by side, like they had many times before, and Caleb smiled at his friends, happy to see the bounce in Kayne. Even Roderic had a look on his face that told them how much he wanted this. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m so looking forward to this,” he growled. “Shall we?” Caleb asked, as he tipped his head towards the guards standing between them and Bart.
“Do you even need to ask?” Kayne asked.
“Drop your weapons, and I may let you live!” Bart screamed from the other side of the room.
“How about we extend you the same chance instead?” Caleb offered.
“It’s mine!” Bart screamed. “Kill them!” he ordered the guards. Caleb smiled once more at his friends, before he waded into the guards.
It was a dance, a dance of twisting bodies, thrusting and swinging arms. Metal hitting metal, screams of pain as flesh was sliced to bone, and the stench of entrails filled the crowded room. In the midst of it all, were the shouts of victory, and the cries of defeat.
Grey fought his way through the guards with only one destination in mind. He pushed yet another of the guards off his sword, and in the corner of the room he spotted Bart on the far side, hiding while others did his dirty work. Bart showed he was forever the coward; never put himself in harm’s way. “Bart,” Grey roared, as he moved to intercept him, and he could see Bart blanch as he scrambled to his feet and took off running.
“Coward,” Grey yelled after him, as he dispatched the guards that came at him, delaying him for a few seconds, letting Bart get out the door and clamber down the hall. Grey burst through the door, into the hall, following him. Grey strode down the hall Bart could run, and even try to hide, but nothing would save him from paying for all that he had done to Grey’s family. Grey let him run, not ready for this to be over with. He wanted Bart to know real fear, and he wanted him terrified that he was about to die, and then maybe he would feel satisfied that his revenge had been served.
Out the door of the throne room, and down the hall, Bart scrambled as fast his scrawny legs could carry him, with Grey on his heels with every step. With fear tearing through his body, he ran; his only thoughts were how everything had gone so wrong, when he had been so close to getting it all. Another glance over his shoulder, and he barreled into several servants coming out of the kitchen to see what was happening. Pushing them out of the way, he rushed through the door to the kitchen, taking a quick look around for something, anything to use against Grey, and for a place to hide.
Grey saw Bart disappear through the door to the kitchen and smiled. He wanted him to be a man, and stand and fight, but that wasn’t Bart’s way. Jogging silently after him, Grey wasn’t even worried. He already knew where Bart was headed, the only place that he had ever headed when he wanted to hide. Bart never really was a very imaginative person.
“Run while you can Bart, because I’m coming!” Grey yelled after him, as he strode down the hall, past the stunned servants who scattered, not wanting to draw his attention. The castle was now ripe with rumors about the return of King Tyrone, with Grey at his side. Pausing briefly at the door to the kitchen, he dropped the sword to his side, pushed open the door slowly, and stepped into the kitchen.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are, Bart, come out, and let’s play!” Grey taunted, as he cleared the door. Bart let out a high-pitched scream, as he jumped out at Grey from behind the door, swinging wildly with the knife that he had grabbed from the counter. He got a lucky swing, and Grey hissed as the razor sharp knife sliced through his shirt, and into his arm. Grey swung back with his sword, but Bart got lucky, ducked and took off running again.
“You’ll pay for that, you sniveling rat,” Grey shouted after him, as he grabbed a rag from the counter, wrapping it around his bleeding arm. He wasn’t in a hurry; Bart wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what he believed, men were at all the gates, Garrick had arranged it, before coming to rescue them. Once he had his arm wrapped, he took off after the fleeing Bart.
Bursting through the door of the kitchen, Bart ran into the courtyard, and dashed across the yard to the stable, looking left and right, for anything that would stop Grey, but seeing nothing. Throwing himself through the open stable door, he saw the man standing at the far end of the stable. “Horse,” he shrieked, “I want a horse now!” Desperation rolled off his body in waves. The man just stared at him, before turning and disappearing from sight. Bart screamed, as he raced around looking to make good his escape.
Grey smiled at the sound of Bart’s screams, as he strolled into the stable, silently approaching Bart, watching him try to figure out how to open the gate to the horse stall. Lifting his sword, he tapped Bart on the shoulder with it. Bart whirled, screaming insults at the insolent servant that dared to touch him, his eyes bulging wide as he took in the man that was his cousin, holding his sword to his throat.
“Cousin,” Grey greeted.
“Leave me alone, my guards will be here any moment,” Bart screamed in terror, as he backed away. Grey just smiled, and followed him step for step, until Bart had trapped himself against the wall of the stable.
“Your guards are running away with their tails between their legs, just like their king,” Grey spat with disgust. “Four years, you bastard, four years you cost us all, over a crazy woman’s ramblings of a lie.”
Unseen, Tyrone and Olivia followed them into the stable; they were both scared for Grey.
“They are not lies; my mother told the truth!” Bart screamed.
“Your mother was a bitter, crazy woman, and she was the one behind your father’s death.” Grey roared at him, wanting him to hurt. “The father, whom you claim was robbed, was leaving her, and she lost it. He would have hated everything that she said to you, because it is a lie. Your father wasn’t the oldest, and you will just have to accept that fact,” Grey ground out, as he pressed his sword into Bart’s throat.
Olivia moved to stop him, only to have Tyrone stop her. Tears streamed down her face, as she watched the struggle that Grey was having; he wanted Bart dead, but he also had loved his uncle, and knew that it would have killed his uncle if Grey was the cause of his son’s death. Tyrone also could read the struggle within Grey, but knew that only he could make the decision that he could live with.
Grey continued taunting Bart. “You know, nothing would feel better than to run you through with my sword, and leave you bleeding on the floor, and as much as you deserve it for all that you have done, I won’t do it,” Grey told him. “You want to know why? Cause unlike you, I refuse to sully myself with your blood. I will walk out of here with my honor intact, and leave you to be punished by the people of Elden,” he spat out, as he pushed his sword even tighter against Bart’s throat. “You lost Bart, we won, and you aren’t worth it anymore,” he told him, stepping back, and dropping his sword.
Bart stared at Grey with such loathing, as Grey stepped away and turned his back to him. Grey hung his head, until he heard his name. Looking up, he saw his father and Olivia standing at the end far end of the stable. Olivia pushed out of Tyrone’s arms, running to Grey. Her eyes widening with horror, as she came to a screeching halt. She screamed his name, which made him react with an instinct that came from four years of running.
Grey’s reflexes were well trained, and the dagger hand rose as he twisted to confront the screaming Bart. Bart charged at his cousin with the pitchfork that had been leaned against the stall. In his frenzy to kill the one person who he held responsible for all the wrongs in his life he didn’t see the knife as he ran right into it, impaling himself.
Grey watched Bart’s eyes pop open with a gasp, the pitchfork dropping with a clatter to the ground. Looking down, he stared at the knife embedded in his chest. Grey dropped to his knees, letting Bart’s body down; he kn
ew there was nothing that they could do for him.
“Bart,” he cried, as he thought about all the missed opportunities that they could have had, if things had been different.
“Once again, you stole my crown,” Bart cried with his dying breath. Grey released the knife, letting Bart fall over, and he sat back, his hands covered with his cousin’s blood. Olivia dropped to the ground beside him, her arms around his neck, and she pulled him into her embrace. Grey hesitated for a second, before he wrapped his arms around her, burying his head in her neck, inhaling her scent. The touch on his shoulder had him looking into his father’s concerned eyes.
“Father,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”
“No Grey, you were walking away. Bart made his decision, and now he has suffered the consequences. As long as you are alright,” Tyrone checked with him. Grey looked to the woman in his arms, then back to his father.
“I will be,” Grey promised.