If I were you, Ambassador DEntre said, I would concentrate on getting your father to change his mind. King Ravin will not be pleased that his generous offer has been rejected. He will not be happy with the message.

Do not try to command me, Rodry said. His hand went to his sword.

If you draw that the ambassador began.

Rodrys sword sang from its sheath. This was what these men deserved for the threats they had helped to make.

The two bodyguards moved to intercept him, of course, drawing their curved blades and readying their shields. Rodry waved his companions back as they moved to intercede, because they couldnt be a part of this in the way he could. Besides, he didnt need their help for this. He was a Knight of the Spur, and they were not.

He stepped forward toward the bodyguards, then slammed into the first of them, their swords clashing together. Rodry kicked out, knocking the man back, then turned to hack a blow through the chest of the second even as he raised his blade to strike.

The first came back at him then, attacking with one blow after another. Unarmored as he was, Rodry could only give ground, parrying as he went until the moment came when one of the mans slashes was slightly too extended. He caught the blade on his, binding it in a circle and pushing at the mans elbow with his free hand. He thrust his sword home in the guards throat, hearing the gurgle of his final cry as he fell at Rodrys feet, still in death.

Rodry turned his attention to the ambassador then, bloody blade still in his hand.

Pick up a sword, he demanded.

The ambassador shook his head. If you wish to strike me down, you will do it in cold blood, as a barbarous northerner.

That was almost enough to get Rodry to do it. Instead, he turned to his companions, who were still standing there, obviously unsure what they should be doing.

Grab him, Rodry ordered. Hold him still.

Two of them did it, one holding each of the ambassadors arms as they forced him down to his knees.

Very slowly, Rodry cleaned his sword on the ambassadors fancy shirt, leaving a smear of blood behind. He sheathed it and drew a dagger.

Ill not kill a man in cold blood, he said. But that doesnt mean Ill stand by while he threatens me and my family. So Im going to take something from you that I suspect a popinjay like you values more than anything.

He set his blade to the mans face and cut sharply, drawing a shriek that was initially terror, then outrage as he realized that Rodry hadnt cut through his flesh, but through his mustache, the end of it dropping to the ground like a fallen feather.